The Distance Between Two Points is Rarely a Straight Line

For the mathematicians in our midst, I’m not simply misquoting a well-known fact in the title of this post. I’m talking about life here, and the obtuse reality that many times it takes a really long time to get from point A to point B. ‘There must be a more direct path,’ we scream inwardly. But, partly due to our own willfulness, and partly due to factors beyond our control, we plod on, taking the road-we-wish-we-travelled-less…again.

I once wrote one of those songs that never see the light of day (actually I’ve written way more than one of those). Or at least they don’t see daylight until I am reminded of why I wrote those words in the first place. In this case, the title is enough to convince you of why the song won’t ever show up on Christian radio. It’s called This Ain’t the Promised Land, and one of the lyrics says something like “you can walk all day and never see grass, baby this ain’t the Promised Land.”

The occasion of me remembering it today was an observation by Ruth Hayley Barton in Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership. She comments:

God is not in any particular hurry to get us to the Promised Land. He is much more concerned about the transforming work he is doing in us to prepare us for greater responsibilities of freedom living. Onlookers may observe our journey and, like Pharaoh, think we are just wandering around aimlessly, but God knows what he is doing; he is concerned about strengthening our faith so that we are prepared when there are real challenges to be faced. (page 94)

Well, I hope (and probably anyone who knows me very well hopes the same) that God is not simply preparing me for REAL challenges. I’m thinking I’ve had enough of those already. But what if he is? Perhaps they are challenges of a different type than the ones I’ve faced so far. I do know that God has taken me the long way around after my spiritual deliverance from Egypt. I don’t feel like I’ve ever seen the Promised Land, although I have found some really nice oases. Without some help from other desert dwellers, I would have cut and run as hard as I could from that dry, hot, unforgiving place. I remember weeping one night more than a decade ago when I heard Ray VanderLaan say something like ‘if God is calling you to the desert, for heaven’s sake, stop running. The desert is God’s place!’ So, finally, I stopped running and faced the nightmare of childhood abuse, abandonment, betrayal, divorce, and custody battles; of loss after loss fueled further by type A driven-ness and unhealthy styles of relating.

That’s a lot of Egypt to be delivered from! I don’t envy God in his job of taking a people shaped by slavery, and suffering, and loss of identity, and making them into his people. I see myself in the fears, complaints, disobedience, and mistrust of his intentions that the Hebrews evidenced. And yet…and yet…God has proven his love for me in ways I cannot deny. So, perhaps it looks like I am wandering around aimlessly, as Barton says, but God knows what he is doing. And I know this: I trust God far more than any human, and willingly I search for his shadow as I traverse this wilderness.

Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. Psalm 63:7