Fishing trips when I was a girl were epic adventures. We would load up and head to the Old Stone Creek Bridge - this dirt road bridge over the Goose Creek in southeast Kansas where my family spent many holidays. We'd picnic there and sunbathe on the sandbar while my dad and brothers fished, and we'd occasionally float to the deeper, shadier waters on the other side of the bridge. This handmade edifice that predated all of us by decades if not a century still stands stalwart in the Kansas Flint Hills.
We'd plan these outings for days - talk about it a lot, start gathering supplies on the front porch and in the kitchen. "Don't eat that! It's for the picnic!" Dad would drag out his fishing poles and check the lines, organize his lures, find his prized antique minnow bucket. Then on the morning of the trip, we'd wake at an unforgivable hour, throw on swim suits and shorts and stumble bleary-eyed to the car that dad had already loaded. If it wasn't in the car by the time he shut the trunk, you either didn't need it or would have to do without, because when it was time to go, it was time to go and we weren't coming back until there were sunburns on our noses and fish in our ice chest.
There have been times in my life when I felt a grand exit was imminent. Much like our family fishing trips, there was a run-up to it. There was talk about it, a general plan for it, a meticulous preparation for it; and though the exact time may not have been known, it's in the mist up ahead like a turn in the road on a foggy night. When it's time to go, it's time to go and there's no looking back.
Israel knew this exit strategy as well. They experienced it when it was time to leave Egypt. There was a run-up, a chatter about it, a brief gathering of spoils and a hasty departure - one that led them straight to an impassible sea. It must have been a pretty devastating moment as an Israelite... to leave everything you've known, everything your people have known for centuries, only to be met with what seemed to be certain disaster. But we can learn a lot about how to move on from where we are from how Israel exited Egypt.
First of all, when it's time to go, go. Go. Go. Go. Don't dawdle or saunter - get to steppin'. And once you do, don't look back. Don't keep one foot in Egypt and by all means don't leave your heart there. Pick up and go when God finally says it's time.
Second, plunder Egypt. Grab everything of value that you can possibly grab with both hands and claim it as yours. Every success, every honor, every skill you learned, every joy and accomplishment, everything that made it worth being there - grab it and take it with you as you go. It will sustain you in the wilderness. It will become part of your tabernacle with God, a place for His presence.
This is probably a good place to remind you that I'm not advocating taking actually things. No stealing of office supplies in the name of Jesus. We're talking metaphorically, friends. Leave every thing that doesn't belong to you.
But here's what we do - we take our garbage with us. Regardless of what we're leaving (a relationship, a job, a church, or a city), we tend to treasure our hurts, our injustices, our tears, our sweat and broken promises and betrayed loyalties. Every little thing that we think gives us reason to leave is usually what fills the pockets of our minds and steamer trunks of our hearts. But why? There's no value in them. They can do nothing for us. They give no life, nor joy, nor strength when staring at the drab surroundings of wilderness living. Leave these in Egypt, but plunder what was good. With palpable uncertainty between a Sea and a river, between Egypt and a promised land, whatever you take with you of value will be life and joy and peace and beauty when you're surrounded by miles of sand and uncertainty.
Finally, when you're crossing a Red Sea of departure, know this - you're not going to die. With dust under your feet and walls of water on either side, know that God is with you. That was His promise in Isaiah 43 - "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you." Go with God and get on with your life. Don't be afraid. He's got your back... literally. When the Egyptian army pursued the Israelites, God protected them. Every Israelite made it across the Red Sea unscathed, and not one Egyptian who tried to keep them from going survived.
Here's what I'm currently wrestling with in my corner of the internet -
All the soldiers of Egypt that kept me serving lesser gods of comfort and familiarity, of status and pride and the miserable need for approval - they all need to drown. All the emissaries of Pharaoh that try to lure me back and try to tell me I won't be happy anywhere else or that I'm not equipped for any other life, everything that says "stay" when I know it's time to go - they all need to drive their chariots into watery graves. I will not survive a wilderness or embrace a promised land while they live.
