Wednesday, July 19, 2006
I'm finding myself a little reticent to write posts these days. A landslide has begun here.
I cling to Barbara on the curb by the train station as she begins her three month sojourn. I have no idea when I will ever see her again. When she gets back to Portugal, I will be in the States. From there, I will head to Tanzania.
The lump in my throat feels like a grapefruit. The tears are hot on my face.
I told Barbara on the night before that I don't know anyone in whom Jesus seems to reside so comfortably. He seems so at home in B. She is so hospitable to him. But just like in Narnia ("Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia) I figure "Once a Borden, always a Borden." Baba has become a permanent member of our family.
Still I have no idea when I will see her again.
I pull away and pick up Heather, who is sobbing beside me. We climb into the car and sit there, waving until she disappears into the cavernous station.
The landslide of emotions has begun as goodbyes gain momentum. I want to put up barriers around my heart to keep it from being crushed under the weight of what is passing over it.
But my little fences would be foolish.
I question God. "Aren't we supposed to love deeply? Then why do you ask us to part? What's wrong with you?"
I am sometimes called upon to teach on coping with this life of following God all over the world. I always speak about the difficult but better choice to live with open hearts and to love the people God brings into our lives, rather than to protect ourselves from the cycle of separation and loss by keeping folks at a distance.
"And love is not the easy thing/the only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind."
I can't leave Baba behind. And so I won't. Yes, we physically part. But our fragile human hearts are permanently intertwined.
Still, it feels like someone just tore out a great chunk of mine.
Strength for the journey. That's what I need.