Lent: Act One

I haven’t seen my friend Allan in months. Almost a year ago, we were inseparable friends. Time changes things, God prunes, and relationships are never the same.

Yesterday he phoned me at work and we had an opportunity to awkwardly catch up on the past few months of our lives. We swapped work stories: mine about the usual, his about a new venture in ministry to South Africa. The conversation was broken and a bit stiff compared to the old days when we spoke comfortably and easily. I hung up, a bit frustrated and disappointed that our friendship had come to this. I hung up weary that I will always be a disappointment to my closest friends, my parents, you name it.

Last night, I pulled out my purse bible from the bottom of my bag and emptied the gum wrappers from its pages (it’s in my purse should I ever need it, though I’ve rarely opened it in the past few months when I’m out and about. I wonder sometimes if I were hit by a bus and the witnesses rummaged through my purse, if they’d think me really holy having a bible in my purse and what not. Oh, how mistaken they would be). I’ve decided to start reading scripture again for Lent. And I chose Acts. Because.

So I’m reading in chapter one about Jesus saying some goodbyes to his pals and then drifting up to the sky like a little child holding a forcefully hot air balloon. And all these guys below just stand there, jaws dropped, mouths gaping. One of them is scratching his beard. He hears another’s tummy rumble. How long do they stand there? What are they supposed to do now? If they look hard enough, could they find him up amongst the clouds? One stands on his toes and leans towards the sky, squinting up at the sun.

And then suddenly, these two angels appear, right. “Men of Galilee,” they say, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.” So they look at each other and turn back to Jerusalem. And they pray. Together.

I’ve spent a lot of time staring up at the sky. Wondering where Jesus went. In college, I spent a couple hours one evening at a retreat kneeling in an open field yards and yards away from the activity of people bustling about, staring up at a big, open, cloudless, star-filled sky, begging Jesus to just let me see him, imagining him appearing as Mufasa did to Simba in the Lion King. That’s what I wanted. I was desperate for him to come back. I’d imagine Jesus walking towards me out of the woods that circled this open field, like how he walked on water towards Peter. Peace now, he’d say to me. Be strong, now. Be strong. I was waiting for that.

I’ve been waiting for that. For him to say anything to me himself. Right from his visible mouth. For him just to appear out of nowhere. JUST. BE. VISIBLE. I tell him all the time I’m waiting for him. In my head, I go out to that field all the time and beg him to show up. I stare at the sky and I wait for him.

So when I read that these guys get a message from these glowing, white-clothed men and are like, well, okay, let’s go back to Jerusalem, I’m thinking, what?!? Why don’t they stay and watch?

I would have. I’m good at that.

I’m a little afraid of going back and disappointing my friends. Of trying to be like Jesus and failing miserably. Of screwing something up with one person and then everyone finding out. Of just not doing it right, period.

I sat in my bed thinking all this. And I fell asleep.

This morning, I read my friend Sara’s blog about her time in South Africa. And I read about Leah and Drew in Cape Town. And I checked out the Jeskes note again about their move to the same place. And my heart remembers why it can’t stand out in the open field, staring up at the sky forever.

I love my friends meeting my friends. Honestly, there is little else in the whole world I love as much as that. It makes me feel alive, like I could jump up and down a la Tom Cruise, but with better rhythm and sweeter moves.

This is FAMILY. And the mess I create among my brothers and sisters is not too big for Him. I don’t have to retreat. I make mistakes. I hurt people. I disappoint them. But I can’t retreat from them. I know in my heart that I love them. And He loves them even, even, even more.

I hope Allan will get in touch with my South African-living friends. I hope they will make connections and see their families grow. Why should my failures forever come in the way of the family that God loves so much?

And I’m part of that family. I don’t belong alone in a field, staring up at the sky, waiting and waiting and waiting. I belong with my family. Waiting together, loving each other, and preparing for acts like only God could do with, through, among, for the people He so abundantly loves.