When the Path Disappears

Two days after Easter, many of us are still basking in the glow of resurrection and new life—or at least, trying to. Hope, after all, isn’t always easy to hold onto. Even with faith, the world’s noise and the uncertainties of life can make it difficult to trust that new life is still unfolding.

When I first set out on my journey of faith, I had this idea—perhaps born of youthful optimism—that the path would always be clear. That following Jesus meant I’d always know the next step. But over and over again, I’ve found that’s not always the case. In fact, sometimes the path disappears entirely.

Maybe you’ve experienced something like that too. A career plan, a relationship, a sense of purpose—you thought you knew the way forward, but suddenly it vanished. It’s like hiking a trail in the woods that seemed so well-marked until it wasn’t. You’re left staring into the trees, unsure of where to go next.

What do we do when that happens?

For me, when clarity vanishes and I can’t see the next step, I rock back on my heels—figuratively and sometimes literally—and return to my daily practice. It’s nothing extravagant. Just a quiet chair, a journal, a cup of coffee, maybe a few Aramaic vocabulary flashcards, and the practice of centering prayer. Some mornings it’s more structured; others it’s just silence and breath. But it’s grounding. It reminds me who I am, and more importantly, whose I am.

If you don’t have a daily practice, please don’t let this be another opportunity to guilt yourself. Start small. Once a week, every other day—whatever you can manage. The point isn’t perfection. The point is presence.

Journaling, in particular, can be a powerful tool. Not to chart out a grand strategy or solve every problem, but simply to write freely. To let your conscious and unconscious minds dance on the page. Ask yourself: What brought me to this place? What was I expecting? What am I feeling? What are the paths I see—or don’t see?

And if clarity still doesn’t come, that’s okay too.

In centering prayer, I don’t try to chase thoughts. I use a sacred word to return myself to presence. Not as a mantra to control the mind, but as a gentle reminder to let go of what’s pulling me away. You might use a different form of meditation or prayer. What matters is making space to let go of the noise and the expectations—especially the ones that aren’t truly yours.

Because that’s the thing. So often, what clouds our vision are the preconceptions we carry: about who we should be, where we should be, what we’re supposed to have figured out by now. Cultural milestones, religious expectations, parental hopes—all of it can fog up the landscape of our lives.

But when we release those things, even for a moment, we begin to see again.

So if the path ahead has disappeared for you, take a breath. Rock back on your heels. Sit in the quiet. Reflect. Trust that you’ve made it this far through terrain both smooth and rocky. And maybe, just maybe, the next step will begin to appear—not with certainty, but with courage.

And even if it doesn’t—remember: you are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved, whether or not you know where you’re going next.

Go in peace, beloved.