Having left the familiar people and customs of rural Missouri life a few months prior, it was a joy and an adventure to go as a family north from deep south Texas to spend Christmas in the love and familiar places of which I learned to cherish then and more so now. I was eight years old. With a short amount of time to get to Missouri to visit family, the risk and desire to avoid ice and snow during Christmas (which was and is usually a 50-50 chance), and to maximize the time to see family at each stop along the way, our trip is planned. Whether it was to initially visit my uncle Lester and his wife in southern Missouri, then my aunts and uncle in Kansas City, to seeing numerous family members in and near St. Joseph, and then finally the special meeting place—my grandparents’ home—where my maternal family would always gather to not just enjoy a meal and unwrap presents, but it was a place of joy and adventure. Always urged to stay within eye/ear-shot from the house, the wood burning in the stove in the basement to heat the home with its fragrant aroma tantalizing our nostrils outside the house, the bitter north winds which whipped its sting on our faces and rattled tree limbs like bones of a skeleton. The humming of the compressors from the milk barn twice a day, perhaps a tractor running giving food to the cold Holsteins which grazed the brown grass over the frozen ground.
But along the way, a particular place was usually our one-night home for the trip north. With minimal effort, I can remember climbing out of the warmth of the Ford Granada station wagon in those early years to eventually the grey Ford F-150 to the blue Ford Explorers, I would sometimes follow my parents into the lobby of the Motel 6 on the west side of Tulsa for check in. The day of driving and riding tired my dad with my mom at navigation and my brother and I hunkered down in the back seat, we were all-too-pleased to escape from this nomadic life into the warmth of a bed and perhaps to catch a little bit of the ten o’clock news. The next morning, like clockwork, after showers and/or a change of clothes, we would go under the overpass to the McDonald’s (despite efforts to ask for the Waffle House on subsequent trips that fell on deaf ears). My mom usually ordered herself an Egg McMuffin, my dad a sausage biscuit (or maybe with an egg), and my brother and me either the pancakes or the sausage biscuit. After a hurried breakfast and perhaps one more time to hit the bathrooms before the hours of driving/riding, we would go to the nearby Texaco station to refuel the car, hunker back into our seats, and away we would go on interstate 44 headed either toward Joplin or to swing south toward Senaca to eventually Joplin, and then northward on US 71.
And despite the few times when we chose a different route to allegedly save time or to change the scenery, to me the usual route that I painted was familiar, my desired route, and pleasant. It is the very common route that I’ve taken my family since marriage, especially the last six plus years. The very often stop in Tulsa was gladly received after several hundreds of miles traveled on day one. Give or take, Tulsa is considered about halfway of distance to northern Missouri. But it was more than just a city to stop or a city to pass on through, it was an indicator that the world of south Texas and the familiar of Texas culture and warm winters gave way to the cold, perhaps ice and snow, and the love from family. It was a conduit; the halfway or bottom of the pendulum swing of the chiming clocks that would ring at my grandparents’ house. We passed from one and onto another…and usually through Tulsa.
For nomadic people of the Arabian Peninsula to or from the Holy Land, a number of cities would be passed through. Regardless being named after one of the sons of Raamah (a great-grandson of Ham who was the son of Noah) or named after Abraham’s concubine Keturah, the city of Dedan (a name/word deposited by the Holy Spirit a few days ago and has been milling around in my spirit day after day)—as with many cities of those days—was named after a person named Dedan. Its position along the trade routes made it abuzz with life, information, cultures, and of course trade. Carved from the rocks, its rooms and dwellings were fortified from the blistering heat of the summer as well as protection from infrequent rain and most of all could be closed up when an invasion could occur. But once open again, it would be THE place for saddles made—for the wealthy and for the military—as well as ivory, spices, and a number of other things. Further and because of its not-too-distant location from the Persian Gulf and its reputation, it was the place to visit to bring your wares from ships from destinations far and wide. Dedan was known always—then and now—as an oasis for travelers. Its name for low ground seems vague, but after visiting Tulsa many times, it also sits in a low area (so I see and provide a similarity metaphorically speaking). The Hebrew noun meaning is breast or nipple means to nurture, to provide basic sustenance, or to lovingly care for. This reminds me of Psalm 84:5-7, “Blessed is the man whose strength is in You, whose heart is set on a pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a spring; the rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.” It is also suspected that word Dedan means or comes from another root word for beloved such as an aunt or an uncle. Which for our trips to Missouri, Tulsa then as a child and now as a man has been the place where we (my wife and I) are refreshed. Even if we have not spent the night any longer at Oyo Motel (who took over for Motel 6) or grab a breakfast from the McDonald’s for the past twenty years, Tulsa remains a continual stop for some of us to stretch our legs, visit the restrooms, and to wake back up with some walking around or perhaps a cup of coffee or an energy drink, and to then hit the road again. And for my wife and I, it is the last “stop” of life—an almost summit for the trip that if we can now leave eastward, we are beginning to feel the pull toward Missouri. And despite the loss of several family members in Missouri, nonetheless, the Calling to Missouri to minister as well as God’s plans, promises, and hope for a true relationship with Christ seems to be clearer and more tangibly felt once Tulsa is in our rearview mirror going east on interstate 44. It nurtured us. It still cares for us. And despite a couple of business name changes, the familiar is still familiar. And the journey’s itinerary remains solid.
For many a Christian who choose to hop upon God’s plans, there is a place—a conference city, a mother church, a special location where God met us, SOME PLACE—that brings that effervescent refreshing to our souls. It is where the broad becomes focused. It is the pendulum swing from “save me Lord” to “I’m safe” to, when the pendulum will swing back will swing us with His promises, refreshing, anointing, and “God’s hand” to let’s get back into the fight. It is a place of transition like when those faithful men of God who let Paul down a wall in a basket (Acts 9:25), like the prayerful anticipation prior to the Holy Spirit falling on day of Pentecost, like John 4 when Jesus had to go to/through Samaria, and other places and moments, Tulsa is not the destination (for me) like Dedan was the place for many of the ancient world, it was the place where upswing, promised refreshing, the conduit toward God’s promises, etc. would be. A transitional place.
And perhaps for some, there is no Dedan (or Tulsa) in your life yet. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Your Dedan will come by the journey. Laozi said that, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”. Step by step, prayer by prayer, Bible reading by Bible reading, step of faith by step of faith, consecration by consecration, a daily dying of self (1 Corinthians 15:31) and soon you, too, can discover your Dedan where you as the psalmist said can go from strength to strength. Where is your Dedan? Hop into God’s vehicle to join in on the greatest adventure: God’s will…and you, too, will discover and value your Dedan.