Where I Belong

In case you missed the memo, on January 24th I boarded a plane in Lima, Peru at 1:30 in the morning, walking through security waving goodbye to my supervisors and another friend who had been sweet enough to accompany me to the airport in the middle of the night. Two flights, and twelve hours later I walked off the plane in Daytona Beach, FL and out through security to a surprise welcoming committee of family and friends waving hello. It's been more than a week and in many ways I feel like I'm still in transit, stuck somewhere between Peru and the US. 

Physical life in the States is gradually starting to feel less awkward (It no longer takes me 6 tries to figure out how to flip a light switch, and my stomach is handling American food better.) but being back here still feels a little like, to use a family expression from a colleague in Peru, socks on a rooster. It doesn't quite fit right, and is a bit unnatural. Feeling out of place is a hard thing to process when so much is the same as when you left it. It's difficult to explain to yourself, and next to impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't been through it themselves. This leads to a lot of really awkward conversations where someone asks the question that everyone asks: "How does it feel to be home?" -or- "Are you excited to be back?" Apparently a blank stare and muttering isn't a sufficient answer for most people!  

Having returned from living overseas twice before, I knew what questions to expect. "How was Peru?" "What was your favorite thing about Peru?" "What do you miss most?" "How was the food?" "What was Peru like?" "Did you like it?" "So you must speak really good spanish now?" "Did you get homesick?" "What was the coolest thing you saw?" "Do you have any Peruvian friends?"  "What are you most excited about now that you're home?" and the most dreaded of all... "What are you going to do now?" "Do you have any plans?" 

My last weeks in Peru I even tried to sit down and prepare succinct answers to all of the typical questions so that I would be able to answer easily. But it didn't really happen. Some are easy to answer, but most are asking you to sum up two years of life in a different culture with a few words, or maybe a funny anecdote, and that's not easy at all. 

But none are as difficult as the "how are you feeling" vein of questions. And the best I can do right now is say, "I don't know." Yes, I am happy to see my family and friends. Yes, it's nice to be able to drive, go to the beach, and not have to think through the vocabulary for every conversation before I go do something. Yes, it is fun to eat favorite foods and wear different clothes. Yes, there are many things that are nice and enjoyable about being back in the US. 

But... 

There is always a melancholy that comes with change, always something that you are giving up in the transaction, a chapter in your life for which you are trying to write the last sentence. And it is rarely easy and tidy. When we are confronted with others who genuinely care about us, and want to know about our experience, we can feel a pressure to neatly wrap up our life and put a bow on it. To make something orderly and presentable out of years of work, and growth, and experiences, and relationships, and learning, and changing, and emotions. Years of life. But as we all know, life isn't orderly and presentable. It's messy. We as people are messy. And trying to share a complicated season of your life is a bit like trying to gift-wrap a live octopus. 

So, no, I don't have the answers. No, I can't sum up two years in two sentences. And no, I can't even fully tell you how I feel about being back. And I think that's okay right now. 

My first Sunday back at my church was much anticipated and it was great to see friends after so long. But it was also profoundly difficult. Several times during Sunday School and the worship service I got so overwhelmed that I almost had to leave. And for the life of me I couldn't pinpoint why. And then the praise team sang a familiar song by Building 429: 

"Sometimes it feels like I'm watching from the outside, Sometimes it feels like I'm breathing but am I alive? I won't keep searching for answers that aren't here to find. All I know is I'm not home yet, This is not where I belong, Take this world and give me Jesus, This is not where I belong." 

Never had that song hit home (pardon the pun) so much before! I think that has come closer than anything to explaining my feelings right now. People keep asking about how I feel now that I am "home", and how I feel is that I'm not. I'm not home. Not yet. And that is a comforting thought, because if heaven is the home I'm headed to, then it's okay that Daytona Beach doesn't quite feel like home right now. As C.S. Lewis put it, "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” 

What a home that will be! And what a great hope that is! It is a main comfort of the transient M life, that while we say farewell in this world, we have the promise of eternity with Jesus worshipping with believers from every tribe and nation. I hope that you have placed your faith in Christ and will spend eternity with the Lord, and if you do, I hope that one day I can introduce you to some of the incredibly faithful believers that I have had the privilege to meet and work with across Latin America for the last 2 years, and they can meet the people who prayed for and supported them from the US. 

I'm sure I'll eventually get comfortable again once the culture shock wears off, and the feelings of being strangely far from home will dim. But, I hope that I will carry with me the awareness that I'm still not home yet. This is not where I belong. 

