Moving On. Are We There Yet?

I like a nice, clear finish line that tells me I have “arrived” somewhere. Unfortunately, life doesn’t send up balloons and shoot off fireworks to mark the end of some faith lesson. There’s often no delightful moment of pause for enjoying the moment before a fresh challenge has me moving on.

I thought of this while reading about the Israelites’ desert camping experience in Numbers 9:17-23. They would set up or break camp, not according to how tired they might be from traveling or how anxious they were to get started again, but according to whether the cloud of the Lord’s presence was hovering or moving. Sometimes the cloud stayed put for a bit, sometimes it moved on almost immediately. But “whether the cloud stayed over the tabernacle for two days or a month or a year, the Israelites would remain in camp and not set out; but when it lifted, they would set out.”

How disruptive it must have been when the cloud lifted from the tent of meeting. Packing, moving on, and unpacking again throws life out of kilter. Nothing is where it is supposed to be. Nothing is convenient. You can’t even confirm you’ve lost something until the moving stops and you can unpack and take inventory.

The Chaos of Moving On

Imagine the noise of all those families walking, children yelling, herds of cattle, sheep, goats, and camels milling, mixing, lowing, bleating. Imagine the perpetual, inescapable clouds of dust kicked up by more than a million pairs of feet. What confusion. I imagine there were days Moses and the people heaved a collective sigh of exhaustion when they saw the cloud head down the road again.

I think that’s a lot like the life we lead as God-followers. Just as we feel we’ve “caught up” with God, the dust stirs, the noise of our situation drowns out the sound of His voice, and His presence suddenly seems to leave.

It only looks that way, though. While I flail my arms in a grasp for answers, God dangles His guiding cloud just out of reach, forcing me to lean for it. This seems to be how He keeps tricking my feet into stumbling forward.

It’s confusing when God is moving on. His Spirit seems far away, His voice seems too quiet. In the turmoil, I can’t remember where I packed the answers that were so clear to me before this move began. If He would just stop the caravan and explain things to me. But He doesn’t. I have to decide if I’m going to stick with Him even if He doesn’t explain where we’re going or how long we’re going to stay.

So, I put my feet back on the road, spit the dust from between my teeth, and settle my heart that I’m just going to deal with this momentary chaos of moving on to I-don’t-know-where. One of these days, we will set up camp again. I just don’t know when.