In Case You Didn't Get a Christmas Card

You must keep choosing truth or the rest of it is pointless…

I have a membership to the Art Institute of Chicago—going on two years now. A friend said I should, and a few months later, I did. It’s not because I love art or really old furniture. It’s because everyone needs a place. A place of refuge to sort out the truth from the lies. A place to read and journal in peace but not too much peace. A place to be inspired. In Seattle, it was Three Tree Point. In Chicago, it’s the Art Institute. Very different, but for me, very much the same.

I was there last week. The strangers wait in line, but I walk right in. They have a member lounge with free coffee and tea. During the months of November and December, there is also hot chocolate. I like to roam the floors before I head to lounge. I people watch and listen in on foreign tongues.  

Eventually I find my place at the bar sipping cocoa and staring at a wall. I read a bit to set the mood, and then I sit back and wonder about my life. This particular day, I review my past year. Highlights. Lowlights. Mostly lowlights. Mostly because I made them that way. I spend the rest of my time thinking about Earl Palmer and my week in Oxford studying C.S.Lewis. I’ve spent days thinking about this particular week. Something about it.

C.S. didn’t become a Christian until he was 32. He didn’t get married until he was 58. He didn’t fall in love until 59. He was frequently depressed and often poor—giving away most of his money. But, the man had friends. Good friends. And he was a good friend—the best I’ve ever heard of. He was patient in his life but always seeking. He was mellow.

I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately. Mellow. I think it’s because I know I’m going to keep changing, keep seeking, keep making decisions, and then keep changing my mind. I am not putting my weight down on any one place or job or person. I finally understand that the Gospel allows me to be free of that pressure. When I put my weight down on truth, it makes sense out of everything. It illuminates all the scenes I’ve already seen and pulls them together. It makes everything else settle down. It allows me to be mellow.

How thankful I am for this truth. It is where life begins and anxiety dissolves.

May you find a bit of truth this season in whatever form it’s delivered. You can never quite guess.

Lies my devil told me

I was sitting on a desk in a colleague’s classroom. Thursday afternoon. School was over, and I was probably complaining about something, as this seems to be my greatest feat this year. I complain really well.

I didn’t want to talk to any more students. Five more days and this school year will be over. 

A student waving in the hall caught my attention. She was waving at me. What does she want? Does she want to know how to bring her grade up with one more day of class left? Does she want an extra copy of something she lost? Am I going to have to get up and do something for her? I waved her in, as it was my duty.

“I was going to wait to give this to you tomorrow, but here.” She held out her hand to give me something. I reached out and cupped her gift. A Ferrero Rocher chocolate. I could tell she was really excited to give this to me, so much so, she couldn’t wait another day. She had this chocolate planned for me. Immediately I felt so undeserving of the hazelnut goodness. I had just been dreading her visit, and here, all she wanted to do was give me this gift.

Anger bought this year from me, and I gave it up for cheap. The idea of a location completely changing the person you are, I never thought that’d be me. I thought I knew God well enough—well enough to stay mellow. But as it is, I dread everything. Even gifts. And I aged. It’s noticeable. So many wrinkles, and it’s all my fault. You can go home again, but you can’t return to who you were 10 years ago, and you can’t remain who you’ve been the past six years. And so I end up tired and angry and lost. I end up falling short of many expectations, including my own, and 100 pounds heavier. I feel like everybody wants to tell me, I’m not who they expected. Everybody wants to tell me they thought I’d bring more joy or humor. But all I bring is dread. 

But I can’t stop thinking about Thursday. I can’t stop thinking about how much I dreaded the girl in the hallway. I can’t stop thinking about how I wanted to send her away. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened next. 

And hope doesn't disappoint us

I was going to read the Bible tonight. I got to my room, ready to settle in, and then I realized that I left the Book and my journal in my car. Oh well. I wasn’t that determined. I wish I could be.

I visited REI for the first time post-Seattle today. I was wearing my Sounders scarf as I often do in hopes of running into someone who might know them or where they’re from. It worked. An employee asked if I was a Sounders fan. I lied and said I used to be, before I moved here. It was a resentful tone in my voice, one to make the demon on my shoulder proud. She told me she used to live there, just moved in fact. I halted my movement toward the flannel shirts to extend this worthy dialogue. Me too. She asked how I was adjusting. Not well. She agreed. 

