There's No Place Like It... part 7

                               Reid and Lucius for you disbelievers



Since I've returned to Australia, a few people have asked me if I ever felt like staying back in the United States.  For most people, to live on the other side of the planet might fill them with trepidation; the fear of being without Cheetos might paralyze them.  To be without Walmart, unthinkable.  What I've found out about myself through this last trip is that I am neither filled with trepidation nor do I particularly need to live near a Walmart.  Even while sliding through all the old haunts reliving good memories, I never had the thought, "Gee, I really think we should be living here still."  That's not to say my heartstrings weren't pulled a few times, but for the most part, the return home was quite amazingly selfish.  Indulge to explain, if you will.

Chapter 12 of Hebrews begins poignantly: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that so easily hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out before us." 

Are we ever fully aware of the people who think about us?  Do we know how many people, whether two doors down or two continents away, are praying for us?  Can we be completely cognizant that somewhere on the race marked out before us, there is a full complement of people who recognize how we have been important in each other's lives?  If Paul writes to the a group of Jewish Christians who are despairing and who want to return to the old way, and he says that they are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses - those who have gone before and those who support from a distance - then Paul is writing to me, not in my despair, but encouragement in the race.  And it is not a great cloud of witnesses: what I found in returning to the United States for almost three weeks is that I am surrounded by a cumulonimbus of witnesses.  These witnesses, ones who have seen and are willing to proclaim the good news, were an absolute blessing in those weeks.

I had an great drive from Canada with my younger sister, Danielle, and her family.  She's an amazing young woman and although already thirty-something years old, she's filled with a wisdom beyond her years.  I'm not just saying this to butter her up, but a few years ago, when we lived in Rockford, she went into the hospital to have back surgery and ended up with spinal meningitis.  What a nice blessing.  She persevered through the ordeal; but any time you come close to your own mortality, you begin, I think, to reflect on what are the most important things in life.  It was evident that in her marriage, in her role as wife and mother and in her vocation as a nurse that life is precious.  It was a great twelve hour ride from Canada to my parents house.  It's not often that we are locked into the same space (very small space) with your relatives.  I wish it happened more often.

Then, Uncle Tom picked me up in his new car.  It surprised me because Uncle Tom doesn't very often buy new cars.  He drives the one he has until it almost falls apart.  And he takes such good care of them, that he'll drive them for decades happily watching all the newer models go floating down the highway while he merrily whistles his way along the road in his 1988 Buick.  Uncle Tom was my driver's education instructor also.  (I didn't call him 'Uncle Tom' in that class).  We chatted for a while talking about crops, his new car which did not have a speck of dust in it, and like a good, former driver's ed. instructor, he stuck right to the speed limit spending the appropriate amount of time looking left and right and intersections.  Because the asphalt road to my parents was blocked off, I suggested we take gravel.  He laughed.  We drove ten miles out of the way. 

It's alright.  We had more time to talk.  Uncle Tom is a bachelor who lives with his brother.  Two excellent fellows - both former coaches - who farm together.  My brother and I used to work for them and as we drove along the road, we began the journey back to the late 80's and early 90's.  As he drove, Tom brushed his thin gray hair across the front of his head.  I noticed that he had a few more lines around his eyes and the trip back through the decades was really good for both of us.  Perhaps we don't take as much time to reflect as we should. 

The next day, I took off for Rockford which was our home before we left for Australia.  Sometimes it's easy to go home, sometimes it's hard. 

It was hard to go to Rockford.  It was hard to see all the friends we made, not because things had changed, but because things hadn't.  As I reinserted myself back into a former life, it felt as if I'd never left.  I stayed the first night with one of my best friends in the world, Dave, and his family.  We used to watch football games together, drinking whiskey and talking about theology until midnight.  Sometimes Christine used to wonder where I was.  I don't think she wondered that often.  As we sat and talked, it felt strange to be staying because normally I would walk two blocks home to my house. 

Whoever is reading this (if anyone at all) think for a moment about your favorite place you've ever lived.  Take a moment to remember the greatest of memories from that place.  Then, imagine your disappointment when you walk past that place and find that it is inhabited by five families, two dogs, two cats and is obviously devoid of a lawn mower.  Surreptitiously I looked over the fence of the backyard careful not to disturb any of the 'drug lords' (that's what my former neighbor Merv thinks they are) and I took a few photos of the backyard.  My favorite tree, in all its majestic greenness stood in the middle soaking up the early morning rays of sunshine.  I was happy to see that the new tenants hadn't been able to remove all the remnants of our time there.  There were an abundance of pumpkin plants with their tumult of large, prickly leaves splaying across the backyard.  That made me happy.

