Rainy days. What do you do when you roll over and realize that sound on the windows is not just from your dream, but a steady stream of pattering precipitation? I've seen some ignore it; let's be honest, work doesn't stop for rainy days people! Or others who shudder at going out in it, bundling up in their rain jackets and umbrellas and making a mad dash for their vehicles or workplaces. A select few (not mentioning names) I've seen enjoy it; they continue to go about their day with a skip in their step, head uncovered, soaking in the water like a tree's roots. They seem to delight in the simplicity of the wetness coming down all around them.
It was such a morning that I awoke to a few weeks ago. I made my coffee, packed my car and pulled out at quarter to six in the morning to make my way to Erie, PA. The fog lingered well past its time as I arrived. I met the students I'd be spending the week with for fall break, packed up more gear and headed out for the trailhead, all the while hoping the steady rain would run itself out. But it didn't. Not then at the trailhead, nor at eight that evening as we made our way into camp. A break finally happened the day after, bringing gusting winds and a time to dry ourselves out before it started again. The last evening brought along bitter temperatures, sending us cold and wet back to our vehicles. Yet in the midst of it all, we found ourselves celebrating the epic. We headed into a bleak situation with high spirits and I would not be lying when I say we left the field with equally high spirits. Cold? Yes. Wet? Without a doubt. Exhausted? Definitely. But beauty often grows from the strangest places, as I came to find out from this trip. We spent so many hours under a tarp, laughing and really getting a chance to learn about one another. I played more rounds of ninja between rain clouds than I care to admit. We rested. And I got a chance to see another way in which we are all connected to the bigger story that God has written and is still writing. An epic story, full of miles of hiking in the rain, wet feet and amazing backcountry coffeecake. It was delightful to have (seemingly) unlimited time to listen to each students' story, as they pieced them together with smaller ones, and see how they began to understand their story in the light of the larger biblical narrative. Their stories may seem mundane, but in the light of the larger narrative, who are they to judge what is and what isn't epic? Who are we to judge how God is unfolding our story, paralleling it with His until at last, it intersects? And in all these conversations, whether spoken or unspoken, I find myself gaining so much more than I could ever bring. More than just an appreciation and joy at how God is working in the lives of His people, I find myself gleaning a richer meaning to what shalom embodies. More than just peace, it is a broader, deeper, richer word; it begins to put the finger on what it means for creation to be redeemed. It is redemption at work, the fullness and perfection of God being restored. This fall break, I heard it in the words of the brilliant students I hiked with, saw it in my co-leader's decisions, felt it in the gusting winds of the changing seasons. I walked away, tired and refreshed in the same stroke, with questions in my heart about how I relate and fit into the epic story, with specific places in my life that need refining, and with a clearer picture of how much I have changed spiritually and emotionally in the past year. Instead of staying in the vehicles when it rained, we donned our jackets and headed out. I'd like to think we spent time dancing it in, getting soaked and feeling silly. We grew from the rain, like a tree's roots, getting deeper and soaking up more life-giving water. Yet when it stopped, we didn't. The trip might have ended, but I know we are all still celebrating the epic story in which we have a part.
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