Seized by Hope

She's gone.

Thursday evening Allison's "gala graduation weekend" began.  It all started with a small dinner for those who have walked closely with her during these past couple of years.  She has worked for months on a special gift for those attending.  She took the idea from Mark sharing that in the bible wine was symbolic of joy, and drinking of wine was part of celebrating times of joy.  Allison has saved wine bottles over the months and she carefully decorated each one with words and items symbolic of the joy that those invited to this evening had brought her.  As she made her way around the table sharing her bottles and her words I was struck by her beauty and the ease with which she handled herself.  There were tears and hugs and laughter and joking....all indicative of her special essence and what she invites in people.

Friday morning brought another celebration for the women who have impacted her life.  A special tea, including the stipulation that all attending wear hats, was held to honor Allison.  The precious woman hosting the tea has been in our lives since Allison was just 5 years old.  She has visited us as we've moved across the country, and she's prayed for Allison for all those years.  As we sat in her lovely home I was aware again of the beauty of the day and the extravagance of God's love poured out on us, and particularly on Allison.  The women attending sat circled around and offered Allison words of blessing about who she is and words of vision and hope for where her life will now lead.  There were plenty of tears once again.

Friday night she walked down the stairs in her cap in gown, honor sash, cum laude cords, and the national honor society cords that Katy wore at her graduation.  My mom was standing nearby and she said, "I can remember when you moved into this house thinking that one day they would all walk those stairs and in the caps and gowns and someday the girls would walk down in their wedding dresses."  I could feel the tears well up in my eyes.  Photos were snapped and we all loaded up to stop for a quick dinner on our way to the coliseum where graduation was to be held.  Allison had told us where to sit and her suggestion was perfect, we could clearly see her amidst the nearly 700 graduates seated on the floor.  There was lots of cheering as she made her way onto the floor and again as she walked the stage.  The girl they told us could not make it in the traditional classroom, the girl who was too hampered by her learning disability, the girl we fought for, and others fought for, the girl who learned to fight for herself.  It was a moment Mark and I had hoped and waited for and it was beyond our expectations.  It was filled a sweetness I can still taste.

Sunday morning I walked up to the room she sponge painted herself at 12 years old, the room that has housed all her special trinkets and possessions, the room that has been her sanctuary, to wake her up at 4:30am.  As I opened the door I bumped her suitcase, and was greeted by the empty walls.  All of her posters and memories stacked in the corner, boxes labeled "college" and "new house" and "goodwill".  We pulled out of the driveway at 5am and as we turned onto the familiar road that takes us to the freeway I heard her sniffle and turned around to see her tears.  "This is the last time I'll be that house or drive away down this road." 

At the airport we hugged her good bye, not knowing where "home" will be the next time Allison flies back to us.  While we will see her at the end of July, there was a sense of finality as we dropped her off.  This season of her life has ended. 

It all came so quickly.  So much to feel and speak and process in just a few days time. 

Today I went up to her room and sat, allowing myself to feel it and cry a bit.  I left her room with my list for the day in my head, the things I must do today so the realtor can take the photos tomorrow and put the sign in the front yard.

I will write more about all of that another day.

Here's a video of the weekend.  The song was picked by Steven.  When I asked him what he will miss most about Allison he looked at me and said, "Everything.  Just everything.  It sounds dumb, but it's the truth."  I asked him why this song when he gave it to me and he said, "Because, she lets me eat her french fries".

Everything...that about sums it up.

Little Moments from Tracy Johnson on Vimeo.

Risking for Rest

I signed into my face-book recently and saw my friend JJ's status, "just took a walk on the beach with my kids".  I felt the smile come to my face as I pictured her with her 3 toddlers, all under the age of 4, walking down the beach.

It's been an incredibly rough and rocky few years for she and her husband.  They've had 3 kids, moved across country, nearly lost JJ due to complications following the birth of baby #3, and most recently found themselves facing the reality of life crushing them underneath her husband's work schedule and the stress associated with his job.  Something had to give.

In an amazing move of risk and hope they sold a lot of their stuff, gave notice at his job, put most of their belongings into storage, packed their mini-van and headed for where they knew they could find some rest for their souls and begin the process of finding a job that would allow more life to take place for their family. 

They are renting a house on the beach in California.  It is the place where they found each other, fell in love, married and began their journey together.  It is a place where they smile.  It is a place where the wind coming off the ocean, the sound of the waves, and the familiar sights of the city invite them to dream and to remember who they are and why they are together.

