Guest Post: Wandering with Purpose

Guest Post by Ruth Ann Snow

In an October 2021 General Conference address, Sister Camille N. Johnson posed a series of reflective questions:

What kind of personal narrative are you writing for your life?
Is the path you describe in your story straight?
Does your story end where it began, at your heavenly home?
Is there an exemplar in your story—and is it the Savior Jesus Christ?

Not long ago, I would have answered those questions reflexively and emphatically—exactly as I was expected to, as an “all-in” woman of the Church. For most of my life, my feet were firmly planted on what I believed to be the straight and narrow path. There was no time, and certainly no room, for questioning. No detours. No stopping to examine the uneven ground beneath me or the incline that sometimes brought me to my knees.

I believed that pausing—to look around, to consider where I was, to listen to my internal compass—was not only unnecessary but dangerous. Difficulties on the path, I was taught, were distractions of my own making. The way forward was already charted, paved by the Priesthood. My job was not to question the map, but to keep walking.

For fifty years, I did just that. Head down, one foot in front of the other, eyes trained on a destination where eternal family togetherness was the reward. I avoided opposing views, uncertain terrain, and uncomfortable questions. I feared getting lost—or worse, ending up alone.

Image by Maria Orlova

Sister Johnson goes on to warn:

“We will be judged by our book of life. We can choose to write a comfortable narrative for ourselves. Or we can allow the Master Author and Finisher to write our story with us, letting the role He needs us to play take precedence over other ambitions.”

To me, this framing—that diverging from the prescribed path is simply choosing comfort—is an oversimplification. It doesn’t reflect the deep spiritual wrestling that often leads someone to rethink their story. Stepping off the straight path, for many, is not an escape from responsibility but a step into deeper honesty.

Now, in the “second half” of my life, I’ve arrived at a kind of crossroads—a place where my personal narrative has deepened, diverged, and expanded. I’ve wandered in circles, climbed switchbacks, descended into valleys, and found myself on trails I never expected to walk. And finally, I’ve allowed myself to stop.

I rest.
I reflect.
I look around.

From this vantage point, I can see more clearly: life’s paths are many, not one. And very few of them are straight. I now believe that a faithful life is not defined by rigidity or predictability, but by trust in God—especially when the way is winding, mist-filled, or uncertain.

Jesus Christ—the Exemplar of my narrative—has walked with me through the steep climbs, quiet pauses, painful detours, and joyful ascents. I feel Him now not as I was told I should, but as He chooses to reveal Himself to me. And in that sacred reorientation, I no longer feel lost or weary. I feel held.

As John 3:16–17 reminds us:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but that through him the world might be saved.”

My Exemplar does not wait only at the end of a straight, well-paved Church path. He walks with us on every road—especially the uncertain ones. Those unprecedented paths, with their curves and quiet places, have given my life unexpected meaning. It is in the wandering that I’ve encountered the Master Author—not just writing my story, but walking it with me.

And I have learned: a fearless path and a faithful path can be the same path.

Ruth Ann is a school principal, empty nester and girl mom who lives in Utah Valley.