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Cross The Jordan


         After the death of Moses the servant of the Lord, the Lord said to Joshua son of Nun, Moses’ aide:  “Moses my servant is dead. Now then, you and all these people, get ready to cross the Jordan River into the land I am about to give to them—to the Israelites.  I will give you every place where you set your foot, as I promised Moses.  Your territory will extend from the desert to Lebanon, and from the great river, the Euphrates—all the Hittite country—to the Mediterranean Sea in the west.  No one will be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. (Joshua 1:1-6)

          Four years ago, I saw my life as parallel of Abraham’s, leaving the only home I’ve really ever known to go somewhere I didn’t know. I haven’t been able to shake that parallel, and that’s the reason I named my truck Abraham. The problem with finding parallels in Scripture is that there are parallels within Scripture as well. Was I following in the footsteps of Abraham, or Moses? Looking back, I see quite a bit of following a law-giver (my father) out of Egypt (my life in my former job.)
          Egypt is four years – not forty – in the past. “Moses” is dead, and I’m looking across a river at a land that I hear is filled with giants: giant publishing companies, agents, writers, and retailers who won’t eat you fir lunch, but neither will the bother to notice whose heart they are trampling under foot
It was the winter of 1980 when I first thought about becoming a writer. Within ten weeks, I’d decided that if my name wasn’t Isaac Asimov, I’d never make it, an changed my major to education. After a couple years in that major, I changed back to writing because it was the only way I could complete my degree in close to the standard time. That was thirty-eight years ago.. I’m not going to quibble about the parallel being less than exact. For all intents and purposes, it’s forty years.
          This morning as I walked and thought about all this, I found myself considering another possible and sort of obvious parallel. My departure from this home and journey to my winter home is the crossing of the Jordan. Zephyrhills is to be Gilgal, the base camp from which I must do battle with the things that frighten me. My Canaanites, Hittites, Jebusites, Hivites, etc. won’t be groups of people. My enemies are not flesh and blood.
          I have the sense that I’ve traveled around the mountain for long enough. It’s time to cross the Jordan.

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