AND JUST LIKE THAT, IT'S AUTUMN
And just like that, it’s Autumn.
It’s time to transition from light and flowy bedclothes to fleece and flannel pajamas. And thick fuzzy socks in the morning.
AND FIRES IN THE FIREPLACE.
Yesterday morning as we were getting up and ready for our day at the dark and cold hour of 6 am, B started a small fire in the fireplace to take the edge of cool off the family room. And after the mad dash to get the kids out the door so they wouldn't be tardy for school and I wouldn’t get the automated phone call to let me know my kids were tardy for school, I climbed into the chair closest to the fireplace and turned on a worship service YouTube. The ambiance in the room dramatically shifted from commotion to tranquility. I closed my eyes, and I felt transported to another time and place.
Many years ago, even before kids, I was on a ministry retreat in Washington at a small family-run retreat center located in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. It was a rather intense leadership training weekend with little free time. We would be in classes all day and long into the night. Our schedule was rigid so that we could accomplish all the training we needed to and get all our accreditation hours. We took few breaks only to eat and to stretch our legs, and at night we fell into our dorm-style bunks beds exhausted.
On the last morning of the retreat after a late night of studying, I awoke early. I wanted to stay in my warm bunk and sleep a little longer, but I felt as though Jesus was calling my name. I quietly dressed next to my bunk trying not to disturb the other women in my room. I grabbed my journal and Bible. I headed out to the main room where it was still dark save the light from the fire in the large wood-burning stove. I didn’t turn on any lights for fear the atmosphere would be changed. Instead, I tiptoed to the sectional surrounding the stove and lay down curling my legs up next to me.
I whispered, “I’m here.”
A moment later my mind was filled with words of love and I felt as though a blanket had been wrapped around my shoulders. It was a sweet, intimate moment where the entire world disappeared, and it was just me and God in that large room in front of the fire as he sang over me.
To any onlooker, it was a seemingly ordinary moment, just a person curled up on a couch. But it was so much more than that. It was worship.
MONOTONY
Most of our lives, our minutes, days, and hours, are spent in the ordinary, through habit and routine, not that there was anything routine about that retreat. We often live our lives pointing toward big moments--weddings, births, graduations, family reunions, vacations--for those are the mountaintop experiences that we desire, those moments that take us away from our daily lives to help us forget the challenges and the tedium. But it turns out we are shaped more by the small, ritualistic moments of our lives than the transient mountain top moments.
In her book Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren writes, “...in these small moments God meets us and brings meaning to our average day. We are…(not) cursed...to live a life of meaninglessness, repeating the same pointless task for eternity. Instead, these small bits of our day are profoundly meaningful because they are the site of our worship. The crucible of our formation is in the monotony of daily routine."
And that is why we created the Everyday Ordinary brand. Just as God brings meaning to our everyday ordinary lives, we want to bring meaning, too. To create a community where we share in the simple rhythms of life--the crazed morning rituals, cleaning the dishes and doing the laundry, pulling weeds, walking the dog, picking up after the kids, and even cooking dinner. We want you to know that you are not alone--and as much as I dislike getting up super early and doing the dishes and picking up legos, I am learning that these are acts of worship, too. Whatever you do to least of these...yeah, I'm learning.
THE REST OF THE STORY
I don’t know how much later it was that morning of the retreat that the sun began to rise and shine through the windows into that conference room. I opened my eyes and for the first time noticed another person had found their way to the solace of the sectional around the stove. I don’t know how long she had been sitting there.
At first, I wondered if she was feeling what I was feeling, hearing the same song I was hearing. Then I wondered how much of my conversation with God she heard. I was talking out loud as I do a lot with my prayers.
I turned my head toward her and smiled. She smiled back. And we never spoke of that moment.
I don’t know if I have ever spoken of that moment until just now. Yesterday morning felt a little like that. Sweet and intimate. But without a stranger listening to my prayers.