The season of nomad-icity

-->

I announced a few weeks ago that I’ve officially entered a transition stage of my life. The stage where my kids still sort of need me, but I’m no longer hovering over them protecting them from imminent doom 24/7.

And the day I admitted to myself that it was time for the transition was like being released from bondage. Like the story about the Isrealites in the old testament. Only without the locusts. I wanted to sing and dance and shout “freedom!” from the top of a very tall building.

But if you know the story of the Isrealites you know the transition from slavery to the promised land wasn’t so easy. More like sort of tragically horrible.

And while I haven’t been in the desert of transition for more than a month I’m already looking around for the road markers that show me the short cut to my promised land.

Some days I’m so itchy and agitated I can’t even stand my own skin. If you were to eavesdrop on my prayers they would sound mostly like this: dude, what am I supposed to do now? Can’t we just microwave this process to move it along a little faster? Cause I’m ready to move on. So just tell me where to turn my attention and I can get started. 

And I can imagine myself trudging along with those ancient wanderers. Struggling day after day to see God in the mess. Trying to pretend that I’m ok with not knowing exactly what tomorrow will hold. Or the day after that.

But unlike my ancient ancestors of nomadic fate, I have the ability to cheat. When I open my Bible to revisit their story I can skip past the hard part. The forty years of wandering. The part about shaking the grit out of their clothes and eating the same friggin meal every day for years.  I can tra-la-la my way past the hardship and go straight to the glory and celebrate with them when they finally unpack their bags in the promised land.

I see myself reaching out to whisper in their ears, “Hey, I’ve read this story a million times. In the next chapter, God’ll provide a miracle and it’ll be ok. Don’t freak out, you really are going to make it. I promise.” 

And I can only imagine Jesus whispering the same words in my ear. “Your part comes in at the bottom of this page. But don’t skim down to find yourself, you have to read the whole thing for it to make sense.”

And so with those thoughts in the front of my brain, I’ll pick up my dusty pack and trudge forward. Not skimming, but embracing. Letting God cook His plan for me just a bit longer before He shows me what it is. Knowing without a doubt that there is an end to my wandering, and chances are pretty good it’ll take less than 40 years to get there. And if not, then at least I had ice cream to keep me company while I waited.

So, on the road I am. I imagine I’ll be here for at least a bit longer. Head low to avoid the grit swirling around me. Trying my best not to grumble, but knowing God isn’t offended when I do. 

Shall we travel together?

Pin It