Oh... We're Going This Way Now.

There was a time in my life when I believed progress meant pushing.

Push harder. Work longer. Figure it out. Make it happen.

If a door wouldn't open, I leaned into it. If life became difficult, I assumed I simply hadn't tried hard enough. Looking back, I spent an incredible amount of energy arguing with reality, believing that enough effort could convince life to follow the map I had drawn.

Something has changed over the years.

Not because I've become less ambitious. Not because I've stopped dreaming. If anything, my dreams have become larger and more meaningful.

The difference is that I no longer believe my purpose is to force the Universe to change its course.

These days, when something unexpected happens, I pause.

I pay attention.

And somewhere inside, I hear a quiet smile that simply says,

"Oh... we're going this way now."

That sentence has become one of the greatest sources of peace in my life.

Years ago, I never would have understood those words. More recently, I shared a thought on social media about no longer fighting the current of life. My daughter reached out almost immediately.

"Dad... are you okay?"

Her question came from Love. She knew the man who fought through every obstacle, who carried the weight of responsibility, who believed persistence could overcome almost anything. To her, those words sounded like surrender.

They weren't.

They were freedom.

There is an enormous difference between giving up and letting go. Giving up says nothing matters anymore. Letting go says I trust there is something greater than my understanding. One is rooted in despair. The other is rooted in Faith.

It took me a while of experience to realize I had been living a story I first encountered at a different time in my experience.

Richard Bach opens Illusions with a beautiful parable about creatures clinging to rocks at the bottom of a crystal river because they believe letting go means certain death. One of them finally releases his grip and discovers that the current isn't trying to destroy him at all. It carries him into a freedom the others cannot yet imagine.

And as he turned the bend, another pod of clingers watch him floating by and called him the Messiah, as he disappeared around another bend.

When I first read that story, I admired it.

Now, I recognize it.

For much of my life, I was one of the clingers.

I clung to plans, believing they were certainty.

I clung to expectations, believing they were security.

I clung to identities, believing they defined me.

Chef. Father. Husband.

Firefighter.

Soldier.

Minister.

Leader.

Healer.

Writer.

Each one became part of me, yet life eventually asked me to loosen my grip on every one of them, not because they were wrong, but because none of them were meant to be the whole story.

Looking backward now, I can see something I completely missed while I was living it.

The current was never working against me... It was carrying me.

What I once called interruptions became introductions.

The detours I resisted became some of the most meaningful chapters of my life.

The doors that closed redirected me toward people, experiences, and opportunities I never could have planned.

Spiritual maturity, I've discovered, isn't reaching a place where life finally stops changing.

It is learning to trust the One who walks with you through every change.

I still make plans.

I still work hard.

I still believe discipline matters.

Those things haven't disappeared.

What has changed is my relationship with them.

I no longer believe I am dragging the Universe toward my destination. I believe I am walking in partnership with something infinitely wiser than myself. My responsibility is to remain awake enough to notice where that partnership is leading.

Instead of asking, "How do I make this happen?" I find myself asking,

"What are You showing me now?"

That one question has changed almost everything.

Not because it always gives me immediate answers, but because it changes how I meet uncertainty.

Obstacles become invitations. Delays become opportunities to listen. Even disappointment loses some of its sting because I no longer assume I can see the whole river from where I'm standing.

Faith, I've come to believe, isn't confidence that life will unfold according to my plans. Faith is the quiet assurance that the current sees farther than I do.

Perhaps that is what peace has been all along.

Not arriving at the destination.

Not controlling every bend.

Simply learning to trust the One who knows the river.

When life changes now, I don't instinctively reach for resistance.

I breathe.

I pay attention.

And more often than not, I find myself smiling and quietly saying,

"Oh... we're going this way now."

I think that's what Richard Bach was pointing toward in Illusions. The one who finally trusted the current drifted beyond the place where everyone else was still holding on. Around the next bend were others who had never even imagined such freedom.

To them, he appeared extraordinary, simply because he had stopped fighting the river.

Maybe that's the invitation for all of us.

Not to become someone extraordinary.

Simply to trust the current enough that others might one day look at our lives and discover they can let go, too. Blessings Love & Light...