Do Lobsters Dream?

12-13 and reflection

I woke Friday to utter exhaustion. I dug down deep and asked God for strength to enjoy my day because I knew I certainly did not have any of my own strength left. He provided abundantly. Repeatedly that day I was the cheerleader, the inspirer, the one who revved the group up. Veggie tales, Disney songs, 80’s hits, whatever I could think to sing sprung from my lips in between whoops and encouragement. I was filled with joy and it flooded through me until I woke Monday morning. There is something utterly amazing about the strength God provides when there is no other. It lasts as long as it is needed and spreads like a wildfire in the August heat. The car ride home from the last day of work was rowdy and invigorating. Rather than vamping down from day four of construction work, we leapt from our van and spread our excitement to the other 4 vehicles of high school students. The joy of the Lord was our strength.

Saturday Night I was sitting at the Johnston’s house in the Riverside suburbs on the softest greenest grass I’ve set on in years, and it was there that I reentered the US emotionally. Sitting there with the white picket fence (though Jason said it wasn’t a picket fence at all.) and the grass on Obadiah the dog, with the street lamps and the lightened night sky from city lights, I had an epiphany. I realized how much I desire that kind of life. I guess in a way I see the veneer of the Johnstons and the beautiful symphony of their interactions without the dress rehearsals up the last decades of their family. Yet I see something there that could be me. I would be content to dwell in a simple house, with green grass and the dog. Not extraordinary, not famous, or world changing. I desire to be a one people at a time changer. So here I was processing the suburbs and mexico, and the interrelated pasts and futures I behold in my mind, and the tears streamed down my face. I was joyful and sad, happy and overwhelmed. It was Obi and I immersed in some remembrance of summer nights in Pomona, all tangled in some future I desire to have.

One real challenge was accepting the deference given to me by the 7 men on the event. On the trip down I was van 2, of 6 vehicles. That makes it very hard to be lost. In fact I spent a good deal of the trip following the grey suburban. Yet a few days into the trip my own pride got in the way and I started questioning motives. It seems silly to some, but I find it difficult to accept genuine deference. My mind plays games with itself and twists the sincerity into less quality implications. My stubborn nature rears its ugly head and I fight to accept what intellectually I know is sincerity.

So here I am looking back to the week and realizing how amazing deference can be. Really I believe I was overwhelmed a bit by the regard shown to me. Yet I am thankful for being forced to accept it, being in Mexico and having no other options. It was a growth experience. Accepting help, deference, assistance, whatever one may call it, is a practice of living in community. Thinking upon it I think accepting help is in some ways harder than trying to go it alone. Leaning into the community is not simple. Rather it is humbling, and greatly rewarding. In a community different talents and skills are available and to not use them is to deny the fullness of living in community. You would think this is clear, but when it requires one to lessen self and accept the superiority of another’s skills it isn’t easy. Nevertheless, it is a critical aspect of truly living in community.