I casually mention it to Aaron. Maybe he will suddenly feel like it's a very bad idea. He makes a run to Woods Grocery for some more plastic forks, and now there is no excuse. We set our alarms and as I turn my head to the left side of the pillow I pray that the God of the tangible and the real will give me some peace and strength to hold onto. It's just pancakes. A few paces loom like a marathon.
We drive to the middle school gym and unpack our things, and our sweet college girls come to join us. We mix and flip and pry paper plates from the tight stack. We ask names one more time and venture out into the scary abyss of the bleachers, where there is a money-back guarantee that you will feel like an insecure 13 year old again.
It is crazy how many times my selfish heart learns this lesson: there is joy in the going and joy in the giving. In an hour, we lock down the concessions stand and lope back to our car, and I have been filled. Our God who leads us, He never fails to meet us.
I can't stop thinking of this Father who joins us under florescent lights and next to smoky griddles, this Jesus who consecrates the simplest and cheapest of breakfasts, this Spirit who changes our hard, hard hearts into moldable masses once again.
What kind of God stoops to the cement-block, gymnasium, everyday normal?
Our God, that's who.
Wherever you are today, my friend, whatever He is beckoning you to that seems hard to harken after, take heart. He is our God, the God of the Going-with. When you want to retreat, He's leading the charge. And we? We get to follow.
Shannan is writing some great thoughts on Going at her place this month. Her words inspire.