"If you could see
the journey whole,
you might never
undertake it,
might never dare
the first step
that propels you
from the place
you have known
toward the place
you know not"
I've had this poem on my wall since I first heard it when I gathered with other ministers - the first time I'd met most of them in person and not on zoom - a few months ago. On that day, as we were retreating together, the weight of leading a church through the pandemic and all the effects of that on me, my relationships and my own sense of identity began to feel like something I couldn't carry for much longer. The burden was too heavy, and I knew, if I didn't do something, I would break.
As we read this poem I didn't get past this first verse. When I first moved to the far south, I moved with a sense of unknowing, uncertainty, but sure that this was where I was meant to be. I had had music played over me that spoke of me going, not only on a journey south, but on a journey myself, and this poem reminded me of that.
I reflected on that day when I first met this poem, that if I could have known the things that lay ahead when I first answered God's call, I may have never made the journey, but in the blurriness of it all, the ahead was enough - the mystery propelled me forward and brought me to a place where everything was unknown.
And sometimes, the unknown is where you should be.
In remembering that, it reminded me that in all my efforts to find certainty, to take control, to keep a handle of things in the pandemic chaos, I'd been trying to hang on too tightly to something that was too difficult to hang onto. The pandemic storm and all its after effects have not been something we have been ever able to get a handle on. Our mantra of 'one day at a time' or even 'one hour at a time' has always said that, but our actions have not necessarily said the same thing.
Last night as I was waiting for yet another zoom, I looked up to my right and there was this poem and I remembered that maybe the unknown of the last 18 months, the journey I've been on, the things that have almost broken me, is part of the journey that God has called me on in moving south.
It's taught me that I can't stay in control, however hard I try. It's taught me to listen to the voices around me who say that I am doing well. It's taught me to know and value the gifts God has given to me and my capability and strength that only come from Him. It's taught me that despite the chaos around, God is still doing good things, that lives are still being changed and there are things to celebrate.
It's taught me that when I bring something to God in prayer I can lay it down at His feet and there it can stay. Let go and let God, and sit at His feet.
When we are at our lowest, when things hurt more than we can possibly dream, when our head is racing and we're not sure how we can grasp something that is running away, perhaps resting in the unknown is where we should be. We don't need to know every waypoint on the journey we are called to, we need to know that the one who is guiding us is sure of the way.
"The Lord is the one who is going ahead of you. He will be with you. He won’t abandon you or leave you. So don’t be afraid or terrified" Deuteronomy 31:8
