Seized by Hope

Culmination

I still remember the car ride vividly.  The hot San Antonio sun was baking us through the windshield as we drove south on "281" towards the Quarry.  The little girls were in the back of the Expedition, Elly was sleeping and Libby was playing with her stuffed sleeping beauty doll.  Mark had been gone for several days and I was feeling the weight of caring for all five of the kids alone.  Allison was hoping for some plaid shorts from the Gap.  The conversation was lively, as it always is with Allison.

"Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo Mom?"

My answer came quickly, "NO!" followed by my asking her if she had thought about getting one.  Somewhere I knew that Allison had indeed been thinking about it, although in the moment I hoped her question was tied to the new young adult we had coming around who was very tattooed.

She told me, "yes, but she probably wouldn't because it might hurt...but if she did she would get three small stars of varying sizes down by her ankle".

That conversation was five years ago now.  I wrote about it in a blog that has now taken on the name we most often use to refer to Katy, Allison and Steve.

The original three.

Many things have happened over the five years.  All of my children have taught me much, and each of them invites me to life in different ways.  I see bits of me in each of them, pieces that got lost somewhere along the road when life brought the inevitable moments that shattered my young soul.  I am so grateful that in His goodness to me God has placed visible reminders of what He intended for my heart to look like right in front of me.

Allison is my free spirit, thinking and painting outside the lines.  She says what's on her mind, she dreams in oil based and acrylic color.  She has different sized brushes that she pulls out to describe what she wants you to know.  She wants to be close, she always has, from the day she came home from the hospital she loved to be held.  When Allison would climb up on the couch she plopped herself right down on my lap until she was too big to fit there and then she made sure she was scootched up as close as could be.  (She still does this, she wants to feel you right there by her)  Her presence is splashy, bright, messy, creative and always offers the invitation to stop what you are doing and give her you face and your eyes because she wants full engagement from you.

She continued to think about that tattoo.  Over these past five years there have been numerous conversations about it, leading up to her 18th birthday when she knew she would be "free" to get it placed on her ankle whenever she summoned the courage to do so.  She had perfected the design she wanted, drawing on her ankle in pen many, many times.  Whenever she brought the subject up with Mark he would ask her to explain again the significance and meaning behind her planned design and each time her answer remained the same.  It was clear she knew what she wanted, and she knew why she wanted it.  Last summer before she left for Italy she actually went to a tattoo parlor here in Kalamazoo and had every intention to get her tattoo.  After sitting in the waiting area for 30 minutes she changed her mind, determining that she just wasnt quite ready.

The years of listening to her talk about what she wanted to place on her body permanently, and why she wanted to do it certainly impacted me.  I've found myself noticing other people with tatoos and asking about them.  I've come to appreciate the significance tied to them, although I never had anything stand out for me as "tatoo" worthy for myself....(which is probably a post for another day!)

Several weeks ago, with her sophomore year of college finished, Allison decided it was time.  She and a friend went to tatoo parlor in Chicago and she got her long dreamed about tatoo.

  

Sometime after that first conversation in the car five years ago Allison came to realize that although there were "the original three" there were also "the addtional two" (Libby and Elly) and they belonged in her sky along with her, Katy and Steven.  The additional two are different from the original three, and yet similar to one another.  Three stars of varying sized and two crests of the moon.  

The culmination of thoughts, conversations, tears, life lived, dreams realized and yet to be realized.

 

Memorial Day Memories

I love Memorial Day.  As a kid Memorial Day marked the start of summer, the last day of school was always the friday of Memorial Day weekend.  The same held true for my own kids for many years.  My parents were big on celebrating Memorial Day, the American Flag came out and there were plenty of red, white and blue flowers and picnic food to be consumed.  Once we had our cabin in Sedona we were always up there for Memorial Day, and the first campers were usually coming in to "Living Springs" (a camp my parents helped start and then ran for many years).  

Hot Dogs, burgers, potato salad, fruit, brownies, ice cream, bathing suits, water, fireworks....all part of my Memorial Day memories.

