we are here

and after a month-long sabbath, you'd think this well would be filled to the top, brimming right over with rest and goodness, ready to pour itself out again.

except that it's not. 

which, through seasons of ministry, is bound to happen.

and so it has, and i'm not quite sure what to do about it, how to fill that well up again. 

and i wouldn't even be telling you this, if this blog were not partly about the workings of the boiler room and what God is doing in this neighborhood, and partly about our experience of living missionally on the west side of grand rapids and raising both biological and spiritual family here. and if you've been reading these little posts for a while, you know that i have had seasons of action and seasons of contemplation, as richard rohr puts it, and the boiler room has too, i suppose. 

and so i'm wondering what happens when one of the people who is the voice of the boiler room, at least in this space, is running on empty? do i share that with you, or motor on ahead and prattle on about the good that God is doing? 

because you should know this: in this neighborhood of darkness and such need, there are points of light scattered but shining over here. dennis is semi-sober and spent the day whacking the boiler room yard and garden into submission. dave g. has been sober for three months now, and is a different person, of course. we are throwing a block party next weekend. each night this season we'll be praying at a different house in the neighborhood; that's how many brothers and sisters have joined us in this work and started work of their own. love feast this week was lovely; everybody missed being together in august. our church is humming along, the sweetest place to be on a sunday morning.

you should know all that, and join us in thanking God for every bit of it.

and you should also know this: that this work, even the best of it, does not always bring joy. sometimes even a long vacation is not long enough, and it is possible to find yourself at the beginning of a new season with precious little to give, and a rising panic that what you do have will be poured out soon enough and there will be nothing left. and what happens then? meals still need to be made and washing still done and love feasts still served with some grace, and people you love still deserve to be cared for. 

and for those like lynda who have been reading this blog for the past few years, and who have wondered if this missional life is always as good as it appears to be in print, i have always been able to truthfully answer, more or less, yes. we have found great joy in this community God's created, and have been honored to settle here first, which makes the growth of family here all the more remarkable to us, because when we got here there was no. one. and now there's a mission and a church and house churches and small enclaves of Jesus followers who practice quiet kindness to their neighbors. and there's more we're dreaming about too, but that's for a later day. 

and now, just as truthfully, i will tell you this: lynda, i want to move. out. to the country, preferrably. i am weary. i am jealous of those who don't feel called to live in the inner city; i wish i were they. i wish i lived in a new house with furniture that wasn't shabby, that didn't have mice or old carpeting. i barely have time to care well for my children and house, let alone seek out new relationships with my neighbors. and because of that, because this is a season of ministering mostly to my children and supporting the abbot, because the season of running back and forth all day and night to the boiler room is over, my purpose here in this place has eluded me. 

this is not easy to admit. and the abbot says we're not moving. i'm just saying that this kind of thing happens: wells dry up and water levels fluctuate. they do. you should know this in case you think missional living is sublime all the time, because it is not.

and while i can't imagine how this well is going to get filled, i know the one who can and will fill it. because this kind of emptiness cannot be replaced by new stuff or time away from the children or even a move out to the elusive idyllic place in the country. this kind of empty only God can fill. and He will. i just want the fortitude to stay put and on my knees until he does. 

lynda, this is not easy. this is harder than i want it to be. this is not permanent.

::jenn::

 

Comments

[Susan]

Thank you for your transparency Jennifer. You are doing such hard work, and have been so very obedient to God's calling. I can offer no advise, only a deep promise I will pound heaven's gate asking Jesus to fill you up with His grace, and mercy. I can see the beautiful things you are doing with your children, how they love God, learning, each other, and you. What you are teaching them is priceless. You are priceless, and I love you beyond deep.

[kimklaver]

... and jenn, just so you know... and i know you know... same is true for those of us who live and minister in plush, green and overflowing with trees and suv's and high end convertibles and and and neighborhoods, with so much "hidden" garbage .... we are also so tired and empty, even after a summer away from this neighborhood ministry, this well is empty and feels very dry and cracked and the very thought of... well crap! we need to start up this house church again this month... and begin this as if we are refreshed and ready... and smile and welcome and minister to and love on ...
but.. we see light when a neighbor calls by 7:10 AM this very morning to say he has stepped out like never before and has shared his new found faith with his millionaire work peer ( and several others by now) who has no faith and is dry and "deader than all get out"... and all this guy can do is tell me about an "unexplainable way" of sharing his faith with a goofy laugh he can't begin to shut down...
house church starts next thursday.... i'm feeling rain
love you, praying for rain on the nw side too

[claredegraaf@gmail.com]

Jennifer, our daughter. We use to have you crawl in bed with us when thunder clapped so loud you thought death was imminent. But it passed. Either this to will pass or drive you to other acts of service. We were created to make life better for others, not to live under the sheets. But, it's ok to seek refuge there for a time.Our spiritual bed is still open for you 24/7. Bless you!
Dad

[brooke]

first off, what wonderful parents you have, to speak such truth and to keep such open arms.
secondly, it is somehow encouraging to hear what kim said, too.
thirdly, a wise woman (you know who you are) once told me that this life is nothing but a bad afternoon compared to eternity with Jesus.

[David Gray]

I am with you in prayer. Thank you for your humility.