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Years ago when I was a missionary I worked with Haitian churches located
in little villages in the sugarcane fields of the Dominican Republic.
The little settlements were connected by mud roads that wove from field
to field, curving around the hills and detouring around streams and
railroad tracks.
Sometimes I would ask my Haitian friends to draw me a map of the roads
so I could find the next village. They did not understand the concept.
Since they had never driven a car maps and road signs meant nothing to
them.
Sometimes they would try to direct me by saying things like, “Follow the
road until it comes to the water tank, then turn left.” But they were
just as likely to quickly add, “But the water tank isn’t there any
more.”
“Then how am I supposed to know where to turn?” I’d ask. They would
just look surprised that I didn’t know where the water tank used to be.
But
they always had a solution. “We know someone who wants to go where you
are going,” they’d say. “Just take him with you.”
And
so I would open the door and a poor, uneducated cane cutter who knew
more than I did would jump in beside me. He was happy to get a free
ride. Since he likely didn’t have money to pay for public
transportation he would have likely walked to where we were going, often
a distance of many miles.
As
we approached an intersection of dirt roads, my guide usually wouldn’t
say a thing until we were right in the middle of it. Sometimes I would
sail right past my turn-off before I understood that I was supposed to
turn. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner,” I’d ask agitatedly. My guide
would usually just smile. He was used to walking. When you walk you
don’t need to know where to turn until you get there.
Sometimes I would think that my guide was lost. “Are you sure this is
the way?” I would demand. My guide would smile and tell me to keep on
going.
When
it seemed to me that we should have arrived long ago, I’d ask. “How
much further?” My guide would laugh at my impatient and say what
sounded to me as “ou bo ti destance,” which in Haitian Creole means “a
good little distance.”
We
might travel on for what seemed like miles. I often became even more
sure that we were lost. “How much further,” I’d ask. My guide would
usually laugh a little louder at my impatience and say again “ou bo ti
destance.” I soon learned that when my guide told me “ou bo ti destance”
he wasn’t trying to tell me how far we had to go. Instead he was trying
to tell me, “Relax, it won’t be too much longer. We will get there okay
because I know where we are going.”
And
he always did. My guide knew the mud roads like the back of his hand.
He always got me to my destination. The best thing I could do was to
sit back and enjoy the trip.
Life
is a little like a ride through the cane fields. We want God to map out
our future. We want to know where we are going and how we will get
there. We want to know where we are going to turn long before we get to
the final point of decision. But God says, “You don’t need me to tell
you what is in your future; you just need to take me along with you on
your journey through life.”
Sometimes we shout out to God, “How much further? Are you sure you know
where you are taking me? How much longer until things get better, until
I understand where you are taking me, until I get through this low point
in my life?”
And
God just replies, “My child, it’s just “ou bo ti destance” – it’s just a
good little distance until we get there. Now relax and enjoy the trip.
I have never gotten lost. I promise you that if you will trust me
completely – that includes following my Word the Bible – that I will
direct your paths. “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your
ears will hear a voice behind you saying. ‘This is the way, walk in
it.’” (Isaiah 30:21)
Paul Jetter, Upper Valley Community Church |
