"It Is My Wilderness, Not Yours"

It has been my wilderness ...

  a place to which I was led.

My wilderness, not yours.

It has been my 'forty days'...

yes, my 'forty days' and not yours

    to endure and to seek,

    to trust and to pray,

    to be surrounded by

       very tending angels.

It has been my aloneness,

    and wilderness and 'forty days'.

I wouldn't want this for you,

   yet I would hope that

   you might allow it

      if and when it comes ...

      for there is a Holy Presence there.

 The wilderness was born

    out of a great silence

    that hoped for a glimpse

    of God in worship

    when all others around me

    were following their worship bulletins

      so carefully ... so dutifully ...

      so worshipfully ... so very well.

It has been my wilderness, not yours.

    It is I who sang the hymns,

          with parched lips.

    It is I who reached out for the morsels

       that the Spirit handed to me

       when I was so malnourished.

It has been my wilderness, not yours.

It is I who listened for shouts

   and heard holy whispers.

I ask that you don't say that you know best

      which cross I should choose,

      but consider my steeped-in-prayer "NO"

      as valid of an answer as a "YES".

It is my response to God to live into,

   not yours to discourage.

The words, "Get thee behind me...."

  are on my lips, on guard and ready

  for one more attempt

  to change my mind ...

     to change this direction.

O God, how do I tell them

  that the cross I have just put down

  was what you asked of me then ...

  and that which I have just picked up

  is what you ask of me now?

When I prayed for words from you,

   you gave me sight!

You pointed to the wooden cross

   so familiar to me in the moments

   of my every-day.

Has this cross stood tall for years,

   on this busy corner along my way,

   on the front lawn of the church

   in my neighborhood,

   subject to the elements,

   for a time such as this?

I have looked its way,

   every day of every month

   and have given thanks

   for forgiveness and grace.

Yet, this day you spoke to me

  through this weathered cross

  in a different way.

How wonderful are your thoughts, O God!

When was the old cross-piece

   replaced by the new one?

It is so noticeable,

   so different from the vertical piece.

Freshly cut wood.  Caramel in color.

Nailed to a grey, weathered piece of wood.

There is such a stark contrast

   and in that, you speak to me!

You have given me words in this sight!

Words of newness in the same wooden cross.

You have asked me to share

  with those who say "NO",

  that it is good and right

  to put down the old sameness

  of the cross I once picked up

  and pick up another cross,

  nailed together with a newness,

  and pieced together by you.

It was my wilderness, not theirs ...

... my 'forty days', not theirs,

... my aloneness, not theirs,

... my seeking, not theirs,

... your leading, not theirs,

... my cross, not theirs;

        my cross

          that you so wonderfully

          pieced together with a newness

          and commanded me

          to pick up.

Holy One, you are in it all

   and in that, I do trust

   these unknown steps.

Amen.