When we were both more active, Hubby and I helped out with our church’s youth group. One October I set up a trip to a corn maze.
We were just acting as drivers; however, they didn’t have enough leaders as we had to go through the maze in small groups. So, Hubby and I were each assigned a group.
Have I mentioned before how claustrophobic I am?
On top of the fact that this was first and foremost a maze, added to the mix were that it was dark, the ground was muddy from a recent rain, and they were trying to hustle us through as fast as possible as it was the last night and they wanted to shut down.
I had a group of young teen girls. I had watched them all grow up and realized they kind of looked up to me. This only added to the panic attack already brewing inside me. We went through the first part of the maze with no problems and I was able to keep my discomfort hidden.
Then, we got past the half way point and I realized we needed to get back so we could get the kids home at a decent time. When we passed the same young man four times, meaning that we going in circles, I couldn’t hold on any longer. Still trying to be a good example, I asked one of the girls to lead the others back to the guy, ask him for directions out and then send him back for me. I couldn’t take another step.
Well, I guess I underestimated my little group. They didn’t want to leave me there. They were trying to calm me, praying and working out a plan.
And then it hit me. Why was I, this grown woman, shaking in utter terror while these 13 and 14-year-olds were mature and faithful? I said my own little prayer asking for God’s guidance and took some deep breaths. We started walking again hand in hand and tried to remember where we had gone before.
In five quick minutes, we were out!
I will never forget the lesson that the Lord taught me that night through the wisdom and faith of his young people.
I also learned, of course, to stay out of mazes.