All who wander, are not lost (reposted)

My Dad used to say, “Don’t just stand there – do something! Even if it’s wrong!“

Our Western European roots are hard to escape. Not that many centuries ago, boatloads of people came to this land to make something of themselves. The “Great American Dream” – from “rags to riches.” And many have done well. Yet over the course of the last several years, I’m not so sure we’ve done ourselves any favors. Maybe, just maybe, we were happier when life was slower.

Most of the leadership books I’ve read in the last couple of decades have taught me to have a laser-sharp focus. It’s important for me to understand my strengths, focus on my purpose, and to not get distracted by the people, or unimportant things around me. And so, in lock-step with my peers, standing on the shoulders of our ancestors, I became successful in the things I set my mind to accomplish.

And then I became a father. Everything changed.

No longer am I concerned about being the best back-hoe operator, paramedic, speaker/teacher, or community manager. I’m pretty sure that at 50+ years old, my opportunities to change the world are slipping away. Almost. I have two more opportunities: a Darling, four year-old, Daughter; and a Smiling, two year-old, Son. These two are going to stand on my shoulders – and I’m going to give them every opportunity to launch. But my actions, efforts, attitudes, and vision are going to determine, to a great extent, their velocity and trajectory.

Last week I wrote a post that garnered more comments than any post I’ve written – 30, as of today. In addition, I’ve had at least four or five offline conversations, and more than a few email conversations. Basically, the comments and conversations have fallen into three categories:

1. “Danger! Danger! Turn back, you’re going off the cliff!
2. “From what I know of you, that sounds like a good fit for you…”
3. “Can we talk? I’m trying to figure this out also…”

Today, after one of those offline conversations, I think I’ve finally cornered the thesis for the book I’ve always known I would write. It was always there, I just hadn’t wrangled the concept into the corral yet. But besides conceptualizing an idea, I was able to articulate my problem(s) with traditional church, and by fascination(s) with the mysteries of God.

Ever since Adam and Eve were evicted from their Edenic home, the human race has sought to plant roots (no pun intended). Yet, most significant biblical stories have involved God uprooting the people and moving them towards a somewhat elusive paradise. However, when the people settled, the paradise began to escape their grasp.

Some have clung to the cliché that the “joy is in the journey – not the destination.“ I believe there is great truth in that statement. But looking at the meta-narrative of the Bible, what is it that God is trying to communicate to us? Why is it that we continue to seek a settlement, and why is God constantly seeking to uproot us?

I believe that we can find some answers in the lives of two prominent biblical characters. Moses and Jesus, both had significant wilderness experiences. Both were used to uproot, lead, and empower enslaved people. If they hadn’t survived their own wanderings, they would not have been fit to lead others. It took Moses 40 years to learn the lessons necessary to be the leader God called him to be. It only took Jesus 40 days. I’ve always said that if I can figure it out somewhere in between, I’m probably doing pretty well. Currently I’m about 25 years into this.

Some really well-meaning people have tried to tie me down. They’ve done their best to instill rules, order, and tradition into my life. I’ve done my best to resist. It isn’t that all of those rules are bad – they are just restrictive. They are also protective. Like the doors on my house – they keep the bad people out, and my kids in. Dual purpose, both good.

But for me, a creative soul – with a questioning spirit, I need room to explore. I’m a pioneer, an explorer – a wanderer. I’m not lost, but I am seeking.

There are some who crave the relative safety of fences and walls. I’m learning to appreciate that. I’m also learning to not think I am inferior (or superior?) to them. I am also realizing there are opportunity costs to ignoring the rules and traditions. There are advantages, and some very real dangers.

I used to ignore the crosswalk signals. “Those don’t apply to me,” I thought. I looked both ways, twice, and if there was no traffic, or I thought I could make it, I crossed. Then one day, not too many years ago, I had a near-miss and almost got clipped by an oncoming car. Since that time I’ve decided that it might be easier to just wait for the light.

I’m older, slower, and my senses are not as sharp as they once were. There will come a time when I won’t be able to run out of the way, or jump back – I might as well start practicing for my advancing age. Besides, what’s the hurry anyway? Sometimes it’s just easier to wait.

“Those don’t apply to me,” I thought.

For the most part, it is a “cost-benefit analysis.” What are my costs? What are my benefits? Does the one outweigh the other? The cost of ignoring crosswalk signals: more energy, more caution, more risk, etc. The benefit: saving a few moments.

When my great-grandparents decided to sell everything, load up the wagon, leave Wisconsin, and journey on the Oregon Trail, they made a cost-benefit analysis – whether they knew it or not. They left the known for the unknown. They left stability for a vision of the future. They left safety for the dangers of the trail. Many people didn’t survive to see their dreams come to fruition. About half of them did – but even upon arrival in Oregon, life was pretty rough.

Some may think I am a fool and unstable. Others will think I am a visionary. And still others will want to join me on the journey. Many more will watch from the sidelines. It would be nice, if there were no risks – but without risks, would it be worth the effort?

I shared this story with a friend today:

Mount Hood is the second most climbed mountain in the world. About 10,000 people attempt to climb it each year. Though it is a relatively easy climb, fatalities are not uncommon. My first attempt was after spending a night in a snow cave, with an inadequate breakfast, and poor preparation. I had to turn around about 800 feet from the summit, due to sheer exhaustion.

My second attempt was on May 18th, 1980 – the day of the historic Mt. St. Helens eruption. That day, I stood atop Oregon’s highest peak, with my friend Ray, and witnessed the deadly eruption of Mt. St. Helens. My third attempt was with a group of firefighters. We rode a snow cat to the top of the Palmer Glacier, and hiked up from there.

I could have read books about mountain climbing. I could have viewed movies and videos of other people’s experiences, and I have – but nothing will replace the thrill of standing on top of a mountain peak that one has struggled to climb. In 1995, after a 70 mile hike, I and five friends climbed the back side of Mt. Whitney – the highest peak (14,505 ft.) in the continental 48 states. We climbed it in the light of the full-moon, and summited at sunrise/moonset. You had to be there!

Climbing mountains is not without risk. The spiritual journey is not without risk. Just as Moses may have lost his life (spiritual or physical), Jesus too could have succumbed. More pioneers have died than have had schools, highways, and/or parks named after them. Nonetheless, each took the risk.

This is a risk I’m willing to make.