When I first started taking the train to Philly I was nervous. I relied on my phone, and a paper map John printed for me, besides the random folks I asked for directions. It turns out that there are multiple ways to thread between the tracks beneath the city and the entrance to the hospital.
I was annoyed, but really the core emotion was fear. Why did there need to be so many exits, for various streets and destinations? It confused me. One day early on I spied someone in scrubs and decided to follow her. She noticed, and was happy to explain her route, which wiggled through outdoor seating.
Gradually I found my groove, and although I doubt that it is the most efficient path, I stuck with it. It leans into a landmark that includes the name Path.
Last week, a fellow student was catching the same train, and asked if we might walk together. I was delighted. He is from Tanzania and has a heart of gold. But as soon as we left the
building he went right instead of left! How could this be? I decided to trust him, and we went by buildings I had never seen, and rather than a Septa door, we entered through a bright and airy shopping space. I had never seen this.
"You will recognize where you are in a moment," he told me. Which I did. It would have been lovely to sit together on the train, but we
barely found single seats, much less two together.
The next time I traveled I tried to follow his path, but going in reverse was bewildering. After that I went back to my groove.
It all feels like a metaphor. While my short-sighted ego might
think that a solitary itinerary is best, not only is that narcissistic, it would create a log jam. God is incredibly accommodating to our various needs and preferences, in the possibilities for arriving at a heavenly destination. I wonder if the irritation we might feel for someone else taking a different path is actually a facade to hide fear.