Its Monday, October 2nd. My dad left well before the sun was up to go to work, stopping at the gas station to grab his coffee. He’ll be home in time for dinner. My mom wakes up and walks down the creaky stairs to be greeted by Lua. She lets her out, feeds her and starts the coffee pot. She takes the dog for their morning walk and after that makes toast for breakfast. She continues on her day, sweeping the floor, and running to the post office with the bills before the mail goes out.
Monday morning is steady. Monday morning is normal.
A year ago, a Monday morning meant my alarm went of at 6:26. I got dressed, did my hair, and ate a bagel before getting in the car and going to school, a travel mug filled with tea in hand. I snagged a parking spot as close as I could find and hurried into school as the 2 minute bell rang.
Monday morning was predictable. Monday morning was normal.
This morning I woke up to one person’s alarm at 7:00, another at 7:30 and waited until mine went off 3 minutes later to pull the blanket off and venture off my bunk bed into to brisk Romanian air that filled our room. I got dressed and went to the kitchen to make oatmeal. I sat down in the small side room for a morning devotion and after that I made a cup of tea. From there I walked the 10 minutes with my team to the church for worship. After waiting 10 minutes and us understanding that apparently no one was going to come unlock the church for us this morning, I, along with my squad, followed our leaders back to the house. The kitchen became our worship space for the morning. From there something like my favorite scene in Tarzan ensued and worship was played like, “Trash the Camp” simply because Kacie felt that is what the Lord wanted.
Monday morning is no longer steady, nor is it predictable.
Yet, this Monday morning felt normal.
Living in community, although sometimes difficult, seems normal. Walking several miles a day doing ministry, although tiring, seems normal. And standing in the grocery store trying to decipher which bag is flour and which is sugar, because I don’t understand Romanian, seems normal.
This life seems normal, yet when I begin to think about my home and what is going on there I wonder how this could ever feel normal. Home, with my parents and school and routine, was the only normal I ever knew up until September 7th. I find myself caught between feeling at peace with where I am and thinking about how crazy it is that this life I’m leading now could ever feel that way.
I sure don’t have all the answers. I sure haven’t made sense of all my feelings or my thoughts. But I think what I’m beginning to understand is that we begin to find comfort, to find peace, and to find normalcy when we are in the place God wants us to be.
