Classic road trip song.
I generally pull it out at that point in the trip when things have gotten dull and I want to spice things up with an upbeat mixed tape.
Vistas of vast emptiness.
Cornfields in the mid-west, pasture in the middle of the country, red rocks or salt plains as you move west. This country is big and driving across even small parts of it is a long trip.
Today was an ordinary day for me. I attended Wednesday chapel at the kids school where Andrew proudly rang handbells. Afterwards, I went for a run in the beautiful vineyards behind the school. There is a trail that, when completed, would take me 4 miles round trip.
I headed out marveling at the life blooming before me. New shoots of green grass. The creek gurgling along full of rainwater. Tiny blossoms hardly visible to the casual observer. Life emerging from every crack. The pregnant belly of spring ready to burst with the abundance of new life.
I ran under a bridge and up into a vineyard. Orderly rows of wooden pegs with connecting spans of wire. The vines were bare. I was mesmerized by the patterns and shifting shapes that passed in front of my gaze as I ran by.
Then. Gravel. Sandy gravel. My gaze turned down and I stared at the path beneath my feet. There was nothing there. My thoughts turned over in my mind. Then gravel. Sand. Asphalt. Gravel. 2 mile marker. Turn around. 3 mile marker
Spiritual journeys take us to the wilderness. At first, it is exciting. Wild roads taking us to wild places. But somehow, the scenery starts to look all the same as I familiarize myself with the new setting. Boredom sets in. Thoughts swirl. Questions. Doubts. Vulnerability.
What was I thinking coming out here? What did I think I would find? There is nothing here. Just miles and miles and miles of the same piles of rocks. Did I really think I'd find God camping out here with a cozy fire and some deep profound truth? I feel silly.
At this point in Lent, I'm halfway between wanting to double down on my Lent practices and wanting to give them up completely. I've run out of easy lovely things to say about God and faith and I'm ready to pack up and call this thing a wrap.
But here, in the halfway. Not coming. Not going. Here is where God surprises me. I get so entirely bored with everything that I am ready to be present with God right here, right at this empty boring place. Maybe the way the light is shining or the shapes of clouds passing by. Maybe it's seeing a pattern and starting to put puzzle pieces together. Sometimes, it's just the commitment of seeing the journey through.
Every year the wilderness of Lent is different. Every year God is there. Every year I get sick of it and want to scrap the whole damn thing.
Wherever you are in your lenten journey, I encourage you to carry on. The wilderness of the soul is a wonderful, terrible and boring scape.
Carry on.
There is a road ahead and as we head now towards the light of Easter, the new life of spring will roll on ahead of us. The days are lengthening. Creation is awakening. We are journeying towards the cross. But that is not where we stop. The empty tomb. The sacred garden of resurrection. That is our destination. Carry on. We're half way there.
Woah. Living on a prayer.
No comments:
Post a Comment