“We don’t want anything to alter our
course, even if we know there is something beautiful on the other end of the
interruption. We’d rather just keep to the daily grind and meaningless toil
that is familiar and humdrum, rather than have our rhythms broken�
-Follow
Me to Freedom by Shane Claiborne
I
think I’m a creature of habit. I figure out something that works for me and
then I tend to stick with it. I get my usual order at Mr. Goodcent’s, though every
single time I stare at the menu as if I’m honestly considering getting
something else. I inevitably listen to the same music, leaving 92% of the stuff
on my ipod completely untouched. The list of routines goes on much longer. I’m
drawn to what I know and what’s most comfortable. I like what’s quickest and most
convenient. I create this little bubble of control; it makes me feel like I’ve
got things figured out, like I’m running the show.
It’s
come to the point on the Race where I’m starting to imagine going home. I see
myself back in old scenes, typical scenarios, and I feel sick to my stomach. I
guess stepping away from comfort and control for a year has made me realize how
dissatisfied I was. I think I knew it all along. I always felt like I was
missing the point, like there was so much more to life than making it through
my routines of the day. Nevertheless, for the most part I struggled to snap
myself out of it and do something different.
There
was a morning back in Cambodia that has been burned into my heart. It was just
a simple morning- the start of our last day out in the village.
My
alarm went off at 5:45am, and I rolled out of bed groggy and cold. I swiped
Jenny’s jacket since my only long-sleeved item was drying out on the line, and
I slowly shuffled outside to meet Nary. We said morning to each other though
the sun had yet to break past the horizon, then we hopped onto her motorbike in
sleepy silence. We huddled down against the chilly wind as we made our way to
the market- a walmart sized area under shack roofs, with only sparse cracks
letting in dim sunlight.
We weaved and tiptoed in and around mat after mat of
vegetables, fruits, beans, and heaps of unknown items. Nary asked what I
needed; I was getting supplies for my team to cook our going away dinner for
Roselette and Nary. I told her we wanted to make a stir-fry with chicken and
vegetables and rice. Nary quickly shot down the chicken idea. You must get it in the city about 45 minutes
away. We won’t find it here. Shoot. Okay,
what meat can we get here then? She led me to the opposite corner of the
market to the meat section. Animal heads of every variety (except the poultry
kind, of course) hung from hooks within inches of my face. Raw meet, hooves,
feet, and blood were perched all around us as we searched for a place to buy
beef. Nary led me to a woman tucked behind a few rather large hanging
carcasses, standing at a wooden table covered in chunks of meat, blood, and
dirt. She asked how many kilos I wanted. Kilos?
Uhh, I have no idea. Nary can you choose for me? The woman grabbed hold of
a nearby carcass and sawed off a generous slab for us. Flicking away a few
flies, she bagged it in flimsy plastic and handed it to me. I handed her what
was probably the equivalent of a five dollar bill and she shook her head,
leaving her hands by her side. Nary asked if I had anything smaller. Nope. Nary took out her own money and
paid the woman. Then she led me back to the other side of the market. Nary
chatted a moment with a young teenage girl, then told me to give her my money.
The girl handed me back a stack of smaller bills, keeping a small fee for her
services. We headed back into the dark dirty chaos to hunt for veggies.
Nary
stopped and bought a bag of fried, round miscellaneous items. She smiled
sweetly and handed one back to me. Recalling all the times around the world I
have been handed something unknown to eat for the shear amusement of the giver,
I hesitantly took a nibble. I continued munching on what is either mystery meat
or old mushy fruit and continued behind Nary’s quick pace. We stopped at a mat
and picked out a variety of vegetables. I started to grab some cucumbers and
Nary motioned for me to put them back. She stood there with a grin on her face
as I picked out peppers, green beans, carrots, and onions. I looked up at her
and admitted I had no strategy in my selecting, and she burst out laughing. We
moved to another area and grabbed some less expensive cucumbers. Next began the
hunt for fruit. There were piles of bananas everywhere but they were all a
brilliant green. We blazed around the place like early-bird mall walkers,
checking prices and ripeness. Pineapple is a rip off Nary tells me, so I
remorsefully relinquished my favorite fruit back to its place on the mat.
Apples are pricey as well (for Cambodian standards) but we’re almost out of
options, so I cut a bargain for six that keeps us in budget. Finally some
yellow bananas are located and we make our way back to the bike.
To my
surprise, Nary told me to rest and wait for her with the bags, she had to grab
a few more items. I laughed and leaned against the bike and to wait like a
child left in the car so mom can get her errands done quicker. For the next ten
minutes I received the typical blatant stares and smiles I’ve grown accustomed
to while traveling around the world. Nary returned with her hands full of bags
and we loaded up the bike. With stuffed bags precariously hanging from the
handlebars, a pile in front of Nary, and my own hands too full to hang onto
anything, we took off with a teeter-tottering start and made our way back home.
The sun was beaming warmth down and had nearly eliminated all of the morning’s chill.
On the ride home I thought back on the chaos and inconvenience of our trip to
the market. What would have been a fifteen-minute Dillons run, took two hours
of my morning. I realized that I wouldn’t trade that opportunity for anything.
My morning with Nary is something I will cherish always- sweet time with a
precious friend.
I
wonder how much life I have missed out on because I’ve chosen comfort,
convenience, and routine. These things that make me feel secure and in control
suck the joy out of living and blind me to opportunities that would bring
authentic love and life. I don’t want to go back to a life of mundane habit. I
don’t want to be so focused on my plans that I miss out on what matters. I want
to live. I want to live expectantly… waiting to see God at work, always asking
to be a part of what He is doing.
Nary and I at our going away (wear your craziest outfit) party
