When I was young, I remember a chapter from the Chinese class is taken from a short story by Vladimir Korolenko. I put it at the bottom.
Sometimes, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel – answers, healing, breakthrough. But you feel no strength to move toward it. It’s not darkness anymore, but it’s not freedom yet. Just a tired place in between.
That’s where I am. Not lost, not hopeless – just weary. I know God is good. I know he has a purpose. I believe the light is real. But my feet won’t move, my heart won’t race. I’ve prayed, waited, cried, hoped. Still, I sit in the middle ground.
And maybe that’s okay—for now.
Because Scripture says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; 6 in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5–6). It doesn’t say to figure it out. It doesn’t say to push through with our own energy. It says to submit, to trust, to lean on him.
So today, I’m not rushing to the light. I’m resting in the God who placed it there. He will guide. He will strengthen. When it’s time to move, he will lead.
Until then, I surrender. Not with energy – but with faith. And that’s enough.
一个黑暗的秋夜，我在一条险恶的河流中航行；没有星，没有月，天黑沉沉，地也黑沉沉，一切都是黑沉沉的。忽然望见前面河流的转弯处，乌黑的山脚下面，闪动着一点爝火。闪动得又明显，又强烈，并且十分临近。
我很喜欢地说：“哈，老天保佑！快近住宿的地方了！”摇橹的人转过头来望一望，淡淡地说：“还远呢！”
我不相信，爝火明明就在前面，看去只须再摇两三橹，就可以到了。
但是，摇橹的人说话毕竟有经验：我们的船，还在黑如墨水的河流中，航行了许久。中流突兀的怪石，两岸峭绝的悬岩，渐渐地迎面泅来，又渐渐地泅了过去，落到晦冥无边的远处；可是那一点爝火，还在前面，一闪一闪，在那里招手——总是这般近，又总是这般远。
人生，就像在这种险恶的河流中航行，爝火还离得远呢！但是，总在前面，一橹一橹地摇上去，总有到的时候。
This is the English translation by ChatGPT.
On a dark autumn night, I was sailing through a treacherous river. There were no stars, no moon. The sky was dark, the earth was dark—everything was steeped in darkness.
Suddenly, at a bend in the river ahead, beneath the shadowy foot of a mountain, a flicker of torchlight appeared. It glimmered clearly, brightly, and seemed very near.
With joy, I said, “Ah, thank heaven! We must be close to where we’ll stay the night!”
The boatman turned his head and looked, then replied calmly, “Still far.”
I didn’t believe him. The torchlight was clearly right ahead—it looked like just a few more strokes of the oar would get us there.
But the boatman spoke from experience. Our boat kept sailing in the ink-black river for a long while. Jagged rocks jutted from midstream, sheer cliffs loomed on both banks—slowly, they drifted into view, then passed by, fading into the boundless gloom behind us. Yet that tiny torchlight still flickered ahead, flashing and waving—always seeming close, yet always just out of reach.
Life is like sailing through such a perilous river. The light is still far away. But it’s always ahead. Stroke by stroke, if we keep rowing, we’ll reach it—eventually.
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