Israelite

please Lord just let me stay here with you

I’ve always wondered if there was an Israelite who didn’t want to leave the wilderness. 

I wonder if she woke up before dawn on the day Moses said they would enter the Promised Land, walking barefoot through the sand in the darkness before manna fell for the last time. 

I wonder if she cried out to God, telling Him, 

“I like this quiet stillness. 

I like the cold mornings in the shadow of your mountain. 

I like being alone with you like this. 

My parents talked about Egypt, but this wilderness is all I’ve ever known.

I was born in this rocky place

and I was raised on water you brought out of the stones.

I’ve never tasted food that didn’t come directly from your hands.” 

I wonder if she sat on her favorite stone and trembled as she admitted to Him, 

“I don’t want my nation to become a city, because I’m afraid that in the chaos of flocks and farms we’ll fall away from you and never follow your beautiful law. I don’t want vineyards and olive trees, because I’m afraid of believing they’re mine and forgetting all you have done for me. 

“Deep in my heart, I dread the day my people build their mighty walls and win these terrible wars, because I’m afraid that we’ll never know the safety and peace of obeying a God who abounds in steadfast love and faithfulness.

“Lord, this harsh land is sweeter than milk and honey. These tents are more comforting than a house could ever be. Quail and manna have always been enough for me and I don’t mind eating the same thing every day so long as I can feast on your presence.” 

I wonder if she sat on that stone on the border of the Promised Land watching the stars fade beneath the earth as the sun rises. The sky blazes, afire with radiant dawn, and for a moment it’s impossible to tell whether God is a billowing fire or a flaming cloud. Impossible to put a human finger on the moment night becomes day.

For her entire life, God has traveled with her people—he leads them as a pillar of cloud during the day, and lights their path as a pillar of fire at night. God has never been out of her sight. But once her people enter the Promised Land, they won’t have any reason to travel anymore. Today is the last day she’ll live beneath God’s cloud and fire.

“But we still need you to lead us, Lord,” she says. “Even if we’re not going anywhere, I still want you to guide us.” 

Back at the camp, people are beginning to stir. She hears a baby start crying, hears clay pots begin to clink together, hears the world beginning to invade this last moment of clear-headed desert peace. 

“In the desert I am small and weak and nothing but yours and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,” she tells God. “Please, Lord, just let me stay here with you.”