They are young, and they are fighting for their future and they are doing so with stunning creativity.

Some might name them as fools for not hunkering down in the city where they were last living and waiting for a job to provide "security" for their move.  Some might scoff at their beach front rental property as extravagant and overdone.  Some might name them frivolous and indulgent.

I find their choice spectacular and inspiring.  I love that they are facing down the whispers of shame and evil and instead are following their hearts and trusting that the rest found for them in this setting is God given and extended to them with His blessing.

There is no doubt they have made a decision that brings with it great risk...but really the only way to experience hope is in the presence of risk.  If you don't ever risk, you won't need to hope.

I hope that JJ walked the beach again this morning with her husband and her sweet babies. 

I am thinking about my own life and where the invitations are coming from God to take spectacular risks for the sake of hope and rest and more of Him.

Bearing One Anothers Burdens

I was unloading groceries in the kitchen yesterday when the phone rang.  I looked at the caller ID and saw our friends name, I knew the call was coming from somewhere on the road between here and Virginia.  "Hello, what have you heard?" was my question as I picked up the receiver.  My friend began to tell me the report from the neuro-surgeon, what they know and what they don't know. 

I listened and in my mind I pictured this couple, our age, driving across country to be with their oldest daughter, her husband and their baby.  I thought about sitting with them less than a week ago laughing and sharing stories over food and drinks.  I thought about the similarities in the structure of our families, older kids and younger one's.  I thought about the places of connection we share with them.  I thought about a meeting I had with their daughter nearly 7 years ago and how eyes her sparkled and about her hopes for the future.

Today I will be baking pies, making jalapeno corn, green bean casserole, and stuffing.  I will be laughing with my kids and preparing for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Today my friends will complete their three day drive to be with their daughter.  They will be anxiously waiting for their cell phones to ring with the report from the detailed CT scan on how involved the tumor is with the blood vessels in her brain.  They will be talking to their other kids still at home with family members.

Today I will make my way through the hours of the day aware of what I am thankful for and aware of what feels heavy.  The temptation is to cheapen what it is to "bear one another's burdens" by simply focusing on how thankful I am that what is a tragedy in someone else's life isn't the tragedy in mine. 

I am thinking about Ephesians 4

" ¹As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. ²Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. ³Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. ⁴There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called— ⁵one Lord, one faith, one baptism; ⁶one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

We are one body, we share one hope. 

I wish this were the only tragedy, the only heavy burden I was aware of today...but it is not.  We have other friends who lost their son last week and are mourning his death, our neighbor's cancer is leaving him barely able to walk across the room, we have friends on the brink of divorce, others who believe this is the last Thanksgiving for their mother to be alive.  The stories go on an on.

I want to enter into the celebration of Thanksgiving with my whole heart, and experience the beauty of God's presence in the midst of all my feelings....my gratitude and my concern and everything that lays in between.  I want to bear my friends burden with them. 

Tea

A friend gave me a cup and a book and a box of tea.

A friend sent me a package with different types of tea.

A friend gave me a cd of songs she'd selected and titled it "Tracy's Tea"

Usually I drink coffee.  I drink it every morning, several cups.  I drink it at Starbuck's while I meet with people.  I like coffee.

I've discovered though, that when my heart is sitting in tender places, when I need to extra kind to myself, I drink tea.  People who know me and love me and been used by Jesus to invite me to drink tea.  I am thankful for them, so very thankful.

I've been drinking tea the past few days.  It leaves me a bit more quiet and my blog has reflected that.

Belonging

She sat in a chair across from me with her legs crossed underneath her.  Her hair was wet from the rain, her shoes sitting on the floor in front of her were shiny from the water beading up the patent leather. 

As I asked her about her life she began telling me all about the new things she was excited about doing.  I listened and the word "community" kept creeping into her sentences.  She wants it, she's thinking it could come from some of the things she's looking at involving herself with, she needs it, she doesn't have it right now.

The words continued to tumble out like the blocks in the big container my little girls play with after school, falling onto the floor one after the other making a jumble of color on the carpet. 

Slowly the building blocks of words began to take shape and her eyes filled with tears as the reality of the picture emerged and I named it.  "You've lost your community, you've lost your church."

"I don't know where I belong anymore.  What was the place I belonged is gone now, and I don't have the energy to go looking for another place."

