Still Paddling

Many of you have been asking us how we are doing. I have tried to answer that question with an analogy that Donald Miller uses in his newest book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (and most of the time I give him credit, unless someone thinks it’s a really brilliant analogy, then I usually forget to mention that it’s not mine–just kidding). His book is about the the idea of living a good story, and here is the quote I have been referencing:

“It’s like this when you live in a story: The first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative, and you’re finally out in the water; the shore is pushing off behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The distant shore doesn’t seem so far, and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant beach. You think the thing is going to happen fast, that you’ll paddle for a bit and arrive on the other side by lunch. But the truth is, it isn’t going to be over soon.

The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. The point of a story is never about the ending, remember. It’s about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle. At some point the shore behind you stops getting smaller, and you paddle and wonder why the same strokes that used to move you now only rock the boat…the far shore doesn’t get closer no matter how hard you paddle.

The shore you left is just as distant, and there is no going back…I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can’t see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger…and they go looking for an easier story.”

When I originally read this a few months ago, I was blown away by how much I related to it. I didn’t relate to the actual kayaking part of it–the only time I have been in a kayak was on a cool evening several years ago with my ex-friend Mark Johring, who promised it would be fun and we wouldn’t get wet (I was in work clothes having just come from my 8 to 5), but five minutes into our adventure we barrel-rolled out of control underneath/through a barbed-wire fence that was stretched across the river (?), and when I was able to finally pop up out of the water and catch my breath all I knew was that i was completely drenched and gasping for air while I watched my favorite baseball cap float down the river without even giving me a chance to say good-bye (you still owe me for that, Mark, and you cannot put a price on a perfect-fitting cap). So, like I said, I didn’t really relate specifically to the kayaking aspect of Miller’s story, but I easily connected with the analogy of it as I thought about us leaving behind our old plans of going to Peru and setting out to find a new direction for our family.

We feel like we are in the middle of the water, paddling and paddling. We had hoped we would be on the other shore already, not necessarily kicking back in the shade with a picnic lunch, but at least laying on the sand catching our breath and resting our arms. It hasn’t gone quite that smoothly. We are still confident that we were supposed to shove off into the water (leave our plan of going to Peru with World Team), but we had underestimated the distance to the new “shore” (a new vision, purpose, direction, job, place to live, etc.). But we don’t want to take the easy way out, whatever that would be. We want to live a story that sometimes takes us through challenging times, but changes us for the good and inspires others. We want to believe that God is just as present in the open water of the crossing as He is at the “destination.” But we also have to believe that we will not be paddling like this forever, and will soon rediscover a rhythm for our family and a more restful place.

Thank you all for asking about us, checking in with us, and praying for us! On a side note, I would highly recommend reading Donald Miller’s book, and I would not recommend kayaking with Mark Johring.