Catch Me Up In Your Story

Five months ago today I was flying back to Halifax from Toronto. Early morning in the lobby while waiting to board, I was refreshed being in the presence of Martimers. The tone of the banter and the cantor of the chuckles practically begged me to join in and make a connection. With each miniscule step in the cavernous terminal magnetically drawing me to the less-than-full service Tim Horton’s, bonding with a random Bluenoser over the lack of breakfast sandwiches popped a blister of pretention that had been festering for my entire week’s stay in the Centre of the Universe.

Rather than feeling drained from over stimulation, I was starved for meaningful engagement.

Don’t get me wrong, my hosts were incredibly gracious. I had a private room in a swanky home, free range of an expansive kitchen, a giant cat to hang with - perks abounding. My sister did her best to point me toward touristy attractions tailored to my taste. The AGO made me sit up and appreciate Canadian Art while the ROM splashed millennia of antiquity ‘round every corner. But alas! I hadn’t a guitar, nor any other instruments with which to warble out a heavenward plea. My cries were silent.

Looking back, to say that the highlights of my trip were three coffee dates with friends from home sounds incredibly mundane. But it is true. I had the best Americano Misto of my life at Dineen’s on Bay Street. And spurred by these various brews, the depths of conversation with the best kinda folks were wells of life. Okay, so I’m not a city kid. I grieve at the sight of thousands of people walking around as if they were in invisible cocoons. Touch not, speak not, hear not; where a friendly ‘good morning’ is met with a stare to the ground. No, I don’t take it personally – but this is an allegory:

Wherever conversation can organically percolate between strangers, there is an opportunity for a healthy culture to develop. Yet, wherever culture shuts down spontaneous conversation there is a pall of gloom.

Thus, we arrive at this post’s original raison d’être, which I owe to a message delivered by Grace Han one Friday night in Acadia’s Chapel basement. Coloured by my interpretive flair, the key point is this: in our walk of faith, where we find ourselves at fork after fork, we have to realize that God is already at work down every trail. He’s doing stuff. Our response to this humbling awareness is then: “How can I join in on what You are already doing?” Maintaining this perspective has the potential to shift our focus beyond our individualistic quests for purpose.

For we can be so caught up in the madness of trying to shape our souls into perfect spheres when all the while, God is carving our rough edges into the links of puzzle pieces. Instead of standing isolate, we must tessellate.

So with today’s meditation, I sing:

“Catch me up in Your story, all my life for Your glory – my God, my joy, and my delight.”