journey

I Don’t Always Enjoy the Journey

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment
                                                                                              image by Paul Phillips

 

I want what I want.

I’ve mentioned that before, haven’t I?

It’s fall in the Ozarks and the Lovely Lady and I are enamored with the vibrant, dynamic colors of the trees this time of year, even if I love nothing else about this season of decay.  Oh.  That’s another subject I’ve touched on before here, isn’t it?  I’ll just leave it and move along.

One day last week we set out on the highways and backroads to find a bridge (yes, another one) and to get our fill of fall foliage.  We successfully did both, but not before learning another life lesson.  Well, we experienced it together; whether I learned anything remains to be seen.

The bridge was in the Ozark National Forest at a point some two hours drive to the southeast of where we live.

It took longer.

Yes, I got lost.  In this day of GPS navigation and Google Maps, I got lost.  Certain I knew the route to the best highway that would lead us southward through the Ozarks, I missed my way in the maze of roadways through a nearby city.

Several tries with the map program on my phone got us no closer to the road I wanted to take.  Yet, I was certain it was a better route than the one that voice-in-a-box was laying out.  Finally though, I just input the coordinates of the bridge into my phone and followed its directions. Not happily.

I argued and blustered all the while.

“West?  I don’t want to go west!  Take us South, you stupid thing!”

There was more, but you get the gist.  The Lovely Lady did her best to be supportive.  I’m not easy to calm down when I get agitated.  Words only make me more frustrated.  So, she let me rave.

After many turns in opposite directions from which I supposed we would be going, I recognized the highway we were on.  It was miles from where I had intended.  And, not the one I wanted to be on.

But, it took us exactly where we needed to go.  Exactly.

By a different route than I had selected.

Why does my mind go to the man who was the Rock—Simon Peter—of whom the Teacher foretold he would go where he did not want to go, led by people he did not want to follow?  (John 21:18)

I know.  The reason Jesus said the words was to inform Peter how he would die, many years after his beloved Friend walked the road to that grisly cross.  Still, the words grip me, as an aging person who may have to do the same thing someday.  Not the crucifixion thing.  The being led where I don’t want to go thing.

I want what I want.

I want to get there following the path I choose.

May I say this?  Not only was the destination astonishing in its beauty and quiet charm, but the journey there and back was all that and more.  We visited the bridge, sliding our way down to the creekside to exclaim and skip rocks over the glossy surface of the water.  We stopped again and again, pulling into overlooks to gaze over valleys and lake vistas that beggar description.

The colors!  The majesty!  The heart of our Creator!

                                                                                           image by Paul Phillips

And yet, as I sit here pecking at the keyboard of my computer, all I hear in my ears is some aging man’s voice.  Whining.  Belligerent. Frustrated.

Oh.  That’s my voice.

I don’t do adaptable.  Or flexible.  Or teachable.  At least, not in the moment.

I want to be all of those.  When I’m ready for them.  But, that’s not the way we learn to be responsible and grow to maturity.

And, some of us make it harder than it really is.

Some never learn.

My friend asked last week if I would do a certain task again.  It’s a task I used to love doing.  When I felt capable of doing it.

The folks in our church family look forward to having a hymn sing once every quarter.  Four times a year, we gather to sing the old songs our mothers and fathers sang.  Our grandmothers and grandfathers sang them, too.

I began leading the singing at our fellowship some forty years ago. I have served in that way to varying degrees over the years.

But, I can’t sing for an hour anymore.  And, if you know hymns, you know the soprano/melody part is too high for most old men to sing.  I am becoming an old man.  My time limit for singing without stopping is about ten minutes now.

I do love sitting in the padded chairs on Sunday mornings and singing along with the worship team up on the stage.  I love the new songs we sing.  I love the hymns we still include in our worship time.

What I really love is that I am in my comfort zone.  No pressure.  If I sing, it’s okay.  If I stand and let the tears flow, that’s okay.  I’m comfortable.

Leading the songs isn’t so comfortable anymore.

Did I say I want what I want?

