“We get robbed of the glory of life because we aren’t capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn’t stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you’re groggy and pointing at things saying circle and blue and car and then sex and job and health care.
The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn’t that big of deal, that life isn’t staggering. What I’m saying is I think life is staggering and we’re just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given—it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral. (…)
If I have a hope, it’s that God sat over the dark nothing and wrote you and me, specifically, into the story, and put us in with the sunset and the rainstorm as though to say, Enjoy your place in my story. The beauty of it means you matter, and you can create within it even as I have created you.”
–Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years
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I met two other people in Lima—Jonathan and Rakel.
After my first conversation with Jonathan, I thought he was kind of strange, a beatnik of sorts. His unruly, sun-bleached curls stuck out every which way, offering the impression that he just woke up. I assumed he probably wasn't an early riser.
Jonathan asked me if I was from Texas. I told him no, that I was from Tennessee. Later, he asked me if I was from some other state, like Wisconsin, or something random. Again, I said no, partly humored but mostly perplexed. What is this person? I thought. Maybe he’s not so bright, or maybe he just smoked something… He is talking kind of funny.
I asked Jonathan where he was from, and he told me Israel. At first, I didn’t believe him because he had blonde curly hair and an unidentifiable accent. He didn’t look Jewish or Arabic. Then I remembered I've never been to Israel and that I don’t really know what Israeli people look like or sound like, so I decided to believe him. I didn’t particularly care where he was from anyway since I had already written him off as someone I would likely never talk to again.
So, as you can imagine, it was to my utter surprise when he joined Abby and me for 7 am yoga. Apparently, Abby had invited him the day before, but I didn’t know that until after we finished our workout. When I walked outside, Jonathan was perched indian-style on a lounge chair, with his hands resting on his knees and his eyes closed. I thought this was because he was weird, not because he was preparing for our session.
For 90 minutes, I tried not to focus on him fumbling, unashamed, through most of the poses. I remained mostly silent as Abby offered him helpful suggestions here and there. He would gain my attention, however, when he’d get really excited about a certain posture. His excitement would evolve into an explanation and enactment of how the said posture was similar to some surfing position.
Ok, so he’s a surfer… that part makes sense. With my head cocked to the right, I stared at Jonathan as Abby thanked him for practicing with us. Then he started talking about surfing and windsurfing. I remember him making lots of swooshing noises. A blonde-headed Israeli surfer who’s traveling South America with a yoga mat and a girlfriend I’ve never seen him with… interesting.
Well, at least he doesn't let the fear of looking silly stop him from trying new things. And his mood is in no way affected by my standoffishness… that’s pretty cool I guess.
The three of us rolled up our mats and carried our conversation into the kitchen. We filled our plates with fruit and bread and oatmeal and poured a cup of coffee. “What’s your native language?” I asked Jonathan. “Hebrew!” he said in his consistently eager tone. “Ahh, duh.” I nodded. “What other languages do you speak?” He replied, rather nonchalantly, “English, Spanish, Swedish and French.”
So, he’s clearly not stupid. He speaks five languages. He must be rather brilliant.
“And you live in Israel?” I asked. “No, in Sweden. With my girlfriend,” he answered. “So that’s why you moved to Sweden—for your girlfriend?” I still couldn’t quite believe this guy’s life was for real. It was too good. “No, I met Rakel in Israel. She just happened to be from Sweden.”
“Where is she right now?” I had been wondering this since our conversation the day prior. I mean, the question didn’t keep me up at night, but it had certainly crossed my mind that Rakel might be make-believe. “She’s in bed. She hurt her foot a couple weeks ago.” Abby chimed in, “Oh, the girl with the short brown hair, right? She’s beautiful!”
“Yeah,” Jonathan replied. He gazed upward and added, “My Swedish Rakel.” He let his words linger for a bit then tossed a purple grape into his mouth. No lie, the kid seems excited about everything—even chewing food.
Ok, so he’s not lying about the girlfriend. Abby’s seen her. And she’s beautiful.
“So why did you move to Sweden?” I asked. “My parents live there.” he replied. “My mom is Swedish. My dad is Moroccan and French. I grew up in Israel, but my parents moved to Stockholm a few years ago. My brother and I stayed in Israel, then I met Rakel. Now we live in Sweden too.”
Ah, ha. This is how Israeli people windup with curly blonde locks. Moroccan, French, Swedish parents.
About that time, Rakel hobbled into the breakfast nook. Abby was right. She is beautiful. But not in a supermodel kind of way. She has huge brown eyes and an olive complexion, brown hair to her chin and distinctly European mannerisms. Her beauty isn’t seductive and sensual; it’s feminine and interesting. Rakel is also kind and sweet and was completely unfazed by the fact that her boyfriend was having breakfast with two female strangers.
As I sit and think about the pair, two things come to mind:
- security in identity
- dream chasers
Jonathan and Rakel are in their mid-20s. They’re six months into an eight-month trek through South America. They left Lima a day after we did and headed for Brazil to stay with friends. That’s where they are currently.
I loved that morning. Three hours filled with yoga, new friends and stories about doing life in unconventional ways. I'm convinced that life can be a dream-filled journey. Jonathan and Rakel are proof of that.
I often have to remind myself why we're given dreams—for the glorification of God.
Let’s say a certain dream is planted inside me—to open a dog rescue in my hometown or to start an orphanage in northern Africa or to become a mother or to travel the world as a freelance photojournalist, painting stories of far-away places through a camera lens.
And let’s say I pursue that dream with passion and intent—I chase after it with every inch of my being, because for some reason, I know it’s what I’m supposed to be doing with my life at that moment. Then one could argue that I’m living the life intended for me, right?
Well, kind of.
As children of God, the purpose of our lives can be simply stated—to proclaim Jesus Christ through the abandonment of our lives to Him. Much easier said than done.
Oswald Chambers said, “Beware of stopping short of abandonment to God. Most of us know abandonment in vision only.”
Dreams are great. They’re beautiful, wonderful, precious gifts from our Father. I’m all about dreams, obviously. But the truth is, dreams aren’t the point. He is.
As my pastor in Knoxville would say, the glorification of our Creator is the central point.
When we make our dreams the point, we risk losing the very thing we’re chasing in the first place. When we make our identity the point, we lose it. When we make our destiny the point, we lose it. When we make our relationships the point, we lose them too. Why? Because we’ve removed the source—we’ve removed our lifeline—and replaced it with what we want.
We haven't abandoned our lives to God at all. Not even close.
Sure, I can live an ok life on my own, with my desires at the center. I can be self-sufficient and make lots of money and have a boyfriend and a cute loft apartment, especially in America, the land of opportunity. But would I actually be living the life intended for me? Would I be chasing my dreams, really?
Or would I be like a spoiled child… no longer impressed with the gifts I've been given?
“Is this a soul that stirs in me? Is it breaking free, wanting to come alive? Because my comfort would prefer for me to be numb and avoid the impending birth of who I was born to become.” —Brooke Fraser, CS Lewis Song
A million miles to go but journeying on,
Julie
Doing yoga with Abby on the veranda at our hostel in Lima.
