I found myself missing the desert this week – the heat of the sun as it caressed my skin through my clothes, the dust tickling my nose as I ran through the dry washes, the very feel of the parched earth, cracked and waiting for the next downpour. I longed for the wide-open spaces, the even wider crystalline azure skies, the ancient saguaro cactus arms reaching to the sky, the hummingbirds dipping to the prickly pear mauve and yellow fruit; and hiking the trails through the craggy mountains. I treasured the times I could jump in the car and drive four hours to REAL mountains, ones so high the sun had trouble peaking around them, where piñion pine grew and elk lived, where Navajo and Zuni and Hopi called sacred. The pull became so strong, I almost started to look up flights. Almost.
And then, I prayed.
I left that desert almost five years ago fully intending to return. And yet…my plans to return did not appear to be His – or at least not yet.
Sitting now on my back patio in this corner of Virginia, I tell myself that this life is real, that this life must be the one He intended for now because, while I never imagined myself living here, here I am. I gaze at the stands of trees towering around me; this week they adorned themselves with vivid Spring green leaves and yellow and pink buds. For now, this city, so foreign to me, is where He planted me, where I call home. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about this.
But here’s the thing: my feelings about this matter only in as far as I fight Him. I’m wondering if that’s your story, too. Do you fight Him for the life you think you want instead of the life He gives?
Mostly, I’ve fought Him every step of the way that has brought me here– where I am supposed to go, when I am supposed to go. And to the tips of my toes, I wondered what that fight has meant until I understood – finally – that the struggle originated from an issue of trust. If I truly trusted Him to guide me to where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there, the fight would leave me; I’d stop puffing out my chest and beating on it. I’d humble myself and prepare to go whenever and wherever he asked. I’d settle into a peace beyond all understanding.
And still…
I think of all the times I have fought the Almighty, but just as when Jacob struggled with God and became Israel, my tussles with Abba are no different: He always wins. Whether I like it or not at the time, understand it or not – He always wins. If I could see the entire picture, I’d understand that even in the small things, the consequences matter to the larger fabric of our lives and the lives of others. If I could see the entire picture, I’d say a prayer of thanks for every time I didn’t get what I thought I wanted. Even now, I’d say a prayer of thanks for living in this small Appalachian city.
Still, at the moment I fail to get my way, it feels an awful lot like losing, and losing sears our souls. I can’t think of a single time that losing felt fun or good, but learning to lose in the small things (i.e., academic contests, dancing or running competitions, etc.), has laid the groundwork for knowing how to face the enormous losses life would bring later: infertility, divorce, etc. As I move further away from each episode of worldly defeat, my heart grows grateful for every tiny cut inflicted by losing and loss. Perhaps true spiritual maturity will be marked by the ability to be immediately grateful for loss. But I’m not there yet. Someday, I hope, but not quite yet.
So, for now, I live in a place that I did not necessarily choose, but I acknowledge that He did. I tend to shut myself off from others, afraid of truly living here, but that isn’t the life He calls me to live. He calls me to bloom where He has planted me, to offer my face to His sun (Son), and my heart to His people. My desert may continue to call to me, but this city, this place is His will.
I pray for the strength to live within that will and even more, to desire that will. My prayer for you is that you find the same in your life.
The Unexpected Life 