A Spectator Along God’s Highway: Guest Post by Shan K.

As a child I looked up to no one like I looked up to my sister, Shan. She was seven years my senior, old enough to use her influence for her own comedic enjoyment (like the time she “talked in her sleep” and convinced me my parents had gotten me an old balloon for Christmas and nothing else), but she also let me be her friend even when she had better things to do. As she went through her teen years and young adulthood, she was never too cool or busy to spend time with her nerdy kid brother. We talked about the deep things of life, we laughed about the ridiculous parts of it, we made exhaustive, candy-fueled lists at 3 a.m. for no good reason. She advised me on handling parents and school and girls. We laughed together as we read my ninth grade ex-girlfriend’s lite-rock inspired love letters aloud (I didn’t say we were always nice).

Life, however, is not all candy-fueled lists and harmless love letters. There is confusion, betrayal, loneliness, anger, exhaustion. We all face the gauntlet as best we can as adults, and Shan has faced a particularly daunting one with what I consider great poise, insight, strength, grace and beauty. Today she is sharing some of her story with us, and I am so grateful for it. This piece is soul-scrapingly honest, and I trust you will recognize not only the beauty and truth contained in it but also the gift you are being entrusted with, the gift of someone’s unprotected heart on screen before you, and handle it with the gentle grace it deserves.

Shan is a talented artist and you can check out some of her awesome paintings at her Facebook page here.

~~~~~~

I’ve spent the last 6 years of my life avoiding religious conversations of any type.  For most of that time, I’ve also harbored a disdain for the entity known as The Blog – primarily because I was introduced to the idea of blogging through a post on MySpace.  That the word “blog” was then closely linked in my mind with the word “emo” was an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence.  Recently, though, my sister-in-law said in passing, “You should check out your brother’s blog sometime”.  The woman had just baked me stuffed mushrooms and pointed me towards an awaiting selection of beer – I was a pliable audience.  I started reading this blog.    Having allowed David’s very non-emo writing to open a conversation with my heart and mind about spirituality, I’ve tentatively begun – 7 months later – to try to reply in kind.  I am beginning to try to explain where along the winding road I am.  I’m beginning to see that the conversation isn’t the enemy.  And here I am writing on a blog.  

I have a long standing and deeply felt love-hate relationship with self-awareness.  As a child I reveled in lists that helped me define myself to myself:  “People I Like”, “My Favorite Camping Trips Ever” and “Best All Time Exploding Scenes in an Action Movie Set in the Past in Another Galaxy–Preferably Far, Far Away” are similar to a few I remember.   When I began the molasses walk of divorce 6 years ago, I made a book of me.  It was made entirely of images that collected together my favorite things: the places I loved or wanted the chance to love, the colors that moved me, do-dads that I collected.  I found it comforting to try to capture what it is that makes me Me. That desire to define myself extended to painful honesty with myself about why I was doing what I was doing, what exactly I wanted to change, where I really and truly wanted to “end up”.   I didn’t mind if it was ugly, I just didn’t want to be self-deceived.  All that has been the Love of the relationship.

But the Hate in this tug of war is that it is hard to look in the looking glass too long without risking it cracking me from side to side.  At the end and beginning of every day, I am a sinner and I have yet to find the “drink me” bottle that shrinks that truth in any way.  So when I pull myself back to look — yet again — at one of the most painful parts of my personal evolution (my quest to find out who I am before any god there may be and how that god actually wants me to interact with deity) much of who I am wants to just run and hide under my emotional bed.

And that, then, is a lot of what I have to say about my spiritual journey:  it has been frightening.  Much Afraid is a handle I would willingly accept in spiritual realms.  It is frightening to know that if there is a god (and I fully believe there is), then whatever that god wants me to do or not do or be or try or finds me responsible for, is pretty damned (literally) important. 

The weight of finding, knowing and living in “God’s Will For Your Life” was one I don’t remember ever not feeling – ever.   Every decision seemed truly to be of eternal importance from some of my earliest memories.  I knew I was to acknowledge god “in all my ways” and the belief that The Spirit in me would bear witness to my spirit so that I would know what god wanted of me was not confined to typically spiritual matters.  I remember believing earnestly at the ripe old age of 13 that god had a very specific will for my life when it came to cereal.  I’m not making this up.  I believed that if there were multiple cereal options when I got up in the morning, then it was my righteous responsibility before god to pray and let the spirit move me to make the “right” cereal choice.   23 years later my face is blushing when I remember how I wrote my 13 year old friend to explain to her in detail how she, too, could draw closer to god by praying over General Mills.  To say that this belief that I needed to always choose God’s Will or suffer a useless, unfulfilled, unholy, unworthy life was paralyzing would be an understatement.  It was also impossible and I won’t speak here of the great lengths of soul flagellation I went through after every occurrence of un-God’s Willed-ness – whether it was actually “sin” or not.  And certainly there was plenty of sin.

