After the Storm

In Back to the Future, Doc Brown and Marty McFly are about to witness something amazing, something stunning.  Doc has created a time machine out of Delorean and he has tapped his dog, Einstein, to be the first time traveler.  As Marty films the event, the Delorean, remote controlled by Doc, and with Einstein behind the wheel, reaches 88 mph and disappears.

Doc is ecstatic.  Marty thinks his friend has just incinerated his dog and car.  But a minute later, the unthinkable happens, the car and Einstein reappear.  Doc Brown had sent Einstein a minute into the future, a minute that passed with Doc leaping for joy and Marty freaking out, a minute that seemed like no time at all for Einstein.  For Einstein his trip was instantaneous.

There was no minute.  He had simply travelled forward in time.

I was wondering today how that would feel—to time travel, to leap forward in time, but not be aware of what was happening.  Could even a dog feel that something was off, that he was missing something, a minute of his life when the world turned and people did what people do, but a minute that he had missed and would never get back?

Today when I walked out of church, the weather was so perfect I decided instead of racing everyone out of the parking lot, I would walk the labyrinth.  I had energy for that and couldn’t resist, but I had barely started the path when I felt overwhelmed and almost sat down right there in the grass and sobbed.

I didn’t—because the grass was wet (perhaps a lot of people have been crying on the labyrinth lately) and because the church was full and I didn’t want anyone to wonder who the crazy lady was out crying behind the church. 

But I walked the labyrinth today filled with tears, tears because it was so beautiful out and just yesterday and the day before (thanks to Hurricane Sandy) it had been so gray, and cloudy and windy and my condo had been filled with the strange noises of a hurricane, the pelting of rain and the creaks of the doors and windows from the wind, and now, today it was the most beautiful day I could imagine, blue skies and cool air and a light breeze.

And I thought, how recently in my life, I’ve not had very many beautiful days.

Pastor Debbie mentioned during the service today what our Advent study would be this year and I was hit with a surreal moment, a moment that contributed to those tears aching to be released out in the labyrinth.

Where had the year gone?

It was like I had gone to sleep last October, 2011 and woken up today October, 2012.

I felt like I had lost a year, like Einstein lost his minute in the Delorean.  I lost a year to my health, a year of not knowing if I would be well enough to get in the shower, to drive, to make lunch and dinner, to take care of the cat, to see friends, to go to church, to shop, to laugh, to cry, to do all the things that we take for granted.

For more than a year, my health even kept me from making it to the hairdresser.

This past Tuesday, I finally went for that haircut and had thirteen inches cut in one large chunk followed by another two inches or so as she trimmed me up.

I feel like a new person.  Lorraine told me cutting my hair was a lifting of a burden in both a literal and figurative sense.  How I love washing my hair now.  I love playing with it.  I love that even in a breeze, I don’t feel like it’s trying to strangle me; I just tuck it behind my ear and move on.

A lost year.

One of the first things Pastor Debbie ever told me was that there are no wasted years.  I had been frustrated when I first found Hope Church because it had taken 17 years of looking in order to find it and I had felt those years wasted.

But Pastor Debbie said no.  No wasted years.

And despite all my health problems this past year, it was not a lost year either.  It was a year in which I wrote and published two books, a year that I took another step in learning to take care of myself, a year in which the many paths that God has set before me began to coalesce.  It was a year I learned to depend on others, to ask for help.  It was a year when people fed me, both my stomach and my wallet and my spirit.

It was year that showed me I still have a ways to go, but that there is always peace after the storm.

It doesn’t mean that other storms won’t come.

And for those of you waiting for Hurricane Sandy, keep safe, but remember that when it is over, the skies will be blue again and the air will be crisp.

Winter is coming.

Christmas is coming.

After the storm, there is always salvation.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

The other day I downloaded the “Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2012” game for my ipad.  I don’t play golf in the real world, only with swoops of my finger across the ipad screen.  And what I love best about this game is the help you get in reading the greens.

Not only does the game tell you how much of a break there is and fast the green is rolling, but before you even putt, you can tap a button that will show you the line from where you are to where you aimed and if you’re too far left or right, you can adjust before making the putt.

I wish I had this feature in my real life. 

I was talking to Pastor Debbie the other day about how sometimes I know exactly what God wants me to do in the far future, but I have no idea how to get there.

And sometimes I can’t see the future at all; I can only see the first step and—it’s a doozy.

Sometimes, Pastor Debbie said, all you can do is pray to God minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day to show you where to go.

Even the Tiger Woods game has it limits.  Sometimes you’re on the green, but so far away from the hole, the game tells you it has no tip to give you.  You’re on your own.  You make the putt and hope you get it close enough to the hole, that when you go to make your next putt, you’ll be close enough for some advice.

Think of all the technology we have that promises us to make us better golfers, better spellers, better drivers and yet every single one of those technologies has its limits.

How many times in Word has your spelling been so far off, the computer has no idea what word you’re trying to spell, it only knows that you’re WRONG?  So you keep playing with the letters until you get it close enough to something the computer recognizes.

How many times has the GPS sent you through houses and construction barriers?

All these things we have in life to point us in the right direction and yet we still wind up lost or so far off the green we’re now “out of bounds.”

There is no prayer button in the Tiger Woods game.

There is no prayer button in Word.

My GPS talks to me, but it doesn’t listen.

Only God can direct us, if we ask and if we listen and if we remember that God often speaks in such still small voices it’s a wonder we can hear Him at all.

The other day, I had a hearing test where they lock you up in what looks like a good old-fashioned 20 questions booth with headphones to block out all noise and it was only then that I realized that I have a ringing in my ears.  Most of the time I don’t notice because we live in such a noisy world, but locked in that booth with those headphones, I could hear that small ringing and I worried for a moment that I wouldn’t be able to hear the tones that were about to come over the headphones.

As it turned out, my hearing was just fine, despite the ringing.

But never had I listened so hard in all my life.  I listened like my life depended on it, partly because I’m super-competitive and partly because I knew if they found hearing loss it would indicate a cause of my vertigo that would necessitate some unpleasant testing.  So I listened and tried not to get worried when there appeared to be long gaps of silence.  I listened.

Perhaps I should ask for the booth and headphones again, and this time, tell them to just let me sit there for a while and pray.  Maybe then I would hear God and maybe then I would know what it is He wants me to do next.

Where is it that He wants me to go?