I asked how she ended up in Chicago. Turns out, she’s originally from here. Just. Like. Me. We left the conversation encouraging each other and echoing back and forth,  “it’s going to get better.” “It’s going to get better.” “It’s going to get better.”

But what if it doesn’t.

I ask myself, what is it about the Northwest that holds me so captive. The trees, the water, the mountains. The people, the culture, the churches. The beauty, the weather, the smell. The coffee, the freighters, the houses built on hills. The sunsets. The ministry. My relationships, my history, my growth. My mistakes, my progress, my faith. My story. It’s all there.

I like to think I could get on and be okay without those things. Only time will tell. But what I cannot get past or recover from, what makes me cling to even the worst times in that city, and leaves me totally desperate to return is that I just don’t know how to love God in Chicago like I loved Him in Seattle.

I don’t know how to read the Bible here. I don’t know how to pray here. I don’t know how to talk about God here.  Or sing worship. Or journal. I don’t know how to serve. I am a different person here.

And I should have seen this coming. Every break, every weekend I returned home the past decade, was so barren. So fruitless in our relationship. Everything was on pause until I could go back. I imagine it like a relationship with periods of time in which the distance is too great for it to progress and there’s no possible communication. Wouldn’t that hold a heart hostage? Of course, it’s not like that at all because, no, God doesn’t only exist in Malibu and, no, he doesn’t only exist in Burien—even if it is the center of the universe.

It’s embarrassing. I used to preach, ‘God is home.’ No matter where we are, God is home. But I don’t know how to live that. I still believe it.  I just don’t know how to let Him be that for me. But I’m going to figure it out. It may take a couple years, and I may be starting all over again, taking huge leaps backward, and re-growing in every possible way, but I’m going to figure it out. And at the end of all this, if I can love God here like I used to—here, without the mountains, the water, the trees, the hills, the coffee, the weather, the smell, the sunsets, the people—if I can love God here like I used to, then someone needs to write a book about it or at the very least, a romantic film.

If not, I guess I can always move back--that's usually what they do in the movies anyway.

Goodnight, Seattle. I'll Miss The Coffees.

I imagine the credits start rolling as I hit the I-90 bridge across Lake Washington. The camera pulls out and my car gets lost with all the others as NEEDTOBREATHE’s Keep Your Eyes Open socks you right in the gut. And then you wonder, can anything ever compare to what you’ve just been a part of? The obvious answer is no, but then again, who would have ever expected it in the first place?

They told me I had ten days to decide. I sat in in the courtyard of the Student Union on the University of Illinois campus. I had just been offered a job. I only showed up that day to have a break from student teaching. I had signed in and was ready to leave the job fair when I found a circle of friends at its entrance. I listened to their experiences with several prospective employers. Then Matt came over and joined the bunch. He was a fellow secondary math hopeful. They asked me how it had been going. I told them I was just there to sign in and leave. There was no one at the fair I was interested in talking to—Seattle and Portland were not represented.  Matt corrected me and said he just spoke to Seattle, and they’re very nice. He asked if I wanted to go meet them. “Nahh, no I’m not ready.” Four tries later, he grabbed my arm and dragged me over to their table. I hate when people do that. He introduced me and then left.

And so there I was. Sitting in a booth, explaining on the phone to my brother and dad what just happened. We couldn’t find out much about the Highline School District. I tried to google pictures and news stories, but what it really came down to was that I could be done with the search and no longer have to worry about finding a job out west. I think I called on the ninth day. The following June I was placed at Highline High School. I can’t believe I did that.

I came out here with a cell phone. That’s it. I had to rent time with computers at coffee shops to try and find target stores and directions to school. What was I thinking? I only meant it to be two years, but then God got involved. And you know very well, He writes the good stories. And so I let Him. The next four years He trusted me with a group of kids that would soon change the way I love, the way I look at myself, and the way I worship. He trusted me with relationships that would change my adventure into my home. He introduced me to people who would mold me in a permanent way—friends who spend the day packing up your house and fitting it into a mini-van, kids who show up just to help you clean, and family that welcomes you into their home even though you woke them up very early in the morning. 

