Most of us feel a touch of trepidation when we travel to an unknown place. Walking into the foreign can be both thrilling and frightening at the same time.
Even after years of going to the odd and curious places around the world — behind the Iron Curtain at the height of the Cold War, into Zimbabwe as Mugabe muscled white farmers out of the country, exploring the rainforest with machete in hand, visiting Haiti just after the USA invaded, through the giant security wall around the West Bank, or even a violent neighborhood not far from my old office — I still have that “what the hell am I doing” moment as I begin packing for my next adventure.
The trip I am about to begin is certainly filled with complexities as Thailand flirts with a military coup and my Yangon hotel rebuilds after an explosion. But these are not causing uneasiness in my mind or longing for home. It is not where I’m going that is making me pause; it is what I leave behind that has me pondering this next adventure.
In the last few weeks D’Aun and I have seen suffering afflict many of our friends. My neighbor is grieving the loss of his wife after 40-years of marriage. A dear friend is in ICU after a fall that has left him paralyzed from the waist down. My colleague at work is recovering from emergency surgery. A woman I deeply admire was taken from us early after an agonizing battle for life. Another is grieving the sudden loss of her husband who was beloved by an entire community. Still another is grieving the loss of her husband to cancer. A longtime friend just buried her mother. Close friends are having to practice tough love with a child due to some bewildering behavior. Another friend is going through chemo. Yet another close and dear friend is battling ALS. Get the idea?
I fly to unsettled places filled with sadness, grief, and pain. But I leave behind the same conditions in different settings. My soul is unsure how to handle these unexpected wrinkles. We all expect trials and loss, but this seems somehow beyond the pale.
And so, as I stuff my suitcase and ponder what the hell I have gotten myself into, I also ponder what I am leaving. It’s enough to bring me to my knees in prayer. Again. And again.
In a flippant way I expressed my trepidation about this trip to my wise mother. Without hesitation she turned on me and said, “You have to go. It’s what God made you for. Your privilege makes it your responsibility.”
Sigh. She is right of course. Mom always is.
There is a song with the line, “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters, wherever You would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger.” It’s a good song, one that I hope to remember as this new adventure unfolds across many borders, and as my old adventure returns at home.
From this adventure to the next and back again. May God guide.