Joy in the Journey

I am getting ready for a trip to Israel. Every group I have gone with is different, and these students are proving that true again. Many of the individuals on the trip don't have any international experience. Some have never flown over water before. Some have never flown before. Right now they have all sorts of expectations.

Getting ready to lead this trip has taken me back to my first trip to Israel many, many years ago. One of the things I noticed was that we spent a lot of our time traveling to the places we wanted to see. First there was the nearly 7000 mile flight. Then, we would drive (sometimes for hours) to the site we were touring. We would spend an hour at the site, hop back in the vans, and drive some more. Even seeing 5 sites a day (which is more than your typical Holy Land tours), we spent most of our time driving. Of course, when I think about Israel, I don't think of the times on the van or the plane. I think of Dan, Masada, the Church of the Nativity. . .

I have discovered that we often live life like that. We mark our lives by the important "sites": high school graduation, college graduation, first job, wedding, and children. We find out that those destinations don't last very long. The marriage takes longer than the wedding. Yet, people put more emphasis on the wedding and too often the pay the price. Childbirth doesn't last nearly as long as raising them, it just feels that way. It seems that we are so often waiting for the next milestone so that we can start living life. Life is some elusive "out there"—forever out of reach.

In truth, "Life is what happens when you are busy doing other things." Most of life we spend on the journey. If we focus only on those milestones, we miss most of the trip. I pray that I sincerely try to enjoy the journeys that I take in my life. I try to enjoy daily being a father and husband. I try to enjoy being a professor. I try to find joy in the world around wherever I might be and whatever my situation (with varying degrees of success). I try to enjoy the ordinary because I know it won't last forever, and I know it won't come again.