Ordinary

The shepherds swallowed the extraordinary. Their silent night interrupted, likely forever wrecked them for the ordinary. Still, they went back. They returned to the sheep, to the everyday life, the everyday coming and going life. But they praised God, glorified God for the chance, the opportunity, the invitation to have heard and seen what most never would. When did they finally fall asleep? What did they dream? And when the sun came up, who had they become? 

I write this Advent from a warm house in the prettiest part of Illinois. I'm surrounded by nature. A big picture window that frames a forest full of trees covered in white from last night's snowfall. I already did a load of laundry, and it's only 6 a.m. I pushed a button, and water came flowing out to wash my clothes. Perhaps not too extra-ordinary for you, but for me, three years post Mongolia, I still get goosebumps! I wonder when it will get old, the appreciation for water, warmth, and cheese?

Apart from the superficial into deeper wonders, I wonder when I will close my eyes to fall asleep and not see the faces of unloved children? Sometimes, in a room full of friends, I am deeply lonely. I don't know what I'm lonely for. Is it for a people? A place? Is it for the thick coal smoke? Am I lonely for suffering? Wouldn't that be so odd? 

Perhaps I am lonely for the extraordinary—a lonely for a constant clinging kind of dependence on God. A lonely for the years I spent in celebration of what I saw and heard. Because what we saw and heard on the mission field was so worth celebrating. 

And here now, who am I when the sun comes up? Who am I with running water, warmth, provision? Who am I in the ordinary?

 May I be as the shepherds on the hill, surrounding the morning fire, warming their hands, stretching the night kinks from their bodies as the sun rises on the first day, the first day of ordinary after they have seen so much more. May I too choose to glorify and praise God for all the things I have seen and heard. May I remember, in the mundane and live what I was so privileged to be a part of.