It’s so weird being back here–Seattle. Stepping off the plane, I felt like I was returning home from a trip. And not a long one; not like I had been gone 6 months. I didn’t feel like I was visiting. As I began to see people, it felt like seeing the people I walk with daily- the people I live life with. Yet at the same time, there was a familiar rush of grief and mourning. I wept through most of worship on Sunday at Mosaic. There were tears of pain and disappointment, tears of longing and confusion, tears of grief and brokenness. And at the same time there were tears of thankfulness and surrender, tears of joy and hope. My emotions felt thrown into a bin like the lost and found, with mis-matches and broken pairs, all lonely. Not the kind of lonely of aloneness, but the lonely of the longing for “home.” Where is home? Will it be a return to the home I once knew, or an adoption into a new one? And in all the longing, and wondering, and dreaming, it’s the controllability that stings the most-because I have none. But what I do have is peace. Peace in knowing that I’m at the mercy of the one whose name is Merciful. The one who does have control, the one who carries me in the palm of His hand, is faithful and true. He is the safest place.
I’m beginning to realize that as much as I miss Seattle as a city, Mosaic as a church, and my friends as a family, what I long for is not a return to those specific things (although I wouldn’t complain). The longing in my heart is for outward living. What I grieve is the loss of a full, intentional lifestyle of deep community and Kingdom vision. I miss purpose beyond myself. I miss feeling a part of a bigger plan with a unified body of friends. And I want it back. I won’t let go. I want friends to pray with, to fully know and be known by, to change my city with, to change the world with.
I have felt forgotten. But the truth is: I’m not forgotten. But I have forgotten. I have forgotten to fight for what truly fills my soul. I have forgotten to demand more from myself. To demand faith and not unbelief. To demand hope and not fear. To demand relationship and not loneliness. To demand purpose and not accept survival. I can’t live in intentionality when I walk in disappointment. God promises to set the lonely into families, but how I choose to expose my heart and my life in my new family here is up to me. How much I choose to give, to sacrifice, to receive…up to me.
In Jamie’s words, “I’m so over it.” I’m over the complacency. I’m over the focusing just on myself and my family. I’m over accepting that “life is just like this in Dallas.” The only life I am willing to accept at this point is one full of faith, lived in power, changed by bold, intentional community, and marked by the supernatural signs and wonders that accompany the Presence of God. Anything less is just, well…empty.