I turned away from our old house quite happy to have the memories and quite content not to look at the windows which were now covered with large, black army blankets.  I did meet up with Merv and Ruth, though.  They took me out for lunch.

Merv is in his mid 70's and Ruth is probably younger than he, but he calls her his 'Old Lady.'  Merv is a perfectionist.  His lawn, garden and house are immaculate.  I think when he used to look at our house, he probably thought we were bringing down property values, that's why I would sometimes come home from work and find him on top of my house blowing the leaves out of the gutters or mowing my front yard.  They were amazing.  They are amazing.  They are the neighbors that I wish everyone could experience.  We used to spend some afternoons, after work, sitting on their back porch enjoying life.  Merv would bring me an Old Milwaukee beer - which is the kind of beer that usually only college students drink - and we would talk for lengths of time about anything at all.  Merv and Ruth were some of the most giving and caring people I've ever met.  They even took our girls with them to their cabin one time.  I wish we had Merv and Ruth's next to us here.

After church, I went to Walmart.  I had to stock up on some things; buy an iPad (much cheaper in the States) and then I found about forty movies that I wanted to buy.  There they lay in all their glory in the five dollar bin.  Five Dollars!  I forgot about that!  So, for about two hours I sorted through the complexities of the Hollywood entertainment industry selecting Nacho Libre instead of Caddyshack.  I brought all of my purchases to the counter, selected the iPad and iPod that we needed.  I watched the long-haired Walmart employee amusedly run my selections up.  As he gave me the total, I pulled out my credit card.  Over his thick glasses he said, "I'm sorry, but your card has been refused." 

"That's impossible.  It just worked yesterday."

"That's what it says."

"Can you keep all this stuff for me until I get it sorted out?  Just one day?" 

"I'm sorry.  Company policy says that I can keep it through the night, but that's it."

"But I just flew in from Australia.  Can't you tell by my accent?"  That didn't really work.  He looked at me as if I was trying to rip off the world's largest superstores and he shoveled my almost possessions into a plastic yellow bag.  I just wasted two hours of precious time and I had to get to a party.

I left the store in a huff and after stopping at my friends, the Dianchuns (that's not really how you spell their name, but I get it wrong every time so I just spell it phonetically), to sort out the credit card, I quickly drove back to Walmart. 

He's such a liar.  They'd already put all my belongings back and I didn't have time to re-find them.  Oh well, off to the party.

There are metaphorical pictures that I carry in my metaphorical wallet of people whose faces remind me of how life is precious.  Two of them are Bill and Sue Gorski.  Bill is the CEO of a hospital in Rockford and Sue is the CEO of their house.  They threw a bar-b-q for all the people we used to sing and work with at the church.  For a few moments, as the sun was going down over their back porch I sat and watched them.  They are like a great duet, like Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney singing 'Ebony and Ivory."  They move in such elegant rhythm and even as they approach their mid-60's (while still looking like mid-40's) that they could be the poster children for how God blesses marriages.  As the crew from our Crosswalk service ate, shared laughter and simply reminisced, it was a heart-tugging moment of wishing for the 'old days.'

"I wish we could come back," I said at the end of the night after everyone else had left.

With Bill's arm around her, Sue looked at me behind a smattering of summer freckles on her cheeks.  "We wish you could be here too."  And then she paused and started again, "But we know why you've gone.  When you show us what your family is doing, we know why God called you away.  We may not like it, but we understand it now."

And then it hit me again.  With all the people I was remembering, I'd forgotten how much life was behind us already.  We so often get caught up in the present, or worrying about the future, we forget the ones we left behind.  And believe you me, they are still praying.  As I met with more and more people, the light continued to shine brightly.  There is a race marked out before us - one that God has purposefully and wonderfully designed.  There are hills and sharp cliffs, dangerous moments - but there are also sparkling oases of watering holes.  And just like on a running course, the people that are offering the water are the ones giving the most encouragement.  Whether family or friends, neighbors or church family, we stand together as one.  Whether they know it or not, I am continuing to pray for them, by name.

Thanks for sticking with me through this narrative.  Maybe you'll take a few moments to flip through the photos of your metaphorical wallet.  Maybe you'll remember the amazing moments you've spent with incredible people and life will be brighter for a few minutes.  Maybe then you'll face forward again to the race marked out and start running again.