When I consider where I “am” now, along the winding road, I am struck by the fact that this weight of responsibility has only ever been lifted in any way by my willful choice to say “I am drowning under the feeling of this oppressive responsibility, and so I will choose survival. I will choose to ignore as much of the feeling of responsibility as I’m able and just ‘do the best’ I can and ignore the god portion of it altogether.”   This doesn’t seem “Right” to me, by any means; it simply seems like the only way I can survive. 

I had believed earnestly during times of prayer and meditation and bible reading that many things were the “still small voice of the spirit” leading me to believe or feel or do things only to later understand those either could not have been god or god was not kind.  Either way, that left me in serious trouble.  Either I can not hear/discern/know the spirit’s voice (and couldn’t, even in times of the truest obedience and faith I’ve had) or what god says is cold hearted and critical with no view to truly help me grow.   I don’t want to believe the fault is god’s (or the word “god” doesn’t really mean what I think it means), so that just leaves me to blame; basically I’m screwed.  I’m just a broken down gypsy with no ride home — I want to get there from here, but I can’t walk fast enough and I have no wheels.

Being a gypsy at the side of the road, though, leaves me with a view of all the caravans passing by.  I look away often, but when I don’t I see a parade of people in spiritual machines moving forward, forward.  They get in these machines together and fly the flag of their particular vehicular choice.  They sing driving songs and shout driving directions to other travelers from bullhorns. They make faces at the people in the cars and chariots and flintstone-mobiles travelling the road near them.  They move fast, they move slow, they move all zig-zaggy.   They throw out candy or maps or broken glass or umbrellas. But they never seem to understand that from where I’m standing now they all look the same.  They’ve all got a machine and flag and song and they’re moving in the same direction — and most of them think the others are just crazy, wicked wrong.   But they have a vehicle to move them closer to where they want to be.  They’ve chosen and committed and claimed a mode of transportation to knowing and pleasing god.  Some and or all of them (I frequently suspect the latter) may be wrong about which “vehicle” was the go-to manufacturer of choice, but doggone it, they won’t know it til it’s too late anyway and at least for now they have the satisfaction of earnestly trying.

So when I look at where I am right now, that’s what I see:  the gypsy at the side of the road, watching the caravans pass by, wondering how people keep all those machines in motion.  I wonder how people move forward with god and any kind of joint worship system without the wheels of decision falling off in the mucky twin ruts of pride and fear.  I’m always wary of a runaway station wagon full of koolaid handlers running me down if I wander too near the pavement.  I would like to turn my back on the road altogether and lose myself in the forest, but I can not escape the bone deep need to acknowledge how important it all is and find a way to stay near enough the road that if god ever happened to travel this way, stopped to stretch and took compassion on a silly girl with a book of pictures so she’ll know who she is, I just might get a ride home.  

About these ads
This entry was posted in Extended Family, Faith, Guest Posts. Bookmark the permalink.

39 Responses to A Spectator Along God’s Highway: Guest Post by Shan K.

  1. Vicki says:

    Dear Shan, You are a wonderful writer – and artist (my two favorite kinds of people) …I so love honest/authentic writing, one of the reasons I always come back to this blog often. Writing personally helps me walk through my feelings best. Your mention of Much Afraid popped out at me, as she is/was the character in one of my fav books, Hinds Feet onHigh Places – I know all about Much Afraid. And the forest in your last paragraph? is tempting, so tempting. The strength and courage it takes to stay near the road? – well, what I am saying is – you are strong and courageous.
    I would love to read more guests posts written by you. Thank you for sharing this with all of us. You are now another person I have learned about to tuck away inside my heart.

    • shan k says:

      I should probably attempt sone aloofness, but the truth is I’ve been sitting here refreshing this page, craving feedback. That the feedback turned out to be this generous spirited made the day for me and let me exhale. Thanks, Vicki.

  2. Alise says:

    Shan, thank you so much for sharing your story with us and in such a beautiful way. Some days I’m pretty sure the vehicles are more of a burden than a blessing. I’m personally more and more of the of the opinion that God is less concerned about folks being in vehicles or on the side of the road or out in the forest. I think his love is bigger than I can imagine and that sometimes those of us in our little boxy cars are missing the significantly bigger picture because we can’t see outside of our human-constructed vehicles.

