I fiddle through blogs, and membership ads, and correspondences for the first half of the morning, brightly responding to emails, and printing the same sheet wrong three times…
My mind swirls with new ideas, which generally steamroll with a productive spurt – creativity seems to fold upon itself and compound, and explode, so here I am frantically grabbing sticky notes and emailing myself to-do reminders. Banners, and reading and blogging and mailing lists, and a multitude of prayers…
Then I see photos of someone working at an orphanage in China, and another glowing, disciplined raw-food mama, and whisper to myself that I too am doing important work for the kingdom.
But it’s a very small whisper, because I don’t really feel it.
There’s a succulent on my desk, and a Van Gogh print on the wall above it, and a sparkly watch on my wrist. I live the Pinterest dream, but discontent gnaws my inside’s empty because I want to be hugging a child, wearing no make-up and a t-shirt with dirty hands, and a cup of Pu-Er tea, and this, and that, and something always, always just out of reach.
I have lived in so many worlds.
….In the desperate, darkly beautiful, life-or-death world of orphaned children, malaria, trafficking, homelessness, shrine idols and dirt, sweat, tears and soul-wrenching prayer.
…In the world of scrawled letters, coloring sheets and crayons, the rapture of soft cheeks and sweaty forehead kisses, diaper changes, and he-wet-the-bed-again laundry loads, and so, so many text conversations: “I’m sorry, I won’t be able to grab coffee – I’m watching the kids”.
…In the hipster Shangri-La of art, typography and blessed singleness with so much black coffee. 2am poetry binges and long walks down dappled old lanes, museum shenanigans, and a perfectly planned outfit for every occasion.
And I was, in each world. Just was. Both happy, and sad.
And I was serving the Lord.
There is a beautiful fluidity somewhere in there, a gracious freedom to be exactly who God made me to be, in exactly this moment, if only I will stop grasping and just be.
Simply being in the next phase won’t make me more like Christ.
It won’t make me a better servant for the Kingdom. We are all surrounded by images murmuring, rushing and roaring that we just need to be one more thing, or just need to do one more thing to be happy, and I have downed the kool-aid like a desert wanderer.
Can I be who Christ made me to be, today? For tomorrow has enough worries of its own. And Christ is perfect.
“But you are the same God, whose property is always to have mercy… Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed.”