50 Year Legacy – How I Became a Jesus Follower: Part Four

20 Years Old

I am celebrating a Golden Anniversary!  50 years ago this July I started following Jesus. Here’s how it began in May of 1970…

My memories of that summer in Denver fifty years ago have nothing to do with my two classes. I’m sure there were textbooks, assignments, papers, etc but I don’t remember them. I enjoyed the time with Hazel and Marilyn but don’t recall any specific times at the apartment. I also had a job on campus in a psychology lab which was a crazy fit for me as science is not my thing even though Psych was my major. Clearly, it didn’t make much of an impression as I have about two memories from the lab.

What I can recall vividly were the Thursday night book discussions at the church on the Schaeffer book (The God Who Is There) which usually were a bit over my head but I didn’t care, the Sunday services at the church, and the impromptu gatherings over meals with these new friends. I couldn’t get enough of these life-giving encounters.

Jesus was the topic of conversational most of the time. I was comfortable with that now, but not doing much of the talking. My new friends spoke of Jesus like a personal friend, a fun one who showed up often with surprises, the one who always stayed when everyone walked out. I knew I wasn’t where they were in my faith but felt no pressure.

Following Jesus was becoming more attractive to me but I decided it wasn’t going to be a summer romance. If I made the decision to entrust my life to him it would be for the rest of my life.

The team that came to my campus that week to introduce students to Jesus was still going out to parks and public places to do the same. It was how the word got spread before the internet!  I got invited to come along. No one asked me to do the talking. Soon that was another regular thing on my schedule for Wednesday nights. It was fun to see who would respond.

I didn’t realize it would be me.

On a particular Wednesday in mid-July, we were hanging out in a park and chit-chatting with the other park attendees. It was getting dark. Only one person seemed interested in engaging in spiritual conversation and he was somewhat stoned. My group was kind of stymied about how to respond to him as he was drifting around in his responses. I decided to take a turn. I could relate to being stoned although had left that behind when I came to Denver.

I sat down on the bench and soon we were talking about the difference between getting stoned and feeling groovy (a common word in that era!) for few hours and being filled with Jesus and never losing that joy. I found myself explaining how God didn’t want a distant, formal relationship with us but wanted to relate to us like friends or beloved sons and daughters. That he chose to leave heaven and become one of us so we could know him. That we would never be able to “earn” our way to eternal life but Jesus bought it for us by his death and resurrection. Our choice to take the life he offered would change everything forever.

The guy in the park got it right away and I suddenly knew, I did too! I wasn’t just speaking theoretically but out of my real experience. I didn’t just hang out with friends who were following Jesus, I too was now doing the same. I hadn’t seen it until that moment. It astonished me (and them!) and my excitement and joy was spilling out everywhere. If you’ve ever been in the early stages of falling in love, it was just like that!

There is a lot of theology that I didn’t (and still don’t) have figured out but like the man Jesus healed in John 9 reported, “One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!”

I count that night as the beginning of my new life in Jesus. In 50 years, I have never looked back or stepped out of faith. My life was forever transformed by encountering God that summer. But some literal bumps in the road were on the way… (To be concluded next week.)

PS It was JUST this week, fifty years later that I realized I never saw the original guy who talked to me outside of the chapel again. I spent this summer as well as the following summer with this same group of people and he never showed up in the group or at church. As you might recall, I didn’t get his name. It was with a huge sense of wonder and chills that I realized he might have been sent just to talk to me and perhaps that was the first time I encountered an angel. The second time was the following summer. Another story!

 

50 Year Legacy – How I Became a Jesus Follower: Part Three

I am celebrating a Golden Anniversary!  50 years ago this July I started following Jesus. Here’s how it began in May of 1970…

Within a stone’s throw of my apartment was the beautiful Evan’s Chapel right on campus. John Evans had founded Denver University and must have won the naming rights to the chapel.