So I guess, my kind readers, my question tonight is, "is there a 'go' in your future?" Do you sense the run up of a looming exit? What needs to go with you? What needs to stay? And if you're leaving someplace so comfortable and familiar, what part of the past needs to be swallowed up in the Sea behind you? Wherever you are, whatever your answers, leave a comment.
We'd plan these outings for days - talk about it a lot, start gathering supplies on the front porch and in the kitchen. "Don't eat that! It's for the picnic!" Dad would drag out his fishing poles and check the lines, organize his lures, find his prized antique minnow bucket. Then on the morning of the trip, we'd wake at an unforgivable hour, throw on swim suits and shorts and stumble bleary-eyed to the car that dad had already loaded. If it wasn't in the car by the time he shut the trunk, you either didn't need it or would have to do without, because when it was time to go, it was time to go and we weren't coming back until there were sunburns on our noses and fish in our ice chest.
There have been times in my life when I felt a grand exit was imminent. Much like our family fishing trips, there was a run-up to it. There was talk about it, a general plan for it, a meticulous preparation for it; and though the exact time may not have been known, it's in the mist up ahead like a turn in the road on a foggy night. When it's time to go, it's time to go and there's no looking back.
Israel knew this exit strategy as well. They experienced it when it was time to leave Egypt. There was a run-up, a chatter about it, a brief gathering of spoils and a hasty departure - one that led them straight to an impassible sea. It must have been a pretty devastating moment as an Israelite... to leave everything you've known, everything your people have known for centuries, only to be met with what seemed to be certain disaster. But we can learn a lot about how to move on from where we are from how Israel exited Egypt.
First of all, when it's time to go, go. Go. Go. Go. Don't dawdle or saunter - get to steppin'. And once you do, don't look back. Don't keep one foot in Egypt and by all means don't leave your heart there. Pick up and go when God finally says it's time.
Second, plunder Egypt. Grab everything of value that you can possibly grab with both hands and claim it as yours. Every success, every honor, every skill you learned, every joy and accomplishment, everything that made it worth being there - grab it and take it with you as you go. It will sustain you in the wilderness. It will become part of your tabernacle with God, a place for His presence.
This is probably a good place to remind you that I'm not advocating taking actually things. No stealing of office supplies in the name of Jesus. We're talking metaphorically, friends. Leave every thing that doesn't belong to you.
But here's what we do - we take our garbage with us. Regardless of what we're leaving (a relationship, a job, a church, or a city), we tend to treasure our hurts, our injustices, our tears, our sweat and broken promises and betrayed loyalties. Every little thing that we think gives us reason to leave is usually what fills the pockets of our minds and steamer trunks of our hearts. But why? There's no value in them. They can do nothing for us. They give no life, nor joy, nor strength when staring at the drab surroundings of wilderness living. Leave these in Egypt, but plunder what was good. With palpable uncertainty between a Sea and a river, between Egypt and a promised land, whatever you take with you of value will be life and joy and peace and beauty when you're surrounded by miles of sand and uncertainty.
Here's what I'm currently wrestling with in my corner of the internet -
Leaving the past and moving on when God said it's time to move on, will not kill me;
But there are things that need to die in those waters I'm crossing.
All the soldiers of Egypt that kept me serving lesser gods of comfort and familiarity, of status and pride and the miserable need for approval - they all need to drown. All the emissaries of Pharaoh that try to lure me back and try to tell me I won't be happy anywhere else or that I'm not equipped for any other life, everything that says "stay" when I know it's time to go - they all need to drive their chariots into watery graves. I will not survive a wilderness or embrace a promised land while they live.
So I guess, my kind readers, my question tonight is, "is there a 'go' in your future?" Do you sense the run up of a looming exit? What needs to go with you? What needs to stay? And if you're leaving someplace so comfortable and familiar, what part of the past needs to be swallowed up in the Sea behind you? Wherever you are, whatever your answers, leave a comment.