Last week was my comfort zone as much as ministry in a foreign country with language barriers, cultural differences, and a plethora of instant coffee can be a comfort zone. This week was not.
Last week was structured – head to camp around 9AM, return after campfire. Meals (and snacks), morning devotions, workshops, games, and free time all at the same time, daily. It’s okay not to wear a watch. The bell will ring, signaling the start of the next activity. Even this was a far cry from the many days in the last few years I had to write things like “eat something” or “take a deep breath” or “five minutes of quiet” on to-do lists to ensure I got what I needed in a day. I’m used to days bursting with things to get done. I thrive on those days. Free time was rounds after rounds of the same game, the kids never growing bored or restless. Games were planned, but implemented on a whim and changed last minute. Still, it was structured and relatively comfortable.
This week was not. This week’s instructions: follow up with the teens from camp, help with Alpha, a discussion forum for new or not-yet believers, on Thursday.
We made plans to do just this. I knew in my head things wouldn’t turn out the way we’d planned – that’s been drilled into my head – but I hadn’t accepted it.
“It’s okay to not have plan,” the man’s nearly perfectly translated shirt said. “Thanks for the reminder, but I’ll be okay with my plan,” I said.
Team time followed by early bed after church turned to a late night after a night spent walking to and from city center with teens; A single logistics task turned into a day traversing the whole city with teammates; bus rides turned to long walks with detours along the way; guided tours turned to wandering the city’s fortress, connecting with artists and shop workers; two hours of games in the park turned into a couple hours of games and many more of talking; more bus rides turned into more long walks; helping set up for Alpha turned to hours baking 150 chocolate chip cookies, 9 at a time, without any measuring instruments, real baking sheets, or a mixer; 2 hours of video and discussion turned to 3 or 4; dinner with local families turned to hours of laughter, stories, games, and prayer.
I bid farewell to efficiency. I pride myself on how fast I can walk, but this week I walked slowly. My feet carried me almost 50 miles, but they were meandering miles. I pride myself on how well I can pack a day, but these days were packed differently. They were full days, but they were full of space. There was no jumping from one activity to the next, only hours bleeding into hours, conversations carrying over from place to place, relationships growing stronger along the way.
My early bed time turned night out created space for conversation about the parts of my story shared during service, space for “me too,” and space for shared encouragements.
100% worth the walk just to get to know these two hearts more fully.
Each bus ride turned long walk made room for more conversation and deeper connection.
Okay, so the teens really love selfies and city center.
Every “okay, last stop” turned “no we don’t do that here,” created space in our bellies for burek and space in our hearts for greater dependence on one another, greater grace given to one another, and greater unity.
Every belly laugh shared with a family created space for love to grow and love to be given.
Each misadventure created space for wonder, space to stand in awe of the beauty found in the little things, and space to be invited into greater understanding of humility.
“But always their greatest victories are like the wild flowers, those which no one knows about.”
Every precisely planned day turned slow hours slowly dancing by created space for the day to be filled with things better than our plans.
Full days are good; often necessary. Being thoughtful about what to fill our days with is better yet. Being thoughtful to fill our days with space to be filled is best.
This guy gets it.