I found out later that he also founded Northwestern University and the town I have lived in for over 40 years, Evanston, IL was named after him too. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I started strolling over to the chapel in the evenings. By this point, if I needed a label, I would have grabbed agnostic: a person who claims neither faith or disbelief in God. My first chapel visits were just to check it out. Pretty! Then I began to slip into a bench to sit and ponder. One evening I was alone in there, as usually was the case, and I got out of the bench and laid down in the aisle. In what might have been a scene from a movie, I pounded my fist on the floor and cried out, “God, if you are there, show yourself.”

One night he did.

I remember this evening like it happened yesterday. I exited the small chapel after one of my pleading prayers and was approached by a guy holding some kind of small pamphlets. He offered me one and I, ever polite, accepted. The title was,  “The Permanent Revolution” and the art featured a peace sign and a raised fist. I still have it. But then, I handed it back.

“No thank you. I’ve been involved in efforts towards political change and it failed.” That comment did not deter him. He responded easily with talk of a spiritual revolution of the heart. I rebutted that I had known religion and really, thank you but I’m not interested. The Kent State killings and the aftermath were the dead-end point of my search for meaning. All my idealism and “rosy colored glasses” approach to life felt snuffed out.

He countered that this revolution was about relationship with Jesus, not religion. I was unfamiliar with the distinction. I remembered Jesus from my childhood and quietly took the tract back. That was as far as I could go in this conversation.

“Do you have a Bible?” he asked me. Of course I didn’t. He kindly suggested I get a hold of one and read the Gospel of John. That was it. No names or numbers were exchanged. But God knew where I was and how to find me.

I walked away intrigued. Maybe one of the roommates would have a Bible. Turns out, Hazel did. I thumbed through it and found the gospel of John but didn’t read any of it yet. The next day I saw a notice on campus about an intro meeting about a new-to-me practice called TM which stood for Transcendental Meditation. Might as well check that out too. I remember nothing about that except that it didn’t fit me.

A couple days later, the three of us were in the apartment at the same time when the phone rang. Marilyn answered it and I eavesdropped on the conversation. I quickly got the gist that she was invited to an event that had something to do with the guy on campus whom I talked to outside of the chapel. She was trying to end the call with a “Thank you but I’m not interested.”

“Who are you talking to?” I mouthed. “Those people passing out the Jesus stuff” she whispered back. “I’ll talk to them” I responded and reached for the phone. I don’t think anyone was expecting that, including me! Although we had not exchanged names or numbers in the brief encounter by the chapel, Marilyn must’ve provided her contact info and this was a follow up call.

First God found me on campus, then he knew where I was living.

The invitation was to a book discussion the following night at a local church.  Without overthinking it, I said, “Sure, I’ll go” or something like that. Arrangements were made to pick me up on campus. I found myself somewhat mystified by the unfolding of these events but remember feeling no trepidation, only curiosity.

I wish I recalled who picked me up. Some details now, 50 years later, are blurry. We drove to a church in Littleton, CO and headed to the basement.  I do have a clear memory of a dynamic presenter and a heady theological discussion on the book which was “The God Who Is There” by Francis Schaefer. I was fairly lost in the discussion and remembered how poorly I did in my philosophy class at college.

Regardless of my level of engagement with the book discussion, I felt something from the people and what must have been the presence of God. Everyone was very kind and I felt no judgement. When someone invited me to come back to the church on Sunday for the service, I didn’t hesitate at all to say yes.

Honestly, I wasn’t thinking that much about theology or anything deep, I knew something was stirring inside me and wanted to see where that was going. Was I seeking God? I don’t know if I would have called it that but looking back, I can see that God was clearly seeking me.

One thing I knew for sure I didn’t want, one more bandwagon to climb on. (to be continued.)

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50 Year Legacy – How I Became a Jesus Follower: Part Two

Circa 1970’s

I am celebrating a Golden Anniversary!  50 years ago this July I started following Jesus. Here’s how it began in May of 1970…

In spite of my “I’ve got it all together” mantra,  I knew I was somewhat spinning in who I was now, who I was becoming and quite uncertain of my grounding.

