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If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know that one of my favorite places on the planet is the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.  This national park is the crown jewel of the Appalachians—a treasure of patriarchal trees…vistas to the end of the world…enchanting wildlife…the rolling shoulders of mountains draped in the silver mists that inspired the park’s name.  And the wilderness, as you might guess, is a hiker’s paradise—over eight hundred miles of trails replete with the crashing thunder of waterfalls, the shy glimmer of spring wildflowers, the sun-soaked glades and shadowy streams and towering forests that sing the chorus of life in the Smokies.  

I can close my eyes and roam in imagination over those beloved routes.  Rainbow Falls—The Bullhead—Trillium Gap—Alum Cave Bluffs—each name is a familiar friend, holding the fragrant memories of past adventures as well as the golden promise of future exploration.  But when I think about the Smokies, I also remember another trail, my memories of which are not so glorious.  In fact, when I compare Middle Prong Trail to the others I’ve mentioned, the only word that comes to mind is, to be blunt, boring.  

Named for the river whose banks it follows, Middle Prong was once a logging road, created for timber harvesting in the days before the park was established.  The loggers are long gone now, but the roadbed remains and has been converted to a trail—a wide swath of dusty, rocky terrain that marches monotonously at a steep gradient up the mountainside.  And for several reasons, it’s never been my favorite trail. 

For starters, the trail is, to put it simply, downright dull.  It begins with the forest on the right hand and the river on the left, and that dynamic doesn’t change for the duration of the hike.  There are no sweeping views, no dramatic scenery.  The terrain is unimpressive.  When we journeyed on this route, even wildlife sightings were rare.   

In addition to being dull, the trail is long.  The old logging road seems to stretch into infinity.  And as a result of the trail’s length, there’s no real destination.  Someone informed us one time that after many miles, the trail would eventually end at a lovely waterfall.  However, we never traveled far enough to see any evidence of that.  And between the trailhead and the mythical waterfall, there is no other point of interest.

In retrospect, I’m not sure why we hiked this trail, given its monotonous nature.  Yet if we needed a “filler” hike—a way to sandwich time in the woods between our other adventures—we usually turned to this trail.  We’d plod up the mountainside for awhile—however far we wanted to go—and then retrace our steps.  

And I found the whole experience maddening.  To me, it seemed pointless, utterly devoid of purpose.  Why embark on a hike that was so empty?  I didn’t want to march up the mountain for a random distance—I wanted to reach a destination, a waterfall or an overlook or even just an intersection with another trail.  And while I hiked, I often fumed, exasperation writhing within my soul.  I’m wasting my time on a trail that goes nowhere! 

When I recall my frustration with that trail, I realize that trudging along the banks of the Middle Prong isn’t the only time I’ve felt as if I were going nowhere.  In fact, in the years since then, I’ve come to realize that sometimes the journey of our lives, the pageantry that has been so exciting and wild and colorful, begins to lag.  The music dwindles to a softer cadence.  The colors fade to grey.  The scenery loses its sparkle.  And before we know it, we’re slogging up the trail to nowhere—and the destination we’d longed for is too far away to provide us with even a glimmer of hope.  

I’ve been hiking that trail to nowhere in my life this year, as I’ve faced debilitating health conditions in the past few months that have left me frustrated and grasping for answers.  I’ve wept and I’ve mourned and I’ve floundered for a way forward.  And on days when the pain and fear and anger threaten to submerge my soul, it is all I can do to continue crawling toward the destination I don’t see.  And I know I’m not alone in this.  This past year has held plenty of “trails to nowhere” for all of us.  The coronavirus crisis has upended our world, and the days of social distancing and mask-wearing seem to blur together.  

So what do we do in these times?  When it seems that everyone is making progress except us?  When we can only see a weary climb with no end in sight?  When our every step feels as if we’re moving further and further into the depths of a lonely nowhere?  There’s one key—not always easy, but always necessary.  Simply this:  we remember we’re not alone.  Many in the “great cloud of witnesses” who surround us have felt the exact same way (Hebrews 12:1 KJV).

