Taking the Long Way Around

On the signs we don't see until we've already arrived.

I first encountered these words in college on a trip to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They were attributed to John Wesley—theologian and founder of the Methodist church—while sitting quietly in a camp bookshop on the shore of Lake Huron. I wrote them down and have kept them close to my heart ever since.

What this quote describes is what guides me. At least most of the time. And it was guiding me before I even knew them. It feels.. circular.

I had no idea then what those words would later come to mean, or where they would eventually lead me. Isn’t that usually how it works?

Because everything is connected.

I observed that during the Covid pandemic a large number of people had their worlds rocked in ways they never expected. They entered that era as one person and emerged on the other side completely changed. But many of them discovered that this wasn’t some sudden shift. Those who answered a call during that time were led to that exact moment by a series of events that had prepared them for it—some that seemed minuscule at the time.

I believe all of life is this way. Though sometimes it’s easier to see the path between points A and B than others. The big and small things that paved the way, lit the path, and formed us into exactly who we needed to be at a given time. Perhaps for a given task.

The little signs that help light this path and confirm that we’re on it are exciting and fascinating. And sometimes we don’t see them until we’ve already arrived somewhere.

After a recent conversation with a stranger about one of my experiences in this area, I thought I would share the story more widely. I had forgotten just how powerful it is.

---

Cedar Bay Camp & Retreat Center

When I was in college—maybe 2004 or so—I was a member of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. A group of us took a trip up from Chicago to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to stay at a camp in a town called Cedarville, right on the shore of Lake Huron.

The volunteer drivers were supposed to form a caravan—from Chicago, through Indiana, all the way up Michigan, and over the Mackinac Bridge. I had already decided differently without stopping to ask. We were going through Wisconsin. Why? Probably because I always want to do it my way. I’ve always had a habit of taking the long way around.

And so we did. We quietly made our way north, arriving ahead of the rest of the group who took the short route and were wondering where we were whenever they stopped.

The camp was a great experience. I really love the UP. I love being on the water, especially the rocky shore. There was so much to explore—rocks to leap across, kayaks for racing friends through big waves and up shallow creeks. We confusingly got into trouble even though we were adults (lesson learned: don’t drive to Canada in the middle of the night without telling anyone unless you want a stern talking to).

And in the camp’s little shop, full of books to borrow or buy, I stumbled upon something that would matter 20 years down the road.

It was that quote. Those words from John Wesley. They hit me. They explained everything so simply and beautifully. It felt as though those words were there on that page just for me to find.

I honestly didn’t know what I was doing at that camp. My participation in IV was an attempt at finding a place to belong and a way to explain why things were the way they were. I didn’t feel I left with any more answers or sense of belonging than I had before. Though I did add some more good memories.

But it turns out I left Cedarville carrying something incredibly meaningful that I just didn’t yet fully understand.

---

Through a series of inexplicable events, I met Dr. Tess Lawrie on Telegram in 2021. She was in need of help with an idea to celebrate an incredible Nobel Prize-winning medicine called ivermectin. Curiously, I was at a cabin in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with family at the time where I squeezed in attempts at creating a logo, social media graphics, etc. in the midst of enjoying everything the UP has to offer.

That collaboration eventually led to my joining the team at the World Council for Health, where I wore numerous hats for a few years. One of those hats included designing the logo for the first ever Better Way Conference, a unique and historic event held in May 2022 in Bath, England.

The following year we held another conference at the same venue. And it was then that I discovered something that stopped me in my tracks.

Literally within eyesight of the venue, The Apex, was the Methodist Chapel on New King Street. John Wesley had laid the foundation stone for that very building. The building itself is now gone, but a plaque in his honor adorns the one that stands in its place.

A quote I had found in a camp bookshop in Michigan on a trip I took two decades before had quietly guided (or aligned with?) my values, shaped my path, and partnered with me as I stood within sight of the place where its author had built something of his own.

I cannot explain neatly how I found my way to Bath, or how I began by creating a logo for a one-day event and eventually joined the Steering Committee of the World Council for Health. But the thread seems to run all the way back to that little building on the shore of Lake Huron twenty years earlier. And if things work the way I believe they do, the thread runs even farther back than that.

In the days following the conference, I did what I always did when in Bath—I walked. Mostly alone, down the winding streets, up and down hills, along the canal, in and out of buildings. I am always extremely reflective in Bath. I felt feelings of gratitude, awe, and a comfortable confirmation that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. A clear sense of being part of something much, much bigger than myself. And something I hadn’t expected to find: that I belonged.

And so I made the decision to have John Wesley’s words permanently etched onto my left arm while in Bath. (I have a small habit of getting tattoos at pivotal points in life to remind me of who I was and what I was doing at an exact moment in time. This one earned it.)

It wasn’t an impulse, though it may seem that way. I sat with the revelation of these words and the location and decided with my full intention that this moment needed to be marked—permanently.

I found a few local shops and walked into one, nervously. They didn’t take walk-ins, so we had a brief discussion, I handed over the text of the quote, set up an appointment, and paid the deposit.

The day of the appointment, I was ready to mark this pivotal point. Twenty years earlier, I stumbled my way into a college fellowship largely in search of what I felt in Bath—a place to belong, a way to make sense of things. I didn’t find the answer in Cedarville in the early 2000s, at least not entirely. But I did find John Wesley’s words and in some quiet way, those words led me to this place and this moment.

And here they sit, on my left arm. Permanently. Because that’s what that moment deserved.

As an aside, I now live in Michigan, having moved shortly after the first Better Way Conference. Not to the UP, regrettably—but Michigan nonetheless.

I should also add that after that trip to Cedarville, I took the long way around back home. Through Toronto, on to Niagara Falls, and back down to Chicago—because it’s only slightly out of the way even when you’ve got very limited time, so why not?

I’ve always taken the long way around when it feels like the right thing to do. And it turns out that’s exactly how I was meant to get here. However we get to where we’re going is the way we were meant to get there.