Recently we got a note from Ryan Harmon, a church planter in Madrid, Spain and a recent participant of RHYTHMinTWENTY. He shared a few of his thoughts on our journey and we thought they were quite fitting…. Enjoy.

—————————————————————————-

“So, here’s the conference that finally calls me to the carpet and doesn’t just tell me what I need to be doing to keep my walk with God vibrant but actually makes me do it. Everything here is pretty low-key but there is a subtle intensity to it as well. No one here is shouting at me or trying to get me all excited but they are letting me know that if I’m unwilling to enter the quiet then I’ll be the odd man out – everyone else here will be on that pursuit, I’d be stupid not to join them.

That said, six hours on a cold windy mountainside is not easy. Solitude is not for the meek. That’s the beauty of this gathering though, they’re asking us to step into solitude but you’re doing it alongside twenty other guys; we walk into the quiet anticipating our unique encounter with God, together.

In an atmosphere where ministry often feels so lonely, where community seems to be the unreachable goal, I feel like I’ve found it here, with these guys, in only a few short days.”

—————————————————————————-

Here is something I wrote while we were in Colorado during year one of RHYTHMinTWENTY. I gave Tim a copy so he may have it. I look back at this and it still rings true months after our time together in Estes….The context of this writing came after I spent some time in solitude close to the river, close to the RHYTHM. I later moved to a place higher up on the mountain. A new vantage point shed some light on something that I would have never thought of had I not changed my location that day….

From a new location, a new perspective; the RHYTHM sounds different.  A stage of life or a season may sound different from another season. It may even feel different altogether.

As I admire the river from an elevated view I wonder if we sometimes gaze at you, GOD, in all your beauty from an elevated view. We admit you’re beautiful and will give you our gaze from a distance. But as your RHYTHM, the river, gets nearer we become more tentative. The sound and sight are more intense. We no longer have the whole picture in view. There is fear in the movement, in the danger of stepping literally into the RHYTHM. We remain unsure of the RHYTHM and ourselves so we retreat to the perch above where we feel safe, where we see the big picture and claim some sort of control and assurance is us knowing what is going on. From this elevated view we can see the movement, even hear the RHYTHM if we pay close enough attention. But something tells me it’s just not the same as standing in the midst of the current, feeling the RHYTHM pulse through you. The place where every heartbeat matters, the place where the unexpected can happen, the place your soul feels alive and free. What is holding me back from leaving my comfortable elevated view and engaging the RHYTHM?

—————————————————————————-

In September I had the opportunity to travel to San Diego for the second gathering of our RHYTHMinTWENTY group. My first experience with RHYTHM was in October 2008 and it was literally indescribable. Part of me worried that our time together in San Diego could only do one thing; fall short. Fortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a life giving, challenging, inspiring time filled with deep and authentic connection. There were moments I’d look around me, moments I’d take a second to pause and realize what was happening between the twenty of us. And without little doubt I knew I was experiencing a piece of Heaven on Earth.

I apologize: This post is long overdue. It’s been a few weeks since I reconnected with more than 20 of the best friends I could ever have in this season of life.

I’m part of a group of men from across the country called RHYTHMinTWENTY.  The premise is simple: find a better balance between life, love, passions and pursuits in the midst of a community of commonality. This trip, this year, for me, was simply amazing.We spent a lot of time in San Diego talking about the nature of a harbor. The definition we started with stirred something significant deep within my heart throughout the four days:

Harbor.

A place along the coast with deep waters so vessels can drop anchor, so situated with respect to coastal features to provide protection from winds, waves and currents.

A place of refuge and shelter; rest, to weary refugees.

A place to maintain, entertain, contain, hold and capture thoughts.

An asylum, sanctuary, retreat.

A haven; a place of safety in a time of storms.

That discussion of ‘harbor’ led to a deeper discussion: We spent a lot of time trying to rediscover what causes us to be deeply connected to God and to the present moment.

WE spent a lot of time thinking, praying and brainstorming with my friends how we can be deeply intentional and deeply engaged.

For me, I’m convinced it means creating more margin for those things that bring me life.  I’ve spent time in the past few weeks, since returning to Nashville, dreaming a little bit about what that’s going to look like, given the challenges of life.  Simply put, I think it’s going to mean a few changes, a little bit of re-prioritizing and a lot of new adventure.

I think it has to mean a few changes.  I refuse to float, burn out and otherwise, live a ’status quo’ existence.

Yes, the harbor had its lessons, its rest and yes, its play. (I tried surfing for the first time and failed horribly!)  But the thing about the harbor is that we weren’t made to live there.  We were made to live on the high seas: the ups-and-downs, the ebbs-and-flows, the challenges and the successes.

I’m back on the high seas with fond memories of the harbor and grateful for the lessons I learned there.