through heaven's eyes

A single thread in a tapestry

Though its color brightly shine

Can never see its purpose

In the pattern of the grand design

And the stone that sits on the very top

Of the mountain's mighty face

Does it think it's more important

Than the stones that form the base?

So how can you see what your life is worth

Or where your value lies?

You can never see through the eyes of man

You must look at your life through heaven's eyes

A lake of gold in the desert sand

Is less than a cool fresh spring

And to one lost sheep, a shepherd boy

Is greater than the richest king

If a man lose ev'rything he owns

Has he truly lost his worth?

Or is it the beginning

Of a new and brighter birth?

So how do you measure the worth of a man

In wealth or strength or size?

In how much he gained or how much he gave?

The answer will come to him who tries

To look at his life through heaven's eyes

The Prince of Egypt was released when I was 11 years old, and at pivotal “seasons” since then, I’ve caught this song from the movie circling around in my head.  I’m sure I sang this song to myself when I would go “exploring” during those years: happily alone, stomping through unfamiliar and unlimited miles of wild woods, coming back just in time for dinner with tangled hair, muddy shoes, and torn jeans. (No wonder I had culture shock when I transitioned from home schooling to private school the following year…I might as well have been Mowgli from The Jungle Book.)

Last week, I chose the bleakest, mistiest day of autumn to relive these childhood explorations: I “explored” my way into the Blackdown Hills to find the Wellington monument.  I often hear God best when I’m on walks like this.  Sure enough, this song found its way into my head as I talked with him during this Expedition.

"Average" landmarks are worth a
second glance here.

Path into the elephant grass

Life right now, here in this pioneering environment, isn’t that unlike one leg of my little Expedition.  I stumbled upon the path a couple weeks ago- I’ve learned already that a break in the fence is worth examining closely: a good view and an adventure are often on the other side.  I had been fairly certain that this path would reach all the way to the monument.  

Pretty, hidden paths

The initial stages of the trek are just plain lovely: flat terrain past charming little cottages.  But that changes a bit here: the only way past one of the country’s major motorways is to go through this tunnel:  

Change of landscape

After that, it’s an increasingly uphill climb.  The monument is probably visible on a clear day, but anything further than 20 feet was lost on Expedition Day.  No visibility, no fellow travelers, and no maps.  So it was just a matter of staying the course and putting one foot in front of the other as the walk became more of a climb up into the misty woods.

Misty climb

Typical terrain- watch your footing!

The Trust owns the monument:
still headed the right way!

This sign was a welcome encouragement after a couple of hours: 

The path branched out after that, and I wandered for a while, wondering if I was going to have to forage for mushrooms or something, until these stairs appeared:  

Up the stairs

Hidden, branching paths

Climbing up, I was so focused on maintaining my breathing and ignoring the fatigue in my legs that seeing this when I looked up came as something of a shock:

175 feet of 200 year old stone

All in all, it was a brilliant Expedition.

There’s a conception, I think, that church planting must be exciting, adventurous work.  It is.  Really.  It’s such a privilege to share in what God’s doing in such an involved way.  But it’s sometimes necessary- for me, anyway- to remember that this is the case because the adventure is not always visible from this vantage point.

I’ve been thinking about the American pioneers a lot.  Reading the sixth grade history books or playing The Oregon Trail (Come on, you know it was the best game of the late 90’s!), you’d think it was a nonstop adrenaline rush: there was always a river to ford, oxen to butcher for food, or herbs to find to cure the latest outbreak of dysentery. (That or the smallpox.  How many times did I lose the game to smallpox?)  But really, those were just the highlights…most days probably looked like one foot in front of the other.  Simple.  Mundane.  Requiring confidence that you were still headed in the right direction.  It must have been easy to lose perspective then, like it’s easy to lose perspective in a heavy mist.  The significance of the mundane and the value of tenacity are easy to overlook.  But every step taken matters, like the “single thread in a tapestry”.

Tenacious and yet sometimes mundane “steps” mark this season. (I’ll give you another ‘facts post’ soon explaining exactly what they look like.) I love structure.  I love long-term planning.  I love living at the speed of light.  None of the above marks this Expedition at the moment.  Instead, I’m (still!) learning tenacity in the mundane, and I am trusting that my definition of “fruitfulness” from the journey is sorely limited.  There is a heavenly estimation of what we do and how we build that is rightly humbling to me.  As I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I’m so aware that I’m in “school” with the Lord: he’s adjusting and broadening my conceptions of building, kingdom living, the supernatural, and fruitfulness.  And as I keep exploring and walking on in this process, I’m asking to see “through heaven’s eyes”.

PS: On the way down, I stopped to capture this
 tree when I noticed something in the shot...

A whole flock appeared from the mist!