Light in a Dark Place
By Jennifer Woodley 

Crushed with confusion, Tim pondered why Ella had gone. But hadn’t he turned this monologue over in his mind before? How many times? he wondered. The same answer always came back, too many times. There was no reason in her leaving. Trying to understand why only heaped hurt upon hurt on Tim’s already weary soul. He and Ella had been so good together.

Relief from the despair and disappointment began to creep its way into Tim’s life. Never one to mix with crowds, he chose to isolate himself from his few friends, preferring to drown his sorrows and the nagging feeling that he was to blame, alone, with wine and worry. But drunkenness and fits of restless sleep only brought temporary relief. For a brief time, inebriation shut out his pain, his few friends and the new found faith that had brought such joy and light into his soul. Waking from another night of listless tossing and the swirling stench of cheap wine still clouding his thoughts, Tim admitted that his despair had led him to turn his back on everything that he truly needed and instead choose the one dark thing that he was best without.

To escape the misery and monotony, a mining job in far western Queensland caught his attention and for company, Tim adopted a stray dog that he picked up on his way out west. Ricky was a ray of sunshine bringing a flood of light to his dark, lonely soul. Right now Ricky was the one good thing that Tim could trust and make him smile. Tim knew that in his funny dog way, Ricky loved him too. Tim’s heart ached for Ricky. He didn’t want to lose again.

The mud thickened into long squiggly cracks on his soles. There was a strange satisfaction in peeling it off in chunks. As the moon rose silently, Tim could see the pale skin shining underneath. He wondered, had God, like Ella, left him in the dark? Back then, when everything went wrong, it certainly seemed that way.

A sudden rustle from the nearby salt bush made Tim jump. Then a cold, wet tongue landed enthusiastically on his cheek. Ricky had returned, bounding with energy and covered in mud from the tip of his ears to the soles of his feet. Tim let out a whoop of laughter and light filled his soul.

“Perhaps, Tim muttered out loud, “God is watching over me all the time. But like the clean, smooth soles of my feet hiding under the mud, God’s just hard to find. All I could see at the time was mess. I’ve heard it said that God never leaves us. It’s just hard to find him when you’re covered with mud.”

Caravaning around Australia, in a small space, with three energetic boys and an adventurous husband, was not my idea of fun. Up until the moment my husband suggested it, I was quite comfortable. Happy in vocation and happy in home, I did not need to sell up and go exploring new territory.

Admittedly, all was not well in our domestic life. Neither of us were truly content in our hearts. I worked two jobs, while Daniel ran our avocado farm. The boys were either at kindergarten, school, in after-hours care, or spending too much time in front of a screen. We lived disconnected lives in overdrive.

“It’s time to sell the lot and travel until we can figure out how to be a family again. Things are falling apart the way they are.” Dan announced, one evening after arriving home and forgetting to collect our youngest son from kindergarten.

In horror, I retorted, “No way! Are you mad?”

But even in that moment, as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I heard a quite reassuring voice inside say, “Trust me in this.”

God worked quickly. I hardly had time to adjust to the idea of leaving when an agent had plastered a ‘sold’ sign out the front. It’s bold letters mocked me, screaming loudly that I would never last, and this was a terrible mistake guaranteed to erode the fabric of our family even further. Yet, Daniel was insistent. “This is going to be the best thing for us, darling.” he would murmur as I cried myself to sleep.

And then I’d settle, breathe easier and hear my Father gently say, “Trust me in this. This will work out for good.”

Almost everything we owned was sold or lent to friends. “Traveling light is the only way.” Dan would say over and over again. Freely he parted with more and more possessions we had gathered together and clung to for years and years of marriage. Admittedly, there was a freedom I found in living with less, but in my initial melancholy mood, I did not come awake to this discovery until months on the road.

A shiny, blue, off-road caravan was purchased and in what seemed like an instant, we had left. The boys were intoxicated with anticipation and excitement. Fueled by their father’s relentless enthusiasm, he bragged of the enormous fish they would catch, the wonders of schooling on the road and the interesting people they would meet. “And oh the places we will go!” he laughed and they giggled in unison with him. It was all very surreal. I did not share their enthusiasm, dreading the prospect of living in a cramped space with noisy, smelly boys. I coveted quietness and stillness with my Lord; large chunks of it. How would that ever happen in a space not much bigger than my kitchen? And homeschooling? What did I know of that? Would it work for us? But even then, I heard my Father quietly whisper, “Trust me in this, too.” And so, I began to surrender. This was the hardest place to get to, but the best place to be.

Over the next two years of traveling, I learnt to silence the enemy’s voice of doubt and anxiety. The voice that was determined to rob us of the joy, peace, unity and all the goodness that God intended for our family. In His wisdom, He had given us the gift of traveling. A gift that wove our hearts and lives together. We learnt through the tension of living in close proximity, to be patient and show grace to one another. We learnt to put aside the urgent and relish what was really important – relationships. Our family is stronger now, for the experiences we shared together over twenty years ago.

But what if I had not trusted God back then? What if I had said a defiant “no” to Daniel and chose to let my own fears and misguided understanding rule my heart? Why do we cringe from the invitation to trust God? Trusting always births change; brings renewal; and unfolds the opportunity for an unimaginable adventure with Him.