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.

Comments

[Janet Stark]

I hear the ache in your words...such profound loss...and the sweet awareness that Jesus is holding onto you. I especially feel for you in the loss of your journal and all that represents, and pray Jesus will somehow restore what was lost, even if in a different form than expected.
I am grateful you have listened to the call to be available in the place you have been called to. I cherish our times together...and have a new appreciation for what had to be released in order for you to be there. I love you, friend!

[k]

This post is so, so lovely, and I felt my chest contract as I read your last paragraph. I hate that loss for you.

And,

I continue to stand in wonder as I feel all of who you are and all of what you offer because of where you have felt ache with God. I love you so.

[Melanye]

Love and tears flowing for you, Tracy.

[Lib]

T--

Oh, man. I am so, so sorry you lost your journal. This post is so moving and speaks so much truth that resonates with me. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. I miss you a ton.

Lib.

[Valerie Avery]

I have tears of sorrow for you as I read your post and then re-read it again to Dane. He sorrows with me on your behalf. The loss of your journal seems to be a deeper arrow shot by the enemy after your heart and body were already trembling from the pain of separation from what has been such a place where your heart could rest and grow in San Antonio.

What an intimate gift you offer as you share so openly what it looks like to allow God to move you forward under His control, how to grieve, how to question and how to purpose to live in your reality with hope even when Evil's arrow is still firmly planted in your heart, hoping to silence your voice.

[B]

Oh His words to you here are so full, rich and painful. And still you described His love for you in the midst of all that you have experienced. So much for you to hold and to know that the safe place that you have had for spilling out your emotions is gone...makes me curious about what He is telling you. Praying for your heart as you listen. I love you.