Thursday, August 28, 2008

UA Flight 922 - Part IX

She called me.  The woman I love.  She called me while I was driving to a place I haven’t known for four years.  A room I haven’t stepped foot in on a Wednesday night since college began.  She called me and made sure I was happy.  She wanted to say goodnight. 

Just seconds before my phone rang I was struggling with the thought of calling her.  “Do I call her?  Do I not?  I should call her.  I should tell her I love her.  But I don’t want to make her sad.  I want her to fall to sweet dreams.”  I never called her.  I put the windows down.  Turned the music up.  And raced around every corner Tremont held.  I prayed for God to keep her.  I prayed that he’d tell her how much I truly love her. 

I prayed and seconds later she called; only a few turns, a straight away, and not even 100 feet progressed and my prayer got answered.  It’s crazy how God orders things.  I say this because that statement is becoming more of a reality to me.

Like back in 2006 I decided to move to England for a year.  I went to study abroad or as my old boss used to say, “Are you sure you’re just going to study one broad, or many broads?”  We used to joke about that a lot.  So corny. 

And I actually went to London.  I up and moved over 3,000 miles to go to school.  I found it quite fitting since I was an English major.  Figured, “Why not just study English in England?”  That was the only logic behind it all.

I turned 21 the summer before my trip.  It was a summer to remember.  I played ball once again for an amateur league in Boston.  Swung the bat for the Tigers.  Wore number five.  Then I worked between 40 and 60 hours on most weeks.  The best thing about work that summer was how I used to rush to Whitehorse every morning.  I’d wake up extra early just so I could find a parking spot easily, head down to the beach, and finish my sleep there.  It was the best.  Then I’d go straight into work all gunked up with sunscreen and still shaking the sand out of my boxers.  Nothing could beat that summer.

It’s like I had finally topped off and reached the peak of my life.  I was a complete beach bum managing to bring home a pay check and play a sport that only kids should be allowed to play.  I mean, I dressed up in a Tiger’s uniform and played for stands filled with parents.  There was no difference between me and a five year old.  Just instead of bringing all the pales and buckets to the beach, I brought a radio with Jack Johnson albums and a book.

September rolled around quick that year because I was so busy.  Before I knew it I was on a plane by myself heading to some far off unknown territory.  I had only read about England in history texts books or in stories like Le Morte D’Arthur and the Canterbury Tales.  I knew the Beatles and Shakespeare and Manchester United.  But I didn’t know what to expect; I traveled without any expectations.  And, I have to say, that’s the best way to travel.

Within the first week I was really partying.  I met all sorts of new people.  People from all over the states, people with funny accents, people from Turkey and Holland and Germany and France; I met the world while clubbing.  It wasn’t the clubbing that proved to be the problem; it was the after party.  One night, luckily, I did go to an after party.

It wasn’t anything huge.  There weren’t any strippers there.  No poker games.  No strobe lights and fog machines.  Not even a couch or a TV could be found in the room.  It was just a bunch of chairs with people chilling and talking.  We relaxed.  Well, I drank. 

I put back Jim Beam like he was my best friend.  And this was after I already had plenty of beers in my system.  Then this kid walked over to me from across the room.  I had met him earlier that night through this girl Susan.  He came up and re-introduced himself like he thought that I wouldn’t remember him.  I mean, it’s not like I was some sort of fool and social whore, but he probably realized I had plenty to drink and was one of many I met in the club.  His name was David.

“You can hold your liqueur pretty well there my friend,” he said to me.  He spoke just like John Lennon or Paul McCartney.  If only he found three others and started singing Back in the USSR.  Of course, I probably would have copped it off as my drink being laced with some crazy English drug.  “Don’t think I’ve ever really seen someone just keep throwing back shots of whisky straight from the bottle like that.”  I think I offered him the bottle out of kindness, but he returned the favor by not accepting.  Probably noticed I was slobbering all over it.

“Yeah.  It’s my friend’s.  She’s over there, across the room.  She told me to hold onto it for her.”  I was just awkward then.  I really didn’t know anyone in the room.  So I was sitting, well, trying to stand, but that proved near fatal for me a couple of times.  I chilled in the corner near the door that way I could make my quick get away and not be around people anymore.

But then we got to talking.  I don’t know what we talked about, but we somehow got on the topic of church and that’s all I remember.  I told him I went to church back home.  That I was hoping to find a church here, but hadn’t been able to.  It’s not like I was searching for one that hard; I just flew in the week before.  So you know, I was still exploring.  That was probably more of an excuse at the time, but I really did want to find a church.  Seriously.  It was the first thing on my to-do list.

He told me that he went to church as well.  That there was a church right up the street.  And then he actually invited me along to one of the services.  Of course I accepted.  I was ecstatic.  Well, I was drunk as well, so anything sounds fun at that point.  “God, woo hoo, yeah.”  I was thinking something like that of course.  It went together well, drunk kid and God that is. 

