Questions from the snow

One after the other, one after the other, I place my boot into his footprint as I follow behind. The snow is deep – then, I was able to place my whole boot into the depression – I am barely able to do the same now. Then I was following my father; now, a great friend.

Then, I was wondering what he thought of me, what I could do to make him proud. How many fish will I have to catch to see it? How big will they have to be for him to say it? Something inside me commands that I dare not ask him these questions. The temperature was well below freezing and I could see my breath with each exhale. As we reach the lake, each step now brings a crunching noise from ice beneath my boots. There is also the sound of eager anticipation from augers turning steadily through the frozen barrier. I pace ahead to walk next to him talking about things I have long forgotten.

Now I am pondering something far deeper, yet equally unimportant. What do I do to make Him proud? How many lives must I touch to feel it? How deeply in their lives do I need to reach? Do I ask Him these questions or ask Him which path? Here, it is night. The brisk wind pushes through the leafless branches and carries with it an icy chill that bites at my lips. The sound of the air flowing through the trees brings me a peace I have not felt in quite some time. We reach a down slope.

Suddenly my foot is falling through the ice as I let out a short yell. My little boot and half my leg are now in the near frozen water. I pull myself out with a fearful look of astonishment. I don’t understand how I just fell through the ice. Did I do something foolish? He tells me that someone covered their used hole, making it nearly impossible to see. I feel slightly calmed that it wasn’t my fault but I’m sure that I could have avoided the inconvenience of the situation. He then gives me comforting information that the shanty has a space heater. It will warm enough for me to take off my snowsuit so it can dry and I don’t freeze.

His next step sends him down landing on his butt, sliding down a bit further on his back. I laugh loudly seeing that he is all right and take a safer path around. He tells me that he used to sled down the hill with his brother when they were little; long before the barrier was placed to prevent accidents from occurring from sledding down the sharply steep point. Walking further – this time – I receive no certain comforts. However, I feel that I need these moments, these reminders, these gifts.

As we sit in the shanty, I catch no fish. Except for a melted snowsuit (I sat too close to the space heater…) I leave with nothing.

Since returning, I have asked my questions, including many more. Except for more unanswered questions, I have only the usual waning feeling.

Upon further consideration, I have, in fact, one answer. A lack of response to a question I didn’t ask or an action I don’t take doesn’t mean they aren’t full of pride or aren’t listening. It is those subtle feelings He gives me and those less than obvious things he does. They tell me he is proud of me and He is there. I guess I’m still a lot like that little kid. I want to do anything and everything, all the while expecting a response that would satisfy my soul, a response to reassure me that I am doing the right thing. Less important and yet more pronounced, I want to be told what I need to do to earn his respect, to earn His presence. Little did I know I already was. So long as I do what I think is right and work hard at doing it, I will be following the right path, earning more and more as I go.

In the end, telling me that he is proud may defeat the purpose. Knowing that He approved, I might stop pushing ahead. While I have never been comfortable with this uncertainty, having never quite accepted it has determined who I am. My ultimate goal seems to be embracing it, this uncertainty, this faith. One last question… Does God leave footprints in the snow?