Blessed are the Flexible

I’ve spent a good bit of time in the Middle East – traveling around Egypt, Jordan, Israel, and Turkey.

I’ve traveled with, in my humble opinion, many of the best teachers, best guides, and best drivers in the world.

They know what they’re doing. They have flights and hotels booked. They have sites scheduled out. They have a full itinerary planned.

But inevitably things go wrong.

Flash floods wash out a highway. A herd of sheep blocks the road and delays our departure or arrival. A site is closed when it was scheduled to be open.

You might think I’m joking, but I’m not. I’ve experienced every one of these scenarios and more.

As a Jordanian guide of mine once said, “If it doesn’t make sense, you’re in the Middle East.”

But the organization I’ve so often traveled with has a saying that puts it all in perspective.

“Blessed are the flexible, for they shall be bent but not broken.”

That’s more than a principle for travel.

That’s a principle for life.

Flash flood will wash out the highways. Herds of sheep will keep you from coming and going. Sites will be closed when you’re hoping to visit.

Metaphorically, of course.

(But also, literally if you plan to visit the Middle East.)

Here’s the point.

Blessed are the flexible, for they shall be bent but not broken.

What if we lived our lives with that perspective?

What if we resolved to be flexible – confident that we could be bent but, by the grace of God, not broken?

Scaling Up

The year after I graduated from college a friend and I took backpacked through Europe (yes, we were the stereotypical millennials in our early twenties).

We started in London, made our way down to Paris, enjoyed an extended stay in Switzerland where another friend was then living, and wrapped up in Rome. We packed in a lot of experiences, made a lot of memories, and learned a lot of lessons.

I particularly remember visiting the Louvre in Paris. We only had a couple days in the city and so couldn’t spend too much time meandering through the massive art museum.

We really only wanted to see one exhibit.

The Mona Lisa.

It took us thirty minutes or so to make our way from the front of the museum to the giant room dedicated to Da Vinci’s masterpiece. We stopped along the way to admire other paintings and sculptures, but the closer we got to the Mona Lisa, the more excited we got and the more quickly we moved through the other exhibits.

Then, there it was. The Mona Lisa.

We stood there in awe.

But then the awe wore off.

It was enclosed in a huge glass case with armed guards stationed on either side.

I was also struck by how small it was.

I mean, really small.

I don’t know the exact dimensions, but I’m pretty sure I have a coloring page from my niece larger than the Mona Lisa (and personally way more valuable).

Now, don’t get me wrong. The Mona Lisa is a masterpiece and now, looking back ten years later, I wish I’d enjoyed the moment a little more.

But here’s what I thought as we made our way back out to the Paris streets.

So often I think something is a lot bigger than it is. I think something is a lot harder than it is. I think something is more of a problem than it is. I scale it up in my mind.

But then I get up close and it turns out to be much smaller than I imagined.

All of the anticipation – all of the worry, all of the anxiety – was a waste.

I bet I’m not the only one. I bet you’ve experienced that before. I bet you’ve looked back on a situation and realized it wasn’t quite as big as you imagined it would be.

We all have faced and will face our share of truly big problems.

Let’s not scale up the small ones.

Die Walking

One of the most fascinating books I’ve ever read is "The Lost City of Z," by David Grann. It tells of British explorer Percy Fawcett’s epic search in the early 1900s for the legendary city of Z, supposedly buried deep in the Amazon.

On one particularly treacherous venture into the jungle, Fawcett's exploration party ran out of food and, after days of trekking on empty stomachs, soon grew weak with hunger. More susceptible than ever to disease and infection, many developed severe fevers. Any hope of getting out alive, much less finding Z, began to deteriorate.

One of the men, unable to take another step under the weight of sickness and exhaustion, collapsed against a tree and begged Fawcett to leave him to die.

"No," said Fawcett. "If we die, we'll die walking."

If we die, we'll die walking.

Most of us will never explore the Amazon (though if you happen to be planning a trip, please take me with you). We probably won't ever face starvation or risk contracting malaria. The obstacles we face will be of a different sort.

But make no mistake. We will face obstacles.

We will face cancer and heart attacks and dementia.

We will experience layoffs and financial strains.

We will lose people we love.

When my earthly life expires and I stand before my God, I want to be able to say that I gave it everything I had. I trusted Him through the trials. I stayed faithful in the challenges. I didn't collapse in the difficulties.

I want to die walking.

How about you?