I’m a kid again. Playing Follow My Leader. Somehow it was always the most popular kid leading. IOW - Not me.
I’m a young adult at a party. Dancing The Congo. I join the line. We snake out the dance hall, through the garden, onto a table (yup!), around the swimming pool.
“Accidents” occur along the way. Much laughter. Good-natured pranks for the most.
I’m older now. More selective in who and what I’ll follow.
A person? Nah…..
A diet: Sigh…….
The year is 1994. I leave my life and friends in Europe and follow the Captain to this strange new land, America.
The road is hard. The future dark. I’m seeking. I’m fumbling. I’m falling. I’m drowning.
A longtime friend says, “You know there’s a Catholic priest in your town who spent fifteen years in Belgium. He will know and understand what a difficult time you’re having.”
I pick up the phone and say –
“Father, I’m not a Catholic, but I need help.”
“How soon can you get here?” he asks.
I followed the man. He held my hand as I clawed my way out of a deep, dismal and dangerous place. He was there in my darkest hour. He shared his warmth, his energy, (yes, he was a healer as well,) his faith. Love and prayers in abundance.
And taught me, by example, to follow, unreservedly,
The One who really matters.
Cyber hugs and blessings all. Pick your leader wisely.