Just consider Moses.  We tend to think of his story in two parts—his tenure in Pharaoh’s palace and then his return to Egypt as the deliverer of the Jews.  But sandwiched in between is a forty-year stint in the wilderness of Midian.  For four decades, Moses did nothing more than herd sheep in what was quite literally the middle of nowhere!  

Or what about Joseph?  If anyone ever had a right to think their life was locked in limbo, it was Joseph.  The favored child of his father, Joseph was kidnapped by his own jealous brothers and sold into slavery at the age of seventeen.  Then, after he climbed to a position of honor and trust in his Egyptian master’s house, he was falsely accused by the man’s wife and sent to prison.  He remained in prison not a week, or a month, but many years—according to some sources, twelve years!  Imagine all those lonely days and desolate nights.  Surely Joseph believed that his life had stalled in a never-ending rut.   

When we’re on a “trail to nowhere,” it can be tempting to believe that God’s forgotten us.  Yet the accounts of these saints clearly show that is far from the case.  And if we look closely, there are precious gems of truth glittering from the dusty trenches of even the emptiest days.   

First of all, it’s important to realize that we don’t have to reach a destination.  On that Middle Prong Trail, I was always so impatient to “get somewhere.”  I craved a destination—and I still do today.  Long weeks of bland days fill me with unease, as though every day needs to be red-letter.  But sometimes, as counterintuitive as it seems, our greatest growing and learning and trusting happen in the emptiest times.  

Secondly, there’s always beauty around us.  Even in the mundane, more glory shimmers than we dare to believe.  When I think of Middle Prong, I remember that it was boring.  And certainly, compared to the other trails, it was uneventful.  But at the same time, it was epically lovely.  The rippling stream that danced over the stones, the towering trees that spread their protective arms, the rustling wind that whispered wondrous secrets to every gentle flower—these held a quiet beauty that I didn’t appreciate at the time.  So today, if you find yourself on a less than spectacular path, look for the beauty even when you don’t expect it.  I promise you that it will be there. 

Thirdly, we must choose to trust the Guide even when we don’t see the path.  Trails to nowhere make us nervous precisely because they strip away our illusion of control.  We’re uncomfortable in the present, and we can’t see the future—and we realize that there is no way we can command or cajole the scenery to change.  It’s in these moments that we remember that God has scheduled our trip, and He holds the only copy of the itinerary.  We find our strength by relaxing our grip on our lives and remembering that “the mind of man plans his way, but the LORD directs his steps” (Proverbs 16:9 NASB). 

And that leads me to what is possibly the most encouraging truth, the one that scatters the light of hope over our paths:  sometimes, when we think we’re stuck, we’re actually moving forward in dramatic ways. 

You see, our idea of “progress” is radically different from God’s.  We see progress as equaling productivity.  Miles logged, tasks completed, prizes won, friends impressed, accolades received—these are the yardsticks with which we measure.  But where we marvel at fruits, God examines roots…patiently tailoring the events of our lives to mold us and refine us for His service, not our own futile schemes.    

Think about Moses and Joseph again.  We skip over their boring years—but were those periods truly so “boring”?  On his trail to nowhere, Moses developed a relationship with the God of the universe—learning how to labor diligently and remain humble and lead with both strength and grace.  And Joseph?  As he languished in prison, Joseph was moving toward maturity, developing from a cocky and arrogant teenager into a wise and devout man—the kind of man who would later rescue an entire nation.  

My friends, trudging the trail to nowhere isn’t a punishment.  And guess what?  It’s not even a life sentence.  You see, God won’t abandon us in the blahs.  He’s not luring us into a cul-de-sac or snaring us in a dead end. This current season will end—and when it does, we’ll realize with amazement that on the boring trail to nowhere, we never took a single step alone.  

So today, if you’re stumbling along the trail to nowhere, take heart.  Yes, the way might be boring.  The destination may seem nonexistent.  And the whole journey might seem incredibly futile.  But there is good news.  You’re not being forsaken—you’re being formed, shaped into the image of God.  Actually, as it turns out, the “trail to nowhere” might just lead to somewhere very special after all—straight into the heart of God and the future He has designed for you.  

Did you enjoy this post? What are some of the blessings you’ve found alongside the “trails to nowhere” in your life? Let me know in the comments!

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