Nita Gilger

Our guest blogger today is Nita Gilger, writer, educator, and explorer of all wild spaces, many of which are as close as the expansive ranch in Texas where she and her husband live, work and wonder.

Slip Slidin’ Away is one of Paul Simon’s well-known songs.  He sings, the nearer your destination, the more you’re slip slidin’ away. There have been many times when I have felt as though I were Slip Slidin’ Away. One such time was while driving on a dirt road in a massive, electrical rainstorm in a tropical rain forest in the dark of night in Africa. The setting for this story is important.

While serving as missionaries in Ghana, West Africa, my husband and I were often out in various villages. We lived in Kumasi which is about 100 miles north of the equator in the rain forest. This was in 1978-80, a time of military coup and unrest in Ghana. Times were turbulent and the economy had tanked. With 500% inflation and the lack of basic commodities, we were given two shopping trips a year to neighboring countries. Besides getting some basics for ourselves, we would buy huge bags of rice and flour to share with people in the villages when we would venture out. We bought boxes and boxes of baggies to create smaller portions to hand out to all who needed some sustenance.

We lived among the Ashanti people, whom we dearly loved. As was their custom, if you visited anyone in their home, two things usually happened. First, we would be asked to wait as they washed before greeting guests, and then they would share whatever food they had. The food offerings were often plantain or soup with fufu (a dough-like, dense product that was pounded from yams). I never felt okay about eating their food in such dire times since some food was hard to come by, but it would have been a terrible insult to refuse. So, on subsequent visits, our vehicle would be filled with baggies of rice to share as we spent time with the people. Those small gifts were accepted and appreciated.

Fortunately, living in the rain forest, we could grow our own garden. We were mostly vegetarians during those two years. Our yard did have almond trees, papaya, bananas, plantain and whatever we could harvest from our garden. Gardening was cultivated in mounds rather than rows due to heavy rains. It was always a challenge to share garden space with vipers, green mambas and other deadly snakes. Daily life presented many challenges just in order to survive. We were frequently without power and even petrol/gasoline was rationed. Political leaders were being killed left, right, and center. There were military check points around the country. It was easy to find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time and be in danger. How wonderful were the neighbors and friends with whom we worked and lived. I am certain they taught us way more than we taught them.

                 Odum Tree

Now that the scene is set, come back with me to Slip, Slidin’ Away. One night we were returning from being way out in the country when a huge electrical storm hit. In the West African rain forest, the nights are darker, the moon is bigger, and the storms more ferocious than anything I had experienced before. In seconds we encountered torrential storms capable of sweeping us away, or at the very least getting us hopelessly stuck in the mud. As we were carefully making our way back to Kumasi, a huge bolt of lightning suddenly struck an Odum Tree. Odum trees are very large and this tree lit up like a gigantic torch. You could see it for miles. It had a strange kind of beauty, positioned against the background of threatening storm conditions.

Was the burning bush anything like that for Moses? I felt so very small. I was awe-struck by the power of nature and the fragility of life. I was terrified going through that storm. Anything could have happened. The power and the majesty of that illuminated vast sky contrasted so starkly with my vulnerable, young self. What if we were swept away and no one ever found us? I was only in my early twenties.

Wait, had I made a difference yet? Hold on – I still had things to do to change the world! In the blink of an eye, a lightning bolt lit up the sky and incinerated one of these massive trees and quite without its permission. Nature just did its thing. Life happened. I didn’t know a storm was arriving in the dark. We had no TV, radio, telephones (neither land lines or cell phones) at any time during our years of service. We were all alone, isolated, and exposed to the elements.

The storms of life come whether we have the towering strength of an Odum Tree or the relative inexperience and high idealism of young adults. The fact of the matter is that we cannot avoid all of them. Some of them are self-created. Others come uninvited and often with crushing results.

Can we, like Moses, look and listen for a message in the burning bush of life’s experiences? And what is my take-away now, these many years later, having lived a full life replete with even more challenges that appeared along the way?

It might be as simple as admitting that it is okay to be afraid. It is okay to be vulnerable, to take some risks, and to embrace the unknown. For it is in those places that we grow, learn, and become more authentic and available to the mystery and richness of life.

The storm finally passed. Morning came. And though we arrived safely, we were forever changed. And Ghana survived and was forever changed as well.

Ghana survived the revolution of those troubled years and has become a much more stable, strong country. It survived its dark history that still shows the scars of the heinous slave trade. It prevailed over colonialism and in 1957 became the first democracy and independent African nation among many. It has lived through turbulent times and experienced many victories. I have not been back since that time, but I know that Ghana is doing well, still holding a beautiful people and wondrous land.

I give thanks to God that I have come through many storms with lessons learned and joy on the other side. My faith sustains me in the belief that God is with me, loving me, and guiding me in all things and in all times. Grief and hardship can overwhelm, but I take Anne Lamott’s wisdom to heart: Courage is fear that has said its prayers … We don’t always get over grief, but we can learn to dance with a limp.

Where am I today? I say my prayers often though I do have a very noticeable limp. There are days when I still feel I might be Slip Slidin’ Away. But even so, I’ve learned how to wait for the joy that comes in the morning and to watch for the truths that only storms can carry.