The urgent
desire to leave came suddenly, like a breeze stirring a peaceful room. I was surrounded by all of the school’s
teacher, who were animatedly discussing some point or other that had nothing to
do with me, and in my boredom I had let my mind wander. The thing that slipped up to the surface
without even a thought was one word: leave. I had half a mind to bolt out of the room and
just keep running; to run until I had escaped the fence that encloses me daily,
run until I had seen a fresh face, run until I had left behind the various
projects and problems that nibble away all of my minutes, run until I had
abandoned the schedule that rules my never-changing life.
But, in
accordance to my goody-two-shoes complex, I didn’t. Instead, I jiggled my foot impatiently and imagined
the gratifying feeling of running past all boundaries, going somewhere new,
seeing something novel. I started to
count the weeks that had passed since I had left my schedule, and then I
stopped. I didn’t want to know how long
or short it had been. Either way it was
depressing because nothing would happen today to reset the tally.
As the
meeting ended, I watched as all the other teachers passed through the gate. And then the last one wrapped the chain around
the posts and clicked the bolt. Their
cars left the parking lot one by one, free to follow whichever winding, dusty road
their heart chose. I turned and followed
the path that I walk twenty times a day.
I slipped
into my room and locked the door. More
walls and locks within fences and closed gates. I sighed and picked up my Bible, ruffled
through the pages until I found Philippians, and read the whole book.
“Only that in every way…Christ is
proclaimed.”
“Do all things without grumbling or
questioning…”
“Finally, my brothers, rejoice in
the Lord.”
“Indeed,
I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ
Jesus my Lord.”
“…I
have learned in whatever situation I am to be content…I can do all things through
him who strengthens me.”
“I can do
all things through him who strengthens me…”
Familiar words, rolled and crinkled like a wad of old Benjamins. But just as a bunch of Benjamins tucked in a
wallet have the appearance of wealth, but carry no intrinsic value, so these
words appear valiant, but do not make me strong.
I pulled
the words out, not with flash and fanfare, but more like a homeless person
scrounging their pockets for change to pay for the $1 burger. For the words to do me any good, I had to
exchange them, hoping in faith that the promise they held would be made good.
As I read
the words and believed, I wasn’t using this promise to buy an impressive story
of God’s faithfulness; all I wanted was strength for today to follow the
simplest of commands: stay. I had always
imagined that the power of the promise came with the complexity of the request.
This promise would shine most
brilliantly when I asked God to help me do the utterly impossible, when I asked
him to move a mountain into the sea.
But today,
I’m using the promise to ask God to keep the mountain rooted to its
foundations. Today, the command is:
stay. Tomorrow, the command will
probably be: stay. And the day after and
the day after, until who knows when. It’s
the simplest command; it doesn’t require me to learn a new skill, go somewhere new,
or meet new people. It doesn’t present
me with the unknown. It presents me with
the familiar, old, and mundane.
But the simplest command requires
the hardest work. As I remain immobile,
it requests my patience, my faithfulness, my endurance, my faith, my hope, my
joy. The simplest command requires me to
literally do nothing, but rather to become something.
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