So for those of you who follow me on Facebook, you are painfully aware that my sister arrived this week for a 6 day trip. This is her first look into my new life in over 3 years. We cried when we embraced at the airport. My otherwise guarded reserve and culturally appropriate radar flew out the window. I bawled, embraced, and hugged her for what seemed to be a moment suspended in time … one of the most beautiful moments I’ve had in the physical realm for a really long time.
Since she has been here, we’ve shared laughter, tears, coffee, public transportation rides, more coffee, exercise, meals, and lots of new experiences for both her and me! She is different. Of course she has undergone a major life transformation in the last 8 weeks. She has started a journey towards healthy living, dropping 40 pounds and adding exercise (everyday!) to her routine. But there is a difference that time makes in a person … a difference you don’t see in the day-in-day-out experience of living close to someone. This morning, I’m reflecting on that difference … and feeling a bit … melancholy.
I just read in a friends blog the following statement that is crashing in on my world this morning:
sometimes following Jesus is a “forward-only” proposition. It is a one way trip. I can never be the person I was.I am letting those words kinda fall and hit into my world this morning. As they linger in my spirit … I get a little sad and a little excited all at the same time and I don’t really know why.
When we chose to move to Austria, we did so with no blinders on. No one forced us and no one asked us to stay. It was a move that was right and one that was being asked of us of the Creator of the Universe. We could have stayed in our nest in Norman, Oklahoma. However, we would have done so and been disobedient. When we signed on the dotted line to move here, we knew the risks. We knew things would be hard. There would be culture shock. There would be language to learn. There would be groceries to buy. There would be urban life. We knew that coming into it.
When the culture shock came, we rode it through. When the language got tough, we pushed through. When the groceries needed to be bought, we went to the store. When urban life was a challenge, we made it through.
Then, there were the challenges no one told us about … and the ones that only our hearts know how to communicate that language of. Having my sister come to see me has been one of those challenges. I am not the same. She is not the same. We’ve both been growing over 3 years in a “forward-only” fashion, but we can’t truly see that until we are face-to-face with one another. Six days will give us a better picture of each other’s progress … and each other’s soul … until the next time we see each other.
My melancholy mood has been affected not only by my sister’s visit, but the arrival of chocolate covered pretzels. Weird. One little tin of chocolate covered pretzels can toss my emotions to every gamet of the spectrum and then land right here where I started.
Every year, without contemplation of the significance of these morsels, we have seen and eaten Chris’ Moms chocolate covered pretzels. Since day one of being in the family, these have been a holiday staple. This year, Chris’ Mom sent us a box of Christmas gifts … and tucked in the bottom of this treasure chest was a simple tin of chocolate covered pretzels. I’m begining to cry thinking about the value of these walmat covered pretzels! They are a marker … a sign … a token of home.
Then it hits me. Her hands have touched these pretzels. I know it’s corny, but only 1,000 miles or more keep me from touching her hand … but these pretzels have touched her hands! That’s the cost of following God. I can’t hold the hand of the pretzel maker whenever I want to. I can’t see the progress of my sister’s journey any more than she can see mine. It hurts. Dare I say that it even seems unfair at times? Yet, it is the reality.
For those who don’t have a clue about a call to follow Jesus … and think following a Sunday school Jesus with long hair and robes that holds children in his arms and rests on a flannel board in a classroom is who Jesus is … you are sadly mistaken. This Jesus I’ve chosen to follow came to earth in a hostile and scandalous environment. Today, my life is hard and I suffer consequence of distance and heart emptiness for my family because I’ve chosen this hard road. I cry when I miss my sister. I hold a chocolate covered pretzel way too long because I know my Shirley made it. I stare at my Christmas tree and think about all the Christmas’ that have passed. I transport myself back home.
And … you wanna know something? It’s worth it. The tears and the ache ... all worth it. Why? I can somehow identity more know with my scandalous Jesus in this environment (a place I call home yet am a foreigner) than any other place from my past. I know this call isn’t easy … or isn’t cheap. I know full-well the challenges of leaving home and loved ones. I know the pain of longing to see and touch and hold those you love “back home”. Yet I still say it’s worth it. It’s worth the journey. It’s worth the forward call. It’s worth it. I am more honest about who I am and am not and who my Jesus is and is not because of having taken the first step of the crazy journey of obedience.
For now, I’m gonna post this blog … and go hug on my sister. I’ll probably cry for no reason … and she will too. We won’t say any words … but our hearts will be speaking the same language.