He sat in a chair in the circle of eight people.  He was quiet and pensive.  He began talking about the loneliness in the midst of his busy life.  The activities for his kids, the men's bible study he attends, work, the couples he and his wife meet occasionally for dinner, none of it touching this lonely place inside of him.

He says that he's told his wife he wants more with her, more connection, she hears he wants more sex.  He says this feeling of loneliness feels familiar.

He just wants to know he belongs somewhere, that he's known and that he matters.

Belonging.

It takes time to know you belong.  Layers of who you are have to be explored and validated by those around you.  Time has to be spent, time having fun, time sharing stories, time sharing meals, time growing with one another.

Belonging is what happens in a community, not just a group someone names as a community.  To feel like I belong I have to have regular contact with people beyond once a month or occasional lunches after church.  It takes more than a phone call, I need faces in my community, faces with eyes that say I belong and words that reach into my heart.  Belonging feels good.  Belonging will cost me the busyness that invades my days, and will require some stillness and the expression of my soul.

Belonging .... to "be" with others, really "be", is what I long for. 

Apology

I met a friend for lunch yesterday.  We used to attend the same church.  We haven't seen each other since earlier in the summer.  We sat at California Pizza Kitchen watching the rain come down in sheets outside the window while we ate soup and salad.  I had planned on the lunch lasting about an hour, it lasted nearly two.

We shared a bit about what's happening in our lives and then she looked at me and said, "What is the deepest wound you are still carrying from what happened to you at the church."  My eyes filled with tears as I took a moment to sit in the question.  I was surprised she asked.  It's been a year now.  I felt God's arm stretch out around me and I could hear Him whisper in my ear, "your heart still matters, I haven't forgotten you and neither has your friend".  I had told Mark last week that the process of leaving still feels like a living death.  The church goes on and is alive and growing, and yet for us what it was to our lives is dead.  I shared with my friend those words, and a few more specifics about what continues to hurt.

She listened and then said, "As a member of that church I want to apologize for what happened.  I am so deeply sorry."

Her eyes and her words melted into the hurt spot that still feels tender and only partially healed.

We finished our lunch and shared some more words with one another.  

As I drove away I was aware that her kindness and her question touched the shame that speaks to me that I should be over this hurt, that I just ought to move on, that I am pathetic in my continued awareness of pain and loss.

I left my lunch with the voice of shame silenced and that tender place in my heart having been touched by a kind hand.  I left with a sense that a bit more of the wound had been healed.  I left grateful for the rain, grateful for the meal and grateful for God's mysterious timing.

Walking with B

5 years ago I walked with B for the first time.  We didn't walk alone back then because Lisa went with us.  They would pull up outside my house while it was still dark outside.  We'd head out three across walking through the dark before I had to wake up the original three for school.

We talked about their lives, and bit about mine.  Who they were interested in and whether or not the interest seemed to be returned.  The time went quickly and we would return home just as the sun was peeking above the horizon.  They headed back to "the merry trail house" and I headed inside to wake up the kids and start the day.

Time moved forward and I had L and we still walked occasionally.  Then B moved from the merry trail house and we didn't walk anymore.

B got married and she and D moved to a duplex a couple of streets over from our house.  I had E and needed to walk again to take off the residual weight I was carrying around.

The conversations were different that year.  We talked about marriage, about dreaming of what the future held for them.  We took a different "route" than we'd taken before for our walks.  We saw new things, we shared new things.

Then B and D bought a house 20 minutes away and the walking stopped.

Today we walked again.  This time she was pushing the stroller with her sweet boy riding along.

It felt good to head out again, like we used to, this time a bit later in the morning.  My kids are all at school and B is just settling into the routine of small kids and how they change your life.  I thought about the last five years, all that has changed and what still remains.

It was sweet to walk with B.

Tender

I'm sitting in the airport in Phoenix, Terminal 3, which used to be Terminal 2.  Mark and I met in this terminal almost 24 years ago.  The scenery is familiar as I sit looking out the window at the skyline of downtown Phoenix.  I can clearly see the Hyatt Regency, with its signature compass restaurant.  Mark worked there when S was born.  I can see the Bank One building where I sang in the lobby with my high school choir.

I am waiting to board a plane heading to Michigan.  I just finished 3 days with my very dear friend on our annual shopping trip.  I have on new shoes.  My heart feels tender from our time together...good friends will do that to your heart.

It's been a year since we left our church home and started over again.

It's been a year since my friend said to me, "While we are in Phoenix I want to hear from you about what it would take for you to start your ministry."

