The other day in a women's group someone spoke about the clouds in her life. Not necessarily the water vapor kind, but those obscurities that try to pass for sky.
"I want things to be clear, really I do. But it feels like I am guessing most of the
time."
We laughed about the cloudy pillar that led the Children of Israel for forty years through the desert. Not a map. Not GPS. A fickle totem pole of vagueness, keeping the sunshine away. Since everyone in the group was a teenager in the seventies we sang, or tried to sing, Joni Mitchell's rendition of Clouds, which expresses well the allure and illusion of those capricious forms. For people who sometimes forget where their keys are we did pretty well on the
lyrics.
Yet the truth is, the cloudy pillar described in Exodus did a faithful job of leading thousands of families.
"And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light."
Exodus 13
The whole system rests on a few assumptions. One, that we will need leading. Two, that sometimes it
will be night. I find comfort in those simple premises.
People in my life and probably yours keep walking even when the destination keeps moving over the horizon. The presence of that guidance, however diaphanous, assures me that Someone knows I am still following.
