I don't think I cried...

...the day I said goodbye.

Part II

Aside from my customary early-morning bathroom trip, I didn’t regain consciousness until after 11 a.m. on Sunday. In the first moment that I awoke, a tear rolled down my face. Interestingly enough, I didn’t feel like I was crying. But that tear was followed by many more. It wasn’t the scrunched-faced sort of cry, but rather the kind where a river seems to have calmly let itself loose from behind my eyes.

When John asked what I was thinking I said, “When you picked me up from Pine Cove after the last week, and I’d said goodbye to everyone, did I cry?” He reminded me that I had driven back with my dear friend, Erin. I remembered then that we’d put on a new CD, but talked and laughed the whole way home and didn’t listen to the music a bit. We arrived in Dallas to find that hundreds of Pine Cove ants had stowed away in the back seat and trunk, so we spent the night washing everything and detailing the car (thanks again, Dad, for all your help!) The next day flew by filled with fun until Erin hit the road to drive back to Nebraska. A few days later, I went on vacation with John’s family and was once more engrossed with the realities of life at home.

And so I realized this morning that I never cried. I guess I forgot.

Asking Becca to drive me to Towers to see my old grounds was a somewhat spontaneous act. I’d thought briefly about visiting, but never considered the consequences. As we drove up and down the road past the entrance, it was as though a movie was going on in my head. All around me, I saw real images of the green grass, horses, and cabins, but before my eyes flashed a montage of intensely-detailed images. Our time at Towers was short, but in the 10 minutes that I walked upon the dirt and pine needles and into the cabins, I must have relived a thousand memories without any conscious effort. I truly felt that my life, in the packed time of those three summers, flashed across my mind. And though I dismissed it at the time, I sensed that each image carried with it a huge weight that called out to me: “Remember this.”

Tim Stevenson once told us that the problem with our faith is that we forget. We neglect to keep active in our minds the amazing things that God has taught us. We don’t hold tight enough to the instances when He’s revealed His fantastic nature to us and shown us that He is Lord God over this universe, unbelievably sovereign and infinitely loving. Our faith fails because we forget to remember how He’s saved us already.

When I woke up this morning, I knew that I had forgotten. I forgot two summers ago to properly say goodbye to an era of my life. Three summers, sure, but an era of learning nonetheless. And by not saying goodbye, I had neglected to give that era a space in my memory. Instead, I moved on to my life at home. Though my life didn’t change drastically at first, it did change. By the same time the next year, I was living on my own power once again. And one year after that, I sit here to say that I’ve forgotten. I’ve forgotten to remember what He’s done in my life.

I’ve forgotten that my life does not belong to me. Well, I do know this, but I forget that this also means that I cannot live it in my own power. I’ve forgotten that God has offered me His strength instead. I’ve forgotten that His fruit comes forth when His Spirit moves and that I embody His Spirit. I know I am weak, but I’ve forgotten that He alone is strong. STRONG. I’ve forgotten that HE is life, HE is joy, and I’m only faking it if I live on my own.

Don’t misunderstand me. As I see it, my life is going well. I’ve not been in the pit of despair. There’s not a deep, dark sin that covers my soul. But…it’s not…I am…and there is. If I’ve forgotten that the Lord God Almighty is righteous ruler of my life, strength in my bones, and joy of my heart, then I’ve forgotten it all.

When I thought I was driving to Tyler to visit my sister, I never imagined that God would direct me there to remind me. But I needed to remember that He’s broken my legs before, in order to restore me with His Spirit. I needed to remember that He radically changed my life in more ways than I could explain, and I would fail to bring Him glory by not remembering that transformation. Those few minutes standing on familiar soil was God’s time to tell me:

“Remember this: I am Lord, and you are my Beloved.”

Remember this.