How does a person living in modern secular society establish a relationship with an invisible God? Is something vital buried under the trappings of modern religion? Can an ordinary person find this?

Finding Joy: A Journey of Discovery is a personal story with a self-help twist. It offers insight to individuals searching for a spiritual connection, people who have found serious deficiencies in religious or secular formulas for happiness, those betrayed by trusted religious leaders, and individuals seeking a sense of identity or healing from the damaging effects of the past. Written in an easy-to-read style by an ordinary woman with an inquiring mind, Finding Joy presents the perspective of someone who struggled with, and ultimately resolved, the spiritual, relational, and psychological issues covered. 

Sitting atop Mount Sinai in 1977, I wondered what it might have been like to have an unhindered relationship with God as Moses did. Christian beliefs had been instilled in me from birth by my ministering grandparents and parents in South Africa. Yet, in adulthood, my heart was as dry and dusty as the sand of the Sinai desert.

The Exodus story, pivotal in Jewish history, provides a backdrop to my journey. Along my twisting parallel path, circumstances forced me to face age-old questions similar to those the Hebrews encountered: Who is this invisible God? Can humans know him? Is he active in the world and in the lives of people today?

The yearning for a spiritual connection remains. Authors, teachers, mystics, and religious leaders have created a smorgasbord of options as they endeavor to present an appealing solution to this gnawing need in humans. Finding Joy takes profound spiritual truths learned over a lifetime of trial and error and makes them relevant to the average reader. Chapter 1 follows:

                   PART I:  WEIGHTED DOWN

                                            "I Wonder . . . "

Man’s heart strives after unending eternal happiness.
Thou hast created us, O Lord, for Thyself and
our heart is restless until it rests in Thee.

St. Augustine

My lungs at bursting point, I flopped on the stone ledge, propped my back against the wall and stretched my aching legs. The pounding in my ears subsided as my brain told my heart it could ease up now. I’d made it! I was at the top of Mount Sinai.

Inhaling the dry, clear air, I settled myself more comfortably as my eyes scanned the magnificent view. Range upon range of rosy granite mountains towered over parched riverbeds that waited expectantly to carry spring rains to thirsty plains. It was an inhospitable land, where those who struggled to survive the terrain clustered with their camels and goats around intermittent oases.

I had joined a tour group traveling to Egypt, Jordan, the Sinai Peninsula, and Israel. Love of travel lurked in my genes, passed down by my seafaring English great-grandfather, who regularly crossed the Atlantic as first mate of one of those early combination steam/sailing ships. On every trip, I liked to form a visual image of the world map and plot my journey. The dot of my home in Atlanta, Georgia, was a long way from the ledge on Mount Sinai.

The mystery of ancient Egypt had beckoned for years, so I jumped at the chance of an adventure. When the tour leader instructed us to purchase a water bottle strapped to a belt and to pack a flashlight, hat, and pharmaceutical items to counter King Tut’s Revenge, I knew I wasn’t heading for the typical beach vacation.

In addition to experiencing the grandeur of this ancient civilization, the trip would bring to life one of my favorite Bible stories—the Exodus. That amazing escape of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt and their journey through the Sinai desert to Canaan, the land God had promised them. I would walk in the footsteps of Moses and the Israelites. Reality would replace imagination—imagination fueled by Cecil B. DeMille’s magnificent portrayal of this historic event in the movie, The Ten Commandments.

From the moment I set foot in Cairo, the timelessness of Egypt overwhelmed me. Five thousand years of civilization slipped away as I stood in the shadow of the Great Pyramid of Cheops at Giza. The wonder of this complex and enigmatic tomb mystified archaeologists, architects, and engineers.

The world had changed so much through the centuries. I lived in the age of men walking on the moon, satellite communications, and astounding medical and technological advances. Yet, it appeared little had changed in Egypt from the time of the Pharaohs. Along the banks of a dirty canal, an old man formed bricks with mud and straw and set them out to dry like the Hebrew slaves did. The Nile was still the Nile, and sailboats known as feluccas continually plied their way from shore to shore. Obelisks and temple columns guarded their secrets while towering over tourists.

The opulence and grandeur of that era came alive as the tour guide translated the meaning of the hieroglyphics. Imagination transported me to the time of a tyrannical Pharaoh, a nation of ill-treated Hebrew slaves and the shepherd whose God, Yahweh, told him to lead the people to freedom. I could almost hear the tap of sandaled feet, the swish of garments and fans as merchants and citizens bustled about their business. The slaves who built the cities and temples for the glory of Egypt faced grinding toil and hardship, with only death holding hope for escape.

