Fleeing Egypt

By Steve Kendall

Nobody is free from the pull of something in their past. whether recent or ancient. The pull to return to places of pain and bondage is a strong one. Fleeing Egypt speaks to the perils of looking back, reminiscing about or revisiting our personal ‘Egypt’and serves to encourage us on our journey away from what grips us and harms us. Equally important are the considerations of what lies ahead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512739480

Steve Kendall

Steve Kendall resides in Omaha, Nebraska where his children and his grandchildren live. He has spent his ‘Flight from Egypt’ working in churches, primarily with youth and men’s groups. He has invested in the planting of new church communities and in has a love for the people in Haiti. He most enjoys reading, art and writing and he and his wife, Louise love to travel.

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Copyright © 2016 Steve Kendall.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

All Scripture quotations in this publications are from The Message. Copyright © by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3949-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3950-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3948-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016906602

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/04/2016

Contents

Chapter 1 Nostalgia

Chapter 2 Bondage

Chapter 3 Exodus

Chapter 4 The Desert

Chapter 5 Directions

Chapter 6 Walk, Not a Climb

Chapter 7 Egypt is Everywhere

Chapter 8 Over-packing

Chapter 9 Too Weak To Run

Chapter 10 Boring

Chapter 11 Spying Out the Land

Chapter 12 Crossing the Jordan

Chapter 13 Can Man Live on Milk and Honey Alone?

Chapter 14 Arrival

Acknowledgements

I dedicate this book to my wife, Louise, who sits and talks with me every morning, but not until she has spoken with God

Preface

In my previous book; The Mistress; Betraying the Ideal Bridegroom, I hoped to expose how closely Satan resembles a mistress, slinking about, attempting in every imaginable way, to get us to betray our ideal bridegroom, Jesus, who has wedded us with all the promise, love and acceptance. That Satan is evil doesn’t astonish anyone. The subtlety of his campaign is the element that takes us all by surprise. Even more alarming is our frequent willingness to participate. Fleeing Egypt is an effort to help us transition more freely and completely from an old life of darkness to a new one filled with light, by exposing the darkness that poses as light. It is intended as a strong encouragement to recognize the complete stepping out undertaken by those of us who have had enough of the old life, are excited about what lies ahead and need a firm reminder that the life which was left behind should remain there.

I had several close to me decline reading my first book because they felt there was too much of ‘me’ between the covers. I would advise those same individuals to stay away from this one as well. It is full of me. Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Ernest Hemingway, Louisa May Alcott and the Apostles Peter and Paul put all of themselves into what they wrote down for us. Sometimes the reality of ‘reality’ is too much, but keeping it in this writing prevents the work from becoming pure fiction.

CHAPTER 1

Nostalgia

The

LORD

said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt, and have given heed to their cry because of their taskmasters, for I am aware of their sufferings. So I have come down to deliver them from the power of the Egyptians, and to bring them up from that land to a good and spacious land, to a land flowing with milk and honey

Exodus 3:7-8 NASB

The morning light warms her as she grips her coffee cup with perfectly manicured hands. Melinda sits in splendor among all the trappings that those who shaped her told her would make her fulfilled. The children fitfully slumber, and the husband remains predictably absent. Though her vision is blurred by inexplicable tears, she surveys her surroundings. The Italian marble kitchen countertops are adorned with every possible appliance also owned by the Jones family next door, with whom she must keep up. The black market flooring cut from the teak forests in Southeast Asia, boasts its exclusive status. The very coffee in her cup is brewed from beans carrying a certificate of freshness from the boutique where she proudly invested over thirty dollars a pound. Soft music issues forth from speakers tastefully camouflaged by a San Francisco decorator, and her senses are pleasured by the scent of the fresh-cut flowers required daily from the invisible gardener.

As she turns her head ever so slightly, she catches her mirror image in the window. She quickly turns away as the reflection testifies to the slight crevices appearing at the corners of her eyes and lips. The man she married more than a decade ago, the one who made her feel like a real woman, the one who promised to love her for the rest of their lives, the one who used to make her laugh and believe she was the most beautiful he had ever seen, was tiring of her. His attitude had turned, in a few short years, from indifferent to brutal. The explanation he offers is not that he has undergone any sort of change but that she has somehow become intolerable. During his brief homecomings he menaces her with warnings as to how little time she has remaining in the privileged role as his wedded wife. He switches up between his disdain for her and applications of standards she consistently falls short of in her role of wife, mother and human being.

She is dying. The very things that bring us all life not physical sustenance, like air, food and water, but the things that nourish our spirits, like love, affirmation, tenderness and a simple smile have been stolen by a creature she no longer recognizes. She knows she is at a crossroads but hopes that enough sunshine, enough coffee and enough self-talk will present a fork in the road not currently apparent to her. Her sparse perception of religious conviction equips her only with the exhortation that a woman stays by her husband’s side, no matter what. Her liberality, borne of soap operas, romance novels and lunch with similarly afflicted acquaintances, tells her to pack her bags. Her fantasy life includes a cryptic lover who will love her as she deserves and cause her to sacrifice nothing. Could she not stay and go at the same time? All of these options are before her and all she can do is sip coffee. Isn’t the why of it maddening? She cannot move from that very spot, because Egypt is calling her to stay.

