Maybe the life of faith is a little bit like walking with a blindfold on–
When I was little my younger sister and I would play "blind" where one of us would close our eyes tight and take the hand of the other and be led around
faltering, hesitating steps, never sure when an unseen abyss might open at your feet and you would go tumbling in
your only guide the sister's hand, trusting she would keep you from smacking into walls, falling down stairs
until at last you'd open your eyes astonished: how did I get here?
Sometimes life opens up before us in long grand vistas, we see the road winding before us for miles and miles, we take in the view and breathe deeply and set off eagerly, keeping the mountains in sight
and sometimes the life view is like the art exhibit that my husband and I went in last month
a pitch-black room lined with mirrors
and strands of tiny LED lights hanging from the ceiling
–flashing on and off in a sharp bewildering blink of lightning bugs–
till I didn't know which way was forward or backward
and I thought I could be lost forever in the maze of pointy light
and sometimes the view is simply black, black as behind-your-eyelids or thick soft blindfold, not despair or tragedy but simply dark because you don't know where you're going and you have to trust your little sister is leading you except
it's God instead.
And all you can do is cling to the hand and trust that at some point the blindfold will come off and your eyes will see and marvel: that's how I got here!