same ol' same ol'

Tomorrow is the first official day of summer, but in my book, summer is already here.  The hills of Northern California have turned from vivid green to rusty blonde, like the grass has decided to hibernate until the rain returns in November.  The sky looks like a big ceiling coated in light blue paint, with no variation or texture other than the abrasive ball of heat that moves across its surface.  I sit here at my desk, looking out at all of it, and I think about how my life mirrors the landscape.

I remember when summer used to feel full of excitement, activity, and change, but ever since I graduated from college, it seems to have become quite the opposite. The heat makes me want to stand still. The monotonous, cloudless skies feel uninspiring. 

I exchanged emails with a friend of mine last week, and we talked about how hard it sometimes is to carry on with the daily grind of raising a young family, of doing the same thing over and over again without change or newness. But this is life, after all.  Peaks and valleys come and go, but in between the slopes of change lie the flat, sturdy plains. Dry. Dull. Austere. Just like the steady, summertime heat.

I currently find myself on one of these dry plains, having just descended from a steep, invigorating mountain, and I'm starting to settle into the new landscape, to adjust my eyes to the change of scenery, which is still beautiful in its own right, but not quite as flashy as the dramatic mountain view I encountered last winter. I know there are more dramatic landscapes soon to come, so I'm trying to slow down and enjoy this lull while it lasts.  But I also find myself wondering about what it is inside of us that tends to resist the flat lands, that longs to speed through the sameness into more dynamic topography? 

If my life were a road trip right now, I presume I'd be driving through rows of flat cornfields somewhere in Nebraska.  The sun would be blaring through my windshield and I'd be flipping through my iPod, fanatically looking for a new song to play to break up the boredom.  A trickle of sweat would start to trail down the back of my neck, and I'd start to feel that the miles that I've logged thus far haven't gotten me anywhere.  But I'd keep driving, waiting for the landscape to change, waiting for some cloud cover to break up the heat, and waiting for some sort of sign to indicate progress.  But perhaps I'd also take note that the Great Plains are called the American "heartland" for a reason.

A few days ago I read something that seemed to tie all of these thoughts together.  I keep going back to it, and it gives me pleasure to read it.  It makes me realize the intrinsic value of the season and landscape of life I now find myself in:

Drudgery is the touchstone of character.  The great hindrance in spiritual life is that we will look for big things to do...There are times when there is no illumination and no thrill, but just the daily round, the common task.  Routine is God's way of saving us between our times of inspiration.  Do not expect God always to give you His thrilling minutes, but learn to live in the domain of drudgery by the power of God.  --Oswald Chambers.

So here I am--here many of us probably are--in the "domain of drudgery," in the steady summer heat on dry flat land.  Supposedly, this is a blessed place. Perhaps the reason we resist it so much is because it forces us to practice more self-awareness, to embrace monotony and discomfort. In the absence of thrills and constant change, we can no longer drown ourselves out.

What does the domain of drudgery specifically look like for us right now?  Well, I have to continually surrender this adoption process to God. I am feeling frustrated that my efforts to complete our dossier in a timely manner have backfired, as we are experiencing paperwork set backs at US Immigration due to factors beyond our control. It feels like this whole thing is at a stand still. Stuck.  We are at the point of the journey when it feels like we'll never arrive.  I know, I know, you might tell me that "the journey is the destination"...yada yada yada...  

And like Oswald Chambers says, routine does feel like the glue that holds me together during times like these.  I'm thankful for a summer schedule I can sink my teeth into.  I'm grateful for the new gym that opened up two miles down the road.  I'm thankful for grad school and Mom's Day Out and the company of good friends.

Perhaps I'll look back on this time and see how it built character and endurance, how the waiting enlarged my heart, how the uncertainty matured my faith, but right now, I'm just on the open road tryin' to keep my eyes on the flat, hot pavement.

What season and landscape do you find yourself in?

What does the domain of drudgery look like for you?