You Might Not Live In a Tent, But . . .

You might not live in a tent, but . . .

I don’t live in a tent either.

Camping life is not for me.

But it’s impossible to miss the appearance of tent four times in five consecutive verses.

Joshua sent them unto their tents

return unto your tents

get you unto your tents

and they went unto their tents

(Joshua 22:4,6,7,8 KJV)

Get you unto your tents . . . 

Joshua is speaking to the tribes who’ve fought by his side for seven years. 

It’s time for them to go home. 

Time to return, literally, unto their tents.

But before they go, in the middle of the tent verses, he blesses them:

Love the Lord

And follow His plan for your life

(Joshua 22:5 TLB)

Which feels more like instruction than blessing, but hold that thought. 

Instead of permanence, tents are meant for mobility.

Able to move with the seasons.

Seasons on the calendar . . . and seasons of life.

Which is speaking hard to me.

Because my season has changed.

Maybe yours has too.

Or is about to.

The problem with change is that it does not usually feel beautiful.

Instead, change often feels like loss.

And maybe it is, but not without beauty too.

Sometimes a physical picture of spiritual truth shows up in a most unexpected place.

Like my front yard.

My yard guys tell me the huge hickory, the one Ron called our signature tree, is dying. 

From the inside out.

I don’t want to lose the hickory.

It’s huge, old, and beautiful.

Well, it was beautiful.

Before it started dropping sizable limbs and rotten nuts.

The arborist confirms the diagnosis.

“This hickory is a danger. Sooner or later it’s going to fall on your house . . . or you.”

Unsettling news.

When his crew arrives I should feel relieved, but I don’t.

I feel sad.

Good-bye is hard.

Buzzzzzzzzzz . . . zzzzzzzzz . . . zzzzzzzz

Songs of chainsaws split the air.

All day long.

As my tree comes down.

In sections.

Many hollow or wet inside.

I had no idea how sick my tree was.

Finally the chainsaws take their rest.

The arborist extends his arm to where the tree used to stand.

“What do you think?” he beams.

I think my front yard looks naked, but I don’t say that.

Instead I gaze up to where the branches used to completely cover the sky.

And that’s when I behold it.

Unexpected beauty.

“Tonight,” a smile spreads slowly across my face, “ tonight I will be able to see the stars.”

“Enjoy tonight!” he grins back.

Returning to Joshua’s blessing, the one about tent life, I dig in a little deeper.

Instead of instruction, this time I see Joshua’s heart.

And God’s.

Loving God and following His plan for our lives is the blessing.

The way we were created to live.

Experiencing beauty from above, even in seasons we might not choose.

You might not live in a tent, but . . . life is a series of seasons.

Goodbyes to easy seasons are hard.

Hellos to difficult ones even harder.

But in each, we are called to get unto our tents.

To be blessed by loving God there.

Following His plans for our lives.

And looking up.

To behold unexpected beauty.

A bonus blessing.

See you in a couple weeks.

Love,

PS I’ve been invited to lead a Scripture and prayer journaling workshop this Thursday, November 20, at 9:30 at All Saints Church. It will be informal, maybe enlightening, possibly even fun . . . and you are invited!