Take notes and wash the dishes.

“Welcome home…or Welcome back? Which is it?”

What a question. Was I coming or leaving? Soon as I returned this morning, I took the walk down to my refuge, Burien Press. It had been a while, and I thought seeing faces I adore would ease the transition. I was startled by the question to be honest. Maybe she saw it on my face, but my mind still hadn’t left the Rock. So, which is it?

When you learn something, you should write it down. You won’t remember it later. And if you don’t remember it later, it’s like it never happened. To get it back, you have to relearn it all over again. And that’s exhausting for everyone when all along you could have just taken notes. School is one thing, but life is another. I can’t keep going in circles, can’t keep failing the same class over and over again. I’ll go mad, and God is a teacher I do not want to disappoint. I want to avoid all that.

So I write because I need to remember. I need to remember what it was like. I need to remember what He told me. I need to remember the people, oh…the people. I need to remember how washing thousands of dishes a day with some of God’s finest brought me so much joy. I need to remember that I’m not here to read about and stalk Jesus; I’m here to move, to act—love does. I need to remember that when I forget about myself, He gives me life, and I want to remember what that life is like. That life is simple. It’s real. It’s good. It’s honest. And most importantly, it’s possible.

I got to see what it was meant to be like, and I can’t let go of that. I have to write it down. It was meant to be full of joy. There is joy in waking up early to the smell of dead fish in Hobart's belly. There is joy in scrubbing dozens of sheet pans and smelling like the “river” everyday. There is joy in taking breaks to dance, and rap, and walk around the kitchen. There is joy in yelling the names of people you love just to keep them on their toes. There is joy in sorting bags and bags of trash. There is joy in carrying freight up ramps at low tide. There is joy in the frustration of being in the middle of a 40-person game of signs. There is joy in sharing one shower with 20 people. There is joy in spilling your life, your insecurities to people whom you may have just met but somehow trust with everything you’ve got. There is joy in serving. There is so much joy.

It was meant to be full of love. There is love in conflict and reconciliation. There is love in praying for each other. There is love in knowing each other’s “levels.” There is love in hearing each other’s stories and asking tough questions. There is love in sharing the weight of each other’s jobs and lending hands to help. There is love in creating a conversation with a stranger just so you can know their name and use it for six days. There is love in serving. So much love.

It was meant to be full of hope. There is hope in knowing it’s not about me. There is hope in knowing I am second. There is hope in knowing that He makes the difference in every single life. There is hope in knowing that even if I forget this, He will never forget me. And right now, all I want to do is honor this glimpse He gave me. There is hope in serving. So much hope.

So, which is it? Truth be told, I don’t want to answer the question. I’m not sure it matters anyway. He is still working. Still telling me what that life is like, so we have to keep writing. Write so that we can remember and move forward. You need to write too. It’s the only way for us all to get home.