It is another Sunday morning and a time that I have found to be very relaxing since I don’t have to hurry around and prepare for a morning service at church. The new church I attend meets in the afternoon and so my getting ready is a little less stressful. And since it is a little less formal, it’s not to hard to find a decent shirt and a pair of jeans to wear.
As I have never been one to sleep in, it is also very interesting to just lay around in bed and process the many thoughts that cross my semi-conscious mind. It’s a time to reflect upon the week that has just passed and the week that lies ahead.
It’s a time to process dreams and a time for honest evaluation as to where you are in life—and sometimes it seems our thoughts flow a little easier in that pre-fully conscious state.
This morning I was a newspaper writer who it seemed hadn’t had a big piece in a long time—I had the feeling in this semi-awake state that I wasn’t really producing a lot of copy. It was one of those dry seasons we all go through on occasion. I didn’t really feel happy about this but it didn’t seem like there was a whole lot I could do about it either. I guess my real fear was that my editor would wake up and realize I hadn’t been pulling my weight and I would soon be out of a job.
I remember a Dylan song in which he sang, “At dawn my lover, comes to me, and tells me of her dreams; with never an attempt, to shovel a ditch, into what each one means.”
What I am thinking this mornings dream speaks to is the patterns in my life.
As I have mentioned, Sandi and I are products of what they now call the home church movement. I guess we were ahead of our time and didn’t know it—it just seemed right at the time—not like we were trying to be different—it’s just the way life was unfolding in front of us.
After a time that group split up and we moved on to a larger church—but still one that was different and so-called “non-demoninational” in its approach to service structure and government. It was a place for people looking for something different—and over the years we attracted a lot of people looking for something beyond the norm of what was being offered in the larger scheme of Christendom. Many were people who we refer to now as church hoppers who probably would never be happy in any church—life and people are just that way I have found.
Anyway, after many years, what is non-denominational becomes its own denomination and is not really that much different from all the rest. Its a pattern that has repeated itself time after time. Someone once said that the biggest threat to the next thing God is doing in the earth is from the people who were the last great thing God was doing. In other words we move so far and then settle—its what most every pilgrim does.
Scripture speaks to the fact that to everything under heaven, there is a season—a time to plant and a time to harvest; a time to build and a time to tear down.
What I have seen is that seasons can end up becoming patterns—patterns of thought and patterns of behaviour. Pattern is defined partly as:
a combination of qualities, acts, tendencies, etc., forming a consistent or characteristic arrangement.
So we see that patterns are not intrinsically bad. But in the sense of an airplane being in a holding pattern above an airport and not being able to land—patterns don’t seem really good.
That’s where I find myself today—more in a holding pattern than a moving forward pattern. Like bike riding of recent, the thought of getting back on the bike knowing that vulnerability exists with every ride is a little unsettling.
That the very sensibilities that I was created with were trivialized by people I was caught in a pattern with for so many years is a big factor in my not putting myself “out there” as well, is disturbing to say the least.
New patterns are emerging—not as fast as I would like but in that I must also take courage. After years of not playing my guitar and singing praise and worship songs as an offering and meditation, I have begun to find my voice again.
I guess I have always had a tendancy to be a “jack of all trades” when it comes to life in general. Limitations are a frustration to me. But as I get older I am beginning to see that to do a few things well is perhaps a greater blessing that to be able to do a lot of things just because they are available or we have the inherent skils needed.
Like I said, it’s another Sunday and the sun is once again shining outside. I need to trust in the fact that this season, though frustrating at the moment, will in turn produce something of value and substance.
Enjoy your ride.