Parallel tracks

There is a certain nostalgia about trains.  I recently had the pleasure of traveling by train from Philadelphia to our nation’s capital and enjoyed the ease of travel along with the view.  I purchased an economy class ticket (rather than a ticket on the high speed train), accepting the delay associated with the not-infrequent stops to offset the cost.

And so it goes with life.  We make choices. Sometimes the consequences are predictable, like travel across four continents...and expect to be tired to the bone at unexpected times as the inner clock adjusts.  Sometimes the consequences are unexpected, as in Harrison’s boundless energy despite the demanding travel. And many times, what we encounter and experience are not the result of our own personal or volitional choices, but life playing out, manifesting God’s sovereign hand, in ways we cannot fully comprehend.

The parallel tracks of life—joy and sorrow, clarity and uncertainty, plenty and want—carry us closer and closer to our Maker when we keep our eyes on Him as the final goal. The Author and the Finisher. As pointed out by the museum guide on our visit to the first of many stone churches in Lalibela, He is the Alpha and Omega. Beginning and end.  Through this lens of truth can we start to interpret and process the spectrum that is reality that we encountered in this one day alone.

Breakfast was a feast. Pastries and cold cuts. Cereal and French toast (yes, even “choco-flakes”—Will is happy). Fresh fruit and yogurt. Peanut butter and tropical fruit jams and honey. The “best cup” of buna (coffee) some have ever tasted...”so sweet, I’m drinking it black!”  The ride to the airport and getting through the lines were no problem.  Safe travel to Lalibela after touching down to let passengers off and gain more in Gondar.  Vistas of canyons and green patchwork farmland to be soaked in through the tiny windows of the prop plane. Such a smooth start after the long—and also smooth—travel to Ethiopia.

And yet, alongside the wealth, the reality of the want.  A quick roadside stop to watch a woman making injera outside her home.  Fresh kindling gathered by a family member and added to the open fire.  Children and grandmothers wearing worn and tattered clothes, the hand-stitched seams easily visible.  Warm injera with burberry paste “azawot” offered to our group. Some eagerly accepting. It is utterly delicious. Some bewildered, “why would we take their food?”  A small offering to the cook for her time and generosity. Children gather round. “Hello, hello!” Easy smiles adorn their thin frames. More smiles and giggles, posing for photographs. Not to be left out, two little girls run up, carrying yellow water jugs half their size.  They’ve fetched their family’s water supply for the day.  Can this be?

Back in the bus, a wide landscape before us. What looks like hand-terraced hillsides with rocks strewn in parallel lines, back and forth, back and forth. Acacia trees dot the land.  Oxen-driven plows till the hard soil. The ground is dry and brittle, that is easy to see.  The work is hard and physically demanding.  It seems an impossible task lies ahead of each farmer clearing his field.

Another stop to soak in the view and take photos.

How do we prepare ourselves, and especially our children, to encounter what we cannot know to expect?  How shall they greet the colorfully-clad schoolchildren who unabashedly ask for pens and more?  Our children are quick to engage the kids—children love children! But where do the conversations lead?  How are their hearts touched?  How do their minds process the poverty before them, when the closest they’ve come to serving and interacting with the needy is a soup kitchen hosted in a local church?

So much to process.

And then, the hotel. It is appropriately named “Mountainview Hotel,” for it is perched atop a hill and offers panoramic views of a stunning landscape.  There are more windows than walls to maximize the natural beauty before us.  Birds soar above, workers tarry under the sun.  The children laugh and play together as they await lunch.  Another feast.  Soup and fresh bread, followed by a buffet of fresh salads and hot dishes.  Our bellies full, it is time to visit the “Eighth Wonder of the World,” Lalibela’s stone churches.

And a wonder they are.  Conceived by King Lalibela, these churches were built from the top down...anchored in heaven so to speak, rather than being built on a firm earthly foundation.  Surely it was a divine revelation to conceive of such houses of worship.  But then to execute the vision, to bring countless numbers of men alongside and ask them to hand-carve this impossible rock down, down, and still downward into the ground, and to carve arches and windows and doorways.  Breathtaking and mindboggling all at once. Pilgrims wrapped in their white gauzy shawls look angelic as they make their way to the church entrance and around the surrounding stone grounds. Yes, these houses of worship are still vitally alive.

The Divine reaches down to touch His creation.  Courage and obedience, toil and labor from those before us—8 or 9 centuries ago—yield fruit that the originators could not have foreseen or foretold.  He gives us our daily bread.  He tells us not to worry about tomorrow, for today has enough cares of its own. He tells us to give generously and cheerfully. He promises never to leave or forsake us.  And so, as we navigate these parallel tracks that is life, we hold fast to His promises and His truth. 

Lord, let me love as you love. Let me live each day fully to Your glory.  Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You. And let me not worry, but trust that You will guide us where you call us, and to see with Your eyes as we soak in the myriad wonders of your world.