Hiding Place

After I dropped Kathlean off this afternoon, I drove the short distance back to the apartments thinking how amazing it is that I am here. I drove past the front gates and remembered seeing them for the first time, a reluctant 17 year old, sure her visions of going away to school were selfish, impossible and, as some suspected, lacking substance. I finally felt like just about everyone I talked to before the week-long trip-- this was just something I needed to get out of my system. UMW was our last stop and I was counting the hours until we could be back in Williamsburg to go see Flags of Our Fathers.

Little did I know.

I called my Dad as I drove down College Ave. for a quick chat to thank him (and mom) for making me stick the trip out and not making me feel stupid for dreaming. He was at lunch with family and friends ordering water and sweet tea (jealous. Not really of them together but of the sweet tea), so I didn't really get around to the sentiment. We exchanged "I love yous" and I thought to myself how often I take that sentiment for granted.

I was in my parking space at this point.

When we hung up I had that usual feeling, just for a moment, of how it would be nice to be there. Truth is, there's just been a lot I've been carrying on my shoulders. So when the idea that being home sure would help came to mind, I was shocked to immediately counter myself. I thought, "no that's not it." I mean, home would be nice, but it is not what I need. And for the next week, wanting for home definitely isn't the answer. Home isn't it. Home isn't God.

Home is a hiding place for me. It's not for some. What do I tell them? "Well you're outta luck?" Home is a hiding place. God is a hiding place. But home is not God. And if home wasn't, I have to believe God still would be. If I'm going to teach it to my sunday school class of four year olds, I have to learn it for myself.

And I did teach it to them this morning. We talked about Mark 6 when Jesus walks on water. We did a game where they got to pick one thing in the room to stick in a bucket of water and everyone got to vote on if it would sink or float. We splashed around. We goofed off. Then I put the bucket on the floor and the kids took off their socks and shoes (except for the girls with their ridiculously cute tights on). We talked about boats and swimming lessons and storms. I shook the bucket to make waves and they laughed as it splashed over (in small amounts) on their pants and skirts. They made wind swooshing sounds and I explained that the disciples were helpless, scared. I asked them to imagine swimming lessons without an instructor or a wall to hold onto. Paddling a boat without getting anywhere. Defeat. I asked them if their parents would want to help them. It was, of course, a resounding "yes."

"But what if they couldn't?"

It's not a thought that much occurs to children. Or, really, to me. "Can your parents walk on water?" They had to think about it. I do too. One by one they shook their heads "no." "And can you walk on water?"

We tried to, just to get the point across. Each child (except for the precious tights-donners) stepped in and each time the reaction was "ope. You sink."

"Can James do it? ... no. Can Raelyn do it? ... no. Can Ethan do it? ... no." And so on and so forth. Can Sadie do it? ... No. "So you're out in the middle of a big lake, exhausted because you're trying so hard, scared because the boat might sink, and anxious because a storm is brewing. But your Mom can't get to you, your Dad can't get to you, and you have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Is there any hope?"

Of course, as the story goes, there is. Because Jesus did walk on the water and he can. The question of the lesson was "Is anything too hard for Jesus?" The "bottom line" of the lesson is that "Jesus can do anything." It's bolded on my instructors paper. I can't help but think that's not for the kids' sake. They aren't the ones reading the lesson.

So if what I long for (home just happens to be mine, you can fill in your own blank) isn't a hiding place, Jesus still is. Right? Because he can walk on water and I can't. 4 year old psychology, yes. 2,000 year old psychology, still. And I'm going to go with it.

I sat in my parking space and I just wasn't ready to let the moment go (I'm also going to be sad to let the spot go... VIP parking, baby). I needed my hiding place while I had the solitude to go there. I got my Bible from the back seat (ashamedly its residence more often than not) and mulled over it.

Jeremiah 32:17-- "Ah, Sovereign Lord, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you." Appropriate.

Hosea 14:1-2-- "Return, O Israel, to the Lord, your God. Your sins have been your downfall! Take words with you and return to the Lord. Say to him, 'forgive all our sins and receive us graciously, that we may offer the fruit of our lips.'" More appropriate.

