Fog in the Valley

Thursday morning was foggy here in my neighborhood. Seriously foggy. Very possibly the foggiest weather I’ve ever experienced.

When I pulled out of my garage at 7am for the 25-minute drive to school, I could hardly see my garage door closing from the end of the driveway. It was kinda scary, frankly. I drove slowly and carefully through my neighborhood and along the side roads I use to avoid the 1604/I-10 interchange that is crazy busy at that time of the morning.

And then suddenly, just as I pulled up to a red light before driving under I-10 . . . there was no fog. None. It was just GONE. I could see the stoplight, the cloudy sky above me, and the shopping center on the other side of the highway in front of me. It was a bit of a jolt to suddenly have the world visible around me again.

I turned and pulled onto I-10 going north, still in wonder at it all. Along the way to Boerne, a few small patches of fog flew in and out. I continued to drive cautiously, as did everyone around me, thank goodness.

But then about two exits before the one I take to get to my school, the world suddenly seemed to wake up. Like, boom! All the sunshine broke through in an instant, and it was a bright gorgeous day. In fact, the change was so sudden, I was almost blinded by the bright light.

Whoa.

Once I got to school, I asked a colleague in the front office if there had been any fog in Boerne that morning. Nope. It had been bright and sunny in Hill Country since the day started. I described my morning drive to him, and he reminded me that Boerne is significantly higher in elevation than San Antonio – and that fog tends to rest in valleys.

. . . and by the time I stepped in unexpectedly to lead our staff devotional and prayer time twenty minutes later, I had, of course, found spiritual significance in the whole scenario.

Y’all, the valleys of life are hard. And it’s difficult to see your way sometimes while you are traveling through them – difficult to see anything at all, in fact. But the truth is, everything is still there. There are still road signs and signal lights; you just can't see them from a distance. You aren't able to plan ahead in a relaxed fashion like you may prefer. You have to make decisions in the moment, live in the moment.

There are fellow drivers whose headlights and taillights can direct you onto the safe path to travel. It's a community effort to get everyone safely through the fog.

And the beauty is there, too. That stretch up La Cantera Parkway is a lovely drive on a clear day. Just because a low-hanging cloud is covering the lofty trees and flowering bushes and hiding the blue sky doesn’t mean those things have ceased to exist. I know they are still there.

Keep moving through your valleys, friends. Even if you have to move slowly and sadly, tentative and terrified. God is still there with you. And your time in the valley will make the sunny mountaintop seem that much brighter when you get there.