Most days, I feel like I have to program every little thing to make them valuable and worthy. Like if it doesn’t have an agenda, there are other, better things I could be doing with my time.
I realized in a moment last night, that just being together is sometimes what we need. No plan, no agenda, no checklist. Just community. Just discipleship.
True community is raw and real and life giving. It’s homemade chocolate cookie dough meant for baking, but plopped into the middle of conversation with a handful of spoons instead. It’s laughing until you cry over absurd answers to a silly board game, tucked away in a cabin in the Smokies. It’s an early morning breakfast with parents in town, sitting on yellow bar stools and wiping sleep from your eyes. It’s rearranging plans because a student asks you to meet them for pancakes or staying up late to watch a dance recital dress rehearsal. It’s quick phone calls to share a funny story or savoring the debut of a new dish at a dinner table surrounded by family. It’s making coffee for two every morning and sharing the couch with your furry friend and watching movies at the end of long days and praying for one another in all circumstances.
Jesus chose a few to be in deep, deep relationship with during His time walking the earth. And I think that had to be one of the sweetest examples He left us with. Share life with one another. Show up for each other. Be all in.
In the finale of The Office, Andy Bernard provides us with what I believe is one of the most profound statements of modern television. He states, “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” I believe that every season of life has it’s own version of the good old days. But this time that I’m in right now? It’s hard and sweet and good. And every day is a good old day.