Unexpected

the REST of the week #64

It may seem like there’s rest to be found by striving to eliminate the unexpected—creating a sense of security based on the confidence of knowing what’s coming and being prepared for it.

That, of course, can become an end in and of itself that is anything but restful. And do you really want to know everything that’s coming down the pike?

Some (I’d argue most) of the meaningful memories we recount with family and friends were unplanned, often born in the most mundane of moments.

Walks with the dog that we didn’t realize would grow old before we did.

A conversation at the bus stop.

A meal created around a new dish that flopped.

Splashing in the mess of a sudden downpour.

Discovering geoducks and trying to hang on to them while they disappear back to their shells in the depths of the sand.

Absorbing the repeated sounds that form the rhythm of an ordinary day and anchor our future recollections—the early morning call to prayer, the muffled roar of that plane that flies overhead every midday, the evening announcements over the village loudspeaker.

Meaningful experiences are also born in the frustration of unexpected mishaps.

A breakdown in transportation interrupts your itinerary, but when you finally make it home, you feel in your heart the gratitude for safety and family, and you’ll never forget how wonderful it felt to get out of the cold and into the arms of your loved ones who had been waiting up for you.

That catastrophe at the (program/wedding/party) becomes the funniest thing that’s happened in a long time and everyone gets years of merriment out of it.

The initial chagrin when your three year old shouts out a response to the pastor’s rhetorical question gives way to laughter and funny tales to be shared in the ever arriving future.

I’m sure it won’t surprise you that I find an invitation to rest tucked into the unexpected.

There’s rest in letting go of expectations and being present in the moment right now.

Maybe another way of being present to the moment is to keep an eye out for the unexpected, noticing what it means to us, and letting it mark the moment.

This past week, Ricardo and I turned 25 years old (as a married couple). We were intentional and celebrated well, but it was an unexpected moment a couple of months ago that really helped us to absorb the significance of this milestone.

When we returned to Michigan in May for Gabriel’s graduation, I took my wedding dress along with me, in hopes that there’d be a moment for Ricardo and I to get a few pictures at the church where we said our vows and started this journey.

The moment presented itself, and my sister, Darchelle, whisked us away and made it happen. We took pictures by the woods, near the flowers, and outside the church. We had no expectations of being able to get inside.

Unexpectedly, a man exited right as we reached the top of the steps. I lunged for the door to keep it open, but it locked shut before I could get my hand around the handle.

The man didn’t look alarmed and I quickly explained what we were doing.

“I can unlock the door for you if you’d like,” he said.

“Yes, yes, yes, thank you!” (I was ecstatic)

Ricardo and I had been laughing and enjoying the adventure, but when we stepped into the cool stillness of the sanctuary, we fell silent. It felt like we were stepping back in time.

We walked down the isle, towards the spotlight formed by afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass windows—just like it did the afternoon we got married.

We stood on the platform and looked into each other eyes—just as we had all those years ago.

And for a moment, I was simultaneously that younger bride, not knowing what to expect, but eager to find out, and the wife I am today with so much history and depth of experience from these past 25 years I have shared with Ricardo.

I really need a good poet to put that moment into words for me.

We exited, pausing to linger at the door before returning to 2023.

Ricardo and I had done a good bit of brainstorming about what a meaningful 25th anniversary would look like, but the experience that reached deepest into our hearts happened at that unexpected moment.

I confess, I have thought of making this an annual thing—going back and retracing our steps to the altar. But maybe I’ll just stay open to the next unexpected moment.

The Preacher in Ecclesiastes tells us that there’s nothing new under the sun, but it’s also true that God’s mercies to us are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23 ESV).

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
 they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.”

May you find fresh, new mercies in unexpected places this coming week, and may your rest be sweet.

Alicia

PS Thank you to Darchelle without whom this wouldn’t have happened—along with many other meaningful moments in my life.