There were many things that became part of the traditions we had during our years of ministry in San Antonio, but Memorial Day was special.  We reached out to so many in the armed forces and on Memorial Day they would gather alongside their non-military friends at our house for an all day picnic. Oftentimes the Memorial Day picnic was the largest gathering of the year for us, one year I think we had over 100 young adults make their way through the house.  A couple of years into the tradition one of our military guys brought a slip 'n slide with him and it was a HUGE hit!  The next year we hooked two slip 'n slide's together to make a giant slide.  After that it became Epic, and Mark began purchasing black plastic sheeting from Home Depot and a special hose to increase the amount of siding surface.

At some point during the day we would stop and pray for any of "our" young adults who were deployed, and sometimes we prayed for those who were about to deploy.  It was a day of gratitude and fun.  It was a day that people knew where they would find us, our home would be open on Memorial Day for the annual picnic you could count on it.

Today my washing machine is covered with hot dog and hamburger buns, chips, paper plates and napkins.  The traditional Memorial Day table cloths have been pulled from the box storing them in the basement and are on ready to be spread over the tables.  The black plastic sheeting is in the garage and will soon be laid out in a new back yard.  There are brownies to cook, strawberries to wash, burger patties to be made and lemonade to be mixed.

The word is being spread that The Johnson's are back in the business of ministering to young adults and today is the first Monday event.  There will be a few young adults from Kalamazoo at our home today, along with plenty of our new friends.  The Cabell's will be here....and we will all look at one another remembering how this all began.  Next Monday night we will host "Grilled Goodness", our weekly outreach event for the summer, and hopefully the house will begin to fill once again.  We have prayed, waited and hoped for the time this would happen and today it begins.

So, its Memorial Day and we are remembering and hoping.

Thank You, Thank You to those who have served and those who serve now.  Your sacrifice makes it possible for us to so much of what we love.

Thank You to all of you who came to 15014 Heimer Road for all those years, your faces are always with us.

Thank You God that there is still ink in your pen and the story continues to unfold.

Erosion

I read these words yesterday, "I was just walking to get coffee by myself and thinking about the erosion that distance is costing our relationship.  And what even more time will do to us."

Erosion.

The word felt descriptive and illusive at the same time.  

I found this quote on a website about Erosion,

"... accelerated soil erosion — loss of soil at a much faster rate than it is formed — is a far more recent problem. It is always a result of mankind's unwise actions, such as overgrazing or unsuitable cultivation practices. These leave the land unprotected and vulnerable. Then, during times of erosive rainfall or windstorms, soil may be detached, transported, and (possibly travelling a long distance) deposit"

I sat and thought about the text from my friend, who is quite articulate, and the weight of the word choice sunk in more deeply.

Unsuitable cultivation practices...how do you cultivate something from afar?  What was once as simple as setting up dinner or dropping by on your way home from work or church now must span hundreds of miles on land, or the even more illusive space of the internet and phone lines.  Faceless encounters replace colorful, vivid, sensual moments.  Relationships that were characterized by seeing one another, tasting good food together, smelling the aromas, touching each others lives are now relegated to only what can be heard.  And yes, I have skype and facetime...and really projected presence is not real presence.

To cultivate you have to turn the soil up and dig around in it.  It's hand on.  

When the soil is not well cultivated the land is left unprotected and vulnerable.  

Rains come.

Windstorms rise up.

The soil may become detatched.

Erosion.

I didn't want the word to be true.  I wanted to believe that there is some way to resist the reality of the word.

I wanted my tears, and they have been plentiful, to be enough to keep the soil moist and sustainable.  

And yet, it seems that with such distance to navigate erosion is inevitable.

The website I found said this also:

"It has impacts which are both on-site (at the place where the soil is detached) and off-site (wherever the eroded soil ends up)."

We are approaching two years on our move away from San Antonio, and the impact is seen both "on-site" in Texas and "off-site" in Michigan.

