Nick and I ran away this past weekend, for about 36 hours to Asheville, North Carolina. His birthday had been a few days before our first church service and Valentines day was a few days before our second service, so both were pretty overshadowed by what was going on in our lives and it had been awhile since we'd just been alone and quiet together. We're both what I call "fake introverts" - meaning we're people-people and like to talk and host people, but on the inside we're pretty intense introverts and need alone time fairly regularly. And we have four kids and we're planting a church and run online businesses, so if we don't run away to Asheville or somewhere else occasionally - we might implode.
The first twenty or so minutes of the drive, we held hands and REALLY talked. We talked about our wishes for the coming 36 hours and agreed, we wanted to be together, we wanted to hike & read, and we didn't want the trip to have a point.
We're producers, him and I. It's not a beautiful part of our hearts and lately, we're feeling less proud of our ability to get things done and more convicted of our need to let things go. This hasn't always been our story. If you had a serious talk with our friends from five or six years ago, they'd tell you, we were a (beautiful) mess back then. We could barely take care of ourselves and we lived the life of the younger brother in the story of the prodigal son. Always in trouble, seemingly a mess, in serious need of help.
But time and small business and God's growth has changed us, and here we find ourselves - absolutely living the life of the older brother. Putting in the hours and trying to do x, y, and z and making sure that every single part of our day is intentional and has. a. point. I try to combine eating with other activities and I have lists upon lists upon lists. We are goal setters, dreamers, and doers. I don't want you to get the wrong impression that we're perfect task masters either. We're still messy. There are always dishes in our sick & library books to return. I typically have way too many emails in my inbox to respond to and there is usually a laundry basket with folded clothes sitting on my bedroom floor, screaming at me to put it up.
All that being said, this weekend we swung as hard as we could the other way (the right way?) and nothing had a point. We hiked in the not-most-beautiful area and without a destination in mind. We held hands and walked in silence. I laid in the hotel and looked at the ceiling while Nick read books with his headphones on. We talked a little over our meals, but mostly just smiled at each other. It wasn't a retreat to grow or build or change or get ahead. I didn't catch up on emails during the drive or even pick up any of the 6 books I brought along. We just needed to breath and be and see the Lord's creation and connect with Him again - not as servants, but as sons and daughters in whom He is already well pleased because of Christ within us.
The wasn't a point, but there was purpose in the rest.
Grace. Grace was the purpose in the rest.
And maybe that's not a fitting message for Monday morning when all the things are a flutter and buzzing around you.
Or maybe it is.
There doesn't have to be a point.
But there can be a purpose.