Wilderness or Battle: Tired of the Long Way

The weekend was brutal.  Really, the last two or three weeks have been brutal, but I haven't known how to describe them.

I still don't have words, really.

I'm sick today.  Most likely from stress, and a hangover of the many tears shed the last few days.

I had a brutal nightmare this morning at 4 am.

A vivid combination of processing some of the many hard emotions of the weekend, and the blatantly demonic.

At least I was able to fall back asleep for a while after this one.

I'm dealing with a particular icky manifestation of some of what had gone on in the past.

A manifestation that I thought gone, rather permanently.

And life is broken.

Because the weekend was rough, there aren't posts scheduled for this week.  Maybe I'll get to that, but I might not.  It might just have to be a sporadic blogging sort of week.

My heart aches.

I found myself thinking this morning about a post I wrote quite a while back, now. 

I talked about the Dixie Chicks song, "The Long Way Around".

I'm tired of taking the long way, today.  I'm tired of the journey of healing not being instantaneous.  My head reminds me that it usually isn't, that this is not unusual, and that I will walk through this, one step after another, if I can only just manage to keep walking.

It's been two long years now
Since the top of the world came crashing down
And I'm getting' it back on the road now
But I'm taking the long way
Taking the long way around
I'm taking the long way
Taking the long way around
The long
The long way around

Well, I fought with a stranger and I met myself
I opened my mouth and I heard myself
It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself
But I, I could never follow
No I, I could never follow
Well, I never seem to do it like anybody else
Maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down
If you ever want to find me I can still be found
Taking the long way
Taking the long way around
Taking the long way
Taking the long way around

It's actually been close to three years now, since the events that started some of the crashing in of my world.

And in my more generous moments, I can choose to see all the beauty that has also occurred in those three years.

Or to see the beginning of that crashing in as beginning the journey of healing.

In my more generous and faith and hope-filled moments.

The rest of the time (and even in some of those generous moments)?  I'm tired of taking the long way.

I read these rather telling verses in Exodus the other day, "When Pharaoh finally let the people go, God did not lead them along the main road that runs through Philistine territory, even though that was the shortest route to the Promised Land.  God said, 'If the people are faced with a battle, they might change their mind and return to Egypt.  So God let them in a roundabout way through the wilderness toward the Red Sea."  (Exodus 13:17-18)

"If they're faced with a battle they might change their mind."  He gave them a wilderness instead of a battle.  It doesn't seem like a better option, really.  And granted, the children of Israel aren't exactly known for their happy and compliant spirits. 

I'm tired of the long way.  But I'm not sure that I prefer the battle that seems to be the other option.  And so I find myself, standing, feeling somewhat paralyzed, as I wait to figure what step comes next.

The Place of Softening (1 Samuel 23)

The passage heading reads "David Hides in the Wilderness".

Saul is chasing him. He fears for his life. The previous chapters tell us that Saul has been afflicted by a tormenting spirit that filled him with depression and fear. (A spirit that the scriptures say was sent by the Lord - because that concept doesn't raise a whole other slew of questions. But that's a different post....) Saul is jealous and angry - out for David's head, and David is staying one step ahead of imminent death only because "God didn't let Saul find him."

David is wandering and hiding in the hilly wilderness of Ziph.

I once heard a sermon on this passage in which the pastor told us that the word Ziph means "place of softening" in the Hebrew. I've never been able to confirm that, but it has stayed with me, working at moments in my heart.

It came back to me just now, as I find myself again wrestling with my thoughts, having a conversation with a dear friend about pain and numbness, about feeling things deeply.

But the image it brought with it this time wasn't the usual idea of a gentle softening - like pouring sweet smelling liquid into the load of laundry, and having fragrant, fluffy towels emerge at the other end.

The image was one of meat being tenderized, softened. Have you seen a meat tenderizer? A small, harsh metal mallet, it's face covered in protruding spikes. And you don't use it gently. You pound with it. Slamming it over and over into the meat with a force that thins and softens. A force that may ultimately produce a tasty result, but is violent and harsh at moments in its application

There is no question in my mind that the wilderness seasons in my life have often been "places of softening." And, while gentle isn't exactly the word I'd use, those seasons have rarely been as harsh as the one I find myself in just presently.

I pray that it truly will be a place of softening. That the result will be beautiful. I can certainly feel the blows.

I am thankful, at least, for this: The NIV translates verse 16, "And Saul's son Jonathan went to David at Horesh and helped him find strength in God."

In the midst of the wilderness, the son of the one who seeks his death, comes to David to "help him find strength in God." In that, at least, there is something hinting at hope.

There have been those moments, though few, and brief, where I have been shored up by friends who have found me in the wilderness. Friends who have helped me to see God again, amidst the turmoil. And for those moments I am deeply thankful.

And there is something challenging, too, in that friendship, that trust. David was running for his life, and yet he allowed his location to be revealed to the son of his sworn enemy. He chose to trust the relationship more than the strength of the evil spirits that had so overtaken Saul.

These days I find it difficult to trust in even the most intimate of relationships. I'm not sure how I would handle it if in the midst of the brokenness, in the midst of feeling as if I'm running for my very life, for the ability to be who Jesus has made me, a close relation of the "enemy" sought my friendship. I don't know that my heart would be open, even at the prompting of God, to allow them in enough to bring renewed strength and faith.

I am challenged by David tonight. By this "place of softening" in the presence of those from the enemy's camp.