Lately I've been reading and re-reading the story of Moses and the Israelites and their 4o-year adventure in the desert. I keep re-reading it looking for a clue or a hint or something they could have learned or seen or done to minimize this time. Surely, there was a point when they could have turned left or could have taken the other fork in the road. There must be someone to blame for the length of that hellish experience. I have a GPS system on my phone for God's sake. I cannot fathom being lost, without direction or permanence for 40 long years. I would have conducted performance reviews and org chart assessments. I would have had the equipment tested and calibrated. I would have demanded accountability!
I have the tools to fix these sorts of situations. I've had experience, taken classes and seminars and read books on how to fix these strategic issues in an organization. While I'm certainly not an expert, I can usually see a path and lay out a plan to make things better. The problem is that I cannot seem to do this with my life. I cannot find my way out of my desert.
There are some parts in my life that feel like you-assemble-it furniture from Ikea. You know the stuff with the pre-drilled holes that never really match up? Sure, you can force the bolt to connect the pieces but there is an odd tension. Things do not align. They are slightly off center. It works for now but you just know that odd alignment cannot last forever and the shelves will come tumbling down at the most inopportune time.
I can pinpoint the time when my desert experience began. There was an event that kicked me into the wilderness and it seems as if more and more desert elements continue to be added to the diorama. What seemed like a day trip along a desert path now appears to have become a full-fledged "period" in my life. Later on, maybe 40 years from now, I will be able to look back at this "period" and by then I will have all sorts of wisdom and learning. Right now it just feels dry and desolate. As if by instinct I am trying to rush my way through this wilderness. I am looking for the GPS system settings to find my way out.
The thing about my desert experience and probably about all desert experiences, is that I am continuing to get what I need. I doubt that any of the early Jews claimed that the manna tasted like a pepper-crusted filet mignon but it sustained them. I doubt the beds in their tents had the "select your own firmness comfort setting" but they provided a place for rest. The other thing I know about desert experiences is that yours looks different from mine.
Last night my family cranked up the Christmas tunes and decorated our tree. Clumsy little hands broke a couple of ornaments. Those hands also tended to load a single branch with every ornament they found to be appealing. They laid claim to the branch and all that was placed upon it. Our primary Christmas tree is in the living room. We have a large picture window that looks onto the street. Last night during my Norman Rockwell moment, two police squad cars pulled up to my neighbor's house. They frisked, cuffed and hauled away my neighbor's boy. They're a "good family" and I've always found him to be a polite kid. Lately he has made some pretty bad decisions. I cannot fathom his parent's desert right about now.
Deserts are not competitions. I have three children and you only have one: I get the point. You have a bigger mortgage: point goes to you. My parenting issues are about bed times and spelling tests. Your parenting issues are about defense lawyers: you get the point. It doesn't work that way. My desert parches my throat and the hot sand burns my feet just like your desert does the same to you. Deserts seem to be individually designed. Mine isn't better or worse than yours.
As the squad cars pulled away last night, I said a prayer for the family, for the troubled boy, for the police. No matter how barren my desert is right now, I have what I need to sustain me and maybe what helps to sustain is compassion. Maybe my desert gives me kinship with all the other wanderers. I cannot look down from a place of judgment when I'm trudging alongside them.
1 comment:
When I read this posting, my heart ached for your neighbor's family. You are right, their desert is vast and must seem like a dangerous, awful place. You paint such a wonderful picture of the desert we all must cross or wander in during our lives. I think it is all about our attitude in the desert. When we wallow in pity, the desert seems hotter, we are thirstier, and no one can help us. But when we remember that we aren't alone in the desert, we can use humor to get us through. That's how John and I got through the deserts we crossed. I am so happy that you share your humor with so many of us as you cross your desert.
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