I Am Not Lost
by Heather Lobe Johnson
I AM NOT LOST
I
In the suburbs of New Jersey, the grid-like
infrastructure makes navigation clear.
“Turn left, stay straight, turn right.
You have reached your destination.”
My faith of old fit the predictable boxes of suburbia.
Cookie cutter houses and clear-cut expectations.
Fenced in yards and a fenced-in faith.
Rules kept me in line. Shame kept me small.
Church three times a week (no less!), and
prizes for memorizing Bible verses.
My world fit onto the same map
as everyone around me.
Always, the echo followed me:
Do not stray.
Do not stray.
Do not stray.
I grew hungry for something more.
I wondered if God could be bigger,
or if my spirit could hold more.
And still I prayed:
Keep me safe, O Lord.
Bless this food to my body.
Please forgive my sins.
II
Three months after my grown-up family moved
to the Blue Ridge Mountains, I lost control
of my car on a fast-paced winding road.
There was not a bruise or broken bone in sight,
but my car was claimed a total loss by insurance.
Moreso, I was shaken.
I refused to drive for almost a year.
Isolation and fear drove me inward.
Compounded by years of trauma,
my questions grew so loud I could no longer ignore them.
Are you there?
Are you there?
Are you there?
Where is a loving God in a suffering world?
Is the truth I’ve always believed The Truth?
Where is mercy, justice, love?
Does He hear our prayers from the darkness?
The questions spiraled;
my marriage unraveled;
my doubt consumed me.
And still, I wrestled.
I could not surrender to the valley of despair,
and yet I could not see a way out.
And, so, I prayed:
Are you listening?
I rage in silence. My doubt
consumes me. Answer!
III
It’s been thirteen years of living in the mountains of the South.
Of holding open hands, one with faith, one with doubt.
Of saying, “Help my unbelief.”
I wrestle my way to the trailhead,
and I begin the ascent.
I see mystery, wonder, awe, love.
Some trails are clearly marked on trees,
with well-maintained paths; others are less traveled.
There is no map here.
He leads me up the mountain, slowly, slowly.
We take our time, climbing together.
My God is bigger
than the grid-like suburban, prescriptive faith I once knew.
My God is more hopeful
than the deepest valleys of despair and doubt I once traversed.
The textures of the forest meet me
in the wild joy of my Creator God.
We are greeted by mushrooms and monarchs,
deep tree roots and the rustling of small rodents in the undergrowth.
The lichen and moss growing on hard rocks
and rough trees are reminiscent of the growth
that somehow springs forth in me—even after all this darkness.
I’ll keep climbing.
I’ll keep climbing.
I’ll keep climbing.
The sun dapples the path before me,
through a canopy of crimson, marigold, amber.
Gradients of color and scent carry me upward, upward.
It’s fall in Virginia. And I am hopeful.
I sit on a rock to rest my muscles and mind
from all of the scaling and searching.
I am not lost. I am not alone.
And, so, I pray:
Expansive God, You
are my helper, companion.
And you’re with me here.
HEATHER LOBE JOHNSON
Heather Lobe Johnson is a writer, artist, and speaker who believes God can redeem the most broken parts of our stories. She edits the literary journal, teaches in the poetry cohorts, manages the Cultivate Retreat, and provides creative consulting with The Way Back to Ourselves. She is currently working on her first poetry collection.
Heather loves spending Saturday mornings at her local farmer’s market or hiking in the mountains of Virginia, where she and her two boys live. She would love to connect with you on Instagram @heatherlobejohnson, where she frequently shares poetry and prayers.