And Now the Truth Can Be Told (or... Goodbye Richmond) It was just over a year ago when I sat in my first service at MCC. They played a surprise and hilarious video to welcome me. It was set to Phillip Phillips “Home”. I’m playing this song right now. I was so excited; not only because I loved the song, but because we have been looking for home for so very long. Could I dare to dream that we finally found it? Were these people really going to make it that way? I don’t believe in omens, but getting the moving truck lodged into our driveway from the very beginning wasn’t a very good sign! It was at such a angle that the moving guys I hired couldn’t even unload it. I wish I could say we had a group from the church came help me unload when we finally got it towed straight, but only one teen came. ...that’s one more than I’ve had come to help me at many churches. And I’ll tell you what; as long as I live, I will always remember him and be a fan for that simple afternoon of help. And there we were in a new place. We knew no one, knew nothing, but had such high hopes that finally, after so many years of wondering, we were home. A year later I watched the moving truck drive off with everything we owned in the world. I packed the truck myself. Soon I gather the few remaining articles, pack them in my car and drive away from this brief stop on our journey in life. If I tried to tell you this wasn’t heartbreaking, I would be lying. For the last month, I felt like a ghost walking around Mechanicsville. I had no purpose. I had no plan. I still had loyal friends, but I didn’t really see them much. I felt when I ran into someone that I use to know from the church the subtext was always, “Why are you still here?”. I wanted to scream out, “WHERE AM I SUPPOSE TO GO?”. The problem was that I was deathly afraid the answer would be, “Who cares. As long as it away from here.” Sometimes I got the pity stare. Sometimes the cold shoulder as people whizzed by me in the grocery store before we were forced to make conversation, or ignoring me completely while running down the street. ..like I was invisible ...like I was a ghost. That’s the problem when you work at church. You not only lose you job, but you lose your church family and most of your friends. The outcome is nothing short of devastation. The outcome is loneliness and rejection. You begin thinking, “Maybe I wasn’t really part of the family they promised I was. Maybe I was never more than just an employee.” My use to them is over, now all I am is an embarrassment to be managed and then moved on. I got hundreds and hundreds of “We’re praying for you”’s I’ve grown to resent that phrase. That’s not a good thing. I need to come back from that. Prayer’s a good thing! I want prayer. I need prayer! But what I really wanted was someone to talk to; someone who would see me as the lost, hurting person I was and not a etherial specter wondering around a foreign land. And some were that to me. Some sought me out to be there, and to let me know I have not been forgotten. Some in person and some online. Those people, like that young man who was the sole person to help me move in, will never be forgotten! Jon Ashcroft said that often in a crisis, in a life “reset”, those you were sure would have your back are often nowhere to be found. But you will be surprised that some who you thought were only in the sidelines of your life will step up and be there for you in a way that will surprise you. ...Treasure those people. So here I am, soon to be getting into my car. This place was never made my home. But maybe that was too lofty a burden to put on busy people. Maybe it was never their job to begin with. Maybe instead of me slowly slipping into bitterness that their promise was never fulfilled, I should look instead at myself. Perhaps I can find it in me to share forgiveness all around, and maybe I can add myself to that list. I look at those who brought this whole thing on as they are going through a crisis of their own. Part of me says that I should rejoice in this. Isn’t that Karma? But instead it’s just heartbreaking. At the end of the day, we are all just humans, and all just broken. We all have people that hurt us and we have people we’ve hurt. And haven’t the most precious times of my life been when I found out that those I have hurt have forgiven me? It’s time to move on from this. To continue to forgive. The more I think of it, the more I think that maybe I have too lofty an ideal of what “home” is. Maybe it’s not just the house, or the acreage, or the friends who come over for a fire on a cool Autumn night. Maybe it truly is about where your heart is. Maybe home is what you make it. Sure it sucks to have to be leaving town without fanfare, with no crowd of friends hugging you and giving you final words of affection. And yes, it breaks my heart to be slipping off like a ghost who finally just dissolves into the void. But maybe this last year wasn’t all just sadness... There was the time we took that picture for the Kid’s Church poster. It turned out so well and was so much fun to do. There was that dance party. Man, can that Taylor kid dance. It was so much fun bowling with Casey and the family on New Years. I think I won every game I played that day. That never happens. Late nights sessions, shopping trips, dress rehearsals and even fondue treats as we got ready for the Murder Mystery night. It was torture keeping the knowledge of the murderer secret, but so worth it when Amy found out and played her part perfectly. ...and I’ll never be able to look at the Statue of Liberty again without laughing!!! Thanks David! Watching the coolest kids ever as they sang in worship to God. Being able to sit on stage with my stupid conga drum and watch as leaders and kids grew more in love with God. Laughing hysterically out with the pastors as we ate dinner the night before going to see Andy Stanley. My stomach hurt from laughing so much. Orange Conference bliss, finally being able to go with a team of people and my family, all whom I loved. It was the closest to heaven I’ve been for a long time. Never really finding out what they call Lumberjack competitions, but definitely finding out what they DON’T call them! Early morning winter runs, late night Kidzanya practices, meetings where we laughed, prayed and cried in one of the greatest offices I’ve ever been in. Friends coming over to read books, discover our leadership potential, worshipping together. Hanging out with the Junior leaders and watching as they began to see all that God was calling them too. Dreaming with those who forgotten how to dream. Hoping with those who forgotten how much fun hope can be. Praying with those who needed to hear from the one they prayed to. Doing communion for 5 hours straight. Finally really understanding what communion was all about. So I’m sitting here in my Panara for the last time, crying and laughing quite publicly. I guess thats fitting. And I’m listening to Mr. Phillips remind me that I’m not alone. He tells me to settle down, because it’ll all be clear. He tells me to pay no mind to those demons that fill me with fear. He promises that if I get lost... ...I can always be found. He promises me home. I just want to go home. That’s the dream I’m following into this next life. I don’t want to leave like a ghost that dissolves into the night. Yet leave like one I shall. But not without hope. Not without the knowledge that those I leave are not so soon forsaken. I don’t know if I shall ever see you again, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t had a part in making my home, as it was. And for that, I shall never forget you. And beside, I’m sure we’ll meet again one day. So, for now, good-bye those I’ve known and loved in Richmond. See you in another life. youtube/watch?v=HoRkntoHkIE
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 13:39:49 +0000
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