The Israelites were on a 40 year desert journey. I have been on a 36 year journey through arid desert and valley green, and mountains that lead to the holy camp of Gilgal. Our life stories are made up of the same geography.
Where did it begin for you? Mine began before I was on the road to Woodstock, on the back of a Harley, and continued on a road to ruin. It was six years later before my reproach (disgrace) was rolled away.
Every one of us have stories of value. My history is recorded in journals, my stones of remembrance, etched on parchment.
The ancient story of Joshua (chapter 5) tells how the God of heaven put Egypt behind the Israelite sojourners as they headed for Gilgal, the place of new beginnings. God had the anointed campers set up twelve stones of remembrance so they could tell their children of His power and provision.
The first stop to the promised land!
Many times we get stuck in the desert and it seems like we will never reach our promised place. Today, we can camp at Gilgal and receive the healing from the desert wounds.
Days will come when we will forget His goodness. Generations will come that will not get to know what He has done in our lives, unless we erect stones of remembrance today.
I recall the big things that have happened, certainly. But, when I record and review them, they become technicolor, taking me back to the very place of meeting.
Grateful to have logged along the way upon the stone of healing, the stone of provision, and above all, the stone of dramatic conversion from a life that was on a disastrous route. I saw how far I was allowed to go on the reckless path, so that I would recognize the grace stops.
Writing a book on the pieces of life has been awakening and humbling. I have written what I never thought I’d whisper. I’ve been reminded this is what reveals shekinah glory, therefore I will.
We returned to the site of the Woodstock festival for the 40th anniversary in 2009. The clean swept, mudless pasture that once held over 400,000 bodies and the most celebrated rock festival of all time. My ghost remains in the museum that is erected on the pig farm in Bethel, NY.
The journey has been a long one and uphill for most of the way. I have my Egypt behind me and receive healing in the remembrance camp of Gilgal, the land of do-over.
I have a small stone collected in the mountains with my wise friend, Sue. . . a stone that reminds me to keep writing because she took me along the journey that I had refused to remember.
I have a huge stone that is made from fabric. A testimony quilt that has stitched promises that reminds me of the turning point of my life, when God the healer came down in a relentless way to remind me I was now facing in the right direction.
There are rocks not yet written. I pray I will be faithful to lay them at His feet as an altar.
What are your life markers?
When the children ask, “What do the stones mean?” . . . tell them, richly.
The stones are a memorial, a documentation that God visited your life – big time.
When your children ask fathers in time to come, “What do these stones mean?” . . .then you shall tell them that Israel crossed on dry ground. For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you crossed, so that all the people of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, so that you may reverence Him forever.