Walking in the Fog

            Dreary, chilling, gray, and sinister, fog is for mysteries and thrillers.

Think about it. Do you ever hear anyone say, “I love fog?" I’ve heard people say they love rainy days, but I can’t ever remember anyone extolling the joys of fog.

Somewhere someone loves the fog that rolls in off the ocean, the mist that creeps up on a lake shore, or the Midwestern fog that rises like steam when the ground is covered with snow and the temp is rising.

I am not one of them, however.

To me fog is creepy, spooky, and dangerous. You can’t see in it or through it. It’s great to imagine when reading Great Expectations, and that’s about it.

 Foggy weather is bad enough, but what about walking in a cold, wet life-fog? I think it’s worse, do you? I hate those times in life when I don’t get what’s going on around me, why things seem so stuck, including me. I can’t see what’s ahead, and my recent journey seems rather shrouded in a fog I can’t understand either. Even when I try to get out of the fog, change course, I’m still in the fog.

Several years ago my husband and I went to Michigan’s Mackinac Island before tourist season began, hoping for good weather while we tried to save some money. We saved some money, but the weather was more average than fair. Many of our days were gray and foggy.

On our last day we half-heartedly set out to walk the perimeter of the island, agreeing we would turn around at any time. The weather as about as halfhearted as we were. The east side of the island was foggy and cold, enough to make us want to retrace our steps. But we kept walking, sharing the sites—rugged outcroppings, the rocky shoreline, and dainty flowers growing from inhospitable soil.

Step by step we walked through the fog. At each mile marker we thought about turning back. At the first couple of miles we admitted that we had more in us than that, so we could have but didn’t turn around. Mile marker four was different. The island is eight miles around. To turn back at four miles is to only see one side of the island twice. If you make it half way, you have to walk all the way around, fog or no fog.

And we did. 

Can you imagine what happened? Exactly. The west side of the island was sunny. Walking through the fog one step at a time took us into the sunshine. We unzipped our jackets, reveled in the light and finished our eight mile walk around the island, not by walking a four-mile stretch twice. Even now when I think of that trip, I remember how accomplished I felt after walking eight miles around Mackinac Island.

Lately I’ve thought a lot about that foggy/sunny walk because I’m in a bit of a life-fog. Only I keep telling myself that life is often foggy, and I need to walk one step at a time, just like we did on the island. I wasn’t alone on the island walk, my husband was with me, and I’m not alone in my life-fog. Jesus is with me. Sooner or later we will walk into the sunshine. But for now there are things to appreciate in the fog and the companionship of my Savior.

So maybe for the first time ever, I can say that I may not be joyful about fog but I am joyful in the fog. And for me that’s at least being at the four-mile marker.

What do you think about fog? How do you handle a life-fog? If you’re in one, may Jesus be your companion each mile of the way.