I have had a hard time processing leaving Nepal. Leaving felt like how I would imagine having your kidney removed without anesthesia would feel.
As we’ve been here in Armenia, there have been so many moments where I feel like I see our host’s dad, catch a moment of a familiar smell, or hear a song that reminds me of that place.
There is a man outside of the mall that plays the accordion. Seeing him smile and watching the lines form along his eyes; I can’t help but think about papa.
I hear the familiarity of freedom, the kind that causes you to stop in your tracks and breathe in the captivating essence of a person that is fully alive. I hear fullness in their voice, it reminds me of Gresom.
I don’t think leaving ever gets easier. Which is okay, I’ve found that the heartache is a physical representation of how deeply we loved. At one point that was something I ran away from, but now I see it as a way to collide mourning and celebration.
When I sit, reminisce and give my heart room to grieve the awe-inspiring experiences that I’ve had on the race, I’m right there with the father. The time that has stood still and I presently recognized the holy ground that I was standing on have been some of the sweetest memories.
I feel like life was intended to be more like that. We have an incredible gift to be apart of pulling bits of heaven here to Earth. I think that I spend a lot of time feeling burdened by the ‘call’ of religion telling me that I need to do more in order to be enough. It’s funky because in my life I’ve been looped into thinking that ‘doing’ was all that there is. That following God was based out of statistics. When I stopped chasing after being enough and actually let God say good things about me, I realized that the only place I want to be is with him. Not only that, it’s what I want for other people too.
At one point in my life, I heard a sermon about Exodus 3. The words from verse 3:5 still ring in my head.
“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”
Moses taking off his shoes was such a simple act of humility and intimacy. Neither God nor Moses wanted anything between them as God spoke life over Moses and the Israelites.
Yeah, that. I want that. I can’t really explain how much my soul longs for that kind of closeness with Jesus.
Lately, I’ve been in Luke 10 in the story of Mary and Martha. As Martha cleans and prepares, Mary is sitting at the feet of Jesus. Martha shares her disliking of being alone in working and asks Jesus to tell Mary to come help her. It doesn’t say it, but I know that Jesus smiled at her. One of those smiles that is full of love. I bet it radiated off of him as he told her that Mary was right where he wanted her to be.
A spirit fully alive is found at his feet. In the middle of grief, dryness and ambiguity; I’m going to sit at His feet.
P.s. this is Mount Ararat, the Noah Mount Ararat.