Malachi 3:14-- "You have said, 'it is futile to serve God. What did we gain by carrying out his requirements and going about like mourners before the Lord almighty?' But now we call the arrogant blessed. Certainly evildoers prosper, and even those who challenge God escape." Even more appropriate. (after all, how often do I look for my own gain in going about what is required of me and then call my own gains "blessings?") (often is the answer) (arrogant is the word).

Romans 12:7-9-- "If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach... let him do it cheerfully... love must be sincere." (the emphasis is mine, because I feel like there is a "what's stopping you?!" tone there to be noted)

And then I wrote a letter. Really more a journal entry, but on the back of a note Kathlean left under Arkie's windshield wipers on Tuesday. I'm giving it raw here, because sometimes in wondering how to update this thing, I pick and choose what to reveal. It's mostly smart, I think, to show a little censorship. But sometimes it's like I end up writing everything but what's actually in here. I realize it makes me vulnerable. But sometimes you're just vulnerable. And you have to get there to recognize that the ghost approaching your boat is the one person who can mount the water. He's saying, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." (Mark 6:50)

"God,

Thank you so much for this morning. That first introduction is over and I am so excited to actually meet the youth I'll be working with. I ask you, still, God, to go before me on this-- I still feel sucker-punched thinking about how I'll manage being a mentor the way I should along with being the student and friend I need to be. I feel like I was able to give my undivided attention even when I have so much coming up that is on my mind and my heart. That was you. To have a time when I didn't feel I was letting someone down was nice.

Thank you for those children and the way they just live. As they grow and learn to interact, I pray especially that they learn patience and consideration for each other-- it's hard to be four. But 20 doesn't feel much easier. Sometimes I feel so high school, with groups and clicks and cool kids and people feeling left out and me trying to be everyone's friend, though apparently (it feels) no one's friend all at once. I want to love others. Sincerely. I want people to feel loved and considered. Mostly I want them to know it from you and I crave that from you, too, because left to my own devices I fail miserably. I can't be everything all the time. But I was yours at the beginning of time-- please lead me to what is deserving of my attention. My own failures is not one of those things. Show me your strength. Fixate my mind on that.

Fixate the minds of the youth on that, too, Lord. I so badly want to be effective, if just because I want to see you at work. I want to take my lesson to heart-- with God all things are possible. I hear it from the mouth of those kids and everything seems like not a big deal, I can't walk on water. You can. Period. I need you. You keep me from drowning in a sea of school work and feelings of inadequacy. You give it a purpose when I see no point. Thank you for creating so intricate a world. For this shadow on the paper as I write. So much detail. It amazes me how you see to them all.

It is true I wasn't built for college life. It is true that I just wasn't built for this life. I was never supposed to be so desperate to have my heart heard or my intentions understood. I was never supposed to be so distant from you. It wasn't your plan. But you made a way to redeem it anyway. So when I get discouraged, remind me to enjoy this time even still and not put my hope and joy in the prospect of the future. It's not simply there. Whatever it is. Wealth, happiness, peace, equality, approachability. Breath may not even be there. What I have is right now and you. All I am promised in the future is you. I trust you know how to get there, and I ask your guidance in my approach. Thank you for college, for friends all around me. Show me to handle the small things that build resentment-- the things that build my confidence that this life is not the end game. I thank you for the blessings in my life-- I don't want to be arrogant in my assumption of them. So I don't assume. I thank you, but ask that you take them where they hinder me and my witness. Until "my hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness." I don't want heartache, God, but I know it is coming my way because that's just life and this life was never how it was supposed to be. I can only ask in advance that you guide me through whatever is ahead. From hurt feelings to suppressed resentment to death of beloveds and injury-- I need your help as I face them all around me. Grant me a diligent and caring spirit this afternoon in my apartment and be all over my introduction to the youth tonight. I ask it all in Jesus' name and only if you will."

I'm off to write 4 papers, 2 article reviews, study for 2 tests.

But I'll do it from the comfort of my hiding place.

And then I'll go home.