Unbearable heat scorched his face. Desolation and despair gripped his heart. Endless vistas of desert sand seared his senses.  So this was it? This was the end of the journey? What had gone wrong? Never had he confronted something he did not have the solution to. Collapsing on his hands and knees he was at the point of exhaustion. Although someone who had never tasted defeat, Timothy had to admit that he had come to the end of himself. He drifted off into a dehydrated delirium.

From food to clothes to sex objects to motor vehicles to…you name it. All came under the umbrella of ‘You First’. His achievements had certainly been made on the backs of his competitors. With an uncanny sense of when to buy and sell shares, he had been the invisible cause of many others’ bankruptcy. Timothy had no scruples. He despised those who could not fight to win. He had never undertaken a project that had failed…until now.

Still in his semi-comatose state, he relived the past few weeks. It was an email that had sparked his curiosity. ‘A challenge for the go-getter – last opportunity’. Although a risk-taker he was also meticulous in his research of anything that smelled like a scam. He read and reread the fine print: ‘For those who continually need to pursue to survive, this is for you. Take a journey, all expenses paid, that will be the journey of a lifetime. The catch? Answer the following 5 questions correctly, submit your form and you will be entered into the draw of the century’. Okay, seemed prosaic enough. He followed the online instructions, pressed submit and had nearly forgotten about it when, about three weeks later, a phone call from the organisers followed by a secure-delivery parcel confirmed his win.

“You’ve done it again!” his friend John exclaimed. “How come your life is so charmed?”

Timothy grinned sardonically. “You’ve gotta try if you want to achieve, John, and not be too bothered about where the chips fall.”

The parcel had contained plane and bus tickets, itinerary and spending money – the destination? A little-known town in the Sahara desert in Morocco – Amezrou. The challenge was to discover an age-old secret that would bring him ultimate happiness. Happiness. What did that mean exactly? He was happy, wasn’t he? Happiness….

The word bounced around the sides of his befuddled mind. Try as he might he could not make sense of his surroundings. Unwillingly he returned to his reverie.

The first part of the journey was the overnight flight from Edinburgh to Cairo, Egypt – in fact, the only part of this journey which involved air travel was the Edinburgh/Cairo leg. He had been somewhat intrigued by the fact that his expedition was not directly to Morocco. He disembarked in Cairo, pushed his way through crowds of people, and checked his itinerary.  According to his notes, he had a bus to catch which would take him to where he would have his first night’s sleep on the continent of Africa. He made short work of picking up his bags, strode towards the exit and jumped on the bus which sported the unique logo of the organisers of the draw – an eye inside a semicircle with a cross attached to the top and the bottom – ‘All about you – ABY’ they were called.

That had been three weeks ago. That first night, on the plane, was the only full night of sleep he had had since then. It was as though he had been ‘vortexed’ into someone’s playbook where he had no control over the rules and the game being played. He had no way of communicating back home – for reasons unknown to him, his phone had no service anywhere, even though he had paid for the premium international roaming package.

Each day had been one of grueling travel. The condition of each vehicle provided deteriorated as time went on. From Cairo he had taken a not-so-bad bus to Siwa Oasis, an eight and a half hour ride which had had a promising start. Timothy had a window seat and had marveled at the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea, reveling in the fact that he, and he alone, had won this draw. He was indeed charmed! But as hour turned into hour and the view changed from beach sand to desert sand he was lulled into a sense of timeless uncertainty. Leaning his head against the window, he gazed unseeingly across the dry landscape. He was used to travelling in comfort, never considering the fact that ‘out there’ many people did not have the luxury of leaning back into soft, leather-covered car seats of the latest BMW. This first-hand experience of travelling in discomfort was new and destabilizing. The sun dipped on the horizon and a short while later the driver indicated that he had reached Siwa Oasis. After hours of sitting, his legs refused to obey him as he struggled to get his bags and step down off the bus. His spirits lifted as he saw neon lights advertising different eating places and hotels. He was sure that his place of rest would be a 5-star.

He ambled across the bus area and re-read his itinerary – ‘Motel Sheout’ was his abode for the night. Showing the name to a passer-by, he was pointed to a small building, at the end of an alley. He frowned, but made his way towards the entrance. The word ‘Sheout’ seemed to laugh at him as he entered the dimly-lit reception of the motel. A grim-faced woman sat behind a dark desk and glanced up as he entered. He showed the necessary documents and was led to his room – a less-than-adequate, dark room with a bed, desk and chair with a tiny bathroom attached. He was so tired he did not have the energy to be upset.

After showering he went in search of something to eat. He was served a plate of unidentifiable ingredients in the designated restaurant area. At home, he would never have glanced at such a place, never mind actually eat there!  But fatigue is a good filter and he ate ravenously refusing to actually think about what he was swallowing.

And just when he thought he would sleep really well, the sounds outside of the motel seemed to increase exponentially. Men shouting. Music blaring. Women laughing. So what was this? He would definitely file a lawsuit against ABY when he returned to Edinburgh. How was he expected to learn any secret when his sleep was taken away from him? And his comfort? Even his food? What was going on? And that second night was repeated over and over again. There were days when Timothy did not know if he was really experiencing this. He tried to initiate a dialogue with the different bus, truck and car drivers but they were unresponsive – partly, of course, because of the language barrier but also, Timothy sensed, there was a ruthless determination to ensure that they do their job without compromise.