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More than three thousand years ago Egypt was a major world power. It has been asserted that Egypt had more wonders in it than any other country in the world and provides more works that defy description than any other place. After hundreds of years of slavery and cruel oppression of the Hebrew people held in bondage, a leader emerged, chosen by God and imbued with the authority to make the demand, Let my people go! The detailed account of the exodus tells us that the incumbent slave-driver required significant convincing before seeing the wisdom of the suggested downsizing. When the last straw presented itself and the people were released (and in fact paid to go) they set out. The destination was not completely secure in their minds, nor the time, trouble and cultural adaptation associated with the journey. It was not long into the trek before the travelers forgot the torment of their time along the Nile and expressed a desire to return.

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The coffee drinking former debutante is only anchored to her indecisiveness by her unwillingness to leave Egypt. Her Egypt is comprised of creature comforts, her perishable status, and her idols and so she sits. She sits, afraid to move. Even if she were to fall to her knees and seek God’s will and guidance, pack her bags, or assert herself, she may only rapidly come to her senses and flee the unknown desert with the unfamiliar skyline to return to the place that offers pain but at least it is a common and predictable pain. Psychologists are puzzled by the insistence victims adhere to, that they remain victims. The unhealthy obsession appears to lie in the comfort afforded by familiar surroundings.

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I have traveled to the island republic of Haiti eight times as part of a team that serves in a diverse ministry building schools, improving a regional hospital, feeding the poorest, providing cross cultural water and agriculture support and generally making ourselves available to the Haitian people. I often come away feeling somewhat selfish as I am certain I always bring home more than I take down in terms of reward, growth, priority and wisdom. My task is a little different when I go down because I typically find myself painting a mural in a school, orphanage or the hospital.

One day as I was wrapping up working and walking over to a place where cold soda is available, a rarity in this third-world heartache I was dogged by a few of the local boys. I call them boys, even though they range in age from around eighteen to twenty-five. They are, for all practical purposes, professional beggars. There is nobody in Haiti who is not needy, by American standards, but these boys have created an art, through years of tutoring and trial and error of tactics to squeeze money from missionaries. They surrounded me and began hitting me up with Haitian theology. Haitian theology is comprised of God not caring much for Haitians, thus the poverty, and caring a lot for Americans because we are all rich. That sort of prosperity mysticism drives me mad. I invited them to sit in the dirt with me, praying the entire time God would give me the right words. I began picking up small rocks from the courtyard, within my reach. I piled them plentifully and precariously in my left hand. Once that hand could hold no more rocks I explained that this represented the life of an American. As I placed the rocks in that hand, I identified each one; My house, my job, my car, my money, my wristwatch, and my boat. Then, I picked up a large hand-sized rock lying next to me and called it God. As hard as I tried I could not fit it into the left hand. It was too full of other ‘rocks’. As I tried harder and some of the smaller rocks (idols) fell from my hand, I set the large rock (God) on the ground to reclaim my lost prioritized treasure. Then I threw all of the small rocks away and showed them an empty left hand. This is the life of a Haitian, I said. See how perfectly God fits inside, I explained as I placed the large rock firmly in the palm. The boys began to feel very confident as I showed them the illustration a couple more times. Interestingly, over the next few days, as I walked through the mountain community or rode along in the back of a pickup, I saw children sitting in a circle, discussing seriously the wisdom of ‘true’ theology and handing rocks back and forth. Who has a greater need to flee Egypt? Is it the Haitian or the American?

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Timothy stands in the shadow. The only barrier between him and the freedom promised by a twenty story drop to the street below is a thin slice of cold, dark glass. The pane reflects the office wall behind him. It is a shrine manifesting the quality of his life according to the world. The awards span many years, and the photographs of himself in the company of the famous evidence a career rife with making all the right connections and being at all the right places when the deal was going down. Positioned near the top of this Tower of Babel, he breathes a heavy sigh. How much higher would he need to climb to achieve Nirvana? How many more twelve-hour days would accommodate the ultimate success he is driven toward?

He remembers earlier in the day, while the sun was still shining and traffic was still heavy out that window. He recalls the grin on his administrative assistant’s face as he waved goodbye, after a mere eight hours on the clock, anticipating his daughter’s birthday party and what he referred to as quality time with his extended family. He sensed, as the young man walked toward the elevator, an odd sensation, one rarely experienced by the gods of industry. He felt jealousy. He envied the conscious decision to step off of the corporate ladder and fall irresponsibly into the arms of loving people.

He recalls another young man, a man with vision and purpose, a man who believed he could conquer the world. This young man recognized no barriers, feared no resistance and overcame all obstacles. He grew deaf to those around him who cautioned him that the climb might hold treachery that would take his life in stages. He understood the concept of sacrifice but fully believed that the sacrifice required to achieve his climb could and should be shared by others. Of course, this man from his past stared back at him from the windowpane and the night beyond. I’ve heard it stated; It is not who you are that prevents you from succeeding, but who you think you are not.

Why is he feeling this way? What more could a man in his position ask for? The answer, in part, is that there is nobody else in his position. Nobody else is standing in this very place, with this lost desperation, with this itching for meaning, with this oppressive blackness that threatens to steal his very soul. He finds himself hugging himself to ward off the coldness that is coming from the inside out. He is convinced that he faces only two options. Either he can shatter the glass and quit while he is near the top or slink back to his desk and resume the chronic miserable ascension to the penthouse suite. To him backward represents something he is not used to and forward takes him to a place where his back is against the wall and the only escape leads to destruction.

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As Moses leads the multitude out of Egypt and to a better place, they find themselves with Pharaoh’s mighty army at their back and the Red Sea ahead. The choice appeared to be death under a chariot or drowning. Only if there could just be a plan C. If only they could