Another Step on This Long Road
By Jimmie Aaron Kepler

Another step on this long and winding road called life. And truth is, I’m a good ways down it now. These days, I catch myself being more reflective, more curious. Not in a fearful way—just with a sense of urgency. Like time tapping on my shoulder, whispering, “Make it count, old boy.”

I want to use whatever days, years, or decades I’ve got left with a little more intention and a lot more heart.

There’s something about the quiet stretches of a Wednesday—those in-between spaces between doctor visits and thunderstorms, between waiting on a call that never comes and watching the clock race toward supper—that makes a man take stock.

We all end up on roads we didn’t fully choose, don’t we? Chasing answers we don’t quite know how to ask. Wondering why the wind seems to stall just when we need it most. And where all those old stories we once told ourselves end up after the dust settles.

Even in your forties, fifties—or in my case, your seventies—you still find yourself squinting down the road wondering what’s around the next bend.

For me, reflection tends to come out as poetry. Sometimes it helps me wrestle things to the ground. Other times, I confess, it’s just a clever way to sidestep real thinking. But either way, it’s how I make sense of things when the world feels sideways.

I wrote a line down a while back:

“Every sunrise starts from one long-ago dawn,
and every road we walk rolls out from there.
We can’t smooth out the ruts behind us—
but we can choose where the next bend leads.”

That speaks to me. Because the past? It’s written. We can’t unwrite it. Can’t change who our parents, our upbringing, who we dated, or anything we did in those private moments.

And the future? Well, it’s a blank page we may or may not get to fill. All we really have is today. This moment. This breath. So I try to keep one boot firmly planted in the present while still glancing at the map ahead. I’ve got my IRAs and 401(k)s squared away—but you can’t stockpile time like you do savings.

Some days feel like smooth highways—sunshine, green lights, and folks waving as you roll past. Other days feel more like gravel roads and potholes, detours and dead ends. You keep moving, hoping the next mile brings some peace—or at least, a gas station with clean restrooms.

And then there are all those well-meaning folks trying to hand you their roadmaps, telling you which way to go. But deep down, something quieter asks. I wrote these lines with that thought in mind:

“Somewhere down deep, a question lingers—
soft as a prayer, sharp as a thorn:
Is this the trail that fades to silence…
or the one that finally leads me home?”

That you might be who you were before life knocked the shine off. Or maybe it’s who you’re still becoming. Either way, I believe the journey shapes us—especially the hills we climb that weren’t ours to begin with.

I remember those long Army road marches—55 to 120 pounds of gear strapped to your back. You didn’t always know how far you had to go, just that quitting wasn’t an option. A mile every twenty minutes. March or fall out. That’s life sometimes. You just keep walking.

These days, I don’t count miles anymore. I count moments.

A sunrise with a warm cup of coffee. A text that says “thinking of you.” A quiet prayer whispered in the dark. A soft laugh shared over something only you and one other soul would find funny. That’s where I take my rest now. That’s where I hang my hat.

And these lines came to me not long ago:

“Will the answer rise in the work of your hands,
or drift like smoke through all you’ve done?
Or maybe—just maybe—it’s been waiting all along,
somewhere quiet… inside you.”

Maybe the answer isn’t in finding the perfect road. Maybe it’s just in staying present to the one you’re on. Eyes open. Heart soft.

Miss Benita—my late wife and the wisest person I’ve ever known—used to say, “You can’t change the past. But you can hand it over to God.” She backed it up with scripture too, pointing me to 1 John 1:9:

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9

I’ve made my fair share of missteps—left some jobs too soon, stayed too long in others. Moved the family when maybe we should’ve stayed put. Let folks down. Let myself down. Had my heart broken and broke a heart or two. But she was right—the past is unchangeable. What matters is what we do next. How we walk from here.

Lately, I’ve found myself wading into deep waters—philosophical, spiritual, even a little metaphysical. I’ve been poking around in quantum physics. Not to replace my faith, but to deepen it. To see if maybe science and spirit aren’t strangers, but kin.

Now, quantum physics doesn’t prove God—but it sure raises interesting questions. It tells us about entanglement (how two particles miles apart still influence each other), superposition (how something can exist in multiple states until observed), and the observer effect (how watching something changes it).

Sound familiar? Feels like faith to me.

Both science and spirit point to the invisible. Both suggest we’re more connected than we think. That what we focus on matters. That maybe reality bends a little when love’s looking.

Now, don’t get me wrong—mainstream scientists say don’t stretch it too far. And I won’t. But for me, it’s not about proving anything. It’s about paying attention. It’s about noticing the patterns. The whispers. The wonder.

I’m not losing my faith—I’m just seeing more of the web God wove.

And here’s where I’ll leave you today—more reflective than usual, maybe. But still walking. Still writing. Still tuning my ears for that still, small voice. Still trusting this long road is shaping me for something good.

There’s an old verse that sums it up for me:

“…but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.” — Philippians 3:13 (KJV)

Thanks for walking this stretch with me.

Grace and peace until next time,
Jimmie

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more of Jimmie Aaron Kepler’s books at Jimmie’s books available in paperback, ebook, audio, and large print