I told my friend I’d have to think about leading again when she asked me last week.  The Lovely Lady can attest to my caviling.  Multiple times, I groused and grumbled.

When my friend suggested that it might just be time to let the hymn time go by the wayside, I finally bucked up and agreed to lead the music.

Sure enough, my voice began to fail just a few minutes into the singing.  I asked the Lovely Lady at the piano to give me more support.  Then, I asked the folks in front of me to sing a little louder if I stopped singing momentarily.

She did.  They did.

We had a wonderful, delight-filled hour of making a joyful noise to the Lord.  Afterward, as we visited and had some refreshments, I was surprised at how many folks expressed their appreciation that they are still able to participate in this meaningful and worthwhile event.

I heard them, but in the back of my mind, I was hearing that aging man griping and complaining.  Again.

I’m not the only one, am I?  I mean the only one who has walked this far along the road, only to remember a lesson I should have learned—should have remembered—should have applied—a lifetime ago.

Here is the lesson.  I know; it took long enough to get here, but we’ve finally arrived at our destination.  It does almost seem like the trip described earlier, doesn’t it?

I need—need—to want what He wants.

Our old friend, the Apostle—you know, the one who wrote letters—said it pretty clearly to his friends in Philippi all those centuries ago:

For it is God who works in you, both to will (to want to) and to do (to perform) of His good pleasure. (Philippians 2:13, KJV)

I need to follow His GPS and experience in the journey.  Because, in the end, He wants nothing but good things for me.

Nothing but good.

And, I want that.  The good stuff He wants for me, I want that.

He intends it for all of us.  For all of our lives.

Surely goodness, surely mercy, shall follow me
All the days of my life.

Lesson learned.

Now to walk.

Company on the road would be nice.  You coming with?

I’ll try to keep the griping to a minimum.

 

You lead me in the path of life.
I experience absolute joy in your presence;
you always give me sheer delight.
(Psalm 16:11, NET)

Life is a journey that must be traveled, no matter how bad the roads and accommodations. (Oliver Goldsmith – Anglo/Irish poet – 1728-1774)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.

How Did We Get Here?

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It was the first thing I thought when the words came out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere, since my friend spoke them with his own mouth, but I wasn’t sure what the catalyst for the thought had been. I’m still not sure.

“Why didn’t you become a preacher, Paul?”

I’m certain in that moment I looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. You know, wanting to keep going and get off this highway altogether, but on the other hand, perhaps a fast retreat in the direction from which I had come might be better.

How did we get here?

We weren’t talking about preaching or anything like it. We hadn’t even been discussing professions or callings at all.

I sat for a second or two and then, headlights no longer in my eyes, suggested that I was never supposed to be a preacher. I was glad the red-headed lady who raised me wasn’t sitting nearby. She had always wanted a preacher for a son. It didn’t happen. Still, I don’t suppose she was all that disappointed. Not that she would have told me if she had been. Moms are like that.

For all moms know—and, they know a lot—the road doesn’t always lead where they expect. For that matter, it doesn’t always lead where we ourselves plan. Mine surely didn’t.

I spent nearly forty years in a music store in a small town. You could be dismayed at the thought. A life wasted—what’s not to be sad about?

But, that’s just it.  I’m not sad about it.

Can I be bold here?

Any life lived in following Christ cannot be wasted.

Any life lived in following Christ cannot be wasted. Click To Tweet

We either believe His Word or we don’t. He makes all things in our lives to work in a way that is for our good. It’s true for all who love Him and are part of His family. (Romans 8:28)

I know it’s not popular to talk about that verse these days. And, perhaps it’s become too easy to use it to reassure folks who are in painful situations. We are, after all, a people who like pat answers—easy roadmaps.

And yet, the words stand.

Not so pat.

Not even so easy.

We want to know. We have dreams we reach for, plans we’ve laid out carefully. We look around and nothing about this landscape surrounding us resembles anything we recognize.

How did we get here?

Funny thing. When the deer stares into the headlights, what has transpired to bring the beautiful beast to this point is of no consequence. Well, not of no consequence. The information is simply not pertinent to the issue at hand.