If you haven't heard "Where I Belong" by Building 429 you can check out the video here! (If you are reading in email you'll have to follow the link to my blog site to watch.)

How can I keep from singing?

My life flows on in endless song;

Above earth's lamentation,

I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn

That hails a new creation;

Thro' all the tumult and the strife

I hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in my soul—

How can I keep from singing?

What tho' my joys and comforts die?

The Lord my Saviour liveth;

What tho' the darkness gather round?

Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to that refuge clinging;

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,

How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin;

I see the blue above it;

And day by day this pathway smooths,

Since first I learned to love it;

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,

A fountain ever springing;

All things are mine since I am his—

How can I keep from singing?

What will your legacy be?

A friend shared this video recently and I think it is great! It's the follow up to a story from decades ago and shows such a clear picture of the impact the Gospel can have on a person, a community, a people, and the world. How remarkable to be able to return years later and see the legacy of faith that remains where one faithful family shared the Gospel in word and deed. I don't know about you, but I want to leave that kind of legacy!

What do you want your legacy to be?

I think that's a good thing to keep in mind as you make decisions and plans. It should help you focus upon that which you spend you time, money, and energy. Because, as Beth Moore say, "The legacy you leave tomorrow is dependent upon the choices you make today."

If you have 15 minutes, check out this great story:


Never the Same from Pioneers-USA on Vimeo.

And I love Nicole Nordeman's song aptly titled- Legacy:

I don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me 

And I enjoy an accolade like the rest 

You could take my picture and hang it in a gallery 

Of all who's who and so-n-so's that used to be the best 

At such'n'such ... it wouldn't matter much

I won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights 

We all need an 'Atta boy' or 'Atta girl' 

But in the end I'd like to hang my hat on more besides 

The temporary trappings of this world

I want to leave a legacy 

How will they remember me? 

Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough 

To make a mark on things? 

I want to leave an offering 

A child of mercy and grace who

blessed your name unapologetically 

And leave that kind of legacy

I don't have to look too far or too long awhile 

To make a lengthly list of all that I enjoy 

It's an accumulating trinket and a treasure pile 

Where moth and rust, thieves and such will soon enough destroy

Not well traveled, not well read, not well-to-do or well bred 

Just want to hear instead, "Well Done" good and faithful one...

O Holy Night...

I love Christmas music. I usually can't wait for Thanksgiving to pull out my collection and start enjoying my favorite carols and newer classics and it rarely fails to get me in the holiday mood. But this year even my favorite Christmas songs haven't been as exciting. It could be because I don't have the option of listening to the non-stop Christmas music on the radio while I run around town in my car on last minute holiday errands. Or maybe it could be because so many Christmas songs are pretty sad when you're away from your family and friends. Seriously, you've never realized how many depressed Christmas songs there are until you've had a lonely Christmas. My first Christmas away in Paris I remember listening to my Christmas music on my iPod while commuting across town and suddenly bursting into tears on the metro when "I'll be Home for Christmas" came on. I had to sanitize my playlist and get rid of "Blue Christmas,"  "Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas," "Where are you Christmas?," "White Christmas," "Merry Christmas Darling," "Please Come Home for Christmas," "Home for the Holidays," etc. etc. 


This year has been easier than that first one. I have a bigger support group of friends and colleagues here to celebrate with, and I've reminded myself that even if I was in the states, a lot of friends starting off in their careers don't have the luxury of taking time off, or have the money, to go home to be with their families. So being in Peru doesn't make it all that much different. And I've had so much work to do that there hasn't been too much time for dwelling on being far away. 


And I've been reminded that while a lot of our modern Christmas songs may be sad and get me a little homesick, my favorite carols are just the opposite. There are so many wonderful songs that remind us of the incredible miracle of Christ's birth and of the joy, hope, and redemption that He brought to the world.


I came across this history of one of my all-time favorites, O Holy Night, and I thought it was so interesting I had to share: 

"In 1847, Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure was the commissionaire of wines in a small French town. Known more for his poetry than his church attendance, it probably shocked Placide when his parish priest asked the commissionaire to pen a poem for Christmas mass. Nevertheless, the poet was honored to share his talents with the church.

In a dusty coach traveling down a bumpy road to France's capital city, Placide Cappeau considered the priest's request. Using the gospel of Luke as his guide, Cappeau imagined witnessing the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Thoughts of being present on the blessed night inspired him. By the time he arrived in Paris, "Cantique de Noel" had been completed.

