"Faith isn't figuring out what we're able to do;
it's deciding what we're going to do -
even when we think we can't."
Bob Goff
I had to say goodbye.
Those words that sit heavy on your heart; the ones that you can't seem to understand.
Goodbye.
And yes, though I'm used to the goodbyes that tend to tear away a piece of your heart and keep it for safe-keeping, the ones that leave you up at 2 o'clock in the morning, the ones that leave you dreaming of your return.
I'm not so used to the goodbyes that happen for the last time.
And so as I sat in the airport and watched as hundreds of people turned into my three's company of strangers, all I could bring myself to do was quietly wait for 4 AM.
I spent the rest of my time watching the beautiful people stumble up to the gate with sleep still in their eyes, quietly telling myself that my feet would soon touch the ground that was foreign to me four years ago.
My feet would soon touch the familiar ground, the home of my heart.
Three dear ones showed up to greet me at the airport and talked to me about my week at home and my full day of traveling and then we slowly became graced with a comfortable silence, because that is what happens when you feel at home with people. You don't even really have to explain yourself.
The only expectations that exist are the expectations you have for yourself.
The ones you love will accept you in your grief, heartache, hopelessness, and sorrow.
And they surely won't expect that you will be able to perfectly express your every last emotion with spoken word.
I arrived to my house, unlocked the door and saw signs up all around the room with balloons and suddenly before I even had time to process things...twenty people came out behind closed doors.
Twenty of the ones my heart has come to love with all that I am.
I was surrounded with hugs and the kind of smiles that light up a room.
I was surrounded by love.
They took me to eat my favorite meal and more people kept showing up to welcome me back. I couldn't find the words. I couldn't even peg the emotions that were sweeping away my grief.
We came back to the house and beautiful words were said and prayed over me, and then I found myself doing something that I never do. I found myself asking if it was okay for me to say something. So I stumbled through my half-hour of sleep Spanglish and made sure my loves knew that I have received much more than I could ever give here.
Sunday was full of people. It was full of love. It was a full day and while my body wanted to shut down and find sleep; I was exactly where I needed to be, surrounded by people for hours.
Monday would come quickly and I would find myself settling back into the familiar halls of NOE, the bustling busyness and the crazy delights, that are our students. At 5 o'clock I was making my way up to my elementary classroom and all of my students kept running around the halls and smiling. When I made it up to the door, I was locked out. They were yelling at me to give them just a few minutes. And so I stood there smiling. When I opened the door, I was greeted with notes tacked all over the walls, love written all over the board and hugs from all of my twelve.
It just so happened to be another moment of God knowing exactly what I needed.
Can I tell you something?
Morelia, Mexico was just another unknown city to me on the night of March 23rd, 2011, but by God's grace a mere hundred words were used to make an unknown city become all I know, and it's been four years of being home. The people, my people here nursed me back to health after weeks of sickness and welcomed me back home after a week surrounded by grief.
My heart has been surrounded by love and kept together by the ones I love. And well, yesterday, was difficult. I'm honestly not sure what exactly happened, but I guess I'm guilty, just like the rest and that most of the time rather than acknowledging my emotions and my needs I shrug them off with my bony shoulders, I sweep them under the rug. But they end up catching up with us, don't they?
Because grief is very real. Pain is real, too.
I'm not telling you this to worry your faithful reading eyes; I'm telling you, because maybe you, too, need to be reminded that you don't always have to possess the perfect words, you don't always have to fix the broken things and people around you, you don't always have to be steady on your own two feet, you don't always have to be strong and be put together.
You'll have moments of brokenness and the verse I wrote on my hand yesterday will become something tangible to you, something seen with your very own swollen eyes. Because their plenty will indeed supply your need. That is what happened yesterday, over and over again.
Their plenty supplied exactly what I needed.
Their plenty will supply exactly what you need.
And even in your grief, He will use you.
You'll find yourself somehow managing to pray with two of your dear daughters in between your torrents of tears. And the verse will become tangible, because you will see that it is by His grace that your never praying in Spanish will indeed happen. You will see that even you have something to give, among your grief. You will still have something to give on the days drenched with difficulty.
Little notes and flowers will be placed in your hands and friends will whisk you away, after just glancing at your eyes.
And you know what, Jesus will provide.
He will use their plenty to meet your need, sweet child.
And no one is expecting you to hold it all in; you will have to unclench your fists and resist the lie, the one that has told you for years that you are a burden. You aren't a burden for the ones you love.
So let your loves hold you tighter, let them whisper gentle truths that you are finding hard to believe, let them sit with you in silence, let them be able to tell you that it is completely okay to cry. Please.
S t o p
Stop trying to convince yourself that you can't have bad days and that you can't waver or be enshrouded with doubts.
Stop expecting perfection and embrace your weakness, child.
Embrace the difficulties and realize that His grace will ever be present in your life.
So today, I'm choosing to remind myself that Jesus has me.
I'm also choosing to remind you, Jesus has you.
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