Wrangler Dani

Eugene Peterson wrote a book called “The Long Obedience in the Same Direction”. While I’ve never read it, I admire him and I’ve always loved that title. So often we want the stories about calling and purpose but we are not as moved by the long trudge we must make in order to be truly called. As a writer, I identify with this keenly – most creatives are messes of nueroses, after all, and our work is uniquely designed to make us question our value – we stick our hearts out on a plate and we don’t even get a retweet out of the deal. How crushing to be either too boring or too mediocre to be of any consequence, we think to ourselves in the middle of the night.

Yet there’s something in this long obedience that makes it encouraging and lovely, isn’t there? Because I am not writing for critical acclaim, or because a publisher has expectations, or because I’m “building a platform” (oh horrible term of the publishing industry and killer of dreams!). I’m writing because I must, because I have something to say, because God has given me friends who have been encouraged by something I’ve said here or because I must remember what today feels like, what God’s grace looks like, at unique points in my life, and I want to share that with you. I may indeed be mediocre (if you think so, please don’t tell me, ha!) but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t obey, after all.

Of course, this also is true of adoption. I wrote a few months ago about the “drip, drip, drip of unmet expectations” and I am reminding myself that even the smallest rocks must be dripped on for years before they turn to sand, and that I am not there yet. Recently, we’ve had more disappointments and more close calls – many more than I have shared here. Sometimes my heart feels expansive and hopeful but usually I just feel tired and maybe a little crazy – like I packed up for this expedition and am now wondering if there might be a bus stop out here in the wilderness – I’ll pay you anything, just take me somewhere warm and give me a shower.

But there are no bus stops out here, so I am in the place of the Long Obedience. Not the longest, not by far. Not a hopeless or joyless obedience, just one that forces me to keep my eyes on the trail and my thoughts on where I’ll camp tonight and not “are we there yet?”. For now I know that my responsibility to keep walking and write this down – to share it with you in hopes that we can obey together, whether in adoption or motherhood or singleness or marriage or calling – and that our long obedience will be rewarded with a glimpse at the Promised Land.

I don’t know when the trail will level or when I will feel exuberant at how far we’ve come rather than exhausted by how far there is to go. But I know that day is coming. In the meantime, I’ll be here; obeying the long way.