Well, Mr. Frost, I was wondering about this road business. You see, I've gone a good piece down the first section, and I must say I have enjoyed the scenery very much! But my neck hurts. And I've discovered why. I keep looking back. This way that I've taken some years ago is quite worn and I know each nook and cranny. At first I stumbled over the smallest rocks, and then I began to find my way quite easily. But as I look around I can see that it's a bit dry. The grass could use a good shower.
Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of something to the left through the trees. I sometimes struggle through the dense foliage to peek at the other path. For some reason, it seems more lush and vibrant. I look long down one way, and then turn my head to gaze in the other direction. It's never enough, though. It always leaves me thirsty for more. A couple of times I've dared to reach my leg in through the fence only to draw it back again knowing I wasn't ready to walk on such a path. Yet, way leads to way, and I'd feared that I couldn't return. Worse than that I feared I wouldn't remember to return.
But wait. I've realized something, Mr. Frost. You were the one who wrote of the roads, yet you were not the one who created them. I think I might have been speaking to you in error. I have thoroughly enjoyed our short conversation, but I believe I must go over your head. Creator God constructed the matter of the roads, the dust, the rocks, the leaves, the trees. I, myself, am made by God from a handful of chemicals. And He made it all from nothing. Just . . .nothing.
He knows my thoughts, my deeds. He can predict my choices, knows my preferences, my dislikes. He knows my every step upon this road. He even knows the number of hairs on my head at any given moment. And He knows my dreams, for He gave them to me. And He IS hope.
And that, Mr. Frost, has made all the difference.