My “experiential” lifestyle had about run it’s course and I was weary.  But who had time to sort all that out? I had classes to finish, protests to attend, and gatherings with new friends to discuss the perennial questions of the meaning of life. No one seemed to have the answer.

To take a break, over Memorial Day weekend I took off with some no longer remembered friends to a rock festival in the woods a couple hours away from campus.  The “Kickapoo Creek Rock Festival” was loosely based on Woodstock which had occurred the previous summer in upstate New York. During that Saturday afternoon with the music blaring across the fields, I found myself holding a sugar lump of LSD in my hand which was placed there by a complete stranger. Dropping acid was not something I had tried.

The inner struggle to pop it in my mouth or not was a crossroads for me and I knew it then. By the grace of God, I handed it back. I see that as a turning point of my life. I was walking away from a tried-on lifestyle but what was I walking towards?

Meanwhile, the soundtrack of my life was Simon & Garfunkel’s “I Am a Rock.” “I am a rock, I am an island, a rock feels no pain, an island never cries.” But I did. Sophomore year ended and I headed back home but hopefully not for long. The Jesus of my youth seemed far away.

I had big plans for the summer of 1970. Actually, my only plan was to go to Colorado and do something. I decided I needed mountains to provide the perfect setting to think deep thoughts. The previous summer I spent working at a camp in Massachusetts which allowed me to get to the ocean every few weeks. Why not try the mountains this summer?

As you might imagine, that plan was way too vague for my parents. We wrestled back and forth on that. Finally, it was time to make a decision, was I going or not.  I remained adamant as did they.

On an early summer evening, I went to the drive-in movies with my friends. Before I left, my mom said she was going to pray the whole time I was gone about whether or not they would allow me to go. If you knew my mom now, that wouldn’t be a surprise but at the time, I don’t remember her ever talking like that before.

When I returned, she was up waiting for me. “I don’t really like this but I feel a sense that we need to let you go.” I was shocked. She added the caveat that I couldn’t just roam around the mountains but had to take summer school and have a structure. I quickly agreed.

In a short matter of time I was registered at Denver University to take two psychology courses as that was my major. I packed my bags and they put me on a plane. A friend of mine whom I had somewhat dated picked me up and drove me to campus. He was eager to reconnect, I sensed I was going in a different direction. One weekend camping trip with his friends to the mountains clarified that for me. I was out.

But where was I going to be in?

This was my first time living in an apartment. The small complex was part of student housing and right on campus. My two roommates were Hazel and Marilyn and we seemed to click. BTW, Hazel and I are still friends and see each other when we can as she now lives in Idaho. I remember unpacking and listening to the two big hits from that summer, “Close to You” by the Carpenters and “Make it With You” by Bread.

Being on this campus felt like a fresh start, just what I needed after the wrung out spring. I wasn’t looking to pursue any particular lifestyle but just to take a deep breath. I liked my two classes, got a very part time job and spent a lot of time gazing at those beautiful mountains so visible everywhere.

But my heart was deeply unsettled and I longed to stop the churning. (To be continued next Thursday.)

PS If you missed part one you can find it on the right. Better yet, subscribe to the blog.

50 Year Legacy – How I Became a Jesus Follower: Part One

My College Years

I am celebrating a Golden Anniversary!  50 years ago this July I started following Jesus. Here’s how it began in May of 1970…

We had met before like is sometimes in the case with long term relationships. We actually hung out a lot when I was younger.

My mom remembers us talking to each other from my crib. “Tish, who are you talking to? She would poke into my room to ask. I replied, ‘Jesus.’” But, as I grew older, we drifted apart. It wasn’t about him, it was about me.

Jesus was part of my childhood. I sort of “grew out of him” but held the memory dear, like the flashback of a favorite doll I received one year for Christmas. I didn’t ask him to keep in touch when I left for college. I knew I might stop by and see him at our local church where he lived on my visits home but he wouldn’t have fit in at college.

