The rows of orderly traffic surprised me; each car in its lane, no one jumping the lights and hardly anyone honking their horns. We had just stepped off the plane from Ulaanbaatar and were waiting to cross the road. The cars in America readily stopped for pedestrians and, unlike many Mongolian cars, most appeared to be in pristine condition with few scraps and dents.

‘Metallic horses.’ That’s a phrase many Mongolians use when talking about their cars. The phrase always makes me smile because it conjures a picture of cars weaving in and out of city traffic at breakneck speed. Not only that, but it also reminds me of the daring ways in which many Mongolian drivers venture up trackless hillsides and cross flowing rivers. Admittedly, there are those who are sedate and treat their vehicles with more care.

Although battered and chronically ailing vehicles continue to fill the streets, spewing out noxious fumes as they go, it is easy to fill a car with what it needs and expect it to keep going no matter what. However, maintaining a vehicle in Ulaanbaatar so that it runs at its optimum takes a little more thought.

Ulaanbaatar is a small city that has grown rapidly. It is a busy, restless place, impatient and, at times, overloaded. A place that draws me in and quickens my pace until I’m caught in its go, go, go. I am slow to recognise the change in me or realise that I’m trying to push myself too hard up that impossible hill. Only when joy and fulfilment dissipate and God seems strangely distant, do I listen to the dissonance in my heart. It grates against my attempts to convince myself that a life of busy, engaged ministry equals a healthy spiritual life.

I wonder, how can I quickly complete all that lies before me? I falter and flounder. God feels even further away. I keep on going, not knowing what to do; reacting to symptoms rather than seeking to understand and respond to the root causes of problems.

And then, in the frenzied rush, comes a tap on my shoulder, a soft voice in my ear. ‘Who is the infinite one, the Creator, the one who never sleeps and is present everywhere?’. I still myself, cease trying to fix others or foist my plans upon them and answer: ‘Only You can be all things to all people.’ I am not God; I am a human being. It is obvious, but in the franticness of activity and in the face of great need, I lose sight of that. I’ve stretched too far, pushed beyond the limits that God has created for me. I orientate my heart back to Him, asking Him to lead me in His way.

Resting, I return to myself in His presence; the reality of who I am, rather than who I want to be. I decide to live within the limits of my capacities. I will choose to deepen my walk with God. Quietness and resolve renew my energy. God keeps me steady and alert, caring for me in all that is good and right.

Ulaanbaatar drivers still push their metallic horses fast and furiously. The city still moves at pace, but I’m happy to let it all pass me by because I’m learning to walk differently, within boundaries to a pace and rhythm fitted to who I am, sustained and fulfilled by God. This walking pace is His very best for me.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022