Things I tell myself when I don't know the future


Our lease doesn't run up until July. Wherever we are going, it is at least three months away. And so there is this strange season where we have left something certain but have yet to walk into anything certain. I make sure people get their paychecks, and then I get home and try to work from what always feels like behind. I try to keep up with people, and sometimes I even keep up with my wife. I envy the people who have dinner together every night. We’re lucky to have dinner together once a week.

Oh, Lord, what am I to do? Surely even now you are retraining my loves, re-habituating me to consistently do loving things.

Surely even now you are bringing me back to the ancient ways, teaching me to read scripture again, to trust again, to pray again, even as the self-interested fool I so frequently feel myself to be.

Surely even now you're re-training my imagination to believe in shalom, the right & beautiful ordering of all things as they were meant to be, and surely you are awakening me to see the difference between it and the way everything is.

Surely even now you are teaching me to do the hard work of growing community. People wound and irritate me, sometimes even in the same sentence. But surely even now you're teaching me that means I'm in the thick of a community life I daydream so much about, and it's time to do the hard work of getting along with others. Surely even now you are teaching me to find the meaning in all my work, not just the words spoken on Monday and Wednesday night.

Surely even now, you’re teaching me that sometimes the smallest moments hold the most weight: the mid-morning sunlight resting softly on my brow, the dark-eyed juncos come back to loring park, the glass of pinot noir with kasey after a long day apart.

Just yesterday evening, I heard a robin's familiar song on a sunset walk: my chest seized up and my eyes swelled with tears and I thought for a moment I might just make a scene crossing West 15th. The sunlight was leaking through the trees and two women were talking together on a nearby stoop and I cannot tell you how grateful I am for my life.

Surely even now, as the muffler on my ’97 civic makes a racket ramping onto 35W, you are teaching me the secret to contentment in all things.

Surely even now, as I bounce my eyes from all the inconvenient looking people, you are teaching me to look at them and love them… somehow.

Surely even now, as I fold my hands and await the results of search committees and board meetings, you are teaching me that there is love to grow even now.

Yes, surely even now, you are teaching me that if I’m only looking for my sun to rise, my horizons have been too small all along.

-trev

photo: a really random and totally unrelated picture of wife and eggs while we were in the smoky mountains last february

#prayer #tension #Jesus