Untying from the Mundane

I've had several conversations with different people lately, and all of our talks have circled around the same theme.  The content may have varied--from "dying a slow death" to "need to get away" to "can't do this anymore"--but they have all been born out of weariness.  It all came to a head for me the other day, when I was struggling to catch back up with my scripture reading, and I read Jesus' words in John 8:23.

But let me start a few days before that.

A dear new bride came to see me, because she was exhausted--both physically and emotionally.  She said she needed some encouragement, and she was hoping I'd have something to share.  My first tips--and the only things I have found that enable me to sleep with another person in my bed--were practical: earplugs and Tylenol PM.  That can take care of the physical exhaustion quickly. 

The emotional stuff . . . yeah, since the "dying a slow death" and "need to get away" and "can't do this anymore" may have all come from my mouth, I'm not sure I can help with that.

See, here's the thing.  My newlywed friend, my young mom friends, and I all have something in common.  None of us are in a place where things are changing or exciting, and it's entirely possible probable that none of us are in the spot where we thought we'd be in our early 20's late 20's mid 30's(!).  I'm tired.  I'm tired of not working in my dream job, I'm tired of fighting with my kids, I'm tired of cleaning up the exact same messes every day and being able to tell you what I'll be doing next Wednesday at 3:30 pm because it's what I'm doing EVERY day at 3:30 pm.  It wears on you.

As I talked with my young friend, though, something dawned on me.  Last week Monday night, I went to the seminary graduation of a man who is like a brother to my husband.  We have been friends with him and his wife for 12 years now, and he spent part of his seminary years as an intern at our church.  His wife is my DearWriterFriend who wants to be my DearPublisherFriend and who helped me realize what I want to be when I grow up.  It dawned on me that if my husband and I hadn't bought our current house 11 1/2 years ago and been stuck here for all these years, maybe none of that would have happened.

Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.  When we bought our house in November 2000, it was meant to be for 5-6 years.  We were never meant (we thought) to still be here when we had school-aged children.  Instead, we've stayed.  And it has been a source of annoyance and frustration for me for the last several years.  But God hasn't let us go.  Now, there could be a number of reasons for that, but maybe this is one of them.

Aaron and Wendy moved to Oregon several years ago to be youth pastors at a small church on the coast.  We left our church to look for a new church family.  When we found out we were pregnant, we decided we needed to find a Calvinist church that would fit our family's doctrine.  Since there is a Reformed church at the end of our road, we decided to visit there.  We found our home.  And we bragged it up.  While Aaron and Wendy were in Oregon, we continued to talk about our wonderfully urban-involved and reconciliation-focused and Biblically-rooted church, and God began to birth in Aaron the calling to be a senior pastor.  When it came to be time for him to choose a seminary, he chose Western Theological Seminary in Holland, MI, and they chose our church to be their home.  Wendy took her old job at a local publishing house, and she began to push me to pursue my dream of being a published writer.  (She's pretty good at nagging, right, Aaron?)

Now, Aaron is a graduate, and they are looking for a new church home--this time one with Aaron as the pastor.  Someday soon, God will bless a congregation (local, I hope!) with a pastor who has a heart for urban ministry and reconciliation and bringing Jesus to people . . . a heart that was maybe affirmed and encouraged at our great church.  And I, for the first time in my adult life, have peace about what I want to be when I grow up.  And if we hadn't lived here in this same house, maybe none of that would have happened.

What's the point?  Who knows what God is planning, or what He is doing in our every days?  Maybe none of what I said is true--maybe God would have brought Aaron and Wendy to our church and me to professional peace without any of that.  But the point is that we just don't know.  And when you start to think that He just might be working through my boring every day, through my being stuck in this place, in this house, in this mundane reality, it all feels just a little bit less boring and stuck and mundane.

So how did it all hit home?  In these words, that I should have read on May 7, the day of Aaron's graduation and three days before my conversation with a young bride:

Jesus said, "You're tied down to the mundane; I'm in touch with what is beyond your horizons.  You live in terms of what you see and touch.  I'm living on other terms." (John 8:23, The Message: Remix)

It probably would have come easier if I'd read it when I should have.