Seek First the King

It’s spring break, and yet every morning I’ve been waking up before the sun, which is early now that we’re past the solstice and fully into Spring. Annoyed, most mornings, I simply turned over and willed my body back to sleep. Not this morning, however. The instant I crack my eyes open and see that it’s only 6:02, I hear the whisper. “Come away with me,” and the image of Hochblauen swims into my mind.

I know what he wants, the surrender he’s going to ask of me. It’s going to be both a physical and a spiritual 5-hour journey up and down a mountain because he and I both know that my mind and heart have been swirling with impending anxiety. Again. That I’m dwelling on the forthcoming applications and cuts I’ll have to make. That I absolutely dread disappointing people.

How fitting that I’m sitting now in a castle ruin. Earlier this week, I got to witness a Shakespearian castle on the stage as the setting where King Richard II held up a literal mirror to his face. In fiction at least, he was a king who valued the glory of his kingdom over the reality and well-being of his subjects; he sought the praise of men more than true intimacy. Ellen I both noticed the acting choice of the king to consistently pull back from human touch. Friends, family, his own wife would reach out a hand to him, and he’d recoil. Until he was in the castle prison, alone, and the only person who visited him was a stablehand. The dethroned Richard, curled up like a little boy and fell into the poor man’s arms for an awkward hug, but it was too late for the kind of intimacy he clearly craved. I don’t know what he saw in that mirror, but here in my little castle and with my Bible splayed in front of me, I see my own fear of rejection, my own desire for the praise of others. If I’m honest, I long to hear all my self-love come out of other people’s mouths.

I feel gross admitting it. Shallow. Pathetic. That’s when I hear his voice again, a prompt to a question I was asked earlier in the week of whether or not Jesus ever disappointed people. (Often, I had replied.) As a follow-up, he asks now, “What is the praise or the disappointment of man compared to pleasing me?” I write in my journal, “And what does please you?” A poster that hangs in the Middle school student center floats into my mind. “To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” There it is: the surrender. The reframing of the decision ahead of me. Will I act justly in interviews and in the way I talk about these applicants? Will I love mercy as I make cuts? Will I walk humbly with God in all my communication and in all my prayers? Then all else is forfeit. All striving for approval is vain unless I’m seeking the heart of my King.

I summit Hochblauen in the euphoria of accomplishment, as usual, before returning to the valley floor once more. There’s no doubt the surrender was genuine, even if I will have to repeat it again tomorrow. Yet in the end, the truth that brings the most comfort as I haul my sore body into bed is the one that is the greatest difference between Richard II and myself: I will never be alone and forgotten, shunned by all but a stableboy. My King values the glory of his kingdom AND the well-being of his subjects; my King is an intimate one - who calls me awake as well as granting sleep, who tends to my heart, mind, and body with equal care, and who desires good for me all the days of my life.

Sausenburg Castle

Dry Spaghetti

Chaos reigned. Balloons and dry spaghetti noodles were everywhere, kids were squealing, and adults darted in and out of the mess with instructions and cameras. We were midway through the annual Mega Relay at High School Retreat.

Having become an annual tradition for this weekend, the Mega Relay is a crazy 12-course relay, in which you run all the relay challenges back to back without pause. Every year, Lance outdoes himself with creativity, such as making us transport pasta in our hair. But the kids’ favorite part is rarely the relay itself; it’s the fact that Small Groups come dressed up in some kind of matching costumes. This year, for example, my senior girls came as superheroes with capes we designed ourselves using stickers and coordinated masks. Another group came in prison uniforms while their leader was dressed as a cop. One girls group dressed like senior citizens, complete with wigs and curlers and canes; every few minutes their leaders handed them tic tacs and told them to “take their medicine.” The favorite group of the night, however, was the boys group who looked like hot dogs, and their leader was the chef and fashioned himself a person-sized spatula.

And so it was that we found ourselves midway through the relay, having completed all 12 games, and sitting at the center line waiting for other groups to wrap up. They girls were busy picking noodles out of our hair when MG gasped sharply and slapped two of her peers on the knees. “Guys, I just had the best costume idea for next year! We should --” but we never got to hear her idea, for at that moment it hit her that they were seniors. There is no “next year.” This had just been their final Mega Relay. As her face fell and her lip quivered, seven arms reached around her for a collective “awww” and a hug. 

I was both thrilled that she would be excited about a next year with this group and crushed at the thought that it’s quickly coming to an end. I pray that wherever my girls find themselves next year on High School Retreat weekend, that it’s a place of friendship, laughter, and dry spaghetti noodles. That it’s a place where Jesus’ name is spoken often and joyously worshiped. That they’ll find themselves to be known and loved.

Mega Relay costumes

Photos courtesy of BFA Communications