Tangible Countdowns

My calendar now shows the month of September. It's funny how nothing has really changed. September still has 30 days, but boy does it ever seem smaller to me. I can also see the date 22nd now. It used to be a number in my head brought to the surface whenever someone asked, "so when do you actually leave?" Now I can see it. I can also see the crammed days leading up to it. When my focus was on living here my value was in balance. I wanted to be sure I had rest as well as time with friends. Now my focus has been shifted to time with friends and community no matter the imbalance. Don't worry, I'm sleeping and eating just fine. I'm just finding myself with the expected realization when faced with something extraordinary. I should say the extraordinary I face makes me see the extraordinary around me here. 


I have the extraordinary blessing of having lived with one particular lady for five years and with perfectly placed women of God over the past four years. Since my sophomore days I've had the extraordinary blessing of living in community. Every day was filled with "how are you's," hugs, and a shared appreciation of how chocolate always makes things better. I've also been blessed with a church family who've picked me up, shaken me up, and made me more of who God wants me to be. Even my coworkers have been extraordinary. From the Mail Center student worker to the Border's book seller and the GCE support team, every single one has shown me a bit more of the extraordinary within the ordinary of everyday life.


I want to leave well. That's a challenge when your evenings are swallowed up by rehearsals and late night practices (another extraordinary that I love). I find myself wanting to mass produce something I could give to each person that would express...everything. That's not too much to ask, right? I wish I had something that would wrap together everything I feel for and from them. Something that combined the words, "you've blessed me," "I'll miss you," and "it was no mistake we met." I want to leave knowing that each person knows how blessed I am to have known them. I also want to leave having given them everything I was meant to give; a last hug, a final word, a listening ear...whatever it is they need. But I can't. I can't guarantee that when I get on that plane I will have no regrets and no last minute, "Oh shoot, I forgot to say this to so and so." I'm just praying that I get to say goodbye well to the extraordinaries in my life here. September, don't you dare go by too fast.

My transformation into a clock.

I can feel each second go by as if I'm slowly morphing into a clock. I feel seconds, I speak in minutes and hours. I constantly live in the realm of time; Time spent and time to come. I've begun to measure my life by "how many's." How many Sundays I have left, how many goodbyes. I've even counted how many grocery trip runs I have before leaving. I feel a constant battle is raging in my heart and head to eek out every possible moment with people and experiences here yet the warring side is encamped on the other hill of overwhelming pain and confusion. In church today I almost couldn't hear the sermon over the aching words, "how can I leave this church?" It's the kind of ache that doesn't subside with rationale; "you'll be back," "this isn't goodbye." I feel the ticking of precious, unattainable seconds go by as my aching heart keeps me motionless. Dramatic? Tell me about it. I don't like drama and I don't like this stage of the journey. But since it is part of the journey than I need to go through it. If this is a grieving process than I want to give it full credence, but I also don't want it to keep me from seeing other's pain and joys. I don't want to be a self-absorbed traveler. What fun would that be? I want to be present in every step but I want to stop looking at my own feet. It's just that right now the throbbing ache I feel keeps my head bent. I know I'll be able to look up again soon, but man are those ticking seconds ever loud!

Blessings of Being Let Go

I'm preparing for Japan.

My brain is a million miles away...almost literally. As I begin to think of to do’s and “last times,” I can feel my brain and emotions become confused with the now juxtaposed with the could be. One thing I want to appreciate, and it is a painful appreciation, is that blessing of being let go. It’s funny to realize that a majority of the grief in leaving isn’t in me going, it’s in the forcing of a situation on those you love. I’m forcing others to let me go. It’s been a few weeks now since my decision and consequent communication to others, but already I’ve experienced practiced Letting Goers who I wish weren’t so familiar with it as well as the Letting Goers who twist your heart just enough that you can functionally grieve. 

I never want to forget the blessing it is to be let go. To realize the friend, daughter, emotional stabilizer, and dependable one that you have become to others (sometimes by choice, sometimes by God's grace alone) and to allow the grief that comes with taking that away. There’s also the humbling reality that you aren’t necessary anymore. There’s a pain in seeing those people move on while you’re still here. That role you’ve held, or held on to, isn’t meant to be much longer. You know while you’re gone that life moves on, news will happen, large instances to you will now seem insignificant to others and vice versa. There’s a peace in knowing this is normal, and there’s freedom in the grieving that it is true. Come it must, and pass it will. This is where I’m suppose to be and somehow God works it out best for others as well. Calm eyes to look into, and waves that could potentially engulf me lapping at my feet. The challenge is to look into those eyes, not the waves. That’s a journey in and of itself.

Boxes in my future

I'm sitting in my room looking at shelves full of worn books. I reach for one and then draw my hand away again. I know each of them. I can remember the first few words, the opening scene as if it's a movie in my head. It's almost as if I don't need to read them anymore. Just look at their covers and remember. But now I'm also trying to figure out how each of them will fit in a box and can I ship them overseas? 


You see, I'm moving. I will soon be the teacher of 4-5 year old Japanese kids. The plan is to leave towards the end of September and for 6 months or longer see what God has planned.


It's going to be great, it's going to be intimidating, and I am confidently freaked out. There's stages of grieving to get through, people to tell, books to pack, and goodbyes to be made. The last time I said an extended goodbye was when I moved with my family on a cold Christmas morning from Georgia to Minnesota. I'm not used to this kind of thing. I have friends who say goodbye for a living. Believe me, we make quite the contrast.


But I'm also at peace too. Did you know God has brought up the opportunity to go to Japan four times? Four times! Each time it fell through. That was a journey in and of itself, and believe me, I lost my way a lot on that adventure. I may tell you about it someday. But this time, this time I learned to look at the Giver rather than the gift. Now is the time, and I am scared to death.


But into the boxes my books will go. I'll continue the goodbyes and grieving. My To Do list may even get done in time, not likely. But the day will come whether I'm ready or not, when I will board a plane by myself, most likely with tears still blurring my vision of the flight attendants and captains ushering me in, and we'll take off. I'll begin to wonder what in the world I was thinking! I'll wonder if my church family will still be my family while I'm overseas. I'll worry about what catastrophes will happen while I'm away. Then I'll pull out my journal, the one I've written every promise, every verse, and every encouraging word from friends and family and I'll remember, I'm where God wants me. I will rest, I will trust, I may even enjoy the airplane food. Then those thoughts of home won't be stabs of pain, they'll be joyful memories.


For a year God has prepared me for this. When I first was presented with an opportunity to go to Japan, I wasn't ready. For an entire year I've struggled with faith issues, God's sovereignty, and my own pride. As I look back now I can recognize God's grace in my pain. One year ago I didn't have a strong church family, I didn't know myself. Some of you may not believe in these things, but for me and what I went through this year, it would take a concerted effort for me NOT to believe. So I guess I just will, and I know there's a lot more to come. So, with that in mind, I'm going to go pack some more boxes.