Every morning I’m woken up by the strangled cry of a rooster. Over and over he tries to call out the final sounds of his cry, but to no avail. He seems to have everything needed to execute the perfect alarm: his desire to be up that early, his effort and ability to flawlessly sing the first notes, and his determination to try and try again when he fails.
While this feller is much of the reason why I wake up in the morning and drag myself out of bed to the pavilion in pursuit of coffee, I find that he and I have much in common. Like him, I have a goal. I sit down, mug in hand, Bible and journal open, ready for God to show up. I hope to be slapped in the face with a Bible verse, or given words and notes to the ending of my own strangled cry.
Then I realize, God didn’t just show up because I had coffee in hand. He didn’t need my invitation. He already was, already is here. The jumbled cock-a-doodle-do of the rooster worships him. The high pitched “good mornings” and hugs from the two little girls, Pam and Ja, breathe his majesty and beauty. The wind that plays fun with the leaves and tousles my hair whispers of his sovereignty and perfect plan.
It’s been all too easy this month to forget the rarity and calling of the Race. One of my teammates, Will, explained this perfectly: Thailand is the biggest set of training wheels we could get on the Race. This month is the closest we’ll get to feeling like we’re home. We have wifi, coffee and cold water, access to showers, Big C (think a happy WalMart), a hospitable and loving family who’ve adopted us as their own–everything that can cause us to immediately fall back into the comfortable lifestyle and routine we’ve left behind. The question is: have we remained changed, have we looked for more ways God could break us, even in the midst of being comfortable?
The sky in Thailand is huge. In the daytime, the sun beats down in all directions and the Toy Story clouds I’ve seen back home are nothing compared to this. But the nighttime–the vastness of the stars, the clear view of the Milky Way, the heat lightning–it makes me feel so incredibly small, swallowed up in all its glory. I didn’t ask for this, didn’t do anything to be invited to bask in such beauty, yet it’s shining down upon me and including me in its splendor.
God’s love for me is the same. In the midst of being comfortable this month, I’ve struggled with accepting all these blessings, from loving this country as much as I do to a big financial donation I received. I don’t feel like I can accept these things or am worthy of God’s love because I haven’t done anything to earn it. It’s silly, really; am I not allowed to love Thailand and these people as much as I do? Should I be struggling more in order to balance out that love? Ok, I’ll accept the financial donations, but what can I do to pay them back or make sure they know how guilty I feel for asking for money in the first place?
Sometimes being comfortable exposes the uncomfortable parts of yourself. These big training wheels, this vast sky, have revealed to me that I struggle with receiving love. Love. The greatest thing. The most simple yet at the same time the most complex expression: God.
And because of this, I can’t accept love without feeling the need to work for it, and I can’t enjoy blessings without feeling guilty.
This month has been wonderful; the rest, the comfortableness, the over abundance of blessings and love. I truly am thankful, and daily humbled. But perhaps it’s time to stop trying so hard to get out my strangled cry like the rooster. Perhaps it’s time to stop relying on things of the world and of my own accord so God “feels” the need to show up. Perhaps it’s time to receive love as the beautiful gift it is, and fully unwrap its pretty packaging. It’s time to throw away the guilt and sit under the majesty of the sky and simply be.
Because I am blessed. I am chosen. I am loved.
