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The other day, I was out hiking a new trail. There were signs posted when trails intersected or when the main trail turned, so I was fairly confident that I knew where I was going, but along the way there were all these inviting little unmarked trails, and I kept wondering where they went. I wasn’t wearing the greatest shoes for hiking, so I stuck to the main trail for awhile, until I came to the intersection where the mile loop trail met the main trail. Somewhere along the loop trail – according to the map at the trail head – was a little lake, and I thought I might find a park bench or something overlooking the lake and journal for a bit. I can’t read maps apparently any better than I can follow directions, because I was looking on the wrong side of the trail, seeing nothing but marsh grass, and almost walked past the lake without seeing it at all. It was pretty, but small, and there were no park benches. There were already two people sitting in the little clearing at the top of the hill overlooking the lake (who were probably snickering at my surprised (and yes, aloud) exclamation of: “oh, there’s the lake!”). So I walked on…but embarrassed by my profound lack of observational powers (a.k.a. stupidity), I decided to make up for it by braving the unknown, and I left the trail to cross a meadow. I was fairly certain that if I walked straight across it, that thin ribbon of sand I thought I could see would likely be part of the loop trail, and if I took that, I’d have effectively cut a good amount of walking.
It turns out that meadows, for all of Blake’s pastoral imagery, are not smooth grassy fields of soft sponginess in which you necessarily want to go frolicking about. Honestly, it is amazing to me that there are not more sheep and goats on crutches. Knobbly would be a good word to describe the terrain. Eventually I made it across and back onto the trail, and I set off with a spring in my step, past a cute little stone wall and around a corner, and over a bridge. It was about the time I got to the bridge that I began to wonder if I was really on the right trail or not. It turns out I was, but I fought panic for a couple of minutes, while smiling nicely at the guy with his dog and his teenage kids on their cellphones who were all loitering on the bridge. What relief when I finally came to the next intersection and saw the signs pointing me home.
God’s Word talks a lot about walking in His ways, and, like signposts and maps showing us the way home, the Bible tells us a lot about how to walk in His ways – but I wonder about the specifics sometimes. There’s nothing in Proverbs that says “go ye to India” or in Micah that says “you are called to Kenya.” No, the instructions we get are things like God’s mandate to Abraham in Genesis 12:1 – “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” And Proverbs 3:5-6 – “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” It’s risky business, this following Jesus thing. It’s taking a trail and not having the specific signposts as often as you’d like, but going on the information you do have and hoping you put all the pieces together the right way in your head. And, I would add, it’s learning how to be quiet so you can hear His voice clearly. There is a lot of noise in my head; silencing it all long enough to hear His whisper is a challenge some days.
I read an article the other day that really captured my attention. It’s called Letting Go by Cameron Strang, published in this month’s issue of Relevant Magazine. Smack in the middle of the article he says, “What if God asked you to lay down a dream He birthed in you years ago?”
Now putting aside all questions of “does God really work that way?” – what if He did? What if…
And what if I’ve taken God’s dream for my life and embellished it a bit, painted it up to look a little less scary and a little more artsy and logical all at once? What if I’m called to international missions but the pull I felt toward Europe is only temporary so I’d serve at these Willow Conferences in Germany for a bit to network and learn all I can? What if the question I asked years ago (“Is God calling me to plant Haven House in India?”) was a valid question? What if I wasn’t crazy when at the end of the Shane and Shane concert…well, here. You need to hear the whole story.
I was at a Shane and Shane concert last month, and at the end, they started singing “O Come Let Us Adore Him.” Everybody was singing along at the top of their lungs, and during the third verse – “we’ll give Him all the glory” – the guys put down their instruments and walked offstage. So there we all were, standing there in the dimly-lit-ness of Wheaton College’s chapel, singing a timeless song in four-part harmony, and it was one of the moments when heaven touched earth just for a second and everything made sense, you know? And there was in that moment a deep, deep longing for home that was met by the moment, and yet left me more homesick for heaven than ever. So I was standing there, tears streaming down my face, just thanking God for the beauty of the moment, for the richness of the harmonies rising around me, and for the amazingness of the fact that I was standing there in a room where so many people have been called to missions, and He said, “Wait till you hear this in Africa, Hap.”
What?!
I had a plan. Work until my debt is paid off, finish a year of seminary training to fulfill mission board requirements, learn German, go overseas with Greater Europe Mission, and live in Germany for the rest of my life. Short term trips or a brief stint in Albania figured in there too. It was a great plan.
It was also really easy.
I’d forgotten about Africa. I’d forgotten about the first time I read Cry, the Beloved Country – in eighth grade, before I was even a Christian. I’d forgotten how desperately I wanted to do something about AIDS and apartheid. I’d forgotten that tribal music touches my soul in a way that no other music does. Europe is so much safer, so much more subtle in its darkness, so much more explicable to my parents. I am so much less likely to die for my faith if I move to Europe…
I don’t think I am making up God’s voice in my head. But a visible signpost would be nice. I wish I knew for sure what the plan actually is. Tho I suppose that would take the adventure out of it. Still, I’d rather not break an ankle meandering through a knobbly meadow if there’s a perfectly good trail with signposts. And I’d rather not almost miss the lake for looking at a marsh, either.
