Awhile ago, the Preacher mentioned a landmark he'd noticed on the highway between home and town. Had I noticed it, he wanted to know.
"No. Where?"
"Near the bridge."
I drive that highway often. "There's no bridge on the highway to our place."
He looked at me funny. "What d'ya mean? There sure is a bridge. Right by that" He stopped short of naming the landmark, no doubt realizing the circular thrust of his argument. (Perhaps remembering that he'd chosen to marry a blonde.) "Well, anyway, look for it next time."
On my next trip to town I felt justified for not noticing the bridge. It bears no resemblance to the aesthetically pleasing structures I grew up crossing in my Vancouver-area childhood - or many others that have made it possible for me to cross the otherwise un-crossable:
The Bridges of Sighs and Rialto in Venice. Ponto Vecchio, in Florence. Tower Bridge in London. Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. A few others in Europe and Asia, as well as some great Canadian and American bridges. Big things. Hard to miss. When you cross those, you KNOW you're on a bridge.
Our little road-level bridge, like thousands of other prairie bridges, sits over a narrow river. Its cement sides don't even come up to the car windows. It has no gentle rise toward the center, no overhead spans or decorative columns. Nothing unique sets it apart, not even a name. If you sneeze while driving, you miss it entirely. Still, it gets me where I'm going.
My friend Glenda's home sits near the other side of the bridge. This morning I made two trips there. Crossed the still-frozen river four times. Ordinarily it takes six minutes to get from my door to hers. Today, it took twelve on the first trip, nine on the way back, thirteen on the second trip, and seven on my final leg. The bridge is to blame for that - or rather, the lack thereof. The Highways Department, ahead of spring runoff, is rebuilding it.
Diggers have carved out a short detour and a guide car leads waiting vehicles in a slow, one way procession over a temporary bridge. The entire area looks like a heavy equipment parking lot. A crane sits in the middle of the highway, ready to place new concrete spans.
A missing bridge snarls things up. Messes with people's schedules. Today, I left for work a full half hour early. Nevertheless, we who travel that road know - if we want to get where we need to go - safely - we must simply sit back and let the road construction crew do their work.
Have you ever encountered an obstacle, just when you feel life is taking you in a great direction? Be still. God, who sent his Son as a bridge between heaven and earth, may be building another sort of bridge. Perhaps beautiful, perhaps merely serviceable, but if you let him guide, you'll land where you need to be.
Trust the Way-Maker.
