It looked like that scene from Fiddler on The Roof, at the end, when the people of Anetevka are walking away from their home, clutching their few belongings in cold fingers.
My black shoes cracked the brittle frosted grass as I stepped across the field on my way to church, my bag in one hand and nothing in the other. I could see my breath in the early morning air and I kept my head down, blocking the wind with my wool collar. The scene began as I looked up and saw a few morning comers getting out of their cars and carrying their possessions into the building: a guitar, a coffee mug, a folder and a child. Worldly possessions, things precious to their identity and things precious to their peace of mind. I looked down and saw that I looked no different, my bible, my notebook, my journal and my pilot precise pen stuffed in a scuffed black bag.
Things which give me peace of mind.
Things which distract my mind back from the things which really matter.
The earth is hard
The treasure fine.
I have to dig deeper in order to find the pearl of greatest price. The challenge to grow up more, to refine my character and to watch my steps is ever pressing. I find that I dwell on one thing completely and forget the most important thing; The thing Mary chose: Listening and hearing the voice of the Lord.
I wrote a month ago, after driving away from the home of my childhood, So I drive, looking at the sunset over my left shoulder, leaving behind more than I ever have before and less than ever expected. My foot eases on the gas pedal, I'll take this road slowly, it takes a little getting used to.
I wrote that thinking that it would hurt and I would have to prepare myself for the hurt, brace myself against the pain and protect myself from the certain persecution. I wrote that doubting the word I had previously hidden so carefully in my heart: This will not happen, I will have faith and see it through. I wrote that forgetting all the things I had faked my way through, believing with fierce determination, that if only I said it enough I would eventually have successfully lied to myself.
I find that this week I'm done faking my way through. I'm done pretending it will all be alright and I'm done lying and calling it faith. If I can't proclaim the things I want to see happen, I will claim the things I know to be truth: He is Lord and He will rise. He stomped on the enemy and threw a successful stone at a giant. He shut mouths of lions and He turned dry bones into flesh. He walked on a lake and fed a lot of people from one basket. He taught mere men to pray and humbly accepted His death on a cross.
The earth is hard and the treasure fine, but I think I'm getting close to seeing it. I think.
