Things that are worth something usually cost something.
Talking to my friend to process something important required me to get up at 5:30 am, so that the internet wouldn’t cut out every 5 minutes. And it was worth it.
Peace usually comes in the morning. It sounds cornier than anything I would normally, say, but it’s true. I lack discipline at getting up early, but I actually love early mornings—with coffee—either on a comfy couch near a window with a nice view, or outside on a patio or overlooking something beautiful. It’s best if it’s cool enough to need a baggy flannel or hoodie.
Most of the day, I can ignore the fact that there is a greater purpose in life than my pleasure or immediate needs—because most of my time is spent trying to get those met. But in the morning, it’s different.
It’s as if I recognize the presence of the supernatural.
Maybe I’m more open to hearing from God in the morning because my senses aren’t over stimulated yet, or because I’m not alert enough to begin controlling my thoughts. I’m not really sure. It’s not something I can empirically validate. It’s an experience. I feel content—without need for more, and without forethought of what is next.
Maritza, the mother of the family we live with in Chincha, was up early this morning too. I think she must wake up early every morning. She rolled out of her room a little after 6, and walked willingly to the kitchen. She smiled as she began cooking breakfast for Eli, her 16-year old son, before he left for school.
At any other point in my life, this kind of caretaking would have made me cringe. But as I watched Maritza, I didn’t. Why? Perhaps it’s because her behaviors were not coupled with performance.
It’s clear that she is happy. She is content. It is evident in her eyes that she serves her family because she wants to, not because of perceived expectations.
I have been very curious about all of this lately—like, what motivates people in their behaviors and values. Is it just cultural norms? Is it genuine, or is it performance?
If my Spanish speaking skills were more advanced, I would probably asked Maritza why she serves her family so willingly. Not because I want her to prove it. I am just genuinely curious. Where does she get the desire to do that? Does it give her pleasure in some way? Maybe I’ll figure out a way to ask her.
Similarly, one of my favorite questions to ask people lately has been, “Why are you a Christian?” It sounds antagonistic—but I can authentically say it’s not. I genuinely want to know why people do what they do. If it’s a true desire, where does it come from? What makes it worth it?
I’ve asked myself similar questions.
I have to be cautious about requiring answers before acting. For instance, I desire to know why I want to follow God before I allow myself to talk to him, because I fear being inauthentic if I don’t know the “why.”
I think that’s a faith versus logic issue. Unfortunately, faith doesn’t always come with empirical evidence, thus faith doesn’t fully coincide my logic needs.
So where I am now… is not talking to God. It’s like I can’t.
I came to the conclusion yesterday, however, that I am sure I believe in God. That I believe Jesus is the only pure good that has ever walked the earth, that he is the only hope for humanity, and that my desire is to be the hands and feet of Jesus, who is the ultimate example of genuine compassion with genuine truth; genuine humility with genuine confidence; genuine selflessness with genuine self-care.
I think I already felt that way, but I just didn’t know why.
When my team encountered a family yesterday who seemed to carry a dark presence with them, I was reminded of the darkness I encountered in counseling, and the darkness my team will continue to face on this missions trip.
Even in the midst of my seemingly atheistic or agnostic perspective, I found myself talking to my team about how to show people the love of Jesus even when they seem dark or threatening. I found myself acknowledging the reality of spiritual warfare and how to combat spiritual with spiritual—rather than combating spiritual with flesh, which is futile.
Maybe I think these things because my dad starting reading Ephesians 6 to me at age 10, but then again, I don’t think so.
I can handle most things in my life on my own. So it isn’t until I’m faced with something beyond my capacity that I recognize my need for a savior. I know a need a savior, and I know the world needs a savior. But for some reason, I still can’t talk to God. So for now, I’m just writing about it.
My analysis of this might be overwhelming to some people—but it’s really not for me. It’s sort of energizing, actually.
I desperately want this to be real. But if I start talking to God again, I fear falling back into autopilot, where I have no idea why I’m doing what I’m doing.
These are the thoughts of a girl who grew up as a pastor’s kid, attended Bible college, held leadership positions at her church, and worked as a Christian counselor.
It’s interesting what surfaces when I consider the real motivations behind my behaviors. But I think it’s worth considering because life is too short to spend on autopilot. The process will probably cost me something… but I think that just means it’s worth it.
