Bound for the Promised Land

“What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord, who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.” (Psalm 84:5 NLT)

My husband read the whole psalm from the platform on Sunday morning, but this verse snagged my heart mid-service and hasn’t let go. My mind has been set on pilgrimage to Jerusalem for many, many months. It has been my bright hope amidst most difficult days. Years have hardship have brought me to this moment, as our first flight leaps from the runway and into the sky.

How did this come about? Thirty-one years ago, I visited Graceland. Now I’m not an Elvis Presley fan, but I kid you not, I had a holy moment on his tour bus. There’s a small walkway when you board the bus, a place I imagined Elvis standing and addressing his crew, or squatting to chat with the driver. I stood there for a moment, on the worn-through carpet, captivated by a single thought. Elvis stood here. I didn’t care one hoot about Elvis, but in a few months, my mom would go to Israel and stand where Jesus stood, walk where Jesus walked. That was the millisecond where my mind became set on my own pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

I wanted to go with my Mom. I begged her to stuff me in her carryon or smuggle me in her luggage. I wanted to see what she’d see, learn what she learned. When she came home, we poured over her pictures and slides, she shared her stories from her Holy Land experience and my resolve only strengthened.

She and I watched Jesus Christ Superstar annually. We learned all the lyrics and sang along; we surrendered our hearts anew each time Ted Neely carried the cross onscreen. The film is entirely shot in the Negev, the wilderness in southern Israel. I’d take it in with wide eyes and all the while long to set my feet on sacred soil.

Fast forward a few decades; I still get out JC Superstar annually and every year, I whisper aloud my heart’s desire again, linking my own small voice with Jews across the millennia; “Next year, in Jerusalem.”

Two years ago, when my second parent passed, I was deluged by their estate. 93 antique cars or car carcasses needed to be liquidated, along with three unkempt properties in as many states. It was an enormous and tedious executorship. A few months in, when I was in daily tears, my husband proposed that I pick a carrot; a reward to work towards as we picked our way through the extraordinary awful. I chose Israel. I promised us, when we are done, we will go to Israel. We will walk where Jesus walked.

Two arduous years later, we are realizing the dream. The estate is closed and the trip is paid for; executor fees just covered our costs. It is only appropriate that Rob is sharing this journey with me, he co-labor, encouraged and endured the enormous undertaking alongside me.

Today I am glad for the ‘pilgrimage’ – the slow nature of boarding and un-boarding, but also all the years that got me to these moments. I’m grateful for each one of the miles and hours between my front door and the Promised Land. It is time to prepare our hearts, to reflect on the faithfulness and favor of the Lord, to express thanks for the lengths He has gone to to get us on this plane.

I used to play it on the piano, back before the estate overshadowed my individualistic existence. Today the lyrics are tinkling through my heart afresh, grounding my soul to the soil we’ve not yet set foot on.

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand and cast a wishful eye, to Canaan’s fair and happy land where my possessions lie. I am bound for the Promised Land, I am bound for the Promised Land. Oh, who will come and go with me? I am bound for the Promised Land.