If he ever did pop in to see me, I rushed him out of the room. I didn’t think he would care for my new lifestyle or choices. No need to embarrass him. Let’s just keep the memories as they were, a childhood friendship. I was going my way and he could go his.

Turns out, my way was ending up full of potholes (no pun intended,) detours, flat tires and dead ends. Not to mention I got lost all the time. Asking for help from any others than my traveling companions on the same road seemed out of the question. Foolish even. Likely someone would tell me to just turn around and find another road. No thanks.

Until the spring of 1970 in my sophomore year of college. My new pursuits, philosophies, and relationships were crumbling around me. I longed for the “Kumbaya” nights around the campfires of my youth but they seemed gone forever.

The wheels began to fall off the bus but it would take something really big to stop me in my tracks. The something big began with the Vietnam war protests.

The spring of 1970 was filled with war protests over the US involvement in Vietnam. I can’t honestly say I did a lot of soul searching for my views on this but it certainly seemed important to join the protests which were happening all over the country. I proudly wore my black armband and chanted with the best of them as we marched around campus.

On May 4, 1970 the Kent State Massacre occurred when four college students were killed by the Ohio National Guard during a protest. That event catalyzed students everywhere and on that night of that event, the call went out to “take over” one of the main buildings on campus, Simpkins Hall. So the entire group of about 1000 protestor marched into the building and refused to leave for five days.

I remember huddled there with my group that first night fascinated and somewhat fearful about what might happen next. Speech after speech was made with lots of chants with the crowd building in fervor. I was glued to my spot on the floor. Then the local police showed up and began making their way through the crowd trying to break it up. Ultimatums were issued on both sides but no violence occurred.

Part of me wanted to run out and the other part thought what a great statement it would make to stand down, risk expulsion and possible arrest. Rumors were spreading about the presence of state police and National Guard near by. Tear gas was used at Southern Illinois University which was eventually closed by the protests.  Clearly, I wasn’t agitating at the level to get even noticed and eventually the crowd dispersed and I headed back for a few hours of sleep.

I wrote my parents about “almost getting arrested” and they showed up at campus the following Sunday, which was Mother’s Day, to have a little chat with me. Actually more like a confrontation.  “Stop what you’re doing!” I knew they were worried but didn’t see that as my problem.

To be honest, I was worried too but not about getting arrested. (To be continued next Thursday)

The Birthday Gift: 1968

2020 is the second of two “most dramatic” years I have lived in my many decades. The first was 1968. Of course, I’ve had many personal moments that changed the course of my life (preview for next week’s blog post!) but for overall years, so far, these are the front runners. 2000 wins the Bronze medal but that’s for another time.

Everything felt spinning in 1968. If you lived through it, you remember it well. I was a senior in high school and it was definitely my Coming of Age year. Besides going to the new-to-Quincy coffeehouse to discuss the meaning of life, reading Kahil Gibran’s “The Prophet,” shedding the parts of my faith the nuns told us were no longer needed like St. Christopher, I was completely enamored by Bobby Kennedy’s run for president. At almost 18 years old, although I couldn’t vote yet, I pinned all my political hopes on his likely presidency.

I will never forget the morning my Dad woke me, June 6, 1968, to tell me of his assassination. I sobbed for days and couldn’t bear to watch any of the coverage of the funeral. My mom saved all the newspapers for me which I found in her home a couple of years ago. I never read them at the time as I was too heartbroken. Along with many others, my freshly budded hopes for the change I was sure our country needed were now dashed.

My 18^th birthday was 15 days later and among the many gifts I received was a hand carved piece of driftwood. My dear friend at the time, Barb, knew of my devotion to RFK and painstakingly carved each word.

“Some men see things as they are and say why? I dream things that never were and say why not?” RFK

I remember no other gifts from that birthday except this one. It became my most precious possession.

