Epic Journey

Bekah called it “The Epic Move.”

After much prayer my friend and her colleague were to move from their remote village in the heart of Lesotho to an even more remote village in the northern mountains. Even at its most basic the journey would have been nothing less than epic. Six 4x4 vehicles. Three days. A rugged drive in and out of an isolated valley, over mountains, across a river, into an obscure village… At it’s most basic.

But life has a way of not working out the way we plan. And halfway through our “epic” journey we found that God had a greater adventure in mind.

The first leg of the expedition, aside from battery failure, a late start, hot breaks, painful goodbyes, and acquiring a chicken, went relatively without a hitch. Afternoon turned into evening, yet the day’s success was marred with the growing possibility that our valiant efforts might be thwarted by a flooded river on the next stage of our excursion.

Uncertainty and hope mingled. The caravan moved out in the chill air of the morning with guarded anticipation to the river.

We had heard that the dam upstream was releasing water to ease the burgeoning lake behind its mighty wall. We were told that the river could be flooded, even impassable. We had seen the swollen river weaving in and out of our line of sight as we snaked along the rock-strewn road. And there we were, our toes daring to press into the brink of cold and force flowing by, bringing us all –thrill seekers and homebodies alike– to a standstill.

We stood at the river’s edge, water swirling, rushing, racing over the cement driving bridge that spanned the river. I prayed for the waters to part. I prayed for the waters to still. I asked the Lord if we must step out in faith and cross the rushing river and just believe Him for safe passage. Speak Lord, speak!

And He did, O Faithful One that He is. He spoke in that voice He uses so often with me, the one where it is just a glimpse of quiet, a soft thought in my mind. The kind of quiet where I almost miss it. The kind of quiet that commands the busyness of my thoughts to be still and makes me strain to listen, as when one of my children stirs after bedtime and I stop all I am doing to discern their voices in the night.

A better way.

But what does it mean, Lord? No reply.

What do I do with a God who simply won’t behave as I think He aught?

When plans seemingly crumble before me…only to be resurrected to new life?

New life, new plans. Better plans. Better life. A better way.