What matters is where the deer goes from that instant. Decisions must be made. Options considered. Quickly.

The same is true for us.

We use the knowledge at hand, considering the doors before us, and move forward.

Forward.

If our hearts are set on God, steadfast and unwavering, what comes next will be exactly what we wanted in the first place—to be exactly where He wants us. (Psalm 37:4)

I answered my friend the other day with confidence (once I got my feet back under me).

God called me to the ministry of a music store. I’m absolutely certain of it.

I know it sounds strange, but it couldn’t have been a more blessed place to be. I never wanted to work in a music store, much less own one, but day by day, step by step, opened door by opened door, I walked into it until—forty years later—I walked through another opened door on the other side.

A rich man, I walked out. Oh, there wasn’t any large amount of money in my bank account. Still, the wealth is fabulous. Really.  Fabulous.

Thousands of conversations, gifts given and received, memories stored away to be savored in the future, friends secured for a lifetime, and other folks who, like me, walked out with more than they walked in with—all of those are mine to hold onto.

I’m not sure what God got out of the deal. I just know, I did all right in the bargain.

I’m aware my story isn’t yours. Many find themselves in unhappy, seemingly dead-end lives and tasks.

I believe the words are still true for those folks as well.

As we make God our desire, our delight, we’ll look around and see His hand in our journey, His design in the open doors before and the closed ones behind.

There is joy in the journey, not least in the company of other folks on the same road.

How did we get here?

Following Him, we walked through the doors in front of us. And even if we jimmied open a few He never intended for us to enter, we’ll never be in a place we can’t move on from.

I’ve got a few more doors to walk through. Maybe you do, too.

There’s room for more than one on this road. We could try a few doors together.

Delight.

 

 

 

Good company in a journey makes the way to seem the shorter.
(from The Compleat Angler ~ Izaak Walton ~ English author ~ 1593-1683)

 

Your own ears will hear Him.
Right behind you, a voice will say,
“This is the way you should go,”
Whether to the right or to the left.
(Isaiah 30:21 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Previously published in Publishous on Medium.com

 

Getting Wet

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The storm threatens.

Not for the first time.

Earlier today, I heard the muttering of the thunder up in the clouds. Fifteen miles away, my brother (with whom I was texting) heard it and wondered if the rain was really on its way.

It was, but only a little. A nice Spring shower to wash off the daffodils and redbuds. Just a lick and a promise, as the red-headed lady who raised me would describe it.

The muttering is back. Ten hours have passed and, again, the thunder is threatening.

The promise is that the storm will break soon. For all the delay and lack of delivery up ’til now, the promise will be kept tonight. I’m sure of it.

Mr. Adams—that wise Englishman who wrote about the rabbits in Watership Down—suggests that folks who claim to love cold weather actually love feeling proof against it; they love that they have outsmarted winter. The reader may agree or disagree, but I believe it to be true about more than just the cold of winter.

We love listening to the breaking storm from the safety of our four walls, with a good roof overhead to keep the deluge from affecting us personally and intimately.

We love walking in the rain because the umbrella is spread above to keep us from the discomfort of its all-encompassing soaking. Or, if we happen to run uncovered, carefree and dripping for a time, we love the thought that at the end of our gambol, we will find a warm shower to wash off the residue of the event and, wrapping ourselves in a clean, fluffy towel or robe, will relax in the luxury of warmth and comfort inside our four walls with a watertight roof.

But, what if the walls we’ve constructed so carefully, and the shelter we’ve thrown up simply aren’t enough to keep the storm from breaking on our heads anymore?

The noise of the rain which has arrived outside my window reminds me that the thunder’s earlier muttering was no empty threat. I believe this is what the folks in my home state would call a Texas frog-strangler, the downpour is so heavy.

Sooner or later, the rumblings lead to a torrent.

They always do. Sooner or later.

Mostly, sooner.

Somehow, someone is going to get wet. Soaked through.