Recently I had lunch with a friend and she asked me about my heart as it pertains to the move.  As we talked she said to me that it seemed as if the words from the Catholic contemplative best described what this has been for me, "the dark night of the soul".  I felt myself exhale as she spoke the words. They seemed true.

So, like any smart girl I also checked out how to prevent erosion.  Here are some of the suggestions I found:

-get a rain barrell to collect water

-plant more vegetation

-plant a rain garden to soak up excess soil

-use mulch

-cover "bald spots"

-plant "native plants" with absortive root structures

-build terraces and retaining walls.

Erosion is best prevented by cultivating beauty.

I learned earlier this year that beauty grows best in the soil of kindness.

I am becoming a woman who cultivates beauty, and it is coming at an extravagant cost.

But I am committed to remaining kind, and planting...down on my hands and knees every day.

Reality TV...really?

Our church is starting a series that will use reality TV shows as a jumping point for the messages.  I am curious about where this series will take us.  Last week the slide advertising the new series flashed on the screen with thumbnails of quite a few popular reality TV shows.  And I found myself starting to ponder the whole idea of reality TV.

What is reality TV really?

Inevitably it includes "real" snippets of peoples lives.  We sit on our couches and watch the TV screen  like it is a window into someones home.  The whole thing is a bit ironic when you really consider it.  I mean would you lace up your tennis shoes, grab something to drink and a bag of snacks and walk up the street to settle yourself into a small tree outside your neighbors house to peer in and watch them? You'd likely get arrested for such a choice.  Yet, we do it nightly with shamelessness.  We tell ourselves that it's ok because the people on the screen have invited us to watch them.  

Honestly, though if one of your neighbors invited you to be a voyeur of their life offering a spot from which to peer in from the outside I am fairly confident most of us would decline.  

I think reality TV is reflective of what has been true for many years, its just that now we have the media offering it to us in a neat package with theme music and catchy title.

It is much easier to be voyeurs of another's story than it is to enter our own story.  We find it simpler to reflect and ponder what we think about someone else and their choices than to do so for ourselves, let alone what it feels like to invite people to come into the space of our story with us.

We are drama addicts, watching ridiculous drama play out on the TV as people are voted off by America, by one another or given the "rose" that says they've been chosen by someone who barely knows them.  The drama plays out our fears...

-I'll be voted off if I don't work hard enough

-I won't be chosen if I am not winsome enough, sexy enough or beautiful enough

-I need to work harder, lose more weight or build more muscle or I'll loose my chance at the good life.

-Eventually I will be named a loser, the weakest link, unwanted, unchosen

The vignettes of other people's lives become the ground where we measure ourselves.

Even as I type it all I am struck by the ease with which the words fly out of my fingers.

Why?  Why do we do this?

"Whereas we were created to recieve and give God's love and life, our lives now consist in judging ourselves and others, things and even God Himself as a strategy for getting life"  Gregory Boyd

I know for me reality TV ultimately surfaces the state of my own heart, and my beliefs about my beauty as a woman and as a child of God.  I can feel my contempt bubbling up as the show unfolds.  

Contempt for myself and where I don't measure up.

Contempt for God and what He has or hasn't allowed in my life.

Contempt for others and what they have, what they look like, how they live, how they handle conflict or their children, or their finances etc...

I know that for me the counter-balance to the seduction of reality TV is REAL community.  Places where my life and my story are being shared in humility, honesty and with an invitation for others to enter into my story with me.  I don't need ramped up drama when I am grounded in the reality of life with others in real community.

And...I voted for Colton Dixon last night on American Idol.

How about you?

 

Maundy Thursday and remembering

We just returned from a 5 days spent with Katy in Philadelphia.  We packed up the little girls and took a road trip for the first time, just the four of us.  It was both a time of remembering, trips taken years ago with two other little girls before Steven arrived, and a time of imagining what the next 12 years will hold as Steven graduates next year and we find ourselves more and more often with just our little girls.

As we drove back yesterday I was aware that we were heading home to Easter weekend.  My thoughts went to past years where my blogging reflected how I had been readying my heart for this weekend.  I still hold closely the year that my passion week blogging ended with my return to Wayside Chapel for the Good Friday services.

