The trek began pleasantly. My pack was stuffed with every necessity, the sun was on my face, the wind at my back. Everyone told me I wouldn't need a map, and sure enough, the trail had been made wide and smooth by the footfalls of many predecessors.

Suddenly, there he was—walking along beside me as if he belonged there. I'm not sure where he came from, but something about him seemed familiar and comfortable. So we talked as we walked. He said his name was Hank.

"Where are you heading?" Hank asked.

"Over the divide to Abundance," I answered. "How about you?"

"Same place. Would you like a guide? I've been that way many times before."

I was a little taken aback, not expecting an entrepreneur out here in the wilderness. "No thanks. I can't afford you. Besides, everyone says it's a pretty easy trip."

"Oh, no charge for you. It's a free service I provide for all visitors here. And I hate to contradict 'everyone,' but there are a number of tricky spots along the way. And mountain lions."

I couldn't argue with the price. I liked his deep, soothing voice, his confident air, and—after that crack about the mountain lions—I really liked the .44 Magnum revolver on his hip. So I agreed.

He spoke to me of many things as the trail began to steepen: map-reading, fire-building, first aid, making an emergency shelter in a storm, recognizing edible plants. I absorbed his tutelage like a sponge, and became increasingly happy that I'd agreed to his companionship.

But that feeling didn't last. We came to a place where a narrow track sliced off to the right, while the main one went straight. "Turn right here," Hank intoned.

It was the first time I had doubts about my new friend. The side trail was rocky and rose steeply. The main trail looked so much easier. Besides, someone had put a sign right there, saying that Abundance was straight ahead—not to the right. It made me wonder what Hank was up to. Maybe he didn't have my best interests in mind after all.

Hank and I had no small disagreement at that point. But I was gratified by how quickly he threw in the towel. This convinced me that I had been right all along—and that I should keep a wary eye on Hank.

"You know, you don't have to stay with me," I said to Hank after a while of not speaking. "You can go back and take that other way if you want."

He didn't hesitate: "No, I'll stick with you. I know you aren't ready to believe me, but you're going to be in danger soon. You'll need my help."

The nerve! As if I couldn't take care of myself. I was offended by his paternalistic attitude and lack of confidence in me. "Suit yourself," I sniffed.

Over the next several hours, clouds began to gather above us, and the trail kept bending eastward and down, rather than northward and up, where we were supposed to be going.

Truth is, I was beginning to worry. But I'd never admit that to Hank. The last thing I wanted from him was an "I told you so."

So on we trudged. The wind stiffened, the temperature dropped, and it got darker. The rain started and the trail—so flat and lovely moments before—turned into a muddy mess. Before long, my boots became thick with the gooey stuff. Every step was an effort.

"I have a suggestion," Hank started.

"Well, keep it to yourself," I growled. I knew what he was going to say. Something along the lines of Let's stop here till the storm's over, or We should go back. I wasn't going to let him slow my progress!

But it began to occur to me: Was this progress? Could Hank be right about this trail? Was I lost? Naah! I did my best to dismiss those thoughts immediately. Everybody said this was the way. I had read books about backpacking, and had purchased all the latest equipment. I was young, strong and smart. And I hadn't seen one cat track all day. Hank was just an overprotective, control freak trying to put me under his thumb and squelch my enjoyment.

It was at that moment that a bolt of lightning illuminated the mountain lion on the overhang to my left, crouched and ready to spring. "Hank!" I screamed above the wind. "Help me!" Instantly, Hank's big Magnum was in his hand. It boomed and spat fire, and my would-be killer fell dead at my feet.

Every resentful thought I'd had toward Hank dissolved in one second, and I felt sorry for each one. And in a flood of words, I told him so, too. I didn't care how many "I told you so"s he wanted to throw my way, I deserved them. But none came.

"You don't want to keep going this way, do you?" Hank asked with the gentleness of a father, as he reholstered his gun.

"No," I sighed with resignation. "In fact, I've known for quite some time that this path was leading the wrong way, but I was too proud and stubborn to admit it. I didn't believe what you said about the danger—figured I knew better." I looked at the dead lion. "I have a very different opinion now."

Hank smiled. "Good! I want you to know I'm not being overprotective, nor am I a control freak. I want you to be able to enjoy this journey to the fullest. And that includes getting you there in one piece—if you'll let me."

For a moment, I thought he had read my mind—and maybe he had. I kicked my useless pride aside, shouldered my soggy pack, and said, "If you can forgive me for my bullheadedness, I'm ready to follow you now."

"Apology accepted," Hank said with wink. "Let's get back to that trail to Abundance."

ACTION POINT - The Next Step >What experiences in your life echo this story? Visit www.worldwidechallenge.org/allegory to read a full explanation of the allegory's parallel to living a life directed by God's Holy Spirit.