These good people. 

If I hadn’t left, I never would have seen this. I never would have known what He is capable of building. He trusted me with so much that maybe now I can trust Him a little more. And I think that’s why I have to do this—why I have to leave.

There is love here. No doubt. It’s healed me. There is truth here. It’s freed me. There is faith here. It’s mellowed me. But I’m ready to feel awkward, pushed, and a little scared again. I’m ready to see what He’s going to write this time. 

Rattlesnake Ledge June 2, 2012

If God really is who He says He is, then I don’t want to live in a cloud. 

It was a rainy Saturday morning, but I’m hardcore so I got up anyway and headed to the popular Rattlesnake Ledge. Most people refer to it as Rattlesnake Ridge, but that’s not what the sign says. The parking lot had enough cars to feel comfortable and few enough to not feel annoyed.

You have to walk a rocky path to get to the trailhead, but on the way you meet Rattlesnake Lake. It feels like a scene out of Lord of the Rings. You can see remnants of the Ents after the battle for middle earth. It’s weird.

The rain let up as I began to climb or maybe the trees just took over. Either way, I was reasonably dry. The trail is nothing too interesting beyond the lake, unless of course, you’re with a good friend. It was a beautiful forest when I took time to lift my head and look. I was working my way up another switchback and then it happened. Everything became so much clearer, so much better. I turned around and looked back at where I had come from.  It was complete mist and fog. I had been walking through a cloud, and I didn’t even know it. To me, everything seemed right and beautiful, just as it should have been. I had no idea how wrong I was until the path cleared up.

After standing there for a few minutes amazed at what just happened, I began to think about how we don’t realize when things become foggy on our walk with God until we go to a place like Malibu, hear an uncomfortable sermon, experience a tear-jerking quiet-time, or take a hike. Then you look back and see what you were doing—living in a cloud. I had just visited Malibu earlier in the week. The experience was unreal for me. I felt more myself than anywhere, anytime in my life. It’s so clear up there. This hike was reminding me of it. It was telling me not to go back to who I was. It’s hard though because most of the time, you don’t even realize you’re pretending until He gives you another moment. But then again, knowing Him, maybe we just need to ask.

Show & Tell

I bought a pair of sweatpants in May. I’ve worn them every day since then. I wear them to bed, I wear them out, I wear them if I can get away with wearing them. If you’ve seen me in the past month, then you probably know what I’m talking about. I haven’t washed them yet either. That’s not the shocker, though. Written down the left pant leg in giant purple letters is the word “HUSKIES”. Has your jaw dropped yet? Thought I’d never wear something even once advertising the dawgs, and now, here I am, doing it every day. In fact, not only did I refuse to assume loyalty, but I became a hater. What’s happened to me?

The last week of school we had show & tell in AVID. Each student brought in something that was important and explained the story of its existence to the class. Nothing they showed was especially monetarily valuable—nothing super impressive when given a first glance—nothing I would pick out of a dumpster. Yet, each day a presenter would struggle through a story while wiping away tears. A set of keys, a basketball, a wallet, a half torn piece of paper—somehow these worthless things became symbols of resilience, reconciliation, relationship, and freedom. The class would become silent as we realized we were being let into a special moment in another’s life—one we could never know without being told. Really this show and tell wasn’t at all about the things each kid brought in, it was about the memory it allowed them to share.

I bought a pair of sweatpants in May. I bought them after I had made a big decision. They say “HUSKIES” down the left pant leg, and I feel at home when I wear them. Part of me thinks I should save them for later, but I can’t. I want to live in them. When I think of all they represent, I wipe away tears. Behind them is a story of transformation, integration, and relationships. They reflect countless memories of a god being so faithful to his daughter and a promise that his faithfulness never grows shallow.  They will remind me to remember this, and they will push me to continue because if we continue to lean, He will continue to dazzle.

You probably wouldn’t pick them out of a dumpster, but six years ago I wouldn’t have either.