A few months later, I packed up my world to go to college. The log had a prominent place on the top of my duffel bag as I loaded it in the car. My father, who was not an RFK supporter, decided it was too big to bring, not enough room in the car, etc. I was horrified and we had a rare fight centered around the log.

Looking back, I now know fights between parents and off going college students are common and even helpful to ease the leaving process but my dad and I hadn’t read those books. We were at a standstill and each holding our ground. My mom finally intervened in some way I don’t remember but the log came to college.

52 years later, I still have it. In fact, it is sitting on my dining room table now where it spends every June in honor of my birthday. I have tried to contact Barb to thank her again but we haven’t reconnected. I hope she somehow knows what a treasure it was and still is to me.

The infamous quote seems just as relevant now. Glad I can see it often. I plan to keep dreaming. You?

Do you have any similar object from your youth that still speaks to you?

Hope for the best,

Tish

What’s Your Covid Coping Style?

Be Productive! Be Still! Reach Out! Dig In! In the 36 days of my quarantine, all of those messages and more have shown up in my head as well as my social media news feeds.

Is there really a BEST way to respond to the most unusual time of all of our lives? Whose message is the right one?

As with most other things, you are the best expert on you. What serves you well during any other time of uncertainty or duress?

We all have a resume for tough times and hopefully got through most of them still standing. What had worked in the past for you? There are many right answers for how to cope.

Sorting Photos

For some of you that will be taking on projects: Clearing closets or basements, categorizing books, organizing photos, sorting recipes.

Maybe learning new skills is your coping M.O. Someone I know is learning French with Duo Lingo, another is baking bread for the first time. Trying something new uses part of the brain that also makes you feel good. An extra bonus right now.

Baking!

But if you’re not wired that way, you will likely only feel frustrated.

Maybe, adding SLOW to your day to day is most lifegiving. Stopping to smell the roses even if they’re not really there yet. Letting go of the pressure to perform even if it’s just in your own kitchen. Sleeping later, going to bed earlier, taking long walks, does that sound like you?

Walking into Spring

Many have reported that the early days were filled with novelty then intensity then calm. My own response followed those lines. The first few days felt so surreal then I started making lists. Part of my coping plan for just about everything. Then I modified the list as it was stressing me out!

What was essential to you? What can you let go of? What always works for you? What never works? Even the best ideas of someone else might not work for you.

One thing that does work for almost everyone is to laugh more! We are watching Seinfeld for the first time ever to guarantee times of laughter. 30 year old episodes but works every time! Last night we checked out John Krasinski’s SGN (Some Good News,) hilarious and heartwarming. https://bit.ly/3crfC9A

Even though we are well into these days with more on the way, figuring out your best Covid response  will serve you well for this and the inevitable next crisis.

Hope for the Best.

Tish

Eight Ways to Remember These Days

You think you will never forget these days. You won’t! But later, as life returns to normal, many of the details will get blurred with each new experience that comes in.

Not one of us has ever known anything like this when the whole world was personally affected and the days ahead full of uncertainty.

While the global drama is still going on, consider capturing the details in some way to keep your personal memories intact.  In the days ahead, you might want to go back and reflect on these surreal days.

I’m remembering how curious I was to know about my Dad’s WW2 experience. Like most men of that era, he didn’t talk about it much. I could and did read books and watch movies about this time in history, but I wanted to hear about it from one who was there.

If you ever watched the Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War, you would recall the personal experience snippets he included. I remember the excerpts from Mary Chesnut’s diary more than the facts he offered. Her accounts brought a whole new dimension to the historical era.

While you probably won’t write a book about these times, you will likely have an opportunity to tell a story to future generations about what it was like to live through a worldwide pandemic.

Here are a few ways to keep track of the days.

1. Journal: I start each morning with writing in my journal a few things about what is happening in the news, in my home, in me.

2. Highlights: Write down bullet points of the headlines of the world and your life. This can be on paper on in the notes section on your phone.

