The view sold this house.  I walked into the living room, newly pregnant with the news of twins, and was captivated by what I saw in the window.  On that crystal-blue day, I could see the rise and fall of the Olympic Mountains and the calm tranquility of the Pacific Ocean as it worked its way through the fingers of the Puget Sound.  I could see trees where eagles sit and a valley hued in purples and blues.  I could not take my eyes away long enough to notice the mint-green paint in the kitchen or the outdated gold light fixture above the table.  It did not really matter when the house came with a view like that.

Nearly five years later, I have not grown tired of looking out my window at all that can be seen of this world.  It is comforting and peaceful to be able to see so far, to know  all that can be seen in miles and miles of looking.

But today, the view was hidden.  The fog unfolded off the ocean like the fabric of a veil, keeping common things from sight, hiding both the known and the unknown.  The valley below us descended into deep uncertainty.

Today, I was living behind a veil.

All my certainty faded away and I felt a little bit like a child, longing to see in the dark.  I wanted the comfort of living on a mountaintop, but I was in the valley.

Some seasons of motherhood are like that, when the fog clouds my vision and I can only see in vague shapes and shadows.  My eyes strain to focus, to deduce clarity from the dimness.  But it is not there.

I wonder, some days, if I’m walking in the right direction, or if I’m making any progress.  When the children fall into the same old fight or I find myself muddled by some unconquered sin, when my mind is filled with more questions than answers and I can’t even imagine how all this is going to turn out right, I wonder.  How can I keep walking where I cannot see? 

On those dark and uncertain days, when I cannot see where the next step leads and I feel uncertain in my footing, it is good to know that my destination is secure.  I grab onto that when I can’t grab on to anything else.  I am heir to a promise that one day, I will see clearly.  One day I will know without shadows, understand without doubt, and see from one limitless horizon to the other.

But for now, when the fog settles in and I cannot walk where I feel most secure, I rest in the knowledge that what I know to be true does not change just because I can’t see it.  The mountains are still there.  The ocean is still there.  And God is still there.  Sometimes, His face is hidden so I can see His hand, leading and guiding me over the unfamiliar terrain and around the obstacles I cannot see.

I look before me and I cannot see the road.  But it is okay to walk where I cannot see because it is not my eyes I trust.

I trust in the One who sets my feet upon a rock.

I trust in the One who makes shadows flee.

I trust in the One who tears the veil.