Today is Maundy Thursday, perhaps in many respects my favorite day of the passion week.  Tonight Jesus and his disciples had their last supper together.  Tonight he washed their feet.  Tonight he named his betrayer, as he sat at the table of friends.  Tonight he cast a vision for his closest comrades telling them how much he loved them, and how much they were loved by his Father.

Tonight he broke the bread and poured the wine.  

I imagine the scene in the upper room...

A gathering of men, men who had grown to love, trust and respect one another.

In my mind I remember all the of the monday night gatherings of men at our home in San Antonio, Guys Night.  I can picture the faces of those who were regulars and how they interacted with one another, and how they interacted with Mark.

I imagine the big table with men seated casually around it.  They are talking and sharing stories from the past few days.  I can hear them still recalling the crowds and the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.  They laugh and someone moves on to recount the turning over of the tables in the temple.  They love Jesus, they love who they are when they are with them.  They love the sense they are part of something big.  They have no idea what is coming.

The food smells spectacular. The mingling of the spices used to enhance the flavor of the lamb, the aroma of the freshly baked bread, the fruit and of course the wine.  There were candles and the light was soft and inviting and added to the atmosphere of the evening.

Jesus began to wash their feet.

I am remembering Libby and Bethany and our forum night when we studied about the meaning behind this scene.  I gave them white shirts, and special soaps from Bath and Body works to help them remember the night and the importance of holding to the truth Jesus spoke...

 “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” ¹¹ For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.

 ¹² When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place.“Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. ¹³ “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. ¹⁴ Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵ I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you."

Jesus washed Judas' feet.  He did it knowing Judas would betray him.  He did it knowing that Judas would not be able to receive the beauty of the moment.  He humbled himself and knelt down and washed his betrayers feet.

As he tells his friends that he is leaving they do not want to believe it.  They want him to stay, or they want to go with him.  They don't want him to leave.  They don't want the sweetness they share to stop.  

The scene is so poignant.

It is a scene that I have come to appreciate more and more deeply over the past ten years.  As I have learned to rest more, sit more, listen more, connect more and open my heart more.  I have sat at tables with friends, where we ate and drank and shared stories and laughed and loved one another deeply.  I have sat at tables as we shared that we were leaving, and where others have shared that they were leaving.

The ache of separation is one I know well.

Tonight we will share a table with friends, old and new.  We will eat and drink and laugh and share deeply.  We may even experience a little foot washing as we spend the evening together.  We will celebrate Mark's life (a late birthday party of sorts) and we will celebrate the last supper.  And, we will celebrate that for four of us the ache of separation has been replaced with the joy of reunion.

It will be a taste of what is to come, the day when we will sit at the worlds largest table and share in the feast with Jesus, drink from the cup again for the first time since that Maundy Thursday so long ago.

I am so very grateful for the picture he left us from the last night with his friends.  Grateful because it is a picture that allows me to feel more connected to Jesus heart, and to taste a bit of what he shared with his disciples.

I can't wait for the table in heaven, and for now I will rejoice for every time I get to share a table with those of us here waiting for His return.

Twenty Five Years

The warm Arizona sun came streaming through my window early that morning. The sounds of preparations in the kitchen were easily heard as I opened my eyes and thought to myself, "today I am getting married."

The days festivities began with a breakfast hosted by my parents at our house for all of Mark's groomsmen, who had been in our home the night before drinking beer and swapping stories (a last minute bachelor party since almost everyone had flown in from out of town). My mom was busily cutting up fruit and my dad stood at the stove working on bacon.

Last minute errands, phone calls from friends, final packing of my clothes filled the rest of my day. While I can't recall each detail I do have many clear memories from my wedding day, most of which are due to my mothers incredible planning and gracious welcoming of all the unexpected things, which she seamlessly navigated with great beauty. She was not going to allow anything to mar the day for me.

