Have you ever attempted to enjoy a meaningful conversation with someone in a crowded restaurant? (In the ‘before’ corona world, of course.) Maybe the next table over is full of a large, loud family celebrating a birthday. And there might be a group of ladies laughing and telling stories behind you. You notice a couple clearly enduring the awkwardness of a first date, and wonder how they came to be here together. There may even be some patrons standing off to the corner of your table sipping drinks and sharing office gossip while they wait for their party’s name to be called. The sound bites are distracting. You catch bits and pieces of stories and conversations you’re not meant to hear, all while attempting to maintain connection with the person you’re actually dining with. And later that night you realize you’re not able to recall most of what you shared with the actual human who shared your table.
This is how these past several weeks have felt to me. There are so many voices. So many varying conversations, opinions, feelings, passions, topics being discussed. I noticed my attention and thoughts were becoming thready and fractured. And sadly, I started to lose touch with the people sitting right at my proverbial table. I found myself attempting to carry burdens never meant to be shouldered alone. I felt compelled to formulate opinions I’m in no position to establish. And it all just left me feeling tired and overwhelmed.
And then as he often does, Jesus met me one morning and reminded me of my call to abide. Abide in him. There’s really only one person worth aligning with, and that’s Jesus. He’s consistent. Passionate. Revolutionary. Strong. But He was always fully present with the people at his table. He engaged well with each individual story he entered. And this shift in my perspective has been a breath of fresh air.
I don’t believe Jesus means for us to hide, disengage, or avoid conflict and difficult narratives. He came, after all, to set the captives free. He called and served alongside the outcasts and misfits. His good news is for all.
When I spent some time reflecting on this, I felt a longing to simplify my scope. And in God’s graciousness, I found peace in acknowledging my lacks. My lack of answers. My lack of understanding. My lack of insight. My lack of influence. I don’t have to be and do all the things. There are certainly some who are anointed to lead in a louder way. And some of us are anointed for quiet leadership. Small, significant things.
Now I’m looking at the people at my table…my family, my small group, my pastors, my neighborhood, my small city. I’m asking more specific questions about how I might love well. How I might extend welcome to the people I actually know…the people I’m able to hear from across the table.
I’m welcoming the seemingly small lessons I’m learning, and I’m settling in to the longer journey of refinement that is very much not a race or conquest for a single day. One step at a time. One story at a time.
Thoughts from The Yellow House 