In all seriousness, it did though.  It’s insane how God turns things around.  How, even though I was being foolish and drinking way too much, God still kept me.  God still remained faithful even with my unfaithfulness.  He still remained constant in my life.  And he never let me go.

You see, I’m not proud of that moment or any similar moment, but God was there.  He still used the bad for his good.  And it’s changed my life ever since.

I won’t advocate for drunkenness.  But I will advocate that God is in control of life.  Even though I’ve gone against God, even though I’ve made mistakes, God’s still been like, “No, you’re not meant to do that, but I forgive you.  Now try walking this way.  Try to get up again.  There’s no reason to feel guilty.  You’re just not meant to do that.  You’re meant to live a life that’s so much grander and better than you could ever possibly conceive.  Follow me.  I’m here for you.  I’ll be here with you the entire time.  No worries.”  And so I’ve walked on and I’ve learned from those mistakes.

Sometimes I do revisit those same mistakes I already made.  Then I notice God saying the same thing: “I love you and I will always love you.  Now come with me again.” 

And I will betroth you to me forever.  I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.  I will betroth you to me in faithfulness.  And you shall know the Lord.  (Hosea 2:19&20)

How life can take a 180 in the blink of an eye baffles me.  How one instant I can be worrying about a relationship and the next saying goodnight to the woman I love and sending her off with all I can give from miles away; it will never make sense.  How God knows my heart through and through is wild. 

Being held in detention, back that night in London, was a trip.  I still stood in Michael Kane’s office for two – awkwardly standing and trying to rub the ink off my fingers.  It didn’t come off.  I washed.  I scrubbed.  I scratched my fingers with the paper towel roll, but it never came off.  It was like I was branded.  They took my identity.  Copied it at a copier machine.  And thought nothing of it really; it was only procedure.

I didn’t sit down until another man came in.  He was more of a portly fellow.  Short.  Grey hair, not neat at all.  Came in with a big smile on his face.  It was just another day at the workplace for him.

He told me to please take a seat.  So I did.  I did whatever they said.  I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if I disobeyed them.  I mean, was I going to be thrown in cuffs if I didn’t listen to them?  Were they going to just keep me there?  Would I never see my home again?  The paranoia was obviously sinking in more and more.

But let me say that through and through there was this peace about the night.  There was this peace that carried me away from my thoughts where I wrestled with the ridiculous of not getting home.  Because you see, God was with me.  God was with me the entire time.  He never forsook me.

            And you shall know the Lord.  (Hosea 2:20)

My mind wandered around that room.  Blank stares.  I kept nothing to the imagination.  I took in every crack in the wall and how it flowed jagged then smooth and back again like a river running through a map.  My eyes based jumped the thick depth between each tile; they were meant to be complete squares, but some were broken off.  Maybe someone before me flipped out, started going all crazy and making a scene.  Tried punching Michael Kane or the other portly fellow.  They probably cleaned the blood strains on the floor before I got there.  Came up with some excuse like it was spilt wine.  And went on with the job of carefully stealing a person’s identity, copying it and supposedly keeping it only for immigration purposes.   

I’m not sure if you’ve ever been put in a difficult situation and I’m not sure of your life or any of who you are.  But God knows you.  He’s known you since the beginning.  He’s known you through and through.  It’s an intimacy only he has a way of constantly coming back to.  Though, “coming back to” really isn’t the right phrase because I’m not sure the Lord ever really leaves that intimacy.  It’s not like he walks out on you.  Turns his back to you.  It’s not like there’s some revolving door in your life with the God of the universe acting like some squirrel never really knowing, “Should I cross?  No.  I wait.  Wait, maybe I should cross.  But there’s a car coming.  Cool.  Cross cross cross.  No wait, back the other way.   Car’s closer.  Umm.”

If I could read a squirrel’s mind that’s totally what they’re thinking when I’m driving 40 mph toward them.  And it’s hard to believe the God who’s conceived of making a setting sun glint in my eyes and making me squint at its power has the possibility of thinking like a squirrel in the middle of the road.

No.  This God who’s made a cherry tree reflect the light of the heavens is a God who in not even one second can make life turn on its heal.  This God who’s created a red spectrum in a small tree leaf is a God who’s concerned with the welfare of you.  Then you get to catch the sun as it shines and lowers into an ever-inching-forward night.  And hopefully getting caught in that moment makes you smile.  Hopefully the realization that the Creator of the heavens and earth is actually intimate with you makes you smile too.

So I drove down Tremont to help out at youth group when Sorrel called.  I caught the sunset just above the tree line.  And God caught me like he never left me at all.  Like he is with me forever in mercy, in faithfulness, and in steadfast love.

And I will betroth you to me forever.  I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.  I will betroth you to me in faithfulness.  And you shall know the Lord.  (Hosea 2:19&20)

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