    As an aside, I like your page over on the Facebook and the piece that you painted for your friend who did the AIDS bike ride was absolutely stunning. I just loved it!

    Anyway, thanks again for writing here. I hope that you’ll share with us again some time!

    (Oh, and thanks David for having your sister by – you were right – I loved it!)

  3. lori says:

    Can I just say that I totally get this in every possible way. My eyes are watery because I understand. I also get your aversion to blogging. I had it, too, but it’s been a surprisingly good experience. I hope you will change your mind and start your own because I would love to read it. There can’t be enough honest voices telling their story. My favorite line was, “I’m just a broken down gypsy – I want to get there from here, but I can’t walk fast enough, and I have no wheels.” Holy cow, yes.

    This was amazing. Thank you for baring your soul. And your art is beautiful :)

  4. Those last two paragraphs especially are just breathtaking to me every time I read them. There is definitely going to be a “Bring Shan Back Often” campaign going on behind the scenes in the near future.

    Shan, you said to me when we were discussing posting this that you were worried me and my readers wouldn’t be interested in a post by an “outsider”, someone not in a particular faith vehicle. First off, you’re crazy, and of course we do. Second, just know that most of us in particular vehicles aren’t much more sure of our vehicle of choice or where it’s going than you are. We look around and we see the same thing – other people driving cars that look a lot like ours, heading the same direction, and it gives us pause. Many of us are learning to stop shouting directions, to stop assuming anything about the other drivers, to stop clutching the steering wheel so tightly and yelling every time we get cut off or want to pass. We’re learning that pulling off occasionally to catch the view or get a rest is an important part of the journey.

    I am a Christian. I think Jesus is the son of God. Beyond that, I’m not sure of much. Our faiths have way more in common that you might think, than even the angry drivers are willing to acknowledge.

    Love you. There’s a beer in the fridge and a cigar on the porch any time you want to head this way.

    • Shan K says:

      I distinctly remember the feeling of “Oh good – now I’m not by myself!” when Papa put you in my arms for the first time. I still feel that way.

      You have managed to make honesty about spiritual struggle, ideas and change into a comforting thing on this blog and in my life — and I would have previously thought that nearly impossible. Much love — and pass the beer.

  5. What poignant writing. Sometimes the traffic overwhelms me, too. For the last two years I’ve wandered away from the road at times. Don’t be frightened of the woods – it’s easier to find god there.

  6. TimD says:

    Wow. I take a lot of comfort in reading about the journey and transition of those who, like me, grew up in religious looney-land, and have since been dealing with the consequences. Maybe I’m making too many assumptions, since I don’t actually know you or David.

    But to read about someone else has struggled, battled, and persisted is both soothing and painful. It’s nice to know I’m not alone, but hurts when I’m reminded of things I try to forget. I compulsively sought “God’s will”, confessed sins several times a minute (since that’s how often sins occurred), and gave thanks for each bite of food. I should have been institutionalized, except I was merely applying our strict religious rituals and practices in a devout manner. Your highway metaphor is amazing. Thanks for baring your heart.

  7. I had no doubt that this post would be achingly beautiful. It was well breathed, my friend!

  8. Faith Lenox Osborn says:

    God certainly has been working on me as well over the years! During a time I thought it was more important to “have fun” than it was to obey what God has instructed, I got pregnant with twins with an ungodly man. After struggling for three years in that marriage, God saw fit to release me from it, but once again, I got pregnant before marriage, but at least this time it was with a man who would learn to listen to God’s voice. To make a long story short, my twins were removed from my care and they are now being raised by their father’s parents. At least I still have my daughter, and am learning to listen and let God be in the Drivers Seat of my car. I am still praying that God will forgive me and have me and my husband learn whatever it is we need to learn so we can get the twins back. It is so hard to be patient for His timing!

    • Shan K says:

      I appreciate that you’re willing to share such a personal story, Faith. We’re all just trying to sort it out, huh? Peace along the road, friend.

  9. Honey Prairie says:

    I love the part about praying over your cereal choice. I can honestly agree that I too have experienced all that you have revealed here. Your writing is true to the core and I can hear my soul whispering to my heart “this is true for you too”…….
    To relate to your writing is an understatement.
    Thanks for sharing.
    I am consoled to know I am not alone in this world.

