Why do we? Jesus, Zandi and Me.

Just recently, I asked a young lady who I am very fond of to come and journey with me. Not like a road trip or a holiday (or though we are going to do that as well, come to think of it). I mean, to walk the journey of life with me. She is the kind of person I could live my whole life with (what a gem! But that’s for another blog). In my invitation to her I felt obliged to tell her the truth. I felt obliged to tell her that our journey together would take us across the most treacherous terrain. The kind of terrain that a gentleman is not eager to lead his gentlewoman across. I mentioned that the places where we will have to stay along the way will not always be fitting for her and that she deserves better than I can promise her. I had to tell her that our journey will take us through enemy territory and that I don’t know if I will be able to protect her from all the arrows; our path will put her directly in harms way.

As you can imagine it was difficult for me to tell her all of this. What kind of journey is this?! What kinds of promises are these?! I’m sure I didn’t sound even one bit romantic. But what else could I do? She would have found out the truth pretty soon any way. And then too late! Rather tell her at the beginning, I figure. She knows that to follow me will mean to follow the way that my Master has gone before. To follow that man who has assured us that even birds and foxes have a roof over their heads but to follow him will mean sleeping under the stars. A man who was born in a horse stable and died hanging naked and tortured on a tree. He beckons us and says, “Come follow me and I will give you life.” Ha! Life?! What kind of life is this?!

Ecstatic joy! She said “yes”! I can’t [for the life of me] tell you why she said she’d come with me or why she is still with me. I could not promise her a comfortable home, only a dangerous journey. I could only assure her that with me she would always be cherished and loved and that with me, at least, her life would not be wasted. Maybe through me she could recognize the sound of my Master’s voice (or maybe I flatter myself?)

In fact the whole experience has left me wondering… Why do we? Why do we follow Him?! It’s a fool’s errand, really. But there is something so enchanting about His voice, isn’t there? Why else would we? The sound of his voice drives people to do such foolish things. Like the sound of the Pied Piper’s pipe (we are the rats).It is a magical mist that fills our minds and makes us live completely contrarily. Our lives defy belief and leave the rest to sit and shake their heads.

When I first heard Him call me it was as if I had been waiting my whole life for just that moment. I had been secretly hoping he would call my name but never dared to believe that it were possible. Like Zaccheaus in the tree, that he would call ME! Wonder of wonders, can it be true?! Why would he? He’s too good for me! And yet it is true. I hear his voice every day, and I would not exchange it for the whole world.

That is why I knew that to keep up with me, Zandi would have to be touched. Touched by that heavenly dew. She would have to be as crazy as me. To forsake the whole world and to live for his voice only. To be a stranger in this world and yet a friend to all. To take the dangerous, narrow road with me when just nearby the wide road beckons with all the promises of heaven but no Jesus.