Miriam and I chatted in the kitchen that was actually a shed with a dirt floor as we prepared lunch for 100 elementary students. We talked about our families, our faith, and our dreams.
Faith, a thirteen year old girl, walked with her arm around my shoulders, stroking my hair over and over as she marveled at how soft it is, how fast it grows, and the fact that I can style it in so many ways.
Donald sat in a chair across from me in his front yard, talking about his struggles with illegal drugs, alcohol, and sleeping with prostitutes, and his desire to be set free from those addictions and walk with Jesus.
A high five and a smile from Dylan.
A hug from Pamela after she was healed of joint pain and inflammation.
A laugh at an inside joke with Priscilla.
Ben.
Ivie.
Nick.
There are dozens of other names and stories from this month alone.
My life has become a series of fleeting encounters.
I meet someone, I find a way to connect with them, I love them the best I can in that moment, and then I say goodbye. Sometimes these encounters last five minutes. Sometimes they last the course of the month. But in the end, they all end the same way. With a goodbye, knowing the chances of meeting again on this earth are slim.
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Nate reads me an e-mail from his mom. I feel like I know her.
Dave looks at me from across the room and we have a full conversation without saying a word.
Taralah and I sit on the bed and talk about the hard stuff.
Courtney brings me my laundry – she didn’t have to ask what clothes were mine… she already knew.
Mickey looks up when I say his name and before I get my sentence out responds with, “yeah I know, me neither.”
My life has become stoked in deep community.
I live with these people, eat with them, work with them, worship with them and play with them. We know each other, love each other, struggle with each other and grow with each other. These relationships aren’t ones that I can walk away from when it gets tough. I can’t escape when I’m in a bad mood – there’s nowhere to go, and we’re not allowed to go anywhere alone. So we press in.
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The paradox of the two types of relationships in my life on the race is strange. The deep community of my team is the backdrop for the fleeting encounters with people in the nations we make our way through. Both types of relationships are exhausting. And both types of relationships are filling. It’s hard. But it’s good.
Here’s to living in the paradox.
