This morning I played an old gospel song called “Life’s Railway to Heaven.”

It’s one of my Mom’s favorite gospel songs. She’s the one who introduced me to it, and that’s why I learned it. When she comes into one of my shows, I like playing it for her.

It’s an old song. Really old.

The kind of old where nobody was worried about whether it would work in a 15-second TikTok video.

But there’s a reason songs like that stick around.

The idea behind it is pretty simple.

Life is a railroad journey.

There are mountains to climb, valleys to cross, curves where you can’t see what’s ahead and stretches where everything seems to be running smooth.

Eventually, every trip has a destination.

I got to thinking about that after I played it.

Which is dangerous.

Give an old man coffee, a guitar and something to think about, and there’s no telling where we’re headed.

I Like Knowing Where I’m Going

I’ve always been somebody who likes to know where I’m going.

I like plans.

I like schedules.

I like knowing what’s supposed to happen next.

Heck, I’ll use GPS to drive somewhere I’ve been fifty times.

I know how to get there.

But that little blue line on the screen gives me some comfort.

Turn right in 800 feet.

Perfect.

Thank you.

Apparently, I need electronic reassurance that the road I’ve driven since 1997 is still going to the same place.

So I’ve always thought it was a little inconvenient that the Good Lord doesn’t provide turn-by-turn directions for life.

In 400 feet, make a career change.

At the next intersection, meet the woman you’re going to marry.

Recalculating… you weren’t supposed to do that.

I’d pay extra for that version.

Unfortunately, that’s not how any of this works.

Most of the Track Is Around the Bend

When you’re young, you think you’ve got a pretty good idea where the tracks are headed.

At least I did.

Finish school.

Get a job.

Build a career.

Make some money.

Raise a family.

Retire someday.

You picture life stretching out in front of you like a straight set of railroad tracks disappearing into the horizon.

Then you actually live awhile.

Turns out there are curves.

Lots of them.

There are hills you didn’t expect.

There are crossings where you sit and wait.

There are stretches where you’re moving so fast you barely notice the scenery.

And occasionally you find yourself sitting completely still thinking,

Well… this wasn’t on the schedule.

That’s life.

The track is still there.

You just can’t always see where it’s going.

Sometimes You’re Climbing

There are seasons of life when it feels like you’re pulling a hundred loaded freight cars uphill.

Everything takes effort.

Work.

Money.

Relationships.

Responsibilities.

Problems seem to stack themselves one behind another like somebody’s coupling more cars onto the train while you’re not looking.

You keep pulling.

Slowly.

Some days you’re pretty sure you’re not moving at all.

But eventually you look back and realize you’re higher up the mountain than you thought.

Funny how that works.

Progress doesn’t always feel like progress while you’re making it.

Sometimes You’re Coasting

Then there are stretches where everything seems to click.

The track straightens out.

The weather is good.

The engine’s humming.

You start thinking,

Well, shoot. I believe I’ve finally got this life thing figured out.

That’s usually when the next curve shows up.

Life has a sense of humor.

I’ve learned not to brag too much when everything is running smoothly.

Somewhere down the track there’s probably a flashing yellow light just waiting for me to get cocky.

Still, those easy stretches matter.

Enjoy them.

Look around.

You’ve earned the view.

People Get On and Off Along the Way

This may be the part I’ve noticed more as I’ve gotten older.

You don’t make the whole trip with everybody.

Some people ride beside you for years.

Some for only a short stretch.

Some are there almost from the beginning.

Parents.

Family.

Old friends.

People you grew up with.

People you worked beside.

People you loved.

People who changed you.

Then one day you look around and realize some of those seats are empty.

That’s one of the harder parts of getting older.

But there are new people too.

People you couldn’t possibly have known were waiting farther down the line.

If you’d shown me a passenger list when I was twenty years old, I wouldn’t have recognized half the names that would eventually become important to me.

Some of the best people in my life were still miles down the track.

I just hadn’t reached their station yet.

That’s worth remembering when the ride gets lonely.

We Spend a Lot of Time Trying to Get Somewhere

When I was younger, I spent a lot of time thinking about the next thing.

When I finish this…

When I get that job…

When I make more money…

When I get through this project…

When I retire…

Then I’ll slow down.

Then I’ll enjoy things.

Then I’ll have time.

That’s one heck of a way to miss the scenery.

Because eventually you realize something.

Most of your life happened while you were waiting to arrive somewhere else.

The conversations.

The family dinners.

The trips.

The ordinary Tuesday afternoons.

The people sitting beside you.

The dog riding along.

The sunsets you barely noticed.

The songs playing on the radio.

That wasn’t the stuff between destinations.

That was the trip.

Took me awhile to figure that one out.

I’m a little hardheaded.

I Can See Behind Me Better Than I Can See Ahead

One advantage of getting older is that you’ve got a lot more track behind you.

You can look back and see curves that didn’t make any sense when you were going through them.

Things that felt like disasters turned into changes you needed.

Doors closed.

Jobs ended.

Plans fell apart.

People came into your life at exactly the right time.

Other people left.

At the time, you couldn’t see how any of it connected.

Looking backward, sometimes you can.

Not always.

There are still a few stretches I’d like somebody to explain to me.

But enough of them make sense now that I’ve learned maybe I don’t have to understand every curve while I’m in it.

Maybe We Aren’t Supposed to See the Whole Track

I think that’s what kept rattling around in my head after playing that old gospel song.

Maybe we’re not supposed to see all the way to the destination.

If we could see every hill, every valley, every loss, every joy and every hard day coming twenty years ahead, we’d probably spend so much time worrying about the rough stretches that we’d ruin the good ones.

Maybe all we’re supposed to handle is the piece of track we’re on today.

Do what needs doing.

Love the people riding beside you.

Call somebody you haven’t talked to in awhile.

Play the song.

Take the trip.

Sit on the porch.

Watch the sunset.

Drink the coffee while it’s hot.

And quit worrying so much about what’s around the next bend.

I realize that last one is easier said than done.

I’ll probably finish writing this, get in the truck and turn on GPS to drive somewhere I already know how to get to.

I’m a work in progress.

Keep the Train Moving

There are a lot of things about life I still don’t understand.

I’m beginning to suspect that isn’t going to change.

But I know a little more than I used to.

I’ve learned that a closed door isn’t necessarily the end.

A dirt road isn’t always the wrong road.

An old song can carry forty years inside three minutes.

Sometimes a song can even send you somewhere you’ve never been.

And sometimes the track disappears around a curve before you’re ready.

That’s okay.

You don’t have to know everything that’s waiting around the bend.

You don’t have to understand every mile you’ve already traveled.

You don’t even have to know exactly how you’re going to get where you’re headed.

Sometimes you just need enough faith to keep moving.

Look out the window.

Enjoy the scenery.

Be thankful for the people sharing the ride.

And when the track disappears around the next bend, trust that it doesn’t end just because you can’t see it.

You don’t have to see the whole track to know you’re still headed somewhere. 🚂🎸❤️