Do you suppose the followers of Jesus didn’t get wet? In the storm that overtook their boat and threatened to sink it, do you think they stayed dry? (Mark 4:37)

When Peter walked across the waves—even before he took his eyes off the Teacher—do you think he wasn’t drenched clear through? (Matthew 14:29-30)

Can’t you just see it? Impetuous Peter, anxious to show the Master (and his peers) he was up to the challenge, jumps out of the boat to meet Him in the waves.

Walking on the water! On. The. Water.

What a moment of triumph! But, only a moment.

The waves slapped at his ankles, then at his knees. Before he knew it, one soaked him from head to toe. This wasn’t anything like he had imagined. Robe hanging down, hair streaming into his face, water in his eyes, his nose, his mouth, it was horrendous!

Where was the protection he expected from the waves? Why was his Rabbi—his Teacher—allowing this misery?

Soaked, disappointed, and distressed beyond belief, he begins to worry about the next wave. And the next. We know the rest of the story.

Life is like that, isn’t it? We have expectations—plans. Then the walk turns out to be so much harder than we envisioned it at the beginning.

Our faith wanes. If God wanted us to get out of that boat, why didn’t He clean up the pathway to get to Him? Why would He let us be miserable when we’re doing what we’re supposed to do?

Sometimes, in the storms of life, it’s hard to see the pathway with the rain streaming down our faces. And sometimes, it’s not only the rain that’s streaming down our faces.

Sometimes, it's not only the rain that's streaming down our faces. Click To Tweet

I sat in a restaurant with dear friends earlier this evening, minding my own business, and the storm broke. Old hurts, not with them but with others I love, came pouring to the surface.

I had heard the rumbling for a while before this. The downpour was sure to come sooner or later, so I have huddled under whatever shelter I could raise to keep from getting wet.

But, part of the walk is sharing it with companions. Our life of serving Him is not a mission for a hero, but a pilgrimage for a band of fellow travelers.

Sometimes, the Man-Who-Walks-On-Water says everybody in the boat gets wet.

Sometimes, the Man-Who-Walks-On-Water says everybody in the boat gets wet. Click To Tweet

Together, we all get wet. As we walk each other home, we get drenched together.

And, it’s miserable. And magnificent.

And, then He says, “Peace. Be still.”

I’m going to keep walking. With the friends who’ll walk beside me.

You coming with?

Bring your towel.

It’s going to be a damp walk.

 

 

The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”
(Matthew 8:27 ~ NIV ~ Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.)

 

I don’t consider myself a pessimist. I think of a pessimist as someone who is waiting for it to rain. And, I feel soaked to the skin.
(Leonard Cohen ~ American singer/songwriter ~ 1934-2016)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.

 

Becoming

~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

The girl-woman is becoming.

She is sure—but not all that sure—of what she knows.  A teenager, she sees a world that is too horrible to be lived in, but knows unequivocably that she will live in it (and wouldn’t miss it for anything).

And so, she is becoming.

Becoming is hard work.  Confidence and confusion coexist side by side.  Brilliant inspiration and murky misunderstanding vie constantly for the upper hand.

The child is giving way to the woman as choices are made, options are considered, and future pathways determined.

I used to think this was the norm.  Children become adults and the process of becoming is complete.  We make our choices and live with them.  And, die with them.

It’s not the way becoming works.

You see, this old man is becoming, as well. 

Sixty years have passed and the choices I have made and the roads I’ve taken are challenged nearly every day of my walk through this world—the world too horrible to live in, yet too precious to miss.

I was moved—even sad—as we talked, the girl-woman and I.  She made a statement to which I objected completely.

I’m pretty sure God is mad at me.

It seemed to me the words were largely a response to the horrible world in which she finds herself growing up.  I wanted to hug her tight and assure her it wasn’t true.

My intellect knows it’s not true.  My heart does also. And yet, since that evening, each time my mind goes to the words, my eyes fill with tears. 

The tears are for her.  No, not only for her.  

The tears are also for me.

I said I know it’s not true.  I do.

