Chapter Five

You don’t need to see the whole path. You only need enough light for the next step.

I used to think progress required a plan.

Preferably a good one.

A destination. Milestones. Measures. Dates. Something reassuringly organised that could be put into a spreadsheet and reviewed periodically.

I still believe plans are useful.

I’ve made a career out of helping people make better ones.

But life has taught me something business school rarely does:

Some of the most important journeys begin before we know where we’re going.

Sometimes there is no map.

Just a next step.

The trouble with wanting the whole path

Most of us would quite like God to explain Himself.

Not necessarily everything.

Just enough to make us comfortable.

Where is this going?

How long will this season last?

Is this the right decision?

What happens if I take the risk?

Will the relationship work?

Will the business succeed?

Will I be okay?

And preferably:

What does all of this look like five years from now?

I’ve asked versions of those questions many times.

Occasionally I’ve received clarity.

More often, I’ve received enough clarity for today.

I’ve found that rather frustrating at times.

Looking backwards, I’m increasingly grateful for it.

Because if I’d known every bend in the road before I reached it, I’m not sure I would have learned very much about trust.

Stepping stones

Perhaps that’s why the image of stepping stones means so much to me.

When you’re crossing a stream, you don’t need to know every stone.

You need to know where to place your foot next.

You test it.

Shift your weight.

Commit.

Then look for another.

Some stones are obvious.

Others require a stretch.

Occasionally you wobble.

Sometimes you put your foot somewhere you probably shouldn’t and end up rather wetter than anticipated.

That’s life.

Faith isn’t always a magnificent leap across the river.

Often it’s simply trusting the next stone enough to put your weight on it.

Faithful, not spectacular

I’ve become increasingly interested in the word faithful.

Not impressive.

Not successful.

Not extraordinary.

Faithful.

There is something wonderfully freeing about it.

A faithful step can be very small.

Making the phone call.

Having the conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Apologizing.

Resting.

Starting again.

Saying yes.

Saying no.

Walking away from something whose season has ended.

Showing up when nobody notices.

Praying when you don’t have particularly eloquent words.

Opening the blank page.

Giving someone another chance.

Giving yourself one.

None of those things necessarily looks significant when it happens.

But lives aren’t usually changed in one dramatic movement.

They’re shaped by thousands of small decisions that eventually begin pointing in the same direction.

When the next step is waiting

There is another kind of step I’ve had to learn.

The one that looks remarkably like standing still.

Waiting has never come particularly naturally to me.

I like movement.

Decisions.

Progress.

Building.

Yet some seasons cannot be accelerated.

Some answers aren’t ready.

Some doors shouldn’t be forced.

Some things God is doing need time we would rather not give them.

Faithfulness in those seasons may not mean moving forward.

It may simply mean remaining where you are without abandoning what you know to be true.

That is still a step.

Perhaps one of the harder ones.

Looking back

Something interesting happens after you’ve crossed enough stones.

You look back.

And suddenly there is a path.

You couldn’t see it from the bank.

You certainly couldn’t have drawn it beforehand.

But there it is.

One stone connected to another.

A conversation.

A decision.

A disappointment.

A move.

A friendship.

A loss.

An opportunity.

An ending.

A beginning.

Each seemed relatively isolated while you were living it.

Looking backwards, you begin to see the journey.

Perhaps that’s another way of understanding the tapestry.

The path only becomes obvious after we’ve walked it.

Enough light

There is a verse I’ve known for years that means rather more to me now:

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

Psalm 119:105

A lamp isn’t a floodlight.

That’s the part I’ve come to appreciate.

It doesn’t necessarily illuminate the distant horizon.

It gives enough light to place your foot safely in front of you.

Then another.

Then another.

Perhaps I’ve spent too much of my life asking God for floodlights.

Increasingly, I’m learning to be grateful for the lamp.

Your next step

I don’t know what brought you here.

Perhaps life is good and you’re wondering what comes next.

Perhaps something is ending.

Perhaps something new is beginning.

Perhaps you’re standing in the middle of a season you would never have chosen.

Perhaps you know exactly what the next step is and you’re simply frightened to take it.

Or perhaps you genuinely have no idea.

That’s okay.

You don’t need to solve your whole life today.

You don’t need the complete map.

You don’t need to understand every thread.

You don’t need to see the other side of the river.

Just look for the next stone.

And when you see it…take the step.

Not because you know exactly where it leads.

But because you’ve learned something about the One who is leading you.