My thoughts that day were about what lay ahead, my hopes, plans and dreams for the coming years. Very little energy was given to thinking about anything negative. Like most couples on their wedding day we took our vows without any real heartfelt understanding of what "for better or worse, richer or poorer" would include.

That day some of what I hoped and dreamed for included:

-living in a big house where my family could all gather, with lots of trees and space to roam around

-having a big family, 4 children were what we had talked about

- traveling abroad

-enjoying ministry together

-singing and leading worship in our church

-settling somewhere and planting some roots

-living in a place with four seasons

-that our marriage would be something special

I married Mark because he brought life, joy, laughter, adventure, excitement, beauty, spontaneity, creativity, strength and dreaming to my life. Those things remain today, and have been ever present over the past twenty five years.  

Today we know the depth of the words we exchanged twenty five years ago, better/worse, richer/poorer, sickness/health. There have been valley's so deep that we wondered if we would make it out the other side, and today my heart is enlarged and my love for Mark stronger as a result of walking the valley's and encountering God's goodness in the midst of our indescribable need.

The things I had hoped and dreamed for have all come to pass. I live in the house I always dreamed of, the rooms are filled with our five children, we have traveled to places across both the atlantic and pacific ocean, we continue to minister side by side, we have lead worship in several churches over the years, we've planted roots more than once...and are re-planting them today and my days are spent soaking up the glory of the four seasons in Michigan.

And, our marriage is something special.

Today, I am filled with gratitude and stunned awe at God's grace towards us. I am grateful for the foundation planted by my parents, which despite its flaws, provided a place for me to land when the going got tough. I am grateful for Mark's parents and for the impact their lives had on his heart and for the deep resolve grown inside of him, which provided a cement for us when evil came attempting to tear us apart.

I heard a story once about what a woman who has been loved well looks like.  There is a beauty and rest that you feel in her presence, her face is soft, her heart is open and her arms are welcoming.

I am a woman who has been loved well, and today I am more at rest than ever before. My heart is more open, my arms more welcoming, and I know I bring beauty to my world.

I am Mark's wife and the best things about me are all tied to what it has meant to be his wife for twenty five years. Today there is much to celebrate!

Good for My Soul

The forest behind my house is slowly beginning to bud.  The tiny green leaves are appearing and I can make them out as I sit in my favorite chair sipping my coffee this morning.  The light from the sun rising is reflecting off my computer screen and there is a bird chirping in a tree over my left shoulder.  Spring has arrived with the promise of new life budding.

Wednesday evening new life arrived in the form of a sweet baby boy.  A friend of mine sent me a message as I was preparing to head for the hospital to greet and hold this fresh gift from God, "Delight in the new life, may he be good for your soul."  Such a provoking wish to bestow on me.

good for my soul.

As I stood holding his tiny form his mother said, "I knew exactly what you would look like holding him." Her words made me smile.  She has spent many hours watching me hold my two youngest girls, and Mark commented on that fact.  "No, it's not so much that, I just knew how she would hold him and what her face would look like."

good for my soul.

As I held him my body remembered the hours and hours of holding my own children.  His swaddled body the same size as my last baby, who was in my belly the day his mother and dad were married.  The smell of his hair, the sweet baby smell that you take in deeply, releasing something inside of you that leaves you a bit more restful than before you breathed it in.   

good for my soul.

We brought sushi and wine for his mama's first meal, things she loves, things the four of us enjoy.   

As I pulled out my chop sticks and began using them I thought about China, I remembered the faces and the stories.  I thought about how this little boys arrival was being richly and lavishly celebrated and how uncelebrated the arrival of a second child is so often in China.  I looked at my friend holding her new baby in one hand, and her chop sticks in the other.  I smiled.

good for my soul.

We sat quietly in the room with our friends and their new son.  We all recalled the many, many visitors who came to greet his older brother born in San Antonio three years ago.  There were very few quiet moments, as he was warmly greeted by so many who loved his parents.  This time was different.  No less loved, but so far away from what had been home until a few months ago.  There was a sense of loss we all feel, together and for one another for the community we shared that is no longer part of our daily lives.  There was also gratitude for being together and getting to celebrate life with one another.  Loss, Life, Gratitude...such big things to hold in one's heart.  Such big things provoked by the arrival of such a tiny presence.

good for my soul.