That doesn’t stop the questions.  It doesn’t keep me from wondering why life isn’t going the way I thought it would.  It doesn’t quiet the voice inside that wants to scream in frustration at every delay and inferred no from God.

I’m pretty sure God is mad at me.

But He’s not.

He’s not.

Without us making a move to please Him, He declared openly His great love for us by giving His only Son to die in our place. (Romans 5:8)

Does that seem like the act of someone who is enraged?  It’s not the way I treat folks when I’m angry at them.

His perfect love leaves no room for fear. (1 John 4:18)

My fears for the future, my fears for my family, my fears for the physical needs that are still waiting to be provided for—all of these fears and more—simply prove that I’ve not yet fully experienced the love of a Creator who can’t bear for His creation to be separated from Him and wants nothing but good for us.

And so, I am becoming.  

We are becoming.

God, who began this good work in our hearts, has promised to continue the work until the day we reach the finish line. (Philippians 1:6)

For all the starts and stops, the detours and the delays, the becoming has never stopped.

As we come, we become.  The meaning is essentially the same.  We are moving from one state of being into another.  Coming to His grace and becoming the men and women He is making us into.

The God who invites us to come, is causing us to become.

The God who invites us to come, is causing us to become. Click To Tweet

The God who is not mad at us gives us grace and mercy for the journey.  He gives us companions, both young and old, to walk beside us.

Becoming together.

As we walk hand in hand.

Becoming.

 

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’
(from The Velveteen Rabbit ~ Margery Williams ~ Author ~ 1881-1994)

 

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.” Let anyone who hears this say, “Come.” Let anyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who desires drink freely from the water of life.
(Revelation 22:17 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Waiting for Dawn

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

The insistent tone of my smart-phone’s alarm clock pierced the fog of sleep this morning.  My eyes fluttered open reluctantly.

Still dark.

I would have lain there and slept longer, but the alarm was only increasing in volume.  It does that, you know.  It gets louder.  

I stood and, stumbling to the window sill where the offensive device awaited, touched the screen.  As it finally relented, I breathed a sleepy sigh of relief.

Over the tops of the blinds, I gazed out to the eastern horizon.  It was supposed to be daylight!  Where was the sun?

I waited—and watched.  There was a hint of light near the ground, but it did the world no good.

Still dark.  

For all my waiting, the world was still in shadow.

I glanced down at the clock.  Wow!  I had to get moving!

Dressing quickly and going through my morning ritual, I forgot about the darkness outside.  Well, I didn’t forget; I just ignored it.

Funny.  I knew what was going to happen.  Still, when I stepped out the back door to face the eastern sky again, it caught me by surprise.

sky-1280456_640It was anything but dark!  The brilliance of the sunrise had me standing there blinking in its light.

Sunrise comes by itself.  While I do the thing needed, its light explodes over the horizon in hues of fiery red and brilliant yellow and eye-popping orange.

While I do the thing needed.

In the dark, we do what is required of us.

In the dark, we do what is required of us. Click To Tweet

I will admit that it feels as if I’ve been laboring in the dark for some time now.  To my dismay, it seems very much as if night has taken hold and is determined to maintain its grip on my world without ever letting go.

Nothing I do has made the night around me less dark.  

I have prayed.  

I have sung at the top of my lungs.  

I have sat and cried.  

I have raged.

Still dark.

Finally, it occurs to me.  There is work to be done.  The journey still lies ahead.  Yes, even in the dark.

I remember that the Creator—the One who makes the sun to rise on the righteous and unrighteous—is still up to the task.  (Matthew 5:45)

I will do the thing needed.  

While He keeps His promises, I will keep mine.

While He keeps His promises, I will keep mine. Click To Tweet

Daylight will come.  It will.  With or without us, it will come.

We know it in our hearts.  

We should be up and doing while we wait.

Shouldn’t we?

 

 

 

Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing; Praise for the morning;-
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.
(from Morning has Broken ~ Eleanor Farjeon ~ English poet ~ 1881-1965)

 

But for you who fear My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings; and you will go forth and skip about like calves from the stall.
(Malachi 4:2 ~ NASB)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.