If life’s a highway, there’s no chance to catch your breath.  To stop and evaluate without the risk of falling behind.

The college I attended had a trail that ran through the woods.  Along that trail there were other paths that branched off to a creek and an old farm field.  I used to go lay in that field on a blanket in the sun and breeze.  There was a tree in the middle of the field, as there often are, where farmers used to tie their horses to stop and rest at mid-day or enjoy a picnic lunch. 

When you lay down in the middle of a field time and space open up around you.  There’s no highway.  There’s only the present.  Weeds and flowers.  Bugs and air and sun and sky.  And you are small and in the middle of it all.  And it’s not a bad feeling. 

There’s no one path through the middle of a field that’s lain fallow for a long time.  There are many paths.  Some made by deer or mice.  Places where the grass is pressed down for resting or the earth is dug up for a home or hideout.  There’s no end and beginning; there are many sides.  There’s no from and toward, only here and not here. 

This isn’t to say there’s nowhere to go.  Only that the pressure to go or stay disappears and exploring the field becomes a joy rather than a chore to be checked off of the eternal to-do list. 

And let me tell you something else.  God is in the field. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  He’s in the highways too, traveling with you in your car or van.  But God’s most definitely in the fields.  He likes to hang out there on off days.  I’ve seen him there sprawled out on a blanket with a book in hand or just staring at the sky (God’s especially fond of looking for pictures in the clouds).  Or sometimes flying a kite, enjoying the tug and pull of the string as the kite swoops and glides. 

Man, I keep thinking about that field more and more these days. 

I don’t live by the highway anymore.  Just on a small side street in a semi-quiet town.  I’m trying to let myself believe my life isn’t a highway.  Maybe it’s a field.  Maybe all the blessings that keep cropping up in my life, the ones that don’t fit into the plan and seem like distractions, are like wild flowers popping up scattered in a field.  I’m starting to believe it. Maybe there’s nowhere else I have to be. 

If you feel the need to keep on trucking, Godspeed and traveling mercies to you.  But if you get tired and need a break, don’t forget about the field.  I’ll be here.  There’s plenty of room.  Feel free to pull over and rest for awhile.

Where do you most often find God these days?