A group of pre-teen boys were camping near a waterfall at Camp New Hope one summer evening when tornado warnings were issued. The camp caretaker, my mentor and former pastor Francis, decided the boys and their counselors needed to return to the relative safety of the main camp. As he prepared to head out, I volunteered to go myself. "After all," I told him in my teen-age wisdom, "I'm younger and faster and know the path as well as you."

Sighing his "I-love-you-but-you're-exasperating-sometimes" sigh, he suggested we both go.

"Great," I said, grabbing a flashlight and dashing off. "I'll just get a head start."

Ever tried to run through a forest in the dark?

A flashlight is no help when it's bobbing in a running hand, and I'm absolutely certain I stumbled over every fallen tree trunk and jutting boulder on that familiar path. Bumped and battered and scratched and bruised, I did manage to beat Francis to the campsite, and then, out of breath and irritable and more than a little sore, I managed to panic everyone at the campsite. Chaos reigned as we all ran in circles trying to break camp to "escape."

"Boys!" a familiar voice shouted; and we all stopped.

In a quiet and reassured tone, Francis then told us we had plenty of time; that the storm was still "a county away." He then handed out assignments that had us packed and marching back in no time. We were so busy even the littlest ones weren't afraid.

      As a Christian, I have a message of hope to carry to people who may not be aware a storm is coming. Far too often, I run ahead of God, stumbling over every "trunk" and "rock".

      Worse, in my haste I often hurt the very people I'm intent on helping. Embarrassed by my tumbles and spills, I spew frustrated words or arrogant judgments; use fear instead of compassion; cause chaos when order is essential.

      Eventually, battered and bruised and scratched up and humbled, a quiet moment lets me hear a familiar Voice, and suddenly my spirit is calmed. It is the very calm the whole world longs for, but looks for in a forest where the path isn't clear and the storm is too often already upon them.

      Likely most of you can be found running down the path I run, also. Likely you are losing ground in the race to matter because you run ahead of God, whose presence gives life meaning.

      Trying harder won't fix the problem. Neither will we fix it with a quick trip down the aisles of confession and renewal, though those are certainly great places to start.

      Only the company of the Shepherd will change us; only He who is our Light will shape us so we resist the urge to fall back to our sinful defaults. Only time spent learning about and from our Companion will help others see Him through us.