Timothy was experiencing an internal change that, at first, he did not want to admit. During the hours of travel he found his mind wandering to how he had lived his life up until now. He had been estranged from his parents for years – by the age of 14 he had made it clear that he had no time for his father’s old-fashioned worldview of God’s absolutes nor his mother’s smiling forgiveness of the number of times he, Timothy, had brushed her off and treated her as worthless. A twinge of regret flashed through his soul, but he self-talked himself back to his own paradigm – if you don’t look out for yourself, who will?

A sliver of light tried to pierce his consciousness and he fought to focus on the present. But once again he slipped behind the thick curtain of unconsciousness, back to the past. Faces of people he had stripped of their life savings flashed before him. Couples who had begged for help as he had ridden ruthlessly over their livelihoods. Girls he had used for a night or two to gain access to those higher up the ladder of success. Young men who had looked up to him as a model and then been crushingly disappointed when he had proven not to be what he had purported to be. His depth of insentience seemed to push him to further introspection.

When had he done anything that made someone else feel good apart from himself? He tried to bring himself to the surface of reality but couldn’t. It was as though an unearthly hand was pushing him back under, forcing him to face himself in the mirror – his life was nothing but a shell of glitz and glamour without substance or morals or depth or anything worthwhile.

A sensation of utter dejection enveloped Timothy, even in his unconscious state. Here he was in a place where his reputation and credit card were totally useless. The hard facts were stark, without any pretty wrapping. He was the worst of the worse. How could he ever redeem himself from the lifestyle and pit he was entrenched in? How could he ever look anyone in the face again, now that he had been confronted with what he truly looked like? Maybe this was fate. He had been removed from his status quo of comfort, made to realise and admit that his life was a sham and…maybe this was for the best. He would die here in the desert. The wild birds would pick his bones clean, and no one would have to know that he regretted every last thing he had done that had ruined the lives of so many people – most of all his own family.

A deep, guttural sound started to work its way up out of the torturous despair. As he uttered an animalistic cry, a hand touched his shoulder. Try as he might, he could not open his eyes. The hand was firm and strong. A voice spoke in a language he did not understand and then he felt himself being lifted in strong arms and placed in some kind of vehicle. Strange. He had heard nothing approaching. He must have been so completely out-of-it. The vehicle began to move. As he bounced around on the back seat, he slowly started to see pinpricks of light trying to pry open his eyelids. With a final effort, he opened his eyes to see a robe-clad figure hunched over the steering wheel of an open sand buggy. The hood of the robe covered the face, making it difficult to ascertain any physical features.

The driver must have sensed something, because he slowed the buggy and came to a stop. As the person turned, Timothy found himself looking into the deepest, most knowing eyes he had ever seen. He squeezed his own shut as he tried to shake off the sensation that this man saw him for who he really was yet had no qualms in rescuing him and offering him a drink of the coolest, most refreshing water possible. How did he have that in this heat? How had he turned up just when he was convinced that his life had no value or meaning? How…? The questions tumbled around in his mind but he felt no urge to ask them. It was as though he already sensed that this stranger knew them anyway.

After the drink, the enigmatic man turned back to the steering wheel. Within the space of ten minutes he stopped the buggy outside a weathered hut which looked no bigger than his garage at home. What? He had been so close to his destination? How could he have given up so easily? Feelings of frustration and anger started to try to break the new feeling of well-being he had just begun to experience. But as quickly as they had come they subsided as he was ushered into the hut, into the warm family circle of the man who had rescued him. As he was welcomed by the man’s wife, a dignified-looking woman whose eyes held the strange ‘knowing’ look, he was, for the first time in his life, stripped of all pretense. He was overwhelmed by unconditional love and acceptance and a realization that his life would never be the same again. Sitting on grass mats in between the man’s son and daughter, he ate his fill of the delicious stew-like meal that was served from the pot in the centre of the circle. As the family talked together quietly, his head started to drop to his chest. Once again, he felt strong arms around him as he was lifted onto a mat that somehow felt like a pillow. Before he could say, ‘Thank you’, he had fallen into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Bright sunlight disturbed Timothy. He stretched. Momentarily, he imagined himself in his bed at home. Then the memories came flooding back. His near death and the rescue. His eyes flew open and then widened some more. He was laying on a mat, by the side of a road with his belongings piled neatly beside him. And he was completely alone. He pushed himself up and then stood. He did a 360° turn. He could make out buildings in the distance but in his immediate surroundings there was nothing – except the tyre marks of the sand buggy where it had stopped the night before but no marks that showed it leaving again. Absolutely nothing… An awareness of the divine washed over him. He, Timothy Walker, who had scoffed in his father’s face and scorned his mother’s godliness, had ridden rough-shod over countless other people, had created a kingdom of ‘feel-good’ egomaniacs saw himself for what he really was – a helpless, pathetic, worthless piece of trash who had no right to live. He flung himself back on the mat and with his face to the ground wept with heart-wrenching sobs; sobs that cleansed his soul and opened his spirit to the knowledge that this journey had indeed brought him to the discovery of ultimate happiness – acknowledging his own wretched state and admitting that he needed someone bigger than himself to change him. As he gutted everything to his Maker, a peace engulfed him and he knew that a new journey had opened up before him.

Standing up with fresh resolve, he gathered his bags and strode off, his future no longer lorded over by himself but by the One called Lord of lords.