February 29, 2024

24 “extra” hours, and I spent the first five of them snoozing. I clambered from my cot with a shock – apparently the foam pad sandwiched between cotton sheet and canvas frame acquired quite the charge, and this morning’s disassembly had me buzzed.

My bed of four months reduced to a bedroll in the corner, I wandered into the kitchen for breakfast. A banana, applesauce directly from the jar, a couple egg rolls, one old ginger biscuit, and some chocolate-covered almonds got my metabolism revving; I saved the onion pretzels for later. Meals on moving day are always a hodge podge affair.

Cabinets and closets played the role of Lady Poppins’ satchel, producing an unfathomable inventory of odds and ends. I tucked them in bins and boxes, intentions of organizing like with like a fantasy dream quickly abandoned.

My mind wandered as I scrubbed the newly-emptied fridge. Finishing a work assignment always leaves me reflective; it probably has something to do with the icy fist that grips my heart every time a well-intentioned colleague asks, “What next?”

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I shivered as I passed into the long shadows cast by spruce trees still glistening with frost, waiting for the morning sun to rise high enough to warm their outstretched arms. It was warmer to stand in the sunlight of a late February Sabbath morning, but I was drawn to explore a peculiar pathway tucked in the corner of this carefully curated arboretum.

The labyrinth was introduced by plaque inscription as “an ancient tool used to facilitate prayer and meditation”. I decided to give it a go.

The path never directly aimed toward the prominent stone serving as a centerpiece. It felt disconcerting to take so many steps around the goal, always at an obtuse angle, never a direct trajectory. I fought the urge to stare at the map and calculate how much farther I had to walk, trying instead to let myself slow my pace, to feel the crunch of the yellow gravel beneath the soles of my boots, to hear the cardinals’ sweeping song. I finally reached the center, sitting on the cold stone and willing myself into stillness, fighting shivers instead.

I prayed for clarity. With my contract ending in four days, I wanted to know what comes next. I wanted to jump to the center, to reach the next destination. With an ending looming, I wanted to see the future.

But then my prayer changed. I prayed for blind faith. I prayed for the courage to take a step forward, even when I didn’t know where that step would lead. I prayed for the resolve to trust a path that was clearly traced, even when it didn’t point in the direction I expected – even when I felt I was going in circles.

And on a cold stone among the evergreen trees, I felt peace. Perhaps all of these steps weren’t to reach a center destination, but to take the trip. To embrace a convoluted, wandering path designed to slow the pace such that the mind can catch up to the feet. To be present – neither behind nor before, aft nor ahead. To find joy in the journey.

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I smiled as I left the unplugged fridge door ajar. He leads me on paths of righteousness, for His name’s sake. Even in the valley of shadows, I can take a blind leap, because I trust in the Lord with all my heart. There is joy in the journey, even when I don’t know where it leads.

So – what next?

In the words of Jill Weber, I’m learning to say to God, “The answer is yes. Now what is the question?”

Where will Leap Day take you?