A Year Later, or Life After Chicago

A year ago yesterday, I left Chicago in a trail of tears that was perhaps even more violent than that of the goodbyes said to Mongolia.

I hated myself for choosing to leave. I got to Laura's house at 4am and did not wake up until long after she had gone to work. My outlook was bleak and my hope had run dry. I had not anticipated feeling so completely the depths of despair.

When I left Columbus to finish the drive home, the weather matched my mood. Grey, impassable skies in Ohio gave way to a mighty blizzard in the mountains of West Virginia and Virginia. I almost died that night, I'm sure of it. Almost out of gas, I would sleep for an hour, wake up, turn the car on for two minutes to thaw out, then fall back asleep. Traffic was stopped for miles and miles even after I was towed out of a snow drift while coming down the highest mountain pass from Virginia into North Carolina. My cell phone battery had died after a few frantic phone calls to my family.

Finally, around 2-3am, traffic started moving and I slipped and slid my way to the next exit with gas eight miles down the road. Once there, the gracious clerk allowed me to plug in my cell phone. I called my mom and she said that my dad and brother had set out to rescue me. They would be at the gas station soon.

They came. We arrived home at 7am after I had been driving/freezing for 22 hours.

That night, I was so angry with God--angry for making me leave Chicago, angry for getting me stuck in the stupid blizzard, angry for making me pee in an empty peanut container because I didn't have access to a restroom for 15 hours, angry for ruining my plans. But even in my anger, that night I realized that He wants me to LIVE.

----------------

So, here I am a year later. Yesterday I went to the old warehouse that my Houston church recently purchased to help with demolition/reconstruction clean-up. I met my new friend Carly and we hauled wheelbarrows of sheet-rock. We helped clean away what was broken so that the beautiful, old brick walls hidden behind could shine through with grace and dignity.

The past year has not been easy. I still cannot think of leaving Chicago without pain. But it was necessary.

Lots of tearing down of old personal sheet-rock, unprecedented opportunities for service in the Kingdom, new relationships, writing, deeper trust in Jesus and His plan for my life--these mean that the Father knows what He was asking me to do and that if I obeyed Him I would Live.