When it feels like you're walking in the dark.

Have you ever used GPS navigation only to find yourself on a road that doesn't appear on the screen? That unsettling moment when the confident voice says "recalculating" while you're already halfway down an unmarked path? There's something deeply uncomfortable about moving forward when we can't see where we're going—when the map in our hands doesn't match the territory beneath our feet.

This is precisely the human condition that Proverbs 20:24 addresses: "A person’s steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand their own way?"

The Hebrew text reveals something even more striking—the word for "understand" (bin) implies not just intellectual knowledge but the ability to discern, to see patterns, and to make sense of the whole. The proverb isn't merely saying we don't know the future; it's declaring that we cannot fully comprehend even the path we're currently walking.

 

The Illusion of Control

We live in an age obsessed with life planning. Five-year plans, vision boards, career trajectories, retirement portfolios—we've constructed elaborate systems to map out our futures. There's nothing inherently wrong with prudent planning; Scripture itself commends wisdom and foresight (Proverbs 6:6-8). Yet somewhere in our planning, we've begun to believe that understanding equals control—that if we can just gather enough information, analyze enough data, and make enough contingencies, we can master our own destinies.

But life has a way of humbling such presumptions. The phone call with the diagnosis that changes everything. The economic downturn that evaporates carefully laid plans. The unexpected opportunity that redirects an entire career. These moments reveal what Proverbs 20:24 has always known: our steps are directed by a wisdom far greater than our own.

The phrase "steps are directed" uses the Hebrew verb kun, which means to be established, fixed, or made firm. It's the same root used in Psalm 119:133: "Direct my footsteps according to your word." There's a beautiful paradox here—what feels uncertain to us is actually firmly established by God. Our confusion doesn't indicate divine absence but rather divine transcendence. As Isaiah 55:8-9 reminds us, "'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the LORD. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'"

This perspective is essential because we experience life sequentially, moment by moment, unable to see how current struggles might be preparing us for future purposes. Joseph couldn't understand why he was sold into slavery, falsely imprisoned, or forgotten in a dungeon. Only years later could he say to his brothers, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives" (Genesis 50:20).

 

The Liberation of Not Knowing

The profound comfort of Proverbs 20:24 is that we do not need to understand the path upon which the Lord has set our feet; we only need to know it's the Lord who set our feet upon it. This is the answer in faith to the anguished question, "Why is this happening to me?"

This doesn't mean we'll never understand. Sometimes, like Joseph, we're given glimpses of the greater purpose. But understanding is not a prerequisite for trust. In fact, the demand to understand before we trust might be the very thing that keeps us paralyzed, unable to take the next step God has prepared for us.

This brings us to a deep theological truth. As I reflected in yesterday's message, God is ipsum esse—Being itself.

He does not need us to complete Him, nor did He create us out of necessity. He created us by an act of sheer generosity because God is love.

He is loving us into existence in every single moment, and He is loving everyone else around us into existence too.

The very fact that we exist is proof enough for the eyes of faith to know that He also orders our steps. Because He is loving us into Being, we can walk through even a pitch-black room one step at a time. We can recognize that even the Lego we stepped on is a gift—that every stumble, every trip, and every detour is a part of the direction our steps are ordered.

 

Walking in the Dark with a Hand to Hold

St. John of the Cross wrote extensively about "the dark night of the soul"—one of his most famous works is by that title. His point (at risk of simplifying it for the sake of a single post/e-mail) has to do with those seasons when God seems to withdraw all sensible consolation and understanding. Yet he insisted these dark nights were not abandonment but rather God's way of purifying faith. In his poetry, he describes the soul going forth "in darkness and secure" because it is guided by something deeper than sight. This is what he wrote in what he called the "stanzas of the soul":

1. On a dark night, Kindled in love with yearnings—oh, happy chance!—
I went forth without being observed, My house being now at rest.

2. In darkness and secure, By the secret ladder, disguised—oh, happy chance!—
In darkness and in concealment, My house being now at rest.

3. In the happy night, In secret, when none saw me,
Nor I beheld aught, Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart.

4. This light guided me More surely than the light of noonday
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me— A place where none appeared.

5. Oh, night that guided me, Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover, Lover transformed in the Beloved!

6. Upon my flowery breast, Kept wholly for himself alone,
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him, And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.

7. The breeze blew from the turret As I parted his locks;
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck And caused all my senses to be suspended.

8. I remained, lost in oblivion; My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.

 

St. John of the Cross's insight aligns with the practical wisdom of Proverbs 20:24. The path of faith often leads through darkness—not the darkness of God's absence, but the darkness of our limited vision. Yet in this darkness, we discover that we don't need to see the path if we know the One who guides us.

Consider Peter walking on water (Matthew 14:22-33). As long as he kept his eyes on Jesus, he could do the impossible—walk on a surface that couldn't naturally support him. The moment he looked at the waves and tried to understand how this could be happening, he began to sink. The path beneath his feet made no sense, but it held him as long as he trusted the One who called him to walk on it.

 

Surrendered Walking

To walk confidently on a path we don't understand, we must first cultivate what Brother Lawrence called "the practice of the presence of God." This means throughout our day, in decisions both large and small, we consciously acknowledge that our steps are directed by the Lord. A simple morning prayer can set this tone: "Lord, I don't know what this day holds, but I know you hold this day."

Furthermore, we must distinguish between understanding and obedience. When Scripture gives clear guidance—to love our neighbors, to forgive, and to act justly—we don't need to see the final outcome to move forward. We simply need to obey, trusting that the One who commands knows the destination.

We must also hold our plans lightly. James 4:13-15 warns against the arrogance of assuming we control our futures, suggesting instead that we say, "If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that." Finally, we find peace in providence during suffering. When the "why" questions threaten to overwhelm us, we rest in the truth that God's direction includes the valleys. As Corrie ten Boom, who survived the Ravensbrück concentration camp, famously said, "Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God" (The Hiding Place, 1971)

However, when we’re “stuck” in darkness, on a path upon which there’s no end in sight, we are prone to one of two dispositions, both emerging from unbelief: panic or paralysis.

We either freak out about what’s happening, and anxiety overwhelms us. Or we simply “stand there” and don’t move. We are too afraid to take another step, fearful of what might happen. But there is a difference between “resting” in the dark nights of our lives, and squatting there. It’s okay to “rest” in the midst of a long journey, but we rest so that we might gain the vigor to keep moving forward.

The Journey Home

If the Lord directs our steps, then He's directing them somewhere. We're not wandering aimlessly; we're being guided home. Every confusing turn and unexpected detour is part of a journey toward a destination chosen by infinite love.

Even stepping on that Lego might have an unseen purpose. It might hurt (really, really, bad) but who knows how that single step might be a part of the plan? What if, in stepping on the "Legos" of life, our steps are redirected and we avoid a deeper pit we never realized we were a single step away from falling into?

The apostle Paul captured this confidence: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28). Note that Paul doesn't say we understand how all things work for good—he says we know it. This knowledge isn't based on our ability to trace the patterns but on the character of the One who directs our steps.

As we face our own unmapped territories, we can release the exhausting burden of needing to understand. We can exchange the anxiety of control for the peace of trust. We don't need to see the whole staircase; we just need to take the next step, knowing whose hand steadies us as we climb. Tomorrow morning, when you rise to face another day of uncertainties, remember: you don't need to understand the path. You only need to know the One who has set your feet upon it. And that changes everything.