I graduated from college with my Bachelor's degree last May. The simple act of walking in front of a stage has left the devastation of a hurricane in its wake, and I am forced to pick up the pieces of my old life and build a new one.
I don't know about you, but I tend to run to routine to create some semblance of order in the chaos.
I try to establish something that will make my life make sense. Make it feel like it's "supposed to."
But when I have undergone the vigorous, rigorous building of a pattern, and I look up at this thing that I'm holding together with butcher's twine and duct tape and both my small hands, it doesn't look like I thought it would.
It looks... ordinary.
It looks like it is completely devoid of anything special.
My very human creation feels devoid of the silver and gold threads that are a sign of the hand and work of God.
I look within myself and I am saddened by the way I have ignored my God in order to build my routine, and I do not feel good enough for intimacy with Him. I have a lurking feeling of sameness and routine -- I keep reminding me that this, right here, is what my year will look like. But I somehow keep waiting for Something: for something to break or to change or to arrive.
I write about this abstractly, but my soul cries out for an encounter with the Divine. I miss sensing the presence of God in my life. I feel that I leave my desk in the morning and forget You, Father.
And I have forgotten Adventure. I have all but completely forgotten it. When I read books, I long to soak them up and in, feeling them in my bones. But I am so concerned about time and schedule and a time crunch that I find myself incapable. I long to be changed by books, to be changed in some way, but I sense a plateau of sameness. Of a longing to go further up and further in, as Aslan says, but not knowing how to get there.
How do we get there?
My mind, my intellect, tells me the answer is You.
Hasn't it always ever been You?
Does my heart know it?
I've always said it: You ARE Adventure. It has never impacted me the way I've felt it should, that sentence. Maybe it's time for me to invite the unpredictability of God into my life.
I am so focused on building a routine of efficiency. You can be in the efficiency, to be sure, when it does not become an idol. But maybe what I need is a life of fullness. Maybe what I seek is discomfort -- or has those characteristics.
I see myself seeking perfection now instead of doing the hard work and waiting -- and the hard work of waiting. I see myself trying desperately to conform to a routine while You whisper to me, I come that you may have life, and have it to the full. More abundantly. The Thief comes to steal: to steal time. To steal my life away. To kill my joy, my adventure. To destroy my soul.
But You --
It was only ever You --
You come that I may be alive.
Look at the blessed things I consider interruptions. Mama told me to value the interruptions that are really what my life is made of. Teach me, Father, to value the interruptions. To invite unpredictability. Adventure is everything we don't expect. Who was that wise person who said that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans?
May I invite the unpredictable, the adventure. The unpredictability of a God I know, but can never understand -- not fully. The unpredictability of mystery.
May I stop trying to provide an answer to all things. May I be okay with not-knowing. May some mysteries be just that: mysteries.
May I welcome the unpredictable, wild Adventure that is You.