Moved by his own work, Cappeau decided that his "Cantique de Noel" was not just a poem, but a song in need of a master musician's hand. Not musically inclined himself, the poet turned to one of his friends, Adolphe Charles Adams, for help. 

The son of a well-known classical musician, Adolphe had studied in the Paris conservatoire. His talent and fame brought requests to write works for orchestras and ballets all over the world. Yet the lyrics that his friend Cappeau gave him must have challenged the composer in a fashion unlike anything he received from London, Berlin, or St. Petersburg. 

As a man of Jewish ancestry, for Adolphe the words of "Cantique de Noel" represented a day he didn't celebrate and a man he did not view as the son of God. Nevertheless, Adams quickly went to work, attempting to marry an original score to Cappeau's beautiful words. Adams' finished work pleased both poet and priest. The song was performed just three weeks later at a Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. 

Initially, "Cantique de Noel" was wholeheartedly accepted by the church in France and the song quickly found its way into various Catholic Christmas services. But when Placide Cappeau walked away from the church and became a part of the socialist movement, and church leaders discovered that Adolphe Adams was a Jew, the song--which had quickly grown to be one of the most beloved Christmas songs in France--was suddenly and uniformly denounced by the church. The heads of the French Catholic church of the time deemed "Cantique de Noel" as unfit for church services because of its lack of musical taste and "total absence of the spirit of religion." Yet even as the church tried to bury the Christmas song, the French people continued to sing it, and a decade later a reclusive American writer brought it to a whole new audience halfway around the world.

Not only did this American writer--John Sullivan Dwight--feel that this wonderful Christmas songs needed to be introduced to America, he saw something else in the song that moved him beyond the story of the birth of Christ. An ardent abolitionist, Dwight strongly identified with the lines of the third verse: "Truly he taught us to love one another; his law is love and his gospel is peace. Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother; and in his name all oppression shall cease." The text supported Dwight's own view of slavery in the South. Published in his magazine, Dwight's English translation of "O Holy Night" quickly found found favor in America, especially in the North during the Civil War.

Back in France, even though the song had been banned from the church for almost two decades, many commoners still sang "Cantique de Noel" at home. Legend has it that on Christmas Eve 1871, in the midst of fierce fighting between the armies of Germany and France, during the Franco-Prussian War, a French soldier suddenly jumped out of his muddy trench. Both sides stared at the seemingly crazed man. Boldly standing with no weapon in his hand or at his side, he lifted his eyes to the heavens and sang, "Minuit, Chretiens, c'est l'heure solennelle ou L'Homme Dieu descendit jusqu'a nous," the beginning of "Cantique de Noel."

 After completing all three verses, a German infantryman climbed out his hiding place and answered with, "Vom Himmel noch, da komm' ich her. Ich bring' euch gute neue Mar, Der guten Mar bring' ich so viel, Davon ich sing'n und sagen will," the beginning of Martin Luther's robust "From Heaven Above to Earth I Come."

The story goes that the fighting stopped for the next twenty-four hours while the men on both sides observed a temporary peace in honor of Christmas day. Perhaps this story had a part in the French church once again embracing "Cantique de Noel" in holiday services.

***

Adams had been dead for many years and Cappeau and Dwight were old men when on Christmas Eve 1906, Reginald Fessenden--a 33-year-old university professor and former chief chemist for Thomas Edison--did something long thought impossible. Using a new type of generator, Fessenden spoke into a microphone and, for the first time in history, a man's voice was broadcast over the airwaves: "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed," he began in a clear, strong voice, hoping he was reaching across the distances he supposed he would.

Shocked radio operators on ships and astonished wireless owners at newspapers sat slack-jawed as their normal, coded impulses, heard over tiny speakers, were interrupted by a professor reading from the gospel of Luke. To the few who caught this broadcast, it must have seemed like a miracle--hearing a voice somehow transmitted to those far away. Some might have believed they were hearing the voice of an angel.

Fessenden was probably unaware of the sensation he was causing on ships and in offices; he couldn't have known that men and women were rushing to their wireless units to catch this Christmas Eve miracle. After finishing his recitation of the birth of Christ, Fessenden picked up his violin and played "O Holy Night," the first song ever sent through the air via radio waves. When the carol ended, so did the broadcast--but not before music had found a new medium that would take it around the world."

Taken from 'Stories Behind the Best-Loved Songs of Christmas' by Ace Collins. Copyright (c) 2001 by Andrew Collins -Zondervan.

