I purchased a new scanner this past week, one that scans slides and negatives, of which I have hundreds that span over 30 years of ministry in Africa and other parts of the world. As I go through the faded images of my past ministry in Kenya I am reminded of the profound impact the desert has had on my life.
There is something profound about isolation, being cut off from the norm of the familiar. It was in the bush of Kenya, working with the tribal people of Turkana and Pokot, that I spent many lonely days and nights away from my immediate family, and of course my extended family in the U.S. When I close my eyes, even today, I can feel the unrelenting heat, the grime of everything made of cow-dung, the pesky flies that swarmed my face and how difficult it was to walk in sand. At night I would listen to the mournful singing of the people in the village and look up into the African sky and see a billion stars. It was in the desert that I learned to think through and even challenge my faith. In the desert I was away from the pressures of my peers, the judgment of a godless world system; it was just God and I, in the desert.
Throughout history the desert has been God’s classroom of instruction for His followers. Moses was exiled to the wasteland to prepare him to lead His people in the desert; David, a man after God’s own heart, was formed herding sheep in the bush; God sustained Elijah for seven years of drought by a brook; John the Baptist, the forerunner of Christ, did his work, not in the city of Jerusalem, but in the wilderness; the Apostle Paul, after his dramatic conversion, was banished to the backside of the desert for three years to contemplate his Damascus road encounter with Jesus.
In this world of instant communication, 24-hour news and the measure of a man gauged by name recognition and portfolio, one must discipline himself to be alone with God. Depending on the press of the day, time set aside for God could be 10 minutes or 1 hour and perhaps a few smattering petitions throughout the day. While snippets of devotion is better than not acknowledging Him at all, the time needed to allow God to mold the spirit is difficult, if not impossible to find. In spite of the malaria carrying mosquitoes, snakes and scorpions, I often miss the solitude with God I found in the desert.
2 comments:
Ah, Turkana. Mosquito nets and staring children, outdoor choos where scorpians the size of a man's fist scurried up and down, moon on the sand so bright, it was almost like day.
If I sound wistful, it's all an illusion, brought on by the pictures of my dad as a youngster.
Your an enigma dad, and always have been. As much as you love solitude you get so lonely so quick. I'm back in the blogging circuit again and I just got caught up with all of yours. They are wonderful. Some have made me really sad, though.
What a life you've lived.
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