The mood of another age lingered as we continued via Jordan into the Sinai Peninsula. Geographically, this is a triangular area bounded by the Gulf of Suez and the Gulf of Aqaba. The Book of Exodus described how Yahweh (God) led the Hebrews on foot, with their herds and possessions, out of Egypt into the wilderness. We had the luxury of a tour bus. For mile after mile we bounced our way along the “road” that was nothing more than a dry riverbed, the wheels churning up choking clouds of dust. I couldn’t decide which was worse—suffocating under the scarf over my nose and mouth which gave the illusion of filtering out the dust, or recklessly gasping air and hoping my lungs would one day become unclogged. To the curious bystanders, we must have looked like a busload of bandits. After an interminable ride, we arrived dusty, tired, and sore at The Monastery of St. Catherine where we were to spend the night. Ahead of us lay the adventure of climbing Mount Sinai at dawn.

Although historians and archaeologists are unable to pinpoint which mountain was designated as the “Mountain of God” in Exodus, the general consensus holds the most likely candidate as being Jebel Musa, Arabic for “Mountain of Moses.” The mountain looms over the desert in striking contrast to its surroundings. At its foot nestles the Monastery, constructed on the site of a church built by the Roman Emperor Constantine nearly 1,600 years ago. European artisans spent almost twenty years sculpting its ornate basilica, chapel, and library. The monastery owes its existence to a wild desert plant that grows in its ancient courtyard, which the local monks believe is the living remnant of the original burning bush that attracted Moses’ attention. Defying the desert’s eternal heat and dust, the Monastery stands in isolation, a tangible memorial to one of the most significant events in Judeo-Christian history.

The hospitable monks provided a simple meal and camp cots. To our weary bodies, those unyielding camp cots felt like down mattresses.

At 4:30 a.m., flashlights in hand, water bottles dangling at our waists, we set forth into the cool, early morning air. The path snaking up the side of the mountain became visible as darkness gave way to the first light of dawn. We paused to watch the sun peep out between the stark mountains. Its warmth rapidly overtook the coolness, ushering in another scorching day in the desert.

The path steepened, the temperature soared, and my dangling water bottle no longer seemed an encumbrance. What I thought would be a breeze to my reasonably fit thirty-seven-year-old body became a challenge. Only the recognition of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity kept one foot in front of the other. Red faced and panting, I reached the summit and sank onto the stone ledge.

The voices of my fellow tourists murmured around me, yet I felt isolated. Thousands of years of history oozed from the cold granite of this mountain range. A million life stories had been absorbed into the sandy river beds. I felt as insignificant as a pebble, content to rest quietly.

My thoughts drifted to the story of Moses and the Exodus. The Hebrew slaves traveled from the security and bondage of Egypt into the uncertainty and freedom of this desert. I imagined them in a sprawling camp around the base of the mountain—people, tents, goats, sheep, and camels everywhere—as the smoke of a thousand fires drifted skyward.

What were their hopes as they embarked on their journey? What did they expect from Moses and the invisible God who, after four hundred years of silence, had now decided to intervene in their plight?

Time and again, the Bible says Yahweh met with Moses on a mountain such as this. The Exodus account described an open, honest relationship between them. Moses told God he had made a huge mistake in choosing him to lead the Hebrews to freedom. He pointed out his dubious past (Prince of Egypt turned murderer and fugitive) and lack of communication skills (forty years of talking to sheep does not make a man a compelling orator). Moses recommended God pick someone else.

At God’s insistence, Moses agreed to the task. Becoming the liaison between Yahweh and the Hebrews did not turn him into a “yes” man. He complained when things got difficult. He expressed his frustration with Yahweh and the stubborn people. He obeyed Yahweh’s orders, while sometimes interjecting his own opinion. Living interaction forged a relationship. Moses became an exception in the history of God’s dealings with humans. Prior to this, He had only spoken through a prophet via vision or dream. Now He honored Moses by speaking directly to him. Moses actually saw the form of God, although not His face.[1] As the story unfolded, their relationship developed to the point where God entrusted Moses with His Law, the Ten Commandments.

How wonderful it would be to have that kind of unhindered, one-on-one relationship with my Creator,I mused. Yet, was it realistic to hope that I, or anyone, could build a relationship with God in this modern age? Perhaps the type of relationship Moses had was only for his time?