Great Expectations

I had just finished a 6-hour scrabble match. More importantly, I had just said bye to the Rossers—potentially the last time I see them for years or perhaps a lifetime. Right now seems to be a transitioning moment in life for many.

It was 1230 am, and I had to finish packing for my trip. I had finally made peace with checking a bag. I mean, it’s two weeks, and I need options. 1235 comes along with a rap on my door. It’s Rosser. “Do you have any jumper cables?”

Could it have ended any other way? No. I know coming back in the morning to take care of jumping a truck is a nuisance for them. I know it. But it brought me a great deal of closure and humor. So, for this, I am thankful. It did not end on a mushy note but a fitting one.

1am to bed. 430 wake up. Savored my last pour-over and waited for my ride. The airport looks busy, but Sea-Tac’s never impressed me with slowness. Not a hint of anxiety on me. Not even a hint. My ticket was bought with miles under American Airlines, but the first leg is on Alaska—so this is where I attempt to check-in. They’ve got a great thing going on there. It’s a breeze, unless of course, the machine does not recognize that you have reservations. Hmm. Ok, so I must have to go to American, which I think is this way. Still, calm. Not even a hint. Yes, I see American. Yes, I also see that ridiculous line wrapped around the corner and expanding into the security gate’s hallway. This shouldn’t be too bad; machines are fast, the line will move. Sigh of relief as I figure out these people are all in line to speak to an agent!? Why?! Just use the machines, you bunch of crazies. No line at the machines. And it recognizes my name. Searching….searching….searching.  No itinerary found.

Alright, let’s be serious here. I pulled out my phone to check the e-mail sent to me by the purchaser. What if I search by my flight number instead of destination city? Ding, ding, ding! Yes, there it is. Those are my flights. I’m sorry, what? Go see an agent? My flights aren’t all through American? You can’t give me my passes and check me in?? Maybe if you saw the line, you could make an exception. You don’t talk? OK.

I walk around the corner to the end of the line. When I reach the last person, I immediately leave. I walk back to Alaska not really sure what my plan was. I do not have time to stand in a line. I didn’t think it was going to be like this. Oh, can’t I just go back? Back to how it used to be. I didn’t know what I was talking about, but this seems to be my reoccurring cry of distress.

I’m just going to try the Alaska machine again. I don’t have a confirmation number…but we’ll try a little of this, a little of that. These are the moments when some people pray—these are usually the same kind who pray for parking spots. Then when they find a spot, they think God gave it to them when really all along, it may have been there anyway. Don’t they ever wonder about that? I’m not one of those people. Yes!!! The machine recognizes me. I don’t really understand why it changed its mind, but I promise to move to Alaska as it prints my passes.

Security gate nerves? Not even a hint. These lines have always been good to me. I got up to the front, unloaded, unpacked, undressed… Oh, what’s this? A knife? Oops. Well, it’s decision time. Do I leave it and try to get past the surveyor without its detection. Or do I say something? Are they going to interrogate me if I leave it? Oh my gosh, this knife cost money. I want it. They’re going to take it from me. “Ummm, excuse me. I just realized I have this in my bag.  And I’m guessing it’s not ok. “ “No, that’s a blade.” “Right, so…” I was waiting for the woman to just take it from me, but she was hesitant for some reason. Do you want me to tell you to take it? Just take it! “We’re going to have to confiscate this.” She took it from me, and told another guard that I “surrendered” my x-acto knife. I sure did. I’m such a good, honest person.

Alright, so just let me get dressed and to the lounge so I can make pancakes and get syrup all over myself. My stay at the club was the shortest I’ve ever had. I really did not give myself much time today, which makes sense since it’s the high season of traveling…

Apparently, my flight to Reno is on a little plane. I have to go outside to board it. I didn’t even realize I was never assigned a seat number until I saw my name on the information board. There was a check next to it, which made me think I had a spot. Correct.

Through the gate and to the plane. There are three planes, and I’m not sure which one to go to, but the woman before me went through my gate, so obviously I should follow her onto the right plane. Greetings to the attendant. Walking down to row 19, seat E. I thought it was going to be a middle seat, but the plane is so tiny, it’s a window!

