"On All Things Ordinary"

ordinary:  adj.  Being part of the natural order of things, normal, customary, routine

extraordinary:  adj.  Not ordinary, exceptional, unusual


The comment was made by a former high school classmate:  "I do love the way you write and make the ordinary so much more."   In a few words, she aptly described my life and how I view the world and everything in it.  "The ordinary IS so much more," was my response.

We live in an age of superlatives--big government and big banks, megachurches, multi-faceted products, multibillionaires, superstars and super sized meals; high-speed internet, corporate farming, conglomerates, all things global.  That word ordinary carries with it a negative connotation, as though something is wrong.  Perhaps goals have not been set and met; maybe focus has been lost; something is definitely askew.  How can ordinary be a good thing?  How can it be optimum, desirable?  

Ordinary, however, is what makes up our everyday life; quite literally, it is what makes the world go around.  Consistent, predictable, typical, we rely on and expect ordinary, whether we realize it or not.  It is the out of the ordinary which carries a jolt, puts a kink in our plans, throws us for a loop.

The sun rises and it sets; the seasons change as one flows and melds into the next; babies are conceived and born, and as they grow up, a changing of the guard takes place as that generation becomes the next to rule the world; there is birth, and there is death. Life is filled with ordinary, the various rhythms and cycles meshing together like gears, propelling us all forward into the future, unknown though it may be.

How, then, does ordinary become something more?  How does it become extraordinary?

I am reminded of a Bible story. Christ and His 12 disciples had gone into the desert for a retreat of sorts, a time of privacy and rest.  A multitude of people in the thousands discovered where they were and inundated the area, wanting to be healed or delivered from demons, begging to be taught. Recognizing their needs, He did not turn them away.  

It became late in the day and, with no food available in the desert, the people were getting hungry.  The disciples wanted to send everyone off to their homes, but Jesus had a plan, another idea.  A young boy had offered food he had brought, five loaves of barley bread and two fish, probably quite ordinary fare for that time.  Isn't it just like a boy to make sure he has some food, a little snack for himself as he heads out the door?     

The crowd was numbered at 5,000 men, and that didn't include the women and children. It was obvious there wasn't a sufficient amount to feed everyone.  The disciples pooled their money and quickly realized they weren't even close to having enough funds to purchase food for that many people even if they went back into the village to do that.

Christ accepted the gift of bread and fish from the boy, gave thanks to God, and began giving the food to the disciples to distribute to the crowd.  The people ate, they were all filled, and there were 12 baskets of leftovers--from five loaves of bread and two fish. 

Ordinary becoming extraordinary.

Everything about my life and about me is ordinary--where I live, how I live, the food I eat, the vehicle I drive, the work I do.  One could almost set their clock by my morning rising time. I begin my day almost identically every day, first with a cup of green tea with a touch of honey and vinegar, then a green smoothy concoction of spinach, kale, banana, and orange, topped off with a bowl of cereal.  While you might not consider the smoothy ordinary, it is for me. There is a sameness about my life, a routine.

And yet in the ordinary there are times of extraordinary.  They come when I least expect them and always fill my soul, my very being with the knowledge that my life consists of more than just me--a message received from one who has had major struggles in life, sharing where he is, what he is doing, and how life is coming along for him; a visit from another I have known for most of his lifetime, picking up the conversation where we last left off, a verbal exchange of our lives and friendship with one another; a grocery store clerk who openly speaks of her frustrations and fears about family while checking me out; a young mother I've not even met who reveals the pain and heavy load of caring for a family member with a terminal illness while being wife and mother as well, asking for prayer.

People.  People who open the door to their inner self and allow me to enter in.

My life is not my own.  I don't know if that is readily or easily understood, but it is so.  In giving up one's life, the doors are opened up to experience touches, moments where all that is ordinary becomes extraordinary.  That is what happened when that young boy gave all that he had to give.  That is the touch of God in everyday, ordinary life.