“In order to have a sympathetic God, we must have a suffering Savior, for true sympathy comes from understanding another person’s hurt by suffering the same affliction.”  – Streams in the Desert

We’re a few days into our family campout. This trip has been bit different than trips we’ve taken in the past. Typically, we camp in a group. Within that group, there’s almost always an experienced former eagle scout dying to show off a bit of badge-knowledge. This trip, we’re on our own — into the wilds of the California coast… at an RV park. We’re using a borrowed RV for this adventure. Which, to be perfectly honest, does remove almost all of the adventure of camping. So far, that hasn’t been a monumental loss (to say the least). Every morning we wake up warm and dry. The coffee is hot. The refrigerator is cold. So, we have to work a bit harder to find the adventure we’re seeking.

Yesterday, we hiked to a llama pasture (that is something that actually exists). We rode bikes. We played frisbee. We braved the murky waters of the community pool at the RV park (probably our greatest adventure). Today, we’ll take the long walk down to the beach. In all of it, the greatest adventure-moment came in the first few minutes after our arrival…

Because we clearly have a lot to learn about how to RV “on our own.” After setting up the power supply (which I did incorrectly, draining the RV battery within a 48 hour span) and fearing the process of having to establish a proper connection with the bathroom hoses, our greatest struggle came in attempting to lower an exterior awning. We were briefed on how to do it. My short introduction to the world of RV awnings proved insufficient. It wasn’t long before a small audience of RV’ers had gathered around to watch us figure it out. Inching ever closer, an elderly mustachioed man from Merced (a small city in the central valley whose city tagline is “The gateway to Yosemite” — which means, in other words, that the defining property of Merced is that is a place to be passed through en route to another, more significant place.) asked politely and respectfully, “Would you like some help?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He smiled.

Then, another man approached, giving us the finer points on awning wrangling. I wondered if this struggle was something these men had once experienced, or if they were instructed in the ways by someone before they ever had to publicly embarrass themselves. In any event, two things became abundantly clear in that moment: 1) I needed the help of these others 2) They knew it.

I was wounded. I didn’t want their sympathetic help. Evidently, I’m OK with the kindness of others who have “been there before” so long as it’s not directed at me. I want to be sympathetic. But, I don’t want anyone to publicly sympathize with me. Care about me. Think about my needs. But, don’t make it obvious. Perhaps, this is my greatest struggle in my own faith journey. Jesus, the sympathetic suffering savior, is wonderful insofar as I don’t have to need him. Yet, it is the humble dependence of people which marks a faith steeped in maturity.

“Ok Jesus,” I’ll learn to say,  “I guess I need you. We both know it.”

He’ll smile.

In a day or so, we’ll have to collapse the awning and head home. If the “Mustache from Merced” is long gone, I’ll have to rely on some other folks who know more than I do and who have been there before. I can’t wait to embrace their help.

Bummer.

See you Sunday,

Jeff