The Narrow Way
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood..." - Robert Frost
I stand before a fork in the road. I take the directions I was given out of my pocket. Surely they must be wrong! I stare down the road I'm supposed to take, a narrow, dark, miniscule pathway. The dust is clogged with small gravelly stones, and on either side is a wall of brambles. This must be the wrong one! Turning, I look down the road to the left. Blossoming roses send a sweet fragrance to me, beckoning, waving in a gentle breeze. Smiling, I pluck one from its branch's thorny grasp and tuck it behind my ear. My feet begin to move as I look up at the eternal blue sky.
I throw one last glance over my shoulder before entering the rose arch. A burst of excitement goes down my spine, and I shiver with pleasure. This is the right way, I know it! To the side of the road, a couple lays sleeping. The man's tanned body is exposed completely, and his partner's pale, naked skin glints in the bright sunlight. He holds her close, his hands running up and down her body. They seem entwined in some odd dance as she smiles slightly and pulls closer to him.
I turn away, ashamed for having watched this outward display of intimacy. I move on, without so much as a glance behind me. I walk for about ten minutes before coming upon two more people, this time in what appears to be a hospital room. The girl seems to be the same, but beside her is a different man. She is holding his hand tightly. A doctor in a long white coat comes in, needle in hand. He injects the needle into the girl's slightly rounded abdomen. She grips the man's hand as a wave of nausea flows through her. The doctor orders her to get up and walk, which she does.
There is something familiar about this girl, but where might I have seen her before? I shrug and turn away, going on. After an hour of steady walking, I meet the girl again. This time she appears to be about twenty-three instead of sixteen. Her auburn hair is swept up in a bun, and a veil frames her face. She wears a gown of pure white satin, and the same man who was with her in the abortion clinic now stands before his radiant bride. He gently takes her hands in his larger ones as he repeats after a tall minister, "I promise to love, honor, cherish, and obey until death do we part." The smiling young woman says her vows and they kiss. Tears of joy are in her eyes as the preacher pronounces them man and wife.
Who is she? I know her, I know her husband! I am befuddled by my lack of recognition. Where could I know her from? Minutes later, I find her playing with a little girl and boy. They look just like her, and well they might, for they are her children. A smile dances on her lips and in her eyes as she watches them. Suddenly, the little girl darts out in the street. Her mother rushes after her, but it is too late. As they both crash to the ground, a car slams on its breaks and squeals to a halt. The woman's child has no chance of survival.
"Oh, my god!" cries the driver. She pulls a cell phone from her purse and punches three numbers. Shortly, sirens are screaming and wailing up the street. Paramedics rush out and lay the woman and her daughter on stretchers. They are whisked away in a panic of lights and sirens.
I am frightened now. I begin to run, farther away from the horrors with every step. I understand why I recognize her now. As my history catches up with me, I see that I am that woman. I go faster, not stopping to acknowledge the tiny, freshly-made grave bearing the inscription Elana Grace, beloved daughter. Fear is pounding in my heart. I cannot keep going! I stop, exhausted, and fall to the ground before another scene. Again in a hospital, I see myself writhing in pain on the high bed. The sheets are wet with blood, and a shriek echoes across the room. With one hand I grasp my swollen stomach, with the other I squeeze the hand of my husband. There is a small pause between one contraction and the next, but not enough. I push hard, and with a smack the baby's tiny head slips out. One more push, and the body is laying on the bed.
The doctor smacks the baby's bottom, but the child does not respond. “I'm sorry. You had a little girl.”
“No!” I cry out loud. I struggle to my feet and move on, past the scene, past another grave: Christine Elizabeth, beloved daughter. I am slowing down. I cannot go on! Again I slip down to the dark earth. Sobbing heavily, I look up. Before me is another image of myself. In my right hand I hold a sharp kitchen knife. On my wrist is a puffy, red slash. My son is watching from the doorway, crying. I cast him a glance of mixed sorrow and relief.
I try to tear my gaze from the terrors before me, but I cannot. I haven't noticed the many miles yet before me. I close my eyes and curl up in the dirt, wailing, tears blurring my vision. A hand touches my shoulder. I turn around, and a figure in white beckons to me.
“Come unto me, and I will give you rest,” He says in a soft, comforting voice. I look into his gentle yet majestic face, then down at his hands. I turn my arms over and show him my cutting scars. He smiles, and turns over His hands. In each wrist is a scar. A nail scar. He wraps his arms around me in a fatherly way.
“Father, forgive her, for she knows not what she's done.” At the sound of His voice, my tears cease to flow. Something makes me look at my arms, and I am shocked to see my scars disappear. A smile begins to burn inside of me, and I begin to laugh. He chuckles with me, then raises me up as a king might a servant or knight. He reaches into His cloak and pulls out a warm, velvet wrap. “Come, my child. You have chosen the wrong path, but you may still choose the right. It will not always be easy, but it will bring you home in the end. You will come home to me.” He smiles and I smile back. “Pick up your cross and follow me!”
I nod, and feel a great weight on my shoulders. “Trust in me and your burden will be lightened.” The weight is still there, but much easier to bear. With a wave of his hand, the things around me vanish and I am standing upon the very road which I had scorned. I look up. Before me stands my husband and our son. He opens his arms to me and I rush to him. We kiss, and begin down the straight, narrow road. I turn back, but Christ is no longer visible. Yet all around me are his words, “You will come home to me.” I glance up at my husband, who smiles at me knowingly. And then, together, we begin to go home.
You’ve got it all – affection, a cool head, a positive attitude, and all that other stuff that guys want their girlfriends to have.
You play it so cool, your crushes don’t even know you’re crushing on them – but somehow, they can’t get you off their minds. 
