As a kid in elementary school, I lived for one thing: Oregon Trail. I’m not sure I learned anything in the classroom because my mind was constantly wandering off to the computer lab. Nothing my teachers had to say remotely measured up to the captivating power of Oregon Trail. I was obsessed with this game and learned some key life lessons from playing it.
I learned that life is hard.
I learned that hunting is easy.
I learned that the West isn’t nearly as beautiful as you might have supposed.
But most of all, I learned that there is something transformational about a journey.
My favorite kind of story is a travel story. I can’t put down books like Through Painted Deserts by Donald Miller. I planned my own personal hiking adventure 14 times during A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. For days I debated whether or not I could build a time machine after reading about Lewis and Clark in Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose. Oh, and let’s not forget about those few months when I considered selling it all and buying a vintage sail boat while reading, Sailing Alone Around the World by Joshua Slocum—which is a must read by the way. There is something about an epic journey that captivates in a way no other story can.
I guess I should redefine my obsession with journeys a little. I love reading and fantasizing about journeys but I’m actually rather uncomfortable with them in real life. This whole thing about overcoming conflict to get what you want is sort of annoying. The truth is, I want to overcome conflict right now. Actually, I’d rather not have any conflict at all. I’d much prefer to get what I want right when I want it without any sort of conflict.
And yet, I’m beginning to understand that a journey without conflict is rather like a trip to the supermarket. It lacks meaning. Why? Because it doesn’t involved conflict. An old lady stealing your favorite parking spot doesn’t qualify as conflict.
In our culture, we’ve grown accustomed to bypassing or removing all conflict from our lives. We are obsessed with safety and comfort. Don’t get wrong, I appreciate safety and I enjoy a good recliner as much as the next guy but I’m starting to think that removing all possibility of conflict isn’t exactly a good thing.
The truth is that conflict makes you a better person. Conflict provides opportunity for growth that otherwise wouldn’t exist. When my wife and I attempted to adopt an orphan teenager from Ukraine we began a long and exhausting journey that ultimately ended in failure and heartbreak. You might say, we never made it to Oregon. Our covered wagon was swept away in an attempt to ford the Mississippi. If you missed this story, you can start it here.
Stories have the power to deeply move us and some of the most meaningful stories end tragically–think Romeo and Juliet. Sometimes the protagonist doesn’t get what he wants. Sometimes Jenny repeatedly returns to her destructive path and Forrest loses her. The thing is, the story isn’t less meaningful because it didn’t end happily. In fact, you could make an argument that it is more meaningful because it didn’t.
Our adoption story is packed with meaning even though it didn’t end the way we wanted. Because of the pain we’ve grown in meaningful ways Because of our adoption journey we became more compassionate and more resilient. Our children’s eyes were open to the plight of orphans and they began to respond with compassion themselves. Our faith was tested but in the end we learned to trust God more than ever before.
All this is to say that the journey is worth the price–whether you make it to Oregon or not. Who you are on the other side is worth effort and the pain. There is meaning in the conflict. Whether you overcome the conflict or not, there is transformation in the journey.
image credited to oblomberg