  10. Dan says:

    Incedible journey, your story smacks of realisim and truth. We all struggle to find God’s will, unfortunately. most of us think it’s to late to seek when infact God has been seeking us for such a long time. I marvel at His patients (and yes I meant patients) because we are all sick puppies that need The Cure which is only found in the Love of Jesus Christ who gave His life as ransom for our sins. The song – Jesus take the Wheel – comes directly to mind when reading your blog and that is exactly what we have to learn. Let go of the Wheel and let Him be the Driver you were not made in His image to do His job. Your job is to speak and spread The Gospel which is the Love of Christ.

  11. Tara says:

    Shan this is a very honest account of your journey thus far and I am so glad you had the courage to say it. I think that most believers, no matter their religion, would acknowledge moments (day, weeks, months, years) of doubt and un-belief. I rely so much on my mind to reason things but it always only takes me so far. The mind delivers me to the same spot each time and it is just short of belief. You can go a long way toward meeting God, but that last tiny bit requires faith. That for me, was the hardest part. I’ve been divorced and had some bad things happen. I’ve had to hit the reset button many times. When I come back around, I don’t do it at a church or with a certain religion. I decide to meet God and have a relationship with Him. Just the two of us.

    I hope nothing but the best for you on your journey. We share many great memories and I hope we have a few more. You are an amazingly funny and talented person and I am so glad that I know you. Love you

  12. Last night on facebook I realized i like your “short form style.” Today I realize you’re an artist in long form, as well. I feel muchly that I want to be your friend.

    Thanks for sharing your story. I’m glad you did. Please keep sharing. I need your sanity and your voice in my world… there are seasons i spend more time in the forest than out of it– you’re probably a good partner with whom to walk.

    You’re an artist… with your words, too. Thanks for being here.

  13. mama says:

    Shan, your openness and honesty are heart-breakingly beautiful. it’s not easy to share your hurts, pain and doubts especially when you don’t even know who is going to read it or how they are going to respond.
    Thank you for giving me a glimpse into your heart.
    >><
    You and David have always had a special bond (after all, you did pray every day even when visiting friends for 4 years that "mommy would get pregnant" ; then you were the town-crier on your bike the day you found out that "My mommy's pregnant!") I am blessed as a mom to have both of you.

  14. Amber says:

    As I read your heart and literal soul’s anguish, im not sure if I should get off of my vehicle and give you a ride or sit with you and watch the caravans go by. I know all of the ‘right’ christian things to say, but since the Lord has allowed me to make my own catastrophic decisions, i have been where you are and know I shouldn’t. What I will say is please continue to look in the looking glass and if it does crack you, two things WILL happen: one is the Savior will be there to piece you back together because that is what He does…..saves us in more ways than one. The other is once the glass of lies, confusion, self doubt, embarrassment, anger has been broken, you will be able to finally see and feel what so many of us do when we think of Shan K. Neverending selfless love, a beautiful heart, intriguing mind, talent beyond measure, a smile that makes my heart smile, and most importantly a daughter of the King who is just as confused as most of us are, but is brave enough to say it. I.heart.you.

  15. sherilinr says:

    shan, ever since we became facebook friends i’ve wondered why we weren’t better friends when we actually knew each other way back a million lifetimes ago. i like you & relate to you & wish we lived closer so we could visit. i’d even let you pick out my cereal. =)
    isn’t it distressing to look back & see the arrogance of your own youth? i can only hang my head in shame to admit that i eventually did almost everything i used to pester & preach at my friends for doing. i became “that girl” and couldn’t blame anyone but me for my own stupid choices. i think though that eventually that makes us into sturdier people. it gives us roots when we finally decide which side we’re on so that we don’t blow around. we’ve been there & done that & now we know why we don’t want to do it again.
    don’t be scared of bloggyland. there’s nothing emo about most of us bloggers out here. make sure you put out the fb alert if you guest post again or better yet, start up your own.

  16. Shan, WOW! Thank you for the open, honest glimpse into your soul. Would that more of us got honest, instead of territorial with our beliefs and our journey. If so, we could learn from and help each other. I do love the analogy of spiritual machines on the road. The coolest comfort is that if we make a wrong turn (and we will!), our spiritual GPS gets us back on track re-planning our route. Importantly so, it seems that most of the machines we see use the same owner’s manual (the Bible) and have the same design engineer (Jesus)… its everything else that can get confusing on the journey (when to perform routine maintenance and how to get the best efficiency). Since we’re all “just trying to sort it out” I find it refreshingly invaluable to believe that God is overflowing with mercy. Really, we’re all sinners every day, ragamuffins and misfits. This is I keep going back to one of my favorite books, “The Ragamuffin Gospel” by Brennan Manning. It was a privilege to read this and be able to share in response. I trust it was gentle enough.

  17. Tina Vargo says:

    Didn’t have a chance to read this in peace until this morning, but it only proves to me even more just how beautiful your soul is on the inside. Don’t worry about being on the side of the road. As long as you’re moving, you’re still heading in the right direction. “Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by.” – Marcus Aurelius.

  18. Shan K says:

    I hoped for gentle feedback. I’ve received generous, affirming, empathetic and (for me) eye opening. It’s true what David has been saying gently to me for the past couple years: “We are not alone.”. I’m not even disappointed that he didn’t mean that there are aliens on the roof. Much affection, all.

  19. Lac says:

    From a fellow gypsy who bears the scars of accidents with these so-called vehicles, I thank you for sharing your story.

  20. apap esoom says:

    Reading your journey made me reflect on mine.

    I don’t think I been on the side of the road watching before. So, in some ways I can’t relate. I was in the jungle far from the road for a long time. Then I got in the best car I could find and drove down the highway looking at all the people on the side of the road. Like most of my real life cars it was a clunker. A fixer upper. Most of the people drove like they do in the Dominican Republic-Wacko. But, I usually didn’t notice because I was driving just like them (it made everything seem normal). I’ve had a few fender benders and I think there are some who are afraid to ride with me now (or even drive for that matter). I know I need to keep driving (something about needing to finish the race or something). But, I sure am sorry for all those people I ran into, frightened, scared off the road, and gave ample opportunity for road rage to. I have considered a motorcycle before and giving up the mass transit!

    Sorry, if I frightened any passangers. But, if I understand the route right, the express stops right where you’re at.

  21. apap esoom says:

    Shan,
    Your openness is precious. I know it hurts to expose yourself like this. I love you as you are, even if I ‘m learning to do that better. Take in the sights where you are at then move when you’re ready.
    Most of us find ourselves watching and lonely at times, hope I can be of comfort along the way.

    papa

    • shan k says:

      Love you. Thank you for loving me this way, too. You merciful and gracious and accepting is good for the heart. <3

  22. KatR says:

    Shan,

    Wow. I was run over mutiple times by one of the “vehicles on the road”. I have no desire to get back on another one (I did try for awhile). I don’t hear God, I don’t sense God, I have no relationship with God. I’ve begged, cried, pleaded, but only….silence.

    I would love to turn my back on the road and walk away, but as much as I try, I cannot NOT believe. So I also hope that God will show up for me some day.

    Thank you so much for posting this. I feel less alone.

  23. I’ve never read this blog before now, but I will be following it just to hear more of you, Shan.

    In your vulnerability you open the doors for the rest of us to admit that things aren’t ok. I don’t know you, but I just made some cookies last night and I’d be glad to pull my car over to share them with you and chat. Thank you for being real. Having sat on the sidelines myself, I know that God will take your brokenness and show you something beautiful.

    Keep writing- you have a gift that I am envious of.

  24. a gorgeous post, sister of david’s… gorgeous and real and i want to be more like this: more honest in my seeking. thank you, fellow gypsy.

  25. Joybird says:

    Well Shan, I’ve had this post sitting open for days not sure what to say. I’ve gone through and seen very up close some situations very similar to the ones you describe. I think I came to a different resting point than you (still driving believing with all my heart that a good God who is lovingly involved in my details yet huge, vast, unfathomably large with a plan of His own is guiding me even if my car is dinged up) but I know firsthand that this kind of story is hard. Devastatingly hard. No words to make it ok hard. I pray that Jesus sits with you on the side of the road, watching the cars go by, listening to and lavishing healing love on you. Even if you can’t believe He is there. Even though I hesitated to comment on such a tender, vulnerable post I was determined to because I love your art. Through The Dark is amazing. It draws me in and sets my storytelling heart spinning. If you ever decide to sell it please email me (although I’m pretty broke, but I think I’d still like the chance to buy.) You have a precious talent. I just can’t get over that painting. I have thought about it for days. That is a gift.

  26. Pingback: The Good Child | The Screaming Kettle at Home

  27. Elizabeth says:

    Thanks so much for this post. I just read it today, and there’s a lot to take away from it. Most of all: I’m comforted to know I’m not the only one who has prayed over cereal decisions. Well, not cereal, but similar small and terrifyingly mundane decisions. Sometime during my Calvinist childhood, I got the idea that there is a right and wrong way to do everything, even the smallest of tasks, and it’s taken me a long time to find a measure of comfort and ease in making mundane decisions. Maybe one day I’ll stop entreating God before I buy toothpaste or choose a parking space.

  28. Pingback: Posts with the Most | The Screaming Kettle at Home

  29. Pingback: The fit hits the Shan, No. 3: Why can’t church be more like the smoking section? | The Screaming Kettle at Home

  30. Vicki K says:

    Shan, I will join many others in saying thank you for sharing your struggle. I have been traveling a similar highway for several years now, often angry at those people in the vehicles you mention (partially because I want to be as confident as they are, and partially because their confidence allows no room for the doubt that has been my constant companion on this journey). I am glad to not be alone in this journey, where I too long to just run away from it all, but am consistently drawn back to this God that I don’t understand but know is all around. Thanks.

    • shan k says:

      Thanks for reading, Vicki. It’s true we aren’t alone and it’s comforting to notice the similarities in our stops and starts and questions. Peace.

  31. Robin says:

    Shan, I spent many years in a few big buses, constantly in enforced proximity to others, and with absolutely no control whatsoever over where the bus was headed and being told it was “God’s Will For My Life.” One day I began to question whether the bus was really being steered by God or whether it was being steered by the person who designated themselves the driver. When I finally asked that question out loud and in public, I was kicked off the bus. I had become dangerous. That kind of thinking leads to anarchy on a bus, and cannot be tolerated. After 9 years of enforced proximity in the bus, I was tired of buses and freeways and the hustle and bustle and abuse of the “Christian” life. I made a beeline for the forest. And there, for perhaps the first time in my life – I feel like I truly encountered God. I’d spent a life-time hearing about Him, but the noise of all the people trying to tell me who He was and what He wanted from me, often completely hindered my ability to hear from HIM! I’ve spent the last 6 years in the woods, and it has been wonderful. Hard, painful and incredibly demanding at times, but blessed and amazing at the same time. And, like Elijah and the Israelites, God was faithful in providing for my every need. I was happy in the forest and had no interest in returning to the highway ever again. Occasionally I would visit friends who invited me for a ride on their bus, but one ride was always enough to re-damage my soul, and left me with no desire to return.

    About 9 months ago, I found another bus. On this bus, the driver didn’t actually seem to be leading the bus, and I thought maybe God was. One thing I’ve learned is that on God’s bus, I believe there are always two drivers – and in order to get anywhere, they have to learn to work together. That’s how God’s bus works. That’s why he created us male and female (and allows us to be gay and straight, black and white, American and Mexican, Christian and Muslim, Mormon and Catholic). In this bus, there was STILL only one driver – although there were several navigators, that were used to try and cover the fact that there was only one driver. I pointed this out very loudly and was once again kicked off the bus – while it was still moving.

    I’m not gonna lie – it hurts. But mostly what it hurts is my pride, and I get over that pretty quickly. God has taught me to drink the cup of humility quickly – it burns going down, but is the best cure-all for wounded pride in existence. Maybe one day I’ll find a bus with two drivers. Maybe one day I’ll even be one of those two drivers on a bus. Like most women, I am an EXCELLENT driver… (she says very tongue-in-cheek!). But for now, I am headed for the hills once again to heal and recuperate. But what I have found is a covey of wilderness dwellers just like me. People who are not angry about freeway drivers, and yet simply prefer wilderness life to heal and recuperate. The freeway is not our natural habitat, but it is where the neediest of people are found. I believe that the wilderness is important, because in the wilderness we are given the resources that the city-dwellers (the freeway travelers) need most.

    So, as much as I love the wilderness, I know that to truly honor my Father, I have to return to the highway. And – when He calls me, I will go. But, for the moment I am content to sit by the cool bubbling stream that popped up out of nowhere when I turned a corner and lifted aside a tree branch – still wounded from being so recently thrown from a moving bus. God has brought me manna in the form of blog posts that are healing and restoring my soul – possibly in preparation for another visit to the highway. That’s not a thought I enjoy right now, so I’m just going to do as he directed and enjoy this day’s bread and not worry about tomorrow’s. Thank you for the beautiful loaf of warm delicious succulent sourdough (my favorite kind of bread!). It has nourished, nurtured and sustained my soul – and healed a few cells of my wounds.

  32. Pingback: Guest posts from this year | The Screaming Kettle

  33. Pingback: Links and Devotional « James’ Ramblings

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s