I recently travelled through a wilderness. Not one of those New Zealand ‘wildernesses’, where plants still blanket the hills and birds still chatter but the palette is muted shades of brown rather than vibrant greens. A wilderness, wilderness. Where there is sand and rocks. And more sand and more rocks. And a very, very occasional blade of grass in a sheltered crevice. That kind of wilderness. Where as far as the eye can see, which isn’t actually that far as the dust obscures the horizon, there is brown rock. Nothing else.
Although I am normally a green plant and blue water kind of girl, I didn’t mind going through the wilderness. I was in an air-conditioned car. The road had good signposts telling us which way to go. We even had a GPS tracing out our path for us and telling us there was only one hour until our destination, which was back in my preferred green and blue world. I knew where I was, I knew where I was going, and I knew I would soon be out of this wilderness. I could even appreciate its stark beauty, the cool air blowing on me insulating me from its harshness.
Sadly though, that doesn’t seem to be how God normally does wilderness experiences. Instead, when he rescued his people from slavery, the first thing he did was lead them into the wilderness, with the instructions to wait here until I say move. And when he did say move, he didn’t give them the next thirty-day plan. He simply showed them how to get to where they needed to set up their tents for another night. And that was all. Until the next day. When they were hungry, he provided them with the food they needed for that day. They did know their end destination but not the route they would take to get there or how long or how hard it would be until they arrived. They had no air conditioning.
I don’t like that kind of wilderness adventure. I like knowing the plan, because then I can pretend that I am in control. I like knowing what is around the corner, so I can be prepared and then able to help everyone else (and so then they think I’m great). I like being able to take care of things myself instead of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no water and being in desperate need. I like being able to say I trust God, without actually having to put that into day to day practice.
Though I might like this control and competence, they are not actually good for me. They obstruct the flow of life and so desertification starts creeping into the edges of my soul.
And so sometimes God knocks on my air-conditioned window and calls me out of the car to follow him down not even a track into the wilderness. And he doesn’t tell me where he is taking me or for how long we will be wandering around in this unknown. He simply says trust me.
Life Down the Rutted Red Road 