I did a lot of journaling while I was away. You know, the paper and pen kind? Though it seems archaic, there is something you can’t find while pressing detached keys and staring at a computer screen. I wrote pages (and you will be glad for only a summary), but I wrote as I sat, a small solitary figure in a vast landscape, “I feel as though I am in a vacuum – where the world’s noise is shut out and true sounds are allowed voice.”

That seemed to be my own introspective experience as well, away from the bustling sounds, clutter, and routine.

I spent much time “being.” I cannot find other words to describe the stillness – physical and spiritual. I had no place to be, no schedule, no expectation of time. There was only the choice of how to live those moments. I thought. I read. I journaled. I prayed.

Something rose to the surface in the quiet of my heart, serenaded by winds and birds… Something I had read in C.S. Lewis’ book “Surprised by Joy.”

For brief moments in his life, Lewis experienced this other-worldly thing well up within him. I say thing because we can hardly describe it as happiness or a rush of feeling or any sort of emotion, but I suppose it was really all those things coming together in kind of a combustion of creation. Something inside of him recognized and responded to creation in a way that was intensely thrilling. He remembers a few moments as a child, one as he gazed at the English landscape and another when his brother brought inside leaves and plants to create the setting for their fantasy land.

Later in life he realizes (eloquently, of course) he highly desired this thing, this intense thrill. He tries and fails to capture the thing by re-creating moments similar to those he experienced as a child. Lewis purposed to rush after the thing. He made up his mind to find and capture what had made such an impression. Yet, when he was just close enough, the thing escaped, smothering true delight with disappointment.

Then, the surprise comes just as a dawn breaks the line on the horizon.

This thing (or anything for that matter) is impossible in strategy to attain. It’s absolutely elusive to method and unresponsive to determination. You see, the object must be Divine; the object must be Christ. The intense thrill, the deep response in one’s inmost being is merely peripheral. In light of the greater glory, we may not even stop to revel in the reflections we find here on earth.

I’m off to a remote cabin today. On a little dirt road near a little town in Texas… and I couldn’t be more excited. Well, if not for my sore muscles and sleep-deprivation, I could probably show a little more enthusiasm. I am excited, though, because a road trip means precious thinking time. I can’t bury myself in a book or get distracted by something on a to-do list… road trips have a way of keeping one still.

Since this cabin is tucked into a valley of the west Texas hill country, I won’t be writing on a computer or talking on the phone. But, I hope to venture off like my friends Thoreau and Emerson… where I will purpose to be intentional about my thinking and determined about my reflection. I can always anticipate meeting God when I leave the distractions of this world. I’m sure this will be no different.

So, back in November I thought the Lord was teaching me lessons about dependence. When I caused a collision at a busy intersection (after multiple car breakdowns), I was overwhelmed with disaster. I called it a “season” and walked around with humbled, hunched shoulders diligently learning my lessons.

I did learn, too. I learned that the Lord is faithful. I learned that dependence is crucial. I learned that the Lord gives mercy and grace. I learned that the Body of Christ is built to support one another.

I took a deep breath after Thanksgiving in Iowa, with car keys in hand and 17 hours between me and my next attempt at Austin, Texas. The Lord’s presence was always brilliantly beside me, even as I stopped in Joplin, Missouri to find that the key would not turn in the ignition. After stopping at the Nissan dealership, the Toyota place next door, and the best key cutter in town, an angel named Gary (who drives around town in his van) was my final attempt to find a solution. He successfully cut a new key for a small fee and I was on the road once again.

When I returned, I was thrilled to have four wheels of freedom once again. I slid so comfortably into my old, independent shoes. It’s surprisingly easy to forget painful lessons, even as the stories were still on my tongue. I shared my great gratitude for community and God’s providence, while my soul silently resolved to make my experience a story of the past.

God, in all his grace, sadly saw I needed another reminder. When I returned from Christmas, I found that my freedom wheels would once again be indefinitely removed. The mechanics assured me the repairs would exceed the price of the car and I stationed the Nissan firmly in the driveway, where it stood as a glaring reminder of my humanness until this morning.

This morning, I sold the car to someone who responded to my ad on Craigslist. I am back to that lesson-learning “season” of November. Only now, it’s January and I am realizing the elementary idea that God blesses us with a life of dependence.

My circumstances will change in the weeks and months to come. Sometimes I’ll need rides to church, sometimes I’ll bike to the store, sometimes I’ll just stay in, sometimes I’ll ask students for a lift, and hopefully sometimes I will be able to offer rides again. Regardless, I am confident that the Lord always seeks a dependent heart. Obedience doesn’t always bring blessings in the form we hope. I’m convinced that nothing in life – absolutely nothing – can separate me from the eternal, unconditional love of Christ (Romans 8:38).

Joshua reminded the Israelites to be strong, take heart, and wait on the Lord. I praise God that He is patient as I learn and re-learn lessons. I can see His patient hand as He looks down on me, “Now, child let’s discover what it means to depend once again. Know that it is the joy of my heart to see my children display and declare my beauty. I will bless you on your road to discovering thankful.”

Thank you, Father. Thank you for allowing me to experience this bump in the road. Thank you for sustaining me in my humble state. Thank you for your promise to sustain me forever.

Let me not forget.