In a Fog: A Reflection on Christ with Us
It began with translucent
wisps of smokiness over the fields. As we drove, it hovered close to the ground the way pelicans’ outstretched wings almost touch the waters over which they fly.
The road climbed and dipped. Each time we could see a new field along the side of the road, the fog seemed in preparation for a long night’s sleep. Over some fields, two layers could be seen stacked like bunk beds.
The car drifted through its ghostly essence which hung above the road in ribbons. 
The effect of the mistiness was almost as quiet as new fallen snow. My eyes started to droop.
All within it was muted though visible. Trees, fences, and houses above it looked down upon the fog in silent wonder. All seemed calm as dusk pulled its blanket up around its shoulders.
Fear crept upon my husband’s face.
For the next hour, we drove as the fog grew like yeast. We’d rise a
bove it, then dip down into a thicker mist as the road led us further south toward home. Visibility lessened. We could no longer see the tree tops. At times, we were entirely encased in ethereal clouds. It never touched us. But fear crept upon my husband’s face as I drove. We could see only a few yards in front of us.
The reflectors on the road took on new importance as the only means of guiding us in our lane. Traffic instinctively slowed. Our heartbeats quickened. My fingers gripped the wheel firmly as I breathed a slow, calming inhalation. As I exhaled, my eyes strained in determined focus upon the little strip of road I could see.
The dense fog shared its quiet spirit with me which I accepted. My husband’
s rigid body and short breaths told me he did not receive the same message.
“It’s so peaceful,” I sighed.
“I’m glad you think so. Just keep your eyes on the road.”
“I am. Don’t worry.”
The silence and whiteness continued.
Morning dew. Evening fog. Did not manna once come from such conditions?
Through Him, with Him, and in Him.
Low beam headlights work best in fog. Straining to see that which cannot be seen by spraying high beams of headlights sends back glaring reflections from a fog we wish wasn’t there. Higher thoughts, perhaps, work better instead.
Grace filters through my thoughts with ease. Through Him, with Him, and in Him. We pray these words at Mass before the great Amen. In the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and glory are Yours, Almighty Father, forever and ever. Amen.
Through the fog, we drove. Through our lives, we walk with Christ often unrecognized. With the fog all around us, we chose peace or fear. Jesus’ message I am with you always seemed to make a visible appearance that night. He is with us. Always. Whether we believe it or not. It is His truth and His gift to us. That’s the part about faith we call trust. We can see fog. We can’t see Him, but we can trust He is there. He said so. Who are we to disbelieve Him Who call
ed Himself the Truth and the Life?
That always boggled my mind.
In Him. That’s always the hard one for me. I know He’s in me. He promised to come to those who believe in Him. He and His Father would live with us, He said. I know He’s in me when I receive Him in Holy Communion. But me in Him? That always boggled my mind. I couldn’t get a handle on it. I couldn’t see very far into the fog either. But I continued to drive, to follow the reflectors, to watch the white line painted on the side of the road. And eventually, in the fog, we got home.
