They said November would be like this.
It’s the slump in the cultural transition, after the newness wears off and the “honeymoon” stage is over. It’s the days and weeks that begin to repeat themselves.
Drop the girls off at school without stalling in the stick shift van. Check.
Crack, whisk, and scramble twenty eggs in ten minutes flat. Done.
But pretty soon it begins to hit you that this can’t be all there is to it. I mean, there has to be more than this routine called life in which we discover hope, significance, and joy. Sometimes I forget the meaning of all of this in the mundaneness of grocery shopping and editing high school essays. I soon begin to realize my looming fear of the ordinariness and insignificance of a life virtually unknown in the Black Forest of Germany. How exactly did I find myself here again?
Sometimes Jesus’ command to deny yourself, take up your cross and follow Him doesn’t lead you to a jungle in the Amazon or even a place where persecution and imprisonment are likely. And this doesn’t necessarily make obedience any less difficult. It meant that a baby be born in a tiny town in a feeding trough, an event that was deemed insignificant in light of the booming world kingdoms of that day.
But last night, as I saw the girls of Haus Jesse worshiping at the school worship night, I was reminded of the deep significance of my quiet life. As I got to pray over one of my girls and hear her pray for me in return, I remembered the Spirit’s power to intercede on our behalves, the only reason our dorm is still intact.
In this November slump, I will look up from my cutting board and carrots and see the Kingdom of God that is dwelling in our very ordinary dorm through 12 teenage lives.