Between my home and my neighbor’s back yard is a thicket filled with junipers, lilac bushes, crabapple and pine trees along with leafy undergrowth.  Delicate trails are worn where animals have moved hidden in the protective cover of the thick vegetation.  When my children were small it was the perfect place to build a secret hideout or fort.  As the friendship with my neighbor began to grow I soon found myself bush-wacking through the dense sea of green to her back door for a warm cup of tea and soothing conversation.  It wasn’t long before I rumaged through my garage in search of garden clippers which I found buried under gloves, trowels and flower pots on the metal shelf tucked in the corner.  Trimming back bushes and cutting off overhanging branches from trees I began to make a more human-sized path between our homes.  Weeds were pulled and stepping stones added along with a small ground light, compliments of my neighbor’s husband.  Clearing a pathway through the thicket seemed to mirror the growing connection between our hearts. 

Pathways lead us from where we are to some place new.  They are connectors.  They direct us from the hustle and bustle of the street to the serenity of our home; from our home into a garden, or to a beach, or to our favorite coffee shop.  They hold the many places where we live our daily life together – like the string on a strand of pearls.  As I move into a new season of life I find myself on an interior pathway; no longer dwelling in the place that’s been familiar to me, yet not quite arriving where I’m headed.  I’m in the gap between two places standing in the middle of a pathway that connects the seasons of my life together.  So the path to my neighbor’s house has become symbolic for me, reminding me that pathways often have protective cover and a light to guide the way.