We face timed with Katy, using my iphone.  My friend scooted over on her bed and said, "come over here by me" her eyes twinkling as she extended the invitation.  I climbed up on the bed next to her and we talked with Katy.  The years of relationship weighed in as I sat there.  Years that include our heads next to one another on other beds, talking through the night as we enjoyed a girls weekend in NewBraunfels, cried together during a week in Muskegon, dreamed together in a room in Phoenix, laughed on a bed in Los Angeles, said prayers of gratitude the night before her wedding.  

good for my soul.

As I drove her dad to the hospital earlier in the day, before the baby arrived, we talked about how difficult this move has been and beautifully his daughter has walked through it.  He said, "So you have moved quite a bit over the years."  I sighed, "Yes, 14 times.  7 times across the country".  We've left dear friends and started over again so many times that its difficult for me to really put words to it.  This time, we moved to a place where we had friends waiting, which was a sweet gift.  And, the unexpected and wild goodness of God has brought our dear friends here to live life with us in this new place.  How do put words to what that means to your soul?  Perhaps greeting a new life, fresh from God is the best picture.  

Joy, Life, Love, Sweetness, Family, Gratitude.

good for my soul.

 

We're Here!

"Ladies and gentlemen we've been cleared to land at the Beijing airport"

I looked down at a sea of lights stretching as far as I could see from the plane window.  The airport was quiet as we made our way through security and customs.  Not sure if we were taking a shuttle or if our friend Mark was picking us up I scanned the crowd and found the familiar symbol for OHM being held up for us.

We made our way to the van waiting for us in the parking garage and as we walked from the terminal I felt a familiar heaviness in the air, similar to that of my days at Biola in Los Angeles.  The smog feels thick and is a reminder for me that I am not at home.  

The ride from the airport was relatively uneventful, save the typical anxiety of being in a foreign city and not knowing the driving customs...which included several manuevers on the wrong side of the road.

Tomorrow we will attend and ex-patriot church in the morning and sight see in the afternoon.  Several authentic chinese meals are in store for us, which should be interesting!  (hoping to post some photos tomorrow night)

For now....

 

 

Lists...

Costco:

milk

bread

eggs

chicken

frozen- lasagna, pot stickers, chicken tenders, shrimp

lunch meat, bacon, sour cream, bagels, cream cheese......

 

Pharmacy:

cipro, zithromax prescriptions

pepto

sleeping pills (?)

travel size: toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, hand sanitizer

 

Best Buy:

adapter for transferring photos/thumbdrive to ipad

wireless keyboard (?)

thumb drive

 

to do:

print my talks

pack

meals for kids/parents

schedule for parents on pick up/drop off etc for kiddos

laundry

shots for dog

tires for car

pray!!!

 

I am going to China on Friday.

Yes, I just wrote that...I am going to China on Friday.

I now have silver medallion status on Delta, a result of trips last year all over the United States and Austria and Italy.  We (everyone traveling with me) got upgraded to seats with more legroom and seats that recline further because of my "status".  Woo Hoo!

This morning I sat with several of the team members traveling with me and we talked about the trip.  It all feels a bit surreal and unbelievable.

The message from the man helping to bring us to China said, "I had no trouble filling the slots for the training."  Those attending are coming with great anticipation from all across China.  I have only a small inkling of what to expect, based purely on the experiences I had a few years ago in Europe when I sat in small groups and spoke with a translator.

I am curious about the stories I will hear, the impact of cultural differences and the places where we will all experience that we not so different after all.

I am going to China on Friday.

I keep saying it wondering if it will sink in and land somewhere between now and when I board the plane to Beijing.

I'll keep you all posted ;)

 

Learning to Listen

I find that often I realize that God was speaking to me in the past as I encounter Him in the present.

