Choices

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost (1874-1963)


When the house was quiet this evening, I descended the darkened basement stairway into the study area and knelt upon my knees. I opened a two-drawer polished oak cabinet, as I have many times in the past, and fingered through several green hanging files searching for one that houses a worn, yellowing, letter-sized envelope. Once I found it, I carefully scrutinized the faded postmark...August 26, 1993. When this letter had been mailed to me, I had already left my hometown and embarked upon an adventure across the midwestern and western states with my parents. They were accompanying me to my new home in Provo, Utah, Helaman Halls, BYU Campus. I am not sure when this letter entered my possession, but I have carried it with me to help guide, sustain, and direct me to another home that I do not remember, yet hope to honorably return to someday.

My Father, in His infinite wisdom, has presented me an opportunity for growth. Knowing I must be tried in all things to prove my worthiness and commitment to the restored principles of the gospel, He is encouraging me to make a choice. I must decide whether I will continue on a discouraging path which enables me to help provide for the temporal welfare of my family or whether I will wholeheartedly and without deviation, keep a covenant I made when I was eight years old.

My heart has been in turmoil all day. I have been in desperate need of inspiration, and reassurance that my family will be taken care of, even if I cannot see how that will happen. I carefully pulled three white pages from the envelope. Two were typewritten, and all three folded into thirds. One was a personal letter from a wise older gentleman, one a recorded blessing, and the third a blank page to serve as a cover or protector for the other two. I read the recorded blessing first, and I did not finish the first paragraph before my vision was altered with an annoying, wet substance that plagued the corners and corneal sections of my eyes.

When I finished reading the pages, I sat in humbled silence...no visions, no visitations, no neon flashing signs. My heart was softened, and I was reminded that my faithfulness to the Lord may not be rewarded in temporal blessings, yet He would ensure that all things would work together for my eternal good. I will be abundantly blessed, even if I can not see the blessings right in front of me. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.

I still feel saddened by the trials in my life. I struggle with knowing how to make life better for my family. I am looking at the path I chose and tripping over the weeds. I am scratched and skinned by the thorns. I am at times alone. Sometimes, I resent my path until I realize I have veered a little to the left. Fortunately, there is a light in the darkness which leads me back and stays with me until I regain my footing. And for me, that continues to make all the difference.


(It took me several days to summon the courage to post this. Please be gentle with any comments.)