 

3. Photos:I started taking photos of closed signs on my walks and then added them to an online photo album. When I see someone else’s interesting photo on social media about the times, I save that too. I have snapped a photo of the mayor’s updates too.

4. Headlines: We still take a physical newspaper, so I’ve saved a few startling headlines in a folder. Cover page of news magazines can be saved as well.

5. Social media posts: I’m saving posts that are positive and encouraging on my computer. Easy to do, just look for the “save” feature.

6. Record: Smart phones have a “voice memo” app so you can use it to record your feelings or items you want to remember.

7. Email: Write yourself an email as you think of things you want to remember. Don’t worry about grammar or other edits. Just get it down.

8. Day by Day: Use your wall calendar or desk calendar to write in the white spaces what has gone on that day.

What is not written is not remembered. You won’t forget the facts, they will be readily accessed, but only you carry the memories of how the virus intersected with your world. Gather them up for an audience yet to come.

Hope for the best,

Tish

The Last Day of Normal

“Last Days” are sometimes so obvious. Which kid doesn’t know when the last day of school is at the end of the year? The retiree won’t forget the last day of work. Certainly, the last day of a near-perfect vacation is so hard to let go of. Often, we know exactly when that final event occurs. Sometimes though, we are blindsided by last days.

My “Last Day of Normal,” before the Covid 19 changed everything, was Wednesday March 11, 2020. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. Honestly, in spite of all the simmering news stories, I didn’t think it would happen so suddenly.

I saved my to-do list from that day just to marvel at how oblivious I was to the impending storm. Our darling granddaughter stopped by for breakfast and our weekly walk to her school. It was Wednesday and that’s our routine on Wednesdays.

My suitcase was out as we were traveling the next day to a conference in Atlanta. Tom was presenting on a topic that he was quite excited about. My plans were to soak up the sun and enjoy the time alone in the hotel along with seeing some family members nearby.

I love to pick up a “new” piece of clothing before a trip so right after the school drop off, I drove to one of my favorite resale shops and sure enough, found the perfect top.  Next on the list was my 11:45 exercise class for an hour. Last year, I started bringing my own equipment to avoid cross-contamination but was pleased that day to see a big bottle of hand sanitizer perched on the stage for the first time.

My manicure appointment was next, also a pre-trip ritual. No one was worried. I stopped into the library to grab the book I had been waiting for to read on the trip. Trader Joe’s followed on the itinerary and everything I needed was on the shelves. Same at CVS, my last stop.

Throughout that day though, our four adult kids were sharing their worries about our trip, often. I kept reassuring them how fine/not foolish we would be. They disagreed.

During my packing time, one daughter texted me photos of the quickly emptying shelves at Target. The other daughter chimed in with her photos of the same story at Jewel. I jumped in my car to my local grocery to get a few things to avoid the hassle after the trip.

That was the beginning of the not-normal. I never shop at night.

By 9:30 that evening, the trip was cancelled. I finished my packing hour by unpacking.

Before the end of the day, my exercise classes were no longer available due to closure.

Within a day the schools closed. No more walks.

The resale shop shut its doors. As did the library

Trader Joe’s and CVS are still open but I’m staying home.

I’m keeping track now with journal entrees and photos of the new normal. My first day was March 12, the day after the “Last Day of Normal.”

When was yours?

Hope for the best, Tish

My FIRST New Coat Purchase!

This is the one I got!

The snowy Midwest has been home my whole life and I bought my first new coat this week! I know, it’s hard to believe.

Of course, that fact wasn’t on my mind while I was limping around the mall one week before my knee replacement surgery. Fortunately, I landed a handicap parking spot with my new placard but there was no assistance for walking between stores. except my purple walking stick.

Let me mention, I don’t like shopping at malls, only thrift shops and cute little gift stores. On the rare occasions I venture into a mall, I get quickly overwhelmed by all the options as well as the prices. Somehow, shopping in malls often triggers envy and deprivation. I walk in feeling satisfied and suddenly feel lacking. How do I get by without all those items displayed everywhere?

But I needