The
crew galley is a place where crew can cook for themselves.
The
pros: it's a great meeting place where rich conversations happen and even richer
food is prepared; a place of laughter, singing and
entertaining banter.
The
cons: it's noisy, you can't always find the tools or space you need, you burn
your food because the oven you chose wasn't working quite right.
I
normally try to avoid the crew galley because of the 'cons' above. Also, I'm an introvert, by which I mean I
get re-energized by being alone and preferably in a quiet place. The
crew galley, when there are a lot of people in a relatively small place all
talking at once, can leave me feeling drained and in need of a dark room with
nothing but whale sounds.
I
do visit occasionally, in fact I've made several forays into it recently, including today. As I type, I'm sitting there watching a class of
children making paper-mache masks.
The extraordinary thing is, my visits of late have been enriching and fulfilling
for me in terms of food and interactions with others.
God
specializes in the extraordinary and the ordinary. Jesus himself hung out with the ordinary, the common
people – sinners, tax collectors, fishermen, and the like. The Creator becomes the created. The extraordinary becomes the ordinary.
Even today, Jesus will meet us in the most humble of places. For example, several
years ago, after the birth of our first child, Jesus met me in a very un-grand place. We were living in a flat
above a shop in a low socio-economic part of town. We rented the property
as partially furnished, or perhaps we misread and it said poorly furnished –
paintings circa 1970, nick-nacks from seaside resorts, and extra- basic
kitchenware. Someone had given us
sun loungers to use as easy chairs, because the flat had none. Its main room was located in the centre
of the building, which meant no windows.
This in itself dented my pride, but it was all we could afford having
just returned from 2+ years on a Mercy Ship with no savings, moderate-income
jobs, and a new baby in tow. I was still reeling from a touch of
postnatal depression and although delighted on one level with my new bouncing
bubba, I was living in a dark place, situationally, emotionally and weather
wise. It was a dark December in many respects.
I
awoke one chilly morning to discover a dead mouse on our kitchen floor. Whether it was frozen or had early onset
rigor mortis, I couldn't tell. It could have been either because the
place was so cold. It felt like the proverbial last straw. I had been trying to hold myself together in spite of feeling far from my usual upbeat self. I didn't like the apartment of the part of town we were living in and I couldn't imagine ever coming out of the dark hole I seemed to have tumbled down. I crumpled onto the floor and wept. Hard. After
a few minutes I gradually became aware of a warm, affective
presence in the room with me, and though I couldn't see him with my physical
eyes, I had the feeling that the high King of Heaven reached down and sat on
that cold, mouse bearing floor with me and he comforted me. Actually, at
first I cried all the harder at the thought of him meeting me there in that
awful state, but after I got over feeling unworthy, I then felt comforted. Humbled. I also felt for the first time in a while that I could go on and things would
get better, brighter, and that we'd be ok. The summer that followed was the
sunniest and longest for years before or since. It felt like God's gift to me and our
new daughter, whom I pushed for miles each day in an old, beat-up Silver Cross pram, simply for the joy of being out doors in bright places, feeling the
warmth of the Son.
Back
to the crew galley, another ordinary place that I have recently found to be
infused with the presence and warmth and flavour of someone extraordinary. The
same presence that met me on that kitchen floor, on the rough edge of town, 16
plus years ago, has been meeting me here in this busy, noisy place teeming with life and laughter. He's been connecting me with people hungry for encouragement or direction. He has given me the words to speak to lift them (I've only
to read the book of proverbs to know I don't personally have the sort of wisdom that's
been coming out of my mouth of late). I feel like I'm a spectator, of
sorts, watching God at work in and through me as the young woman, anxious about her future, sheds tears of relief
in response to a word picture of hope. An older woman getting
confirmation that the thing she's headed for next may actually be a
stepping-stone to God's plan for her life. A girl, who often seems to sit on the fringes of our
community, draws close and enters into deep conversation. Who'd have thought
such a pedestrian place could also be one of such heart-warming ministry?
Perhaps
next time you find yourself feeling too ordinary, you
might pause to consider the possibility of one who is extraordinary, whose sweet fruit is flowing in and through you. As you listen for God, your soul will be satisfied as with the richest of fare.
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