There’s this concept of ‘Journey‘ that subtly weaves in and out of the World Race and, of course, life. It’s something we’re all well acquainted with. It’s a path we continually trod and because it winds with us through the mundane and daily, through the familiar, it becomes a path we don’t pay much attention to. The World Race likes to name it ‘process‘; Donald Miller dubs it ‘story‘. Travel blogs call it ‘adventure‘.
Journey has many faces. It’s a complex idea with many layers. We’re constantly navigating through various parts of the Journey; some exclusive onto themselves and some pieces entangling and intricately intertwining each other. Of course, there’s the overarching Journey of life we’re all destined to traverse. Some parts of the Journey last for a few years, some for 30 years. Sometimes parts of the Journey disappear for a time, only to reappear further down the road.
You can’t escape it.
Journey accompanies you when you catch up with old friends to reminisce and swap stories and life. It sits in the back seat of the car when you nervously pick up a girl for a first date. And it has it’s seatbelt on when you get into a car accident on the way to get pizza. It surprises you when you begin conversing with the barista who makes your coffee and you discover you have a lot in common. Sometimes you feel alone and isolated, without words and at a loss of what to do. But when you look back, you discover that Journey trudged the slow walk of pain and trial and hurts with you. It’s eerily quiet when life is full of adventure and excitement and novelty; when you’re struggling just to keep stride with the Journey and you can’t quite catch your breath. But its presence is heavily evident during the difficult and the trying, because it seems like you’re the one waiting for Journey to catch up when all you want is just to be out of that one moment.
I think that’s an epiphany for me. Most of the time I react to and follow the Journey; not very many times do I choose the Journey or choose the path to bring Journey along. I’ve generally lived a reactive life, not very often proactive one.
The World Race allows for a reactive Journey. It allows for us to be swept up in the novelty of culture, people, ministry, and places. It forces us to jump in fast and then quickly changes the context for another scene. It’s all we can do to catch our breath or wrap our minds around what’s in front of us before we’re frantically ushered onto the next stage, the next episode.
But it also, in the most subtle of ways, invites us to forge a path for ourselves, to create a place for a proactive Journey. It’s room to hear the faintest of whispers that call us to come and die and lay ourselves down before the cross. It reminds us to love the difficult people on our team. It’s space to leave the flock to choose to seek the one that’s wandered off. It asks us to posture our hearts and surrounds us with people who challenge and remind us that grace empowers us to take that most difficult next step, even if it is the tiniest of steps. (It’s a firm belief of mine that the Lord loves baby steps.)
When I’m in a pensive state, I reflect on my life; my valuable, but small life. It’s easy to look how far I’ve traversed. And it’s simple to see the myriad parts of the Journey that have already come to pass. They make their mark; they’re strong oaks that have weathered the storms of life, sometimes bending but never breaking. They act as tributes, ebenezers and altars as reminders of what the Lord has accomplished in my life. They remind me of those moments I thought I was crushed. The reality is that’s when the roots grew deeper.
If I’m honest, most of those trees, those other parts of the Journey, were planted by other people, by other events and by other struggles. I’m eternally grateful as they’ve shaped me to become who I am today. But I don’t want to be a person who succumbs to the probability of life and situations. I don’t want to be passively resigned to the dull drudgery of my fate. I want to forge my own path and my own Journey; I don’t want Journey to just happen to me. I want to wrestle with the Lord and ask for a new name. I want to look back at those trees and remember the day that I planted those acorns, covering them up, digging my hands into the moist soil. I want the ability to wade in the thick of Journey and say, I chose this and I’m not giving up even in the midst of turmoil, difficulty and hardship. I don’t want to wish myself to the end, or wish I began it all earlier. Because the reality is, it’ll come to completion and maturity in the blink of an eye.
It’s true. We want the end and we want the fruit. We want the intimacy and the results and the freedom. What we don’t want is the labor or the work or the effort. And that’s human nature. We think, and rightfully so, the best time to plant a tree was 25 years ago.
But the second best time to plant a tree? It’s right now.