My inbox is holding confirmations from women coming to the Seized by Hope retreat in November.

What was only dream and a conversation over margaritas as Z Tejas a year ago is a non profit business today.

God is wild, mysterious and changing me daily.

And, it leaves my heart feeling tender.

Remnants

Remnants of something lovely.....

We laughed, we ate, we drank, we ate some more, we prayed, we talked, we shared, we listened to each other.

At one point we were discussing grace and a friend shared a story about a co-worker who came in his office early one morning at an inconvenient time.  He put down his paperwork and listened to her.  She needed help that was going to be costly for him and his family.  He offered the help, his son and wife helped meet this woman's need.  A young woman received something she didn't deserve and couldn't repay.  She was cared for by someone with whom she works.  She received the gospel, grace, Jesus hands and feet. 

As I sat and listened I was struck that there were no "churchy" words.  No platitudes, no useless phrases that left me feeling numb.

We drank wine from the glasses K hand carried back from Venice. 

A friend I came to know best while she was living in Italy 10 years ago was at the table. 

The setting felt perfect on the eve our departure for Europe.

I am getting excited, for our trip and for what awaits when I return.

It was something lovely.

Piercing Question....

As I sat with my friend last night she shared these words, "I think my husband wants more from me."  She went on to tell me that she believes he'd like her to dream more with him.  I asked her why she doesn't dream with him and she turned my question back on me..."why don't you dream more with Mark?"  I said, "Where do you see me not dreaming with Mark?"  she unpacked a couple of her thoughts and I sat holding the weight of her words.

Do I dream with Mark?  What are Mark's dreams?  Mark dreams of buying the house next door to ours, or any other house in our neighborhood.  He dreams of owning a Mercedes some day, not necessarily a new one.  He dreams of trips to Europe and Australia.  He dreams of us ministering together again, like we did when we came to San Antonio years ago. 

Mark invites me to dream with him often.  I am lousy at it.  I can dream with my kids, my friends, young adults....but when Mark starts dreaming it feels too close and I want to shut down.  When Mark begins dreaming of owning another home I can feel something start to rise inside of me, it is a hope of what it would mean if we were in a place to make such a purchase.  It feels good and brings with it a measure of possibility that creates some space to breathe inside of me.  I can feel myself start to want what he's dreaming about and then the voice of reality beckons to me and shortly behind it comes the voice of shame...reality says "you barely have the money to care for the house you're in now" shame says, "you are a fool for letting yourself enjoy this dream, it will never happen, don't be stupid."  I agree and shut down the process.  This all takes about 15 seconds.  All Mark experiences is my withdrawal and contempt.

Mark's grandparents owned a Mercedes.  He remembers it, the sound of the engine, the leather seats, the smooth ride, the security he felt when he rode in the back seat.  His memories of it are sweet, and sweet memories are scarce for him in his childhood.  I have looked at making this dream come true for him several times, and I've come close on it once or twice.  The reasons for not making this dream come true are filled with both "responsibility" and shame.  Being responsible in looking at the cost of maintaining the vehicle, the shame being "what would people think".

Mark's been dreaming of going to Europe for years. I have always resisted joining him in any invested sort of way.  I've distanced myself from it because it felt impossible financially, and to leave the kids for long enough to make the trip "worth it" felt too difficult.  I pushed the idea of going way out into the future.  I could see going by myself on some sort of mission trip, but us going together and traveling...no, that wasn't going to happen for a long time.  He'd put up pictures of places, research ticket prices, plan "imaginary" trips and I just laughed and avoided joining him.  More contempt and withdrawal.

As I sat with my friend last night quietly sitting in her question I realized that I will never know what I missed out on with Mark in refusing to dream with him about Europe.  What I had deemed impossible is now happening in less than 2 weeks.  Our mission trip has opened the door to 6 days of travel, together, with friends, and without the kids.  Mark's been planning it since March, dreaming and imagining what the days will hold, relishing the fruition of his years of dreaming.

Thinking about why I don't dream with Mark has left me looking squarely in the face of yet another place where I have lived small, kept things manageable, avoided disappointment and minimized any exposure to appearing foolish.

It is a place where I have refused God and relished my contempt when I could have been relishing hope.

I can feel Mark and Jesus smiling over me here, their eyes are kind and sparkling with laughter.  I am left squirming under their watchful, playful gaze....caught, loved and pursued even in my contempt and withdrawal.

The journey continues.....