Over the weekend we returned to San Antonio for the first time since we left, nearly 18 months ago.

I had wondered how it would feel to return as we planned for the trip back in November and December.  As we looked at the dates and worked to find a weekend when we could secure a venue for the OHM retreat it became clear that the trip back would coincide with my birthday.  I remember feeling both excited about the possibility of spending my birthday with friends, and curious about how it would actually be to return.

As the days passed prior to the weekend my feelings of ambivalence grew.  There were the inevitable disappointments and surprises that accompany any event or trip, and as my heart held those unfolding realities I could feel the invitation to shut down inside so I wouldn't have to feel the tension and uncomfortableness of it all.

I slid my feet into my boots Thursday morning and packed my suitcase.  

As we circled around to make our approach I looked down to see the familiar neon sign marking the store fronts near "Cadillac Drive" and a moment later the stretch of highway 281 running past the airport and our old neighborhood.  I breathed in and out a couple of times and then the words, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to San Antonio."

The warm, humid air greeted us as we stepped off the plane.

Before going to bed Thursday night I stood on the back deck of our friends home and felt the breeze gently blowing across my face.  I looked out over familiar terrain and remembered many conversations and times with friends.  I  could hear Jesus whispering in the breeze, and I felt his kind eyes seeing me standing there.

The weekend held many, many faces of friends and exchanges of hugs.  There were 5-10 minute conversations with lots of people, that were both sweet and left the sting of not nearly enough time to really exchange what I would have wanted to hear and share.

The years we spent in San Antonio were marked with deep intimacy with many people.  We had very few "superficial" relationships, which made leaving incredibly painful and difficult.

Looking back and remembering I know God was speaking to me as things were coming to a close in San Antonio, I heard some of what He was saying and some of it I missed completely. 

I imagine if His words had come in a letter they might have sounded like this....

Dear Tracy,

I want to remind you how much I love you.  I want you to remember where you have tasted my love and faithfulness in the past, because I am about to allow some very real pain and disappointment to crash in on the shores of your heart.  The water will feel deep and the waves powerful and overwhelming and you will need to have a buoy to swim to, a place to pin your hope to when you fear you are going to drown.

You are going to have to leave here.  It's going to feel confusing and devastating.  You will want to hang on and grasp at the things you love here, your home, your friends, your community, your ministry.  I am not going to allow you to do that.  I am going to leave you aware of the emptiness that is within you, an emptiness that you have forgotten as your life has become so full of other things, good things, but things other than me.

You will not be able to maintain all the friendships you have here, because to do so will make it impossible for you to live where I am taking you.  

You are going to believe that you can do it on your own.  That you have the capacity to keep contact with everyone you love here and still be where I am sending you.  You will try, and you will fail.  And, dear one when that failure comes I will be there.  I'll build a fire, cook you some breakfast and we will talk about what I have allowed, your failure and what I want you to focus on in the future.  (you'll meet Peter in new ways that day, and he will have a big smile of understanding for you.)

This place isn't going to be your home anymore, and it will always be one of the sweetest stops on your Journey with Me.  You will be able to return to your memories from here and taste the goodness of who I am.  You will fondly remember all you came to understand about yourself and who I created you to be because of your years here and the lavish love and grace poured out on you by the people here.  

But Tracy, you have to leave here.

Keep your eyes on Me, and let your heart ache, ask Me your questions, yell at Me, weep with Me, surrender to Me.

I will always be with you, even when you aren't sure I am there.

I love you,

 

Jesus

I could hear Him speaking to me on the streets of San Antonio.  I could see His face in the faces of friends this weekend, in their warm words and in their tears of disappointment, and in their hopes and dreams for more.  

I heard Him yesterday morning speaking again as I realized my journal was missing from my bag, left on a plane at the Atlanta airport Sunday night.  The journal that held many words from time spent with Dan Allender this year, the journal that held precious thoughts from the past few months.  The journal I was grasping in my hand as I sat trying to process all my feelings from the weekend.

I am listening to Him.

It hurts, but I am listening.