The Flog – The Fabry Log

If you could live anywhere, where would you live? Would it be in the mountains where the air is fresh and crisp every morning? Would it be beside the beach where you could walk in the sand and listen to the water lapping at the shoreline? Would it be somewhere in the mountains near a lake where you could fish all day and take long walks?

Some people are energized by the city. They love the lights and movement and the crush of people hurrying and scurrying about their busy little lives. Others want the solitude of a farm and to dig their hands into the earth.

I’ve been thinking about this question, particularly after a phone call I received today from a struggling writer who is, like me, not in the top tier of the publishing world. We can see the top tier because we look at the bestseller lists, but the dreams we had of writing “full time” have been just that, dreams. So we struggle and we hammer out words each day and we pray those words will somehow reach the intended audience.

He asked me, as someone who has been down the road further, some questions about how to approach his craft. I found the questions exhilarating and I spoke wisdom into his life. But he didn’t need the wise words as much as I did. Halfway through the conversation I realized that I needed to hear what I was saying more than he did.

Out of all the places in the world to live, I would not have chosen the desert. It’s hot. There are snakes and spiders. The cactus needles are sharp. It’s an unforgiving, inhospitable place to call home. I want deciduous trees. I want waterfalls. Instead, I have dust storms and tumbleweeds.

The more I thought about that, the image came to me of Jesus, hunched over a table and chair he was making in Nazareth. Dusty sandals and dirty feet. Dry and hot and not very hospitable. He left heaven for that. I don’t know how you picture heaven, but I don’t picture it like first century Israel. There was pain and death and human debris all around. A brutal government ruled. Liars and thieves populated the religious landscape. Prostitutes, beggars, lepers, the sick and hungry and lonely were all around. God gave up the comfort and bliss of heaven to come to that?

After the conversation with my friend, I again asked myself, “Where do you want to live?”

The answer came like a shout. Right here. Wherever God has placed me, with whatever duties he has assigned, with whatever people and problems that surround us. My desert reminds me that this is not all there is to life. If I were on an island, isolated from the pain and trouble in the world, I might be happy for a while, but I would not be serving where I am needed the most.

Where do I want to live? Lord, keep me from anything less than here and now.