We make choices all the time. What clothes to wear. What music to listen to. Whether to pack a lunch or buy one. Whether to watch a movie or read a book. Which way to part our hair. Whether to listen to God or do our own thing. Each moment of every day we make choices.
I made a choice last year to move to Woodland Village. I had no idea how that would happen, but I knew I needed to live here. I could have made other choices. I could have continued to live in Gurnee. I could have moved to the West Coast again. I could have changed my name, dyed my hair and lived in Turkey. More realistically, I could have lived in a clean, comfortable, new, aesthetically pleasing, and did I mention, clean, home. Instead I chose to live in a trailer park. I chose to live among the disenfranchised and marginalized. I chose to live in a barn, or a trailer, it didn’t matter. I chose to live with little and to be joyful in that. I chose to follow God.
Sometimes I must remind myself of this choice, because quite honestly, I feel like I had no choice. I HAD to live among people who have been pushed aside. I HAD to live out my faith in the day-to-day nitty-gritty of this world. I HAD to live as Jesus lived. To do otherwise, to make another choice, was to deny God and his call. It’s possible to do, but I cannot imagine doing any such thing. I HAD to be here.
From the time I was a teenager and fully owned my faith, my life was not my own. I have always felt a sense of “something more.” Bearing this sense has not always been easy. There have been times when the mundane task of existing contradicted this sense. Even now, as I figure out how to manage the lack of finances, the relationships, the need for discipleship and the plethora of obligations, I struggle to keep this “sense” in the forefront. Yet it never, ever goes away. Others have not felt it, and I marvel at that. I can’t really understand it, try as I might. To me life is rife with purpose and meaning. Life is meant to be lived for something – Someone – greater than ourselves or even our own families. We are meant to live our lives as a pleasing sacrifice to God (Romans 12:1). Anything less would be a denial of God.
But I HAVE a choice. I can choose to live elsewhere. I could live where the neighbors keep their ugliness behind closed doors. I could stay immune from the desperation and hurt of marginalized. I could simply keep those in need at arm’s length, doing “good works” and feeling a sense of self-righteousness. I could do that. That is a choice. It is a choice I choose not to make.