The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but I’m too busy rejoicing over the window that I don’t start listening until the end…”Make sure you are headed to Pasco because the gate you went through is used for three different flights, and people sometimes get on the wrong plane.”

Hmmm. “People like me!” I turn around while people laugh at me. You know how hard it is to go the opposite flow of direction in the aisle of a plane? So hard. The attendant told me the workers on the ground could tell me which plane is mine, but you know what? They couldn’t. I told them I would just keep boarding planes ‘til I found mine.

But I found it. And the flight was nothing write-worthy. Reno airport on the other hand…usually, I do not mind spending a few hours in a busy airport during holiday season. I just love it. I found the exception. This place is a dead zone. First of all, the terminal I’m in is half the size of the breezeway at Highline, and second, there’s just no one in it. Oh, and I guess there’s a third…no coffee. Get a grip, Nevada. It’s complete silence interrupted by the “wheel of fortune” machine every 2 minutes. Spending four hours here is just beneath me. I look up at the flight boards. There is an American flight to Chicago at 1145. If I could just hop on that…call my brother, he tells me call American if there is no one at the desk. Alright, call American. I keep hitting zero so I can just talk to someone, but the technology has become sensitive to this approach. The robot tells me she knows I want to talk to someone but if I could just answer a couple questions first, it would help get my info ready. Alright, fine. Eventually, I connect with a woman who makes me repeat all of my flight info anyway. I tell her what I want to do. She says the flight was bought with award points, and I can only get on the other flight if it has award spots available, which it doesn’t. She looks at it some more. She informs me that the 1145 flight goes through Dallas first. Oh, hmm, well nevermind then. Goodbye.

I guess I’m here til 1. I stare back up at the board and think about how weird it is to show that the flight goes to Chicago, if it actually goes to Dallas first. Really weird. This is affirmed when I realize I’ve actually been looking at the arrivals board.

We’re boarding in five minutes. This flight takes just as long as the flight straight from Seattle. I think that’s weird too. But on the other side, I know that O’Hare awaits me. Not just O’Hare, but O’Hare at Christmas time. Is there a better place to be than O’Hare just days before the 25^th? If there is, I don’t know it. I’m tempted to tell my mom to pick me up an hour late, just so I can run around and watch people and use the bathrooms over and over again. While I’m on the plane, I think about how weird the day has been. I relive it in my head and realize I forgot to take the bagel out of the toaster in the boardroom. 

It is not a full plane. There are people in the back laying across three seats and sleeping. I do not have that luxury, but I don’t mind. I read about Pip. At the moment, he’s discovering that someone has great expectations for him. This is what he’s been dreaming about for years; he’s about to become a gentleman. But in the same moment, he feels so much conflict about leaving his old life for one he thinks will be so much “better.” I stare of into space (literally) many times thinking about his problem and its parallels in my own life. I’ve kind of decided no life is ever better, especially the one you think will be better.

We land. We taxi to our gate for 20 minutes. 20 minutes of driving!? This airport is huge and lovely. I walk off the jetway. So many people, so many lights and big red bows. I get to walk through the hallway with a domed ceiling made up of windows. Birds made out of evergreen and lights are above me alternating with garlands and, of course, the huge golden globe.

I walk outside. Its weather is comparable to Seattle’s. Immediately, I hear the traffic cop arguing with someone who wants to sit and wait for his arriving guest. Not in this town, buddy. I wait. My mom is on her way. I watch the people embracing their visitors, family, friends…quickly, of course, so as to not enrage the regulator. The airport reminds me this an exciting time of year, and I get to be a part of it. As the next car drives past me, I catch the license plate, “Illinois.” Hmm. That’s right. I’m somewhere else now. It never really hits me until the cars tell me so.

I get the feeling that the next two weeks are going to be eventful in more than just obvious ways. In exactly two weeks, I age. I cover my mouth to hold back the gag reflex. Where did my life go? As it is, I have no plans for the next two weeks, but I know they will be made quickly. Before I know it, I'll be right back here. I cover my mouth again. Maybe I will know more about myself, my life, my future in two weeks. Maybe I will have a huge epiphany. Maybe, God will talk to me. Two weeks. The shortest, longest period of time I know to exist. Am I nervous? Maybe just a hint.