Rhythms

With the weather forecast showing night time lows in the 20s, it was decided last minute to leave the the tent in the trunk and hail an AirB&B in who-knows-where Arkansas. It turned out to be a great idea. Even with the floor heaters, we could barely get the cabin above 50 degrees, so we walked around “camp” in our wool socks and warm coats, hiking during the day and cozying up in the cabin at night. 

The four of us happy campers met serving at the hospital in Togo in 2018, and this was the first time we had seen each other since we parted ways a year ago. Since we were all in the United States at the same time, naturally, we planned a reunion, which is what brought us out to this AirB&B. 

After a good night’s sleep, we moseyed out of our chilly bedrooms into the kitchen, which felt ten degrees warmer to my heart just because the four of us were gathered together in the same room. Elizabeth fried hashbrowns, and I stood shoulder to shoulder with her at the stove as I turned bacon and fried eggs. Charis and Amelia set the table and sat at the bar, chatting with us as we lively told stories while slinging spatulas to emphasize important details. 

In a way that can only be explained by the golden hearts of these friends and the movement of the Holy Spirit in that cozy kitchen, the conversation turned naturally towards spiritual things. “What’s important to you right now?” “What is one blessing and challenge of this past year?” “How can we be praying for you?” Jesus saturated the conversation. Taking him out would have led us with nothing to talk about. And as each woman spoke, the other three listened, nodding enthusiastically, mmmmm-ing at the parts that touched their hearts as elbows leaned on countertops and salt was stirred in with the hashbrowns. 

As we each answered the questions, it didn’t feel like a classroom, it felt like a conversation. And it also felt like each woman was pouring out jewels from her heart that I was collecting in a bucket, making me richer and richer with every thought shared. For what God was teaching them, he was also teaching me. And if someone had graphed out our conversation on a dry erase board (if that were even possible), you would have seen overlaps and arrows and connection points until you could no longer tell who was asking the question and who was answering it, who started the sentence and who finished it, or which parts belonged to any one person at all. Because as soon as it was spoken, it belonged to all of us. 

So often we have the strong desire to talk about ourselves and process our own experiences, which I am guilty as charged, but I realize how much more I gain when I listen to the experiences of others. I got to glean from what the Holy Spirit had been teaching each of them, and it felt like getting to taste the sweetness of the fruit without the hardness of the labor. But I had indeed labored in my own relationship with God in order to learn the things that I had learned. So actually, it was more like everyone bringing the rewards of their harvest to the table, and we ate potluck style from all the blessedness of everyone. 

It was the tastiest breakfast I’ve ever had and yet I hardly tasted it. That’s because I fed on the words of my sisters as we talked about sharing the gospel more boldly, facing fears, and walking boldly towards what scares you because you trust God has something for you in it. We bounced off each other as we talked about relationships, reconciliation, not knowing the future, discerning, decisions, and trusting God.

The plates were practically licked clean, yet no one wanted to move. So we grabbed each other’s hands and started to pray aloud. The presence of God was so palpable in the room that I wouldn’t have been surprised had there been smoke.

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“Rhythm” seems to be a trendy word right now. I’ve been challenged to get into a healthier rhythm, which essentially means managing my time better. So I make a list of things I want to do each day and then it just stresses me out because it feels like a checklist. I try to allot time for things, but then I feel like I’m in high school again where I have to be in a certain classroom for a certain time period. I think I must be doing this rhythm thing wrong if it feels like an obnoxious metronome that constantly slaps me for being off beat. 

What if it’s more like jazz? The rhythm becomes an underlying force, something that you feel in your feet, something that sets you swaying. It’s less about structure and counting beats and getting every note right and more about freedom to move about within the creativity of following Christ. 

What is driving the rhythm of your life right now? Standing in the kitchen that morning as we talked about life and Christ while grease splattered on the stovetop and coffee dripped through the filter, I felt the beat of a new rhythm emerging. The girls in the kitchen were teaching it to me by the things they talked about: the gospel was the time signature, the Word the tempo, and every measure moved with notes of bold faith, missional living, community, hospitality, and relationships. What makes the notes dynamic is the space between them, the rests, the abiding in Christ. Those are the rhythms I want to flow through my days, to give movement to my feet, and maybe even get the people around me dancing. 

Much of that gets started in the dead of winter, when it’s too cold and plans change, and you end up crammed in a tiny kitchen with a floor heater, and good friends who love Jesus gather around a kitchen table.