O Holy Night

O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,

It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

'Til He appear'd and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees! O hears the angels' voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born;

O night divine, O night, O night Divine.

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming,

With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.

So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,

Here come the wise men from Orient land.

The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger;

In all our trials born to be our friend.

He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,

Behold your King! Before Him lowly bend!

Behold your King, Before Him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall His break for the slave is our brother;

And in His name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise us,

Let all within us praise His holy name.

Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever,

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

I hope you take time this weekend, as you sing the same songs that have echoed over generations of Christmases, to think about their words and the message of love and salvation of which they tell. 


CHRIST IS THE LORD! O PRAISE HIS NAME FOREVER!

Will You Go Out Without Knowing?

I've been thinking a lot about one of my favorite entries in "My Utmost for His Highest" this week, so I thought I'd share:

"He went out, not knowing whither he went." - Hebrews 11:8

"Have you been 'out' in this way? If so, there is no logical statement possible when anyone asks you what you are doing. One of the difficulties in Christian work is this question- 'What do you expect to do?' You do not know what you are going to do; the only thing you know is that God knows what He is doig. Continually revise your attitude towards God and see if it is a going out of everything, trusting in God entirely. It is this attitude that keeps you in perpetual wonder- you do not know what God is going to do next. Each morning you wake it is to be a 'going out,' building in confidence on God. 'Take no thought for your life, ...nor for your body'- take no thought for the things for which you did take thought before you 'went out.'

"Have you been asking God what He is going to do? He will never tell you. God does not tell you what He is going to do; He reveals to you Who He is. Do you believe in a miracle-working God, and will you go out in surrender to Him until you are not surprised at atom at anything He does?

"Suppose God is the God you know Him to be when you are nearest to Him- what an impertinence worry is! Let the attitude of the life be a continual 'going out' in dependence upon God, and your life will have an ineffable charm about it which is a satisfaction to Jesus. You have to learn to go out of convictions, out of creeds, out of experiences, until so far as your faith is concerned, there is nothing between yourself and God."

No matter how many times I've read through this book, I continue to be challenged by Oswald Chamber's writing. My favorite line in this entry (January 2nd) is, "God does not tell you what He is going to do; He reveals to you Who He is." I wrote that on a post-it and tapped it above my desk at home a couple years ago when I was in a difficult season and really struggling with waiting on God and trying to understand His will. I was desperate for God to open doors, reveal His will, show me the purpose of that season and where He was leading. He didn't, not then, anyway. Instead, He showed me Himself. He brought me into a better understanding of Who He is and into a closer fellowship with Him than I had ever known. <--When I reread that sentence, it sounds so simple, and I don't want to give the wrong impression, because it wasn't. Maybe it should have been, but for me it was a struggle. A real battle to get my heart and mind to be content in Christ, a real battle to trust. It was a lonely frustrating season, but I am so thankful for the byproducts of it. I came across a Beth Moore quote during that time that sums it up so perfectly:

"Solitude is not so much the place we find the answers as the place we decide if we're going on, -possibly alone- without them. Many of us will. Why? Because the privilege of wrestling with such a holy and majestic God still beats the numbness and pitiful mediocrity of life otherwise. Sometimes we don't realize how real He is until we've experienced the awesomeness of His answerless presence. He knows that what we crave far more than explanations is the unshakable conviction that He is utterly and supremely God."

I didn't know where God was leading in that difficult period, and as much as I fought it, I eventually learned to praise Him for teaching me to rest in His "answerless presence." I wish that was a lesson that could be learned simply once and for all, but from time to time I still find myself beginning to worry, beginning to question. Wanting to know what the rest of His plan looks like. Starting to panic because I don't have it figured out. So at those times I try to stop and reflect on His faithfulness and remember the peace that comes from simply abiding in Him. This was one of my grandpa's favorite hymns and one of mine too:

"I Know Who Holds Tomorrow"

I don't know about tomorrow;

I just live from day to day.

I don't borrow from its sunshine

For its skies may turn to grey.

I don't worry o'er the future,

For I know what Jesus said.

And today I'll walk beside Him,

For He knows what lies ahead.

Many things about tomorrow

I don't seem to understand

But I know Who holds tomorrow

And I know Who holds my hand.

Every step is getting brighter

As the golden stairs I climb;

Every burden's getting lighter,

Every cloud is silver-lined.

There the sun is always shining,

There no tear will dim the eye;

At the ending of the rainbow

Where the mountains touch the sky.

I don't know about tomorrow;

It may bring me poverty.

But the one who feeds the sparrow,

Is the one who stands by me.

