fence-crossing

Well, this will be the last post from the southern side of the border before the new year arrives in all its waxing glory. It will also be a little short, because I don't have a ton of time to expound the profundity of my finite mind.

We are leaving for El Paso today, hoping to cross the border in the evening time, find a hotel close to the airport, and fly out for home tomorrow morning. My thoughts about this change of place, routine, and rhythm are a little jumbled at the moment, still tied together with the logistics of what I have to do before getting on the airplane.

Nevertheless, I've been thinking about how this time of going home has finally come, and how unreal it seems right now. I've been dreaming of going home for months now, how I got more excited as the days passed from Thanksgiving-time into December's patient anticipation of all that is red and green. As my recent posts have indicated, I've missed (and am missing) my family a great amount, and the amount of anticipation I have to celebrate Christmas with them and be in a known, familiar place is building up rapidly.

I'm standing in what seems to me a dry, brown pasture, longing for the lush, verdant fields on the other side of the fence. Over the fence lies my home, warmth, familiarity, fellowship, a place where I am known and can speak my own language all the time, and all the comforts of my former life. This appeals to me greatly, for obvious reasons. Here, in this desert life, I am exposed to my weakness and removed from my familiar roots, forced to place my trust in God, who is not comfortable to my liking most of the time.

Tomorrow, I'll be crossing the fence to the other side, rejoicing in a reunion with my family and my home. I am greatly thankful for this, and am entirely ready to celebrate this happy homecoming with them. At the same time, I do not want to cultivate an attitude of "looking for greener grass" in my life. As a good friend wisely commented on a recent post of mine, the secret to contentment is to live in the "eternal now" of the living God, even in the marginal, dry-pasture times of life. To drink deep of each moment of the time we have been given is a pleasure when drunk in Yahweh's Light.