The Narrow Way

“The man who is wise, therefore, will see his life as more like a sojourn than a settled habitation.”

— St. Bernard of Clairvaux

The air was cool and dry on this late-winter morning as I explored Joshua Tree National Park. A gentle breeze was blowing while I hiked the Skull Rock trail, the soft rhythm of my shoes brushing against the sand. You could hear the faint sound of other hikers some distance behind me, their voices bouncing off the terrain. The sun was casting clean, slanted light across the landscape. It was my first time in Joshua Tree, and I was in awe at the surrounding landscape.

At a certain point along the trail, I noticed a narrow path veering off to the right, winding toward a cluster of boulders in the distance. I turned and started down it, curious where it might lead. Whenever I’m hiking, I can’t help but wander down the little side trails to see what’s hidden from view. There’s something in me that always wants to know what’s just around the bend.

A few steps into the rocky boulder field, the wind dropped. The sound of the sand underfoot dulled, and even the distant voices from the main trail disappeared. The desert fell silent, as if the whole landscape had paused to listen as I entered - like when you enter a room and the conversations hush.

Up ahead, I could see the trail tighten between two massive walls of stone, bending slightly toward one another until only a thin strip of light marked the opening beyond. The further I walked, the deeper the silence became. It wasn’t eerie, though; instead, it was comforting. The scene before me carried a weight that made me stop to drink it all in.

The shape of the rocks, their natural symmetry carved by years of wind and rain, and the way the path disappeared between them drew me in.

I had to photograph it.

I set my backpack down, pulled my camera out, and lifted it to my eye, holding my breath as I pressed the shutter. It felt as though I had captured something sacred in that moment.

After lowering my camera, I stood there a little longer, looking ahead into that narrow passage. It felt like a question waiting for an answer: would I keep going and see what was on the other side, or turn back to the main trail where things were easier?

I kept walking forward.

The narrow trail funneled between the stones and led through a set of boulders that felt like a small canyon — short, quiet, and just wide enough for one person to walk through.

As I walked along that narrow trail, the reflected light faded slightly, and the air turned cooler; my footsteps echoed off the rock walls. Then, all of a sudden, the narrow trail opened into the vast, sunlit desert. Eventually, the path widened and connected with the Discovery Trail.

Once again, I could feel the breeze as it moved across the landscape and could hear the quiet conversations of other hikers in the distance.

That transitional moment has stayed with me; how the tightness of that narrow trail gave way to a bright and open space, and how the hushed silence turned back into sound. I thought of what Jesus said in Matthew 7:14 - “Strait is the gate and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life.”

While I know that Jesus is speaking about how we gain Heaven in that verse, it also applies to what I experienced that day and to what I continually experience in my daily life.

The narrow paths in life require our attention and patience. They often lead us to places we wouldn’t reach otherwise. Curiosity, like a subtle push or pull that starts the journey, but it’s trust that carries us through. The narrow path has a way of revealing what we couldn’t have expected to find.

Lately, the path I’m on has felt a lot like this photograph. It’s as if I’ve stepped away from the main trail into something more uncertain. There’s a pull toward the unknown, a calling toward something more than what I already am comfortable with. The way forward feels narrower, but more alive.

It isn’t an easy path. It requires patience, trust, and a willingness to walk without a clear view of what’s ahead. But like that desert passage, I can sense that it leads somewhere good, to somewhere or something worth reaching.

My time in Joshua Tree has brought that feeling into focus. The desert has a way of stripping away what doesn’t matter. No noise, no performance, no need to impress. Just the rawness of creation, patient and unchanging. Out there, I recognized my role isn’t to create beauty, but to notice it and to receive it with gratitude.

When I look at The Narrow Way now, I think about that decision to turn off the main trail, to follow curiosity into the unknown. You can’t see the opening from where the path begins, but it’s there.

You have to keep walking until it reveals itself.

“Never forget that the way which leads to heaven is narrow; that the gate leading to life is narrow and low; that there are but few who find it and enter by it; and if there be some who go in and tread the narrow path for some time, there are but very few who persevere therein.”

— St. Clare of Assisi

Faith is like taking one step after another, trusting there’s light ahead even when the trail closes in.

Thank you for reading this reflection. I’m grateful for you.

— John

p.s. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this piece and/or reflection. You can reply directly to this post or send me a private message — I read every message, and your insights mean a lot to me.