And the path that is my portion

May be through the flame or flood;

But His presence goes before me

And I'm covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow

I don't seem to understand

But I know Who holds tomorrow

And I know Who holds my hand.

Bring the Rain

Training ended more than a week ago, and my last days in Virginia were a whirlwind of packing, goodbyes, and last minute details. We still managed to carve out some sweet time with friends in the midst of that. All the young short-termers got together for a farewell celebration one evening, a fun time of snacks, silliness, and mustaches.

Yes, you read that right. Mustaches. 

But when the goofy pictures and joking subsided, we came together for a time of praise. We sang songs and lifted up prayers for the places and peoples around the world where we are going. It would have been a precious time under any circumstances, but it was all the more wonderful to me because it was storming. That may not sound especially remarkable given the bipolar nature of Virginia’s weather, and it’s not, so let me preface it with some background.

I love rain. Simple as that. Always have, always will. It’s a really convenient trait when you live in Florida, because lest you be deceived by our tourist-luring moniker, “The Sunshine State” gets a lot lot lot of rain. I really couldn’t tell you why I like the rain so much, but I love to play in it, listen to it, nap through it. I even have an entire playlist on my iPod of songs about rain. But perhaps the reason I like it so much is because it always reminds me of my heavenly Father, His power, His grace, and His faithfulness. One of my favorite hymns is “My Lord is Near Me All the Time”:

In the lightning flash across the sky, His mighty power I see,

And I know if He can reign on high, His light can shine on me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

When the thunder shakes the mighty hills, and trembles every tree,

Then I know a God so great and strong, can surely harbor me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

When refreshing showers cool the earth, and sweep across the sea,

Then His rainbow shines within my heart, His nearness comforts me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

I could tell countless stories about how storms fill my heart with worship, but that night in Virginia reminded me of one in particular. As we sat there on the floor of the multipurpose room, the rain lashing the windows and providing the percussion to our songs, I closed my eyes and I was back in Haiti sitting on the floor of a house with a group of Americans just outside of Port-au-Prince.  The power and generator were both out and a Haitian storm was blowing down from the mountains with near hurricane ferocity.  We lifted up our voices in the dimness, competing to be heard over the wind and rain, singing song after song as darkness settled and the storm began to abate. We cried out “How Great is our God,” and He answered back with blinding lightning.

“I know that the Lord is great, that our Lord is greater than all gods. The Lord does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth, in the seas and all their depths. He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses.” –Psalm 135:5-7

With each thunder roll I felt His perfect peace and contentment; in the midst of the storm I was right where I was supposed to be. I was overwhelmed by His faithfulness that night, and I hadn’t even seen the way God would use that time in Haiti to direct me to this new adventure with Him.

Rain fight in Haiti!

“Remember your covenant with us and do not break it. Do any of the worthless idols of the nations bring rain? Do the skies themselves send down showers? No, it is you, O Lord our God. Therefore our hope is in you, for you are the one who does all this.” – Jeremiah 14:21-22

A year later, sitting in Virginia with the rain pouring down, I was once again overcome by His faithfulness. To go into all the little ways God wove things together to bring me to this specific place would take too long, so perhaps I’ll do another post on that some day. But suffice it to say that when I look back over the last year plus I can’t help but see His fingerprints on so many things. My heart was overflowing with thankfulness.

“For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.” –Psalm 100:5

It was hard to leave and it is hard to be home. Coming back I am reminded about how much I love my life here. I am surrounded by people who love me and care about me. I have wonderful family and friends. An awesome church. Lazy sundrenched beach days. Barbeque. Chickfila. Friday night Bible study. Life is good. Life is comfortable. Life is easy. And in three weeks that’ll change. The two years that seemed like no big deal are beginning to feel like an eternity. The confidence and resolve that came so easily months ago are beginning to wear thin. Normally unemotional, I now find myself on the verge of tears at least once a day whenever I am reminded that I’m really only here visiting. I want to ask if I’m making the right decision, but I can’t even get the question out. I know I am. And in some ways, knowing that is even harder. I’ve always loved the quote by C.S. Lewis, “We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” And there’s the rub. Following God doesn’t keep us from pain, sometimes it leads us straight to it. His faithfulness doesn’t always protect us from hurt, but in our hurt He is always faithful. His unfailing love is our comfort (Psalm 119:76). We have His promise that He will not leave us or forsake us. He will carry us through, and comfort us when we hurt. “I, even I, am he who comforts you.” – Isaiah 51:12

When I am weak, He is faithful.

When I hurt, He is faithful.

When I doubt, He is faithful.

When I cry out, He is faithful.

When I am brokenhearted, He is faithful.

He is faithful. Praise Jesus, He is faithful! 

 And so when my strength is gone and my confidence is weak, I can walk on trusting in the faithfulness of my Lord that pours out like rain. You could blame a low pressure system for the week of rain that followed me down from Virginia and kept me from the beach during my first days home, but I prefer to think of it as God reminding me that He is near, and He is faithful. And maybe, He’s helping me get my fill of percipitation before I move to Lima, a coastal desert where it rarely rains. I’m not excited about living in a place without storms, but although I won’t have my physical reminder of God’s faithfulness, I know His fidelity remains the same.

“Where can I go from your Sprit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” –Psalm 139:7-10

*Prayer requests*: Thank you for your prayers and encouragement as I wrap up things in the states. Less than three weeks until Costa Rica! Please lift up Steven, Kattie and baby Evelyn who arrived in Lima today. Too many months until I see them again, but can’t wait to hear about their first days in our new home town.

*Check out the song “You Were There” by Avalon, on the music player at the bottom of the page.* 

Here's Goodbye...

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I hate goodbyes. In fact, of everything on the substantial list of random things that I hate, goodbyes rank in at number one. They beat out olives, inept drivers, florescent lights, LSU, mushrooms, and the word “irregardless.” So as you can see, the competition was pretty tough.  Part of the problem is that I’m a fairly collected person.  I like to think that I’m rational and calm with a healthy level of emotional distance (which often leads to jokes about my lack of compassion and sensitivity).  But when it comes to goodbyes, all of that goes out the window.  Suddenly I’m transformed into an emotional, sentimental, teary mess. I’m not talking a delicate tear in the corner of my eye and a lump in my throat.  No, I’m talking a full on puffy-eyed, snot-nosed, can’t-control-it meltdown.  Believe me, it ain’t pretty. 

            Even as a kid it was the same.  I saw my grandparents twice a year like clockwork, but that didn’t matter when it came to goodbyes.  At the end of each visit when it was time to go, I’d hug my grandpa, he’d say “I love you, Hon,” and I’d promptly burst into tears and sob for the next half hour until the plane had reached a comfortable cruising altitude.  So as you can imagine, the last few goodbye-filled weeks have been a little rough.  I actually tried to write this blog post a few days before I left Daytona, but just writing about goodbyes was too emotional and I couldn’t get more than a few sentences in without ending up in tears again.  So yes,  goodbyes stink, but as someone told me when I said that during our tearful parting, they are supposed to.  

As I drove away, thinking about how much being separated from those you love hurts, and how painful goodbyes can be, that comment came back to me. Farewells are supposed to hurt. It’s really just a sign that you have connected and cared for another person, that you have invested in a relationship.  If it is easy to walk away, from a person or a place, then there probably wasn’t much closeness or investment.  So what the last few weeks of sentimental moments and sad goodbyes tell me is that I have been extremely blessed.  Each painful farewell is a reminder that I have a life filled with wonderful friends and family for whom I genuinely care, and that I’m leaving a place in which I am invested.  So when you think about it, I suppose there is a silver lining to those awful goodbyes after all.    

*Here's a song from my soundtrack for this next adventure. I heard this song on the radio in Arkansas this summer and it struck a chord.  This new journey was still just a far off possibility at the time, but when I heard the song I knew there was a day coming when it would say just what I feel.  It's called "Follow Love" by FFH. It's a bit sappy, but indulge my sentimentality this once, I think I'm allowed right now. I promise to compensate with an extra dose of sarcasm in my next post. :-)  You can listen to it here.

Follow Love

I'm gonna miss this simple town full of memories, 

I'm gonna miss just hanging out with all my friends,

Rainy days and summer nights,

Skipping stones by the river side, 

But I know... it's time to go.

So here's goodbye, here's so long,

I must go and follow love,

I feel my heart moving on,

I must go and follow love,

Carry on while I'm gone,

This is what I've been dreaming of,

I miss you so, but I must go,

Go and follow love.

I've got a heart that's full of dreams and a little bit crazy,

I can feel it pulling me to somewhere I have never been,

I'm packing up and leaving home,

To travel into the great unknown, 

It's time, I have to go

-Chorus-

We're not guaranteed tomorrow,

So we must just keep on living for today,

And make the most of every moment,

Every step along the way.

-Chorus-

I must go, go and follow love.