It's funny when you're in a strange land, how difficult it can be to gauge exactly where you are on a journey, especially when the country happens to a lot larger than the one where you usually live. For example, if someone asked me how long it would take to get from my house to Dublin or from Belfast to Londonderry, I reckon, like most natives, I could estimate within fifteen minutes, the length of the journey. And even if out travelling on the road, you get to know the obvious landmarks that help you judge how near of far you are from your intended destination. But we were somewhere between the north part of South Africa and Swaziland and I don't think any of us knew how far we had come or how much further we needed to travel. It was all a bit disorientating and the rough roads, distinctly lacking in any tarmac or concrete, significantly slowed our journey so that it was impossible even to estimate in terms of time, how long we still had to go. So there we were, three men, in a four by four, somewhere up in the mountains, south of the Kruger National Park but not quite on the borders of Swaziland, sometimes slowed down lower than built up area driving speed limits, meeting the occasional pedestrian who seemed to almost appear from nowhere and stopping at the occasional little roadside stalls where young children offered us fruit for pittance but gave us their smiles for free. It was another world in every sense of the word and as we travelled onwards, there wasn't even the security of knowing that we were absolutely certain of going in the right direction, only the comfort of eventually meeting a signpost or, better still, a small village or town that might have appeared on our sparse map. That comfort became slightly less so, once when stopping at a gas station in a village where all of the male population seemed to be out of work, a different colour to us and standing or sitting only yards across the road, staring at some strange, white individuals in summer clothes.A second time in a much larger town when the whole population were going on with their normal lives but we could only see our three white skins as being abnormal. In truth, neither situation was threatening, but it taught me a lot about how we view strangers who come into our worlds and how at times our attitudes must make them feel or at least how they perceive to be seen. And so it was, in the middle of the mountains, on dirt track roads, travelling at no more than twenty miles per hour, with every turn of the wheels sending judders through the chassis, miles from anywhere, and I can say that with some justification, our driver chose to phone his wife in Portstewart. Now you must understand travelling at such speeds meant that we could make almost instant emergency stops and negotiate even the most difficult bends on the journey, almost with our eyes closed. Also the odds of actually hitting another vehicle or a pedestrian were much less than winning the lottery since it had been some time since we had seen either, so my concern was probably not about the accident that might happen but more so about our driver. After all, as a policeman, he had spent most of his working life making sure others didn't break the rules and delivering punishment to those who did and now here he was, in a strange country, with others in his care, on a road with unknown hazards, doing the very thing that we are discouraged from doing. It wasn't even as if he was 'hands free', though I did detect, from my passenger seat, that at the precise moment he was punching in the number on his mobile, nobody was actually in charge of the vehicle at all. Still, she was happy to hear his voice and the smile on his face reciprocated her pleasure, so we all just had a good laugh about it, how you can change the rules to suit sometimes, though I reckoned the chance of being caught on a speed camera were as remote as our position at the time.
When I took my Australian friend on any journey, during his recent vacations back where he grew up, I discovered that every time we stopped at a junction in the car or even when on foot, stopped to cross a road, he would utter the word "waiting", usually just once. He explained that back home, every time he was out with his young family, he would do exactly the same thing just to ensure that everybody knew when to stop and so prevent any unfortunate accident. It became something of a joke after a while with us and it was almost a competition to see whether wife or I could get in with the word before he did, any time we stopped. I guess he saw the funny side too but there was definitely method in his madness.
I think I learned something about my own spiritual journey from both of those incidents. The latter clearly showed me that sometimes waiting is as important as moving. Being patient until God is ready is something that takes time to learn. The Psalmist says ' I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.' But I also think I learned that it is quite possible to be on the wrong road completely even when you are sincerely sure you are right. You see not every map gives the same information and only the guidance that God gives can truly bring us to the destination that we seek, eternal happiness and joy with Him. That's why He says in Psalm 32 'I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;I will counsel you and watch over you.' There is no better guide for our spiritual journey than Jesus and no better way to remember the route than to write it down day by day. Wherever you are on your journey, isn't it time to check that you are on the right road?
