Secret place

Hidden behind clothes and toys, I giggled when I heard my mother calling and calling my name. I was around 4 years old. And I’d discovered a secret place in the depths of our walk-in closet. She called my name again. And again.

This was so much fun. 

No one knew where I was. 

As you can imagine, the end of that story was not funny at all. My mother was in tears and panicking. She thought I had wandered outside the gate of our home in Surabaya and been lost forever. This was a surprise to me. And the discipline that followed was, shall we say, memorable. The next time I listened when my parents called. 

Looking for the secret place

I continued looking for secret places in the years that followed. After all, those were the best settings for reading favorite books and dreaming up adventure stories. Or just thinking about life. Some of the prime spots were up in the trees we climbed, like the plumeria in our front yard. 

One sunny morning, I went over to play with my new friend Sherrie at her house. There was a large guava tree in her front yard, just waiting to be climbed. We brushed ants off the trunk as we crawled up, then happily settled on its sturdy branches. We were surrounded by leaves and fruit.  Perfect!

Surviving in the secret place

I plucked a light green guava and rubbed it against my shirt, then bit through the bitter skin into crisp, white flesh. Sweetness was at the core, in the compact ball of hard seeds. Chewing on the core, I spit out seeds and peered through leaves to the world below.

As we talked, we peeled loose pieces of bark off the trunk and pondered what we could use them for. I thought about the boy in My Side of the Mountain who managed to survive on what he found in the woods.  I figured I could survive if there was a guava tree available.

The tropical sun was hot and sweat trickled down my back. We climbed down and ran barefoot in the grass. Dad’s voice was in my head warning me of the hookworm that was sure to enter my bare feet and wreak havoc on my body.  We skipped up the driveway and pushed through the screen door, the spring slamming it shut behind us. The cool tile floor felt good as we made our way to the kitchen for cups of cold water. 

Our next adventure was surely just around the corner.

Waiting in the secret place

I still look for the secret place. In recent years my writing desk was tucked in a corner in front of a window overlooking the street and the mountains. Not every secret place has had such a view. But in each setting, my Bible lies open and I read. 

The truth is what I hunger for, the only thing that truly satisfies my soul. Sometimes the first bite is bitter, but the deeper I go, the sweeter it is. There is mystery and clarity. The beautiful and the practical. Perspective for what’s happening around me.

I figure I can survive if I have Him and His word. Waiting in the secret place. Watching. With pen and paper to help me listen and remember.  Then I take that next step of obedience. And even run in the path of His commands.

What about you?

Where is your secret place? Have you ever had to ask the Lord to make you hungry for His Word? What helps you take the next step of obedience?