The Chosen Path

Today my parents and I made the 9-hour trip to Lake Conroe, Texas (located just north of Houston). The drive was peaceful for the most part; the final leg of the journey seemed as though it was one thunderstorm after another making for a fun drive.

This is definitely not the first time we've made the trip together. My mom's only sister and one of her brothers and their families lived in the Houston area for as long as I can remember. Trips to Houston became annual pilgrimages for my family and the source of many good memories. I fondly remember laughing in the kitchen while my aunt made the most delectable chocolate fudge and bowling outings with my cousin and his three young children. There were numerous adventures involving boats that cannot sink and stinky bait on the waters of Lake Conroe. Who could ever forget the year I nearly ripped an arm out of socket because the villian threatened to shoot Santa after he made a personal visit on Christmas Eve to that small trailer in Houston. (I don't remember who was brandishing the shotgun though; I'll have to ask about that tomorrow.)

The path to Houston from my home was always consistent. At the Arkansas-Texas border, we would pick up Highway 59 and drive south. This long Texas roadway passes through numerous small towns that will forever be etched into my memory. As I became older, the route began to lose its appeal. These Texas bergs were no longer recognized for their charm, but had become synonymous with "speed traps." I was not interested in the journey; I was just ready to get to the end of the road so the real fun could begin.

A few years ago, I was in Lake Conroe again with my parents, brother, and niece. Conroe is situated on Interstate 45, which runs up to Dallas. I knew from my cross-country drives that I could pick up Interstate 30 in Dallas and head to the Arkansas border. I was firmly convinced that the all-interstate path would certainly be faster than running through all of those tired, small towns. O'Neal and I set out for home on I-45 while Mom and Dad went home via their preferred path. I am happy to say that I won this "race".....and beat my parents home by a whopping 5 minutes!

As we approached Texarkana earlier today, I asked my parents which route they would prefer for our drive. Dad's response was simple, direct, and poignant: "You're driving, so that decision is up to you." I weighed the options and decided to travel by interstate through Dallas. As I drove to Dallas in the silence of the car (Mom was reading in the backseat and Dad was "resting his eyes"), I pondered the implications that simple choices make in my life on a daily basis.

Throughout their lives, my parents have tried to show me and my siblings how to make a comfortable, fulfilling life for ourselves. They have defined "success" and "happiness" for us in clear terms and lived their lives as models for their three children to emulate. However, my parents have been very deliberate in assuring me that my path to "success" and "happiness" may not look like theirs - or anyone else's, for that matter - and that the uniqueness of my journey is part of the excitement of life. Their interest is not necessarily in the chosen routes of their children, but that the final destination is ultimately reached. Just as my trip to Houston pointed out today, there are often multiple paths that lead to the desired outcome. Some are traveled leisurely, littered with detours and scenic stops; others are more direct, more driven, and more treacherous. Neither path is superior to the other in and of itself - it is just a decision that has to be made based upon personal preference. Tonight, while sitting in Lake Conroe at the beginning of a week of vacation, I am thankful for parents who taught me (and continue to teach me) how to plot a course, weigh the consequences, and then make a choice after careful, prayerful consideration.

Wishing you a joyful journey,
Kennith