The early morning sun shown though the foliage of nearby trees and dotted the gazebo floor around the wooden rocking chair where I was sitting. A sweet smelling sea breeze caressed my face, blowing my long hair back ever so gently. Since it was too early for any of the others in my mission group to be awake , the well worn paths of the retreat center where I was staying that week were empty, and the calm stillness was broken only by the rustling of leaves or the chirping of a bird. It sounds like the perfect moment, doesn’t it? It would have been, if I was paying attention. Instead, my mind was consumed with thoughts and questions.
That morning marked the third day of a mission trip the youth and young adults had taken to the myrtle beach area. We had already had some impactful experiences and gotten the chance to serve the community at many different sites, and I was so glad to be a part of the team. But the thing I was puzzling over was the worship services. You see, the night before had been what I colloquially call “cry night”. After a full day of work at our different mission sites, our whole team had come back together for a passionate worship service with a hard hitting message about self-worth, and everyone was emotionally moved. Tears streamed freely down every cheek as person after person shared testimonies of how the Lord had spoken to them that night. Even the toughest guys in the group were not immune to the cloud of conviction that had fallen over the crowd. I was one of the few had stood there somewhat awkwardly watching groups of people hugging and praying together, without a tear in my eye and without that overwhelming sense of conviction.
Later that night as I had looked back on the evening, I had started to get upset. This same scenario happened every year for the past 7 years: during a mission trip or retreat there would always be that one sermon that everyone connected with and were moved by, where they seemed to be touched by God. Every year I had experienced these same worship services and not once had I been moved to the point of tears. Is there something wrong with me? I thought to my self. why is it that everyone else has these awesome mountaintop moments that they can share while I just sit there? I understand the message, so why can’t I feel it like everyone else?
These were the same questions consuming my mind the next morning as I sat in the gazebo, waiting to meet with someone I thought could help me- A friend of mine named Joan. If my life were a movie, there would have been some sort of foreshadowing to let me know that my conversation with her would change the way I viewed the world, but sadly, my life isn’t that dramatic. Nevertheless, we talked for almost two hours, and as I poured out my heart to her, she encouraged me, convincing me that I was not, in fact a defective Christian. Although my conversation with Joan happened almost seven months ago, I still remember some of the things she shared with me.
“Not everyone’s walk with God is going to look the same, and that’s OK,” she said, “some people need a somewhat dramatic, emotional experience to get them back on the right track with God, while others steadily plod along in their faith. Just because you are not having an extravagant experience doesn’t mean you are missing out on the voice of God. Maybe it is simply that instead of having a massive breakthrough here, you have small breakthroughs everyday. When you stay close to God, your walls never get so thick that they need a wrecking ball.”
Small breakthroughs every day….I had never thought of that. If I spent as much time seeking to recognize the small, seemingly insignificant lessons God taught me through ordinary circumstances as I had wishing for a spiritual high, I would not only be more contented in my walk, but I would learn to trust the Lord’s guiding more in my everyday life. Weaving things together as only he can, the Lord freed me from comparison and spiritually unproductive thought patterns that day (Which just happened to be July 4th, the day Americans celebrate their freedom), and to this day, I still try to watch for the simple little things that remind me of Him. Whether it be a song played at just the right moment, a music lesson, or a conversation with a friend, I don’t want to miss the moments where God speaks, whatever the means!
Soli Deo Gloria 