Toward the end of his life, Henri Nouwen wrote these words,
“Even though I often give in to the many fears and warnings of my world, I still believe deeply that our few years on this earth are part of a much larger event that stretches out far beyond the boundaries of our birth and death. I think of it as a mission into time, a mission that is very exhilarating and even exciting, mostly because the One who sent me on the mission is waiting for me to come home and tell the story of what I have learned.”
As I read this week, I stopped, put down the book, and paused. Nouwen’s sentence struck me in its simplicity: we live on a mission into time. But more than simple, his perspective struck me as kind. In his welcome home party upon his death, God would wrap him in his love and sit down just the same as you and I would over coffee or lunch. With eyes intent on listening, the Lord would ask curious questions about what he learned in his life and time with people.
In Nouwen’s kindness toward himself, life had become an opportunity to humbly learn. That’s it? What have you learned? For myself and the people I know, life feels much more complicated. Who has time to pay attention to learning when we must fight to survive? Bills arrive in the inbox or mailbox each month. The kids’ homework must get done each night on top of practices and field trips. Then I turn on the news to learn missiles are falling in other parts of the world and quickly I trivializes my own stresses. But then the week starts over again and the daily grind never stops. Beneath it all exists a shame I can never fully outrun, a shame to succeed that drives much of what I do.
What if the One who sent you and me on the mission into time is waiting for us to come and tell the story of what we learned?
It sounds too simple. It sounds too kind. Then I think about the kids I have coached. Often at the end of a practice, I would ask, “What is one thing you learned today?” I did not expect a bunch of 6 year olds in tee ball or 14 year olds in middle school ball to hit home runs like they were Babe Ruth in his prime. Yet this is the kind of drivenness, expectation, and demand for success we apply to our own heart and life.
Kindness evaporates in the push for survival and success. I want to live with the kindness Nouwen applied to his own heart. My days would change. I would move slower, listen better, and forgive more. I would be more honest, take more risks, and love more deeply. I would compare myself less, appreciate my own gifts, and see them precisely as gifts rather than talents I have earned. I would fear less, stand taller, and look more people in the eye. Deep down, I would live with more joy, gratitude, and wonder. I would allow God, others, and myself to care about me. And I think, just maybe, I would learn to live loved.
Process
What are you learning these days?
If you already knew you were enough, how much more freedom and space might you have to live loved?
To further engage your heart here, check out Andrew Peterson’s song, Be Kind to Yourself
