Friday, May 04, 2007

The Longest Journey

As much as I love to romanticize with Laura Ingalls Wilder about little houses on praries, in all reality I would have been an discontented pioneer.

I just don't like long journeys. I really like arriving. I can forbear the journeying part (often with the help of Dramamine) because my destination has never been more than twenty-four hours away. Being there is so wonderful that packing and waiting and sitting in a hulk of metal with a motor somehow becomes worth all the effort.

Part of the problem is that traveling involves patience. And when you fly into a very tiny airport with only one restaurant, traveling often means delays and surrendering your immediate future to a "Departure Schedule" screen. Patience and surrender are hard for me.

I have traveled some long roads recently. Actually, to be more accurate, I have traveled the same long road over and over again. And, to be even more precise, that long road has a "One Way" sign posted on it. The journey is from my head, to my heart; it is from what I know, to what I feel; it is from what I am mentally capable of recognizing, to what I am emotionally capable of accepting; it is from God's will, to my will. It is the longest road I have ever traveled. And, mind you, I do not like traveling. I like arriving.

Mysteriously, though, I am beginning to notice that each time I undertake this long journey, I can travel the road just a little more swiftly. The familiarity of the path gives me faith to see that I will, once again, be given grace to reach the end of the road. And each time, having reached the end of the path, I am always so impressed that it is so wonderful to be there - to be in the place where somehow the will of God was met with receptiveness by the will of Sarah Angell.