Transitions are always the hardest point of any journey. Transitions are that middle ground where you have forgotten the excitement of starting a new thing and can't quite see the end. This is the place where people are most likely to fall and get discouraged. It is the time when people give up or give in.
Think of the Israelites in the desert. Leaving Egypt was great and the Promised Land was something to be excited for, but it was the blasted desert that gave them so much trouble! Wandering in the desert, feeling as though you are making no progress and are just doing the same thing day after day after day. It is a difficult time. The soul withers under those conditions even as the plants in the desert do. But I had a conversation recently that really gave me a new perspective.
I went to one of the local bars this week with the intent of talking to someone about Jesus. I had someone specific in mind, but he wasn't around, so I sat with a member of my congregation. He told me the most amazing story.
He told me of a pilgrimage he had taken from southern France through the mountains and into northern Spain. It was a 500 mile trip that he did in 5 weeks. He said the first two weeks were great. He was in the mountains, walking up and down, getting great views and always wondering what was over the next hill. He said that the last three weeks were terrible. Not just because he was tired, but because he was walking in the plains. Northern Spain is a large plateau, nothing but farm land cut with a few ravines. He likened it to walking through North Dakota. Having never been there I would liken it to driving through Nebraska - absolutely nothing.
There was nothing to see in the plains, precisely because he could see everything that was ahead. There was no mystery, no wonder, just walking. Lots and lots of walking. He said, "One day I got excited by a tree, another day by a pile of rocks. At least they were something to look at." But this man had learned to conquer the boredom, to press on through the weariness because he had learned an important lesson.
Every pilgrim faces a crisis at some point in their walk. For this man, it came at day 2. He crawled into the hostel at the end of the day totally beaten up. His body was unconditioned and he could hardly move. He was too tired to eat and so he thought he would take a nap. He did and woke up even sorer. He literally could not stand up. As he lay on his cot he wanted to give up. He thought to himself, "Maybe I can take the bus. Maybe I could ride a bike. Maybe I should just give up." He finally thought, "This is a pilgrimage, maybe I should pray." So he did. He asked God what he should do and the answer he got, in King James English (he was raised Baptist) was "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." What was that supposed to mean? He wanted something like the biblical equivalent of "The Little Engine that Could." What was he supposed to do with this.
Upon further meditation our pilgrim decided this. To think about Santiago, the end goal, was too overwhelming. To judge the success of his pilgrimage by how close he was to the end was not going to bode well for him. So, instead, he trusted the Lord's advice, "Each day has enough trouble of its own." Just worry about today, he thought. And so he did. Each day as he laced up his shoes he committed himself to doing everything that was in his power to do that day. If the day came that he couldn't continue, then so be it. But he did. He made the 500 mile trip with no detours and few companions. He was faithful to the day, faithful to the moment - which really brings me back to where I began.
Amy and I are in a season of transition. I don't know what the end result will be, but I know how to be faithful in the here and now. And so, I will be. I choose to be faithful and not worry about what I have no control over. I still hope and pray, but I will not be sidelined by my fears and anxiety. Each day has enough troubles on its own.
