The day we loaded our moving van to begin our adventure to the east, I stood on the front porch, leaned against the wall. Friends had come by to wish us well, to hug and cry, to make promises of continued closeness and then they were gone. I watched the last few things loaded and there it was. Ready to go.
But I wasn’t. After being thoroughly convinced that we were making this move out of obedience to God’s calling us beyond our small town’s borders, there was this inside itch, this tiny voice, this urging. All I had to do was say “I was wrong. I’m not going. Put it all back in the house.” All I had to say was, “No.”
I could, too. We would have a just fine life in Ohio, with great family support and good friends and a church we loved and a home we loved despite it’s “antique needs.”
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak the words, because I felt so deep down that to unload that truck would be willful disobedience. So I climbed in the van and followed the truck out to 35 and on to our future. It was the right choice. I have been blessed beyond measure because I didn’t shove everyone out of the way and drag the couch back in the house. No matter how big the blessing, no matter the confidence I had in the direction, no matter how excited I was for the future ahead, I can’t deny that urge was there.
Last fall, as I began my second ministry class I had a period of time where I was overwhelmed at the bigness of the task ahead. Classes stretched ahead of me. Personal growth requires incredible effort that I had no concept of before. I am not everyone’s cup of tea and if the end of this is being a pastor, those moments where it is clear I am not for someone will hurt deeply, and probably happen more frequently than I want to imagine.
The week leading up to the first class session there was that itch, that tiny voice, that urge was there. I don’t have to do this. I can work at a comfortable job with people who like me. I can still sound smart and have good illustrations that I use here and there that would make people think well of me. I don’t have to show up to class or interview in front of panels. I could say no.
I could, too. Only, I couldn’t. Oh, it was true that God doesn’t need Sarah Kinzer to fulfill His purpose in this place. If you thought Mcgyver could do some impressive stuff with little to no resources, you should know, he has nothing on what God can do. I do believe that God would allow me to have a nice life, even if I said no. He’d use someone else who would be willing to do what I refused. But if obedience is a blessing, disobedience is a torment for the one who walks in it knowingly. Even if life was comfortable, I would know I’d said no, and I just can’t live with that.
That night in class Pastor Dave began with some opening comments which included this. He said “You will be tempted time and time again to be ordinary. Don’t be ordinary.” Those words were just what I needed to hear. Not just the encouragement to be extraordinary, but the recognition that the temptation would come. It wasn’t my weakness and it wasn’t my shame that I thought about the pretty bow that wraps up an ordinary life. It was a common temptation. But it was not without option.
I am able to choose to trust God’s unknown future where He hides His extraordinary plans until the appointed time.
Today is my last day at that job that I like, with people I like, doing tasks I can competently handle, that has benefits beyond what is laid out in the employee handbook. People are saying goodbye and wishing me well. This is a building full of men, so the crying and hugging which was so present as we left Ohio is noticeably absent, but the goodbyes are just as tender, at least to my heart.
There is that itch again, that tiny voice, that urging. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to leave. I don’t have to go forward to this next adventure. I can go yank my resignation letter out of the file and tear it up and just show up here on Monday. I don’t have to do this.
I could, too. Only I can’t. I can’t stay here in the safety and comfort of the known any more than I could get that couch out of the moving van and drag it back up the walk, sit on it and refuse to move. When God says go, you go.
I told my friend, Maite, this morning that I had a case of the nervousness and she got straight to the point in her encouragement. “God didn’t open this door for you to hide behind the door jam.” She’s right, too. Not because the option isn’t there for me to hide, to resist and refuse, but because if I want God’s best for my life, I must accept it, take it, step into it. I must go.
So today, even though I don’t have too, because I believe in a God who offers, but never forces, new beginnings, I say goodbye.
Friends, I hope you have the opportunity in your life to say goodbye when you don’t have to because something better lies ahead for you. Be prepared for that itch, the tiny voice, that urge to tell you that ordinary is fine enough for you. And maybe it’s ok to daydream, for a moment, just a moment. Picturing it play out will set it there in your mind for you to return to the image when you are living in the extraordinary unknown and know that you made the right choice.
Oh, friend, in the pursuit of God’s best for your life,
you will be tempted time and time again to be ordinary.
Don’t be ordinary.