What do pastors do with a free Sunday?
We try to sleep in, of course.
But last summer when we vacationed in an Airbnb just outside of Asheville, NC with another pastor-family - the two of us pastors quickly found that such things will continue to be a pipe dream so long as we each have two young children.
We woke with them just before 6am, and immediately found ourselves making noises with plastic farm animals and hoping said noises could dissuade my two-year-old son from attempting the stairs that were actively casting a spell upon him: Come this way, little one. Gravity is a myth!
Our diverting sounds worked for 8.3 seconds, and then my son turned to discover a fireplace pick which he promptly took hold of and jabbed perilously close to his own toe. And then the dog’s.
He missed in both cases, but this also meant he squarely nailed the wood flooring of the Airbnb.
By 6:03am, our plans were quickly crystallizing without either of us having said a word: do whatever it takes to keep our four, small humans alive, distract the youngest two from a couple dozen life-imperiling options around the house, and ensure fresh calories arrive very soon inside all of their bodies.
By 7am, the 50-year-old Airbnb mountain house itself was groaning-and-creaking forth it’s own demand: You must leave!
It was built for recently retired people who invite their grown children for a quiet weekend of hiking and cards - maybe Charades! if folks are feeling wild. Not four children under the age of eight whose tumbling bodies pound like hammers into the old wood.
For family gatherings such as ours, there was only one possibility: we had to get to the river.
Not in the ‘praying-and-studying-about-the-good-ol’-way’ Sunday sense. I mean, that’s good. But when you both have young children, the whole point of this kind of river outing is to have the children face a rush of energy that can actually match theirs.
Rivers are the ancient answer to the challenges of modern parenting.
To be sure, it was not immediately entirely clear that the river would win. Our children punished its surface with rocks. They broke its peace with stomping explorations. They hollered and laughed and splashed their way through the water with unbounded joy.
For a solid hour, the river’s ceaseless flow and the children’s youthful exuberance collided, pressed, and pulled at one another.
A dance wild, free, and full.
And then - ever-so-slightly - one of the partners began to fade.
”Mom, I’m hungry….” came a mild whine from our six-year-old across the way.
“Waaah!” came a cry from our two-year-old whose steps had faltered briefly, and it resulted in a stubbed knee.
Their four-year-old quietly began wiping her eyes - the classic sign for “this dance is wiping me out, but I will never say it aloud.”
On the drive back to the mountain house, a genuine miracle occurred: the children fell into a deep slumber. Even for the ones who don’t nap anymore - the dance had invited a sleep I am confident they never saw coming when their eager energy began the day tearing at the foundation of that old house.
And the parents, by the way, also enjoyed a measure of genuine afternoon calm-and-rest previously unthinkable with four children at those ages.
—
I wonder… do we see ourselves in the parents or the children today?
Maybe we are the parents.
Or the leaders, the organizers, the people with responsibility who are currently in a space where the energy is buzzing all around.
Maybe it often feels like there are constantly…
…fires to put out,
…sharp things poking and prodding for our attention, and
…a collection of things (or people) that seem to be hammering on the very foundation of all we’re trying to build or accomplish.
If that’s us today…
What would it look like to redirect the organization’s energy to a Bigger Challenge?
Redirect the children to the Great Outdoors?
What if sometimes all the fires, the poking and prodding, and the hammering are an organization (or children) asking for Something Bigger? A Challenge, a Dance, an Invitation to something that can match - and even overwhelm - the very best they give?
The kind of Challenge that ends up exhausting the team (or children) at some point - but it’s the best kind of exhaustion. A sacred exhaustion when Life dances with Life.
Or…
Maybe we are the children.
Do we ever find ourselves too easily distracted with small animal sounds on YouTube and then 8.3 seconds later we’re poking fun at the latest meme and prodding the other side with their latest hypocrisy?
Are we ever email-to-text-to-social-media-to-this-and-that…
…and it’s a whirlwind of semi-attention, semi-distraction, and definite tiredness?
What if we ourselves need to get to the River? Literally. Metaphorically. Both?
What if all the distracted energy were a signal from within calling for a Bigger Challenge, Dance, or whatever Singular Space can draw forth a focused channeling of our very best stomping-dancing-exploring energy?
What if the groaning-and-creaking system/building/family dynamic that surrounds us were begging us to get out?1
Maybe it’s time for…
That Endeavor.
That Creation.
That Risk.
That Step into the Next.
That Something that really may not appear big from the outside, but it is significant river-wading work.2
How might you name that River today?
(Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash)
To be sure, that River will eventually prove exhausting. The ancient, great tasks of life always do that.
But with our lungs laughed-and-cried, our muscles honed, and our souls alive… the nap we take will not be an escape from tired distraction but a solemn slumber that somehow feels like it’s one with all the dancing.
—
Does the River call?
Three, basic steps to the Dance Floor:
Drop the…
plastic toys,
fire picks,
and hammers.Look out at the River (it helps to take in the Vision for a few moments).
Walk until your feet feel the cold, inviting unknown… and Dance.
Time will slow. Joy will deepen. Rest will arrive.
Or, for some, the call is to get out so that, eventually, we return to the groaning-and-creaking with some fresh life. And less active contribution to the groaning-and-creaking ourselves.
Like making the counseling appointment, having the conversation, walking the road of forgiveness (self or other), speaking up, keeping the quiet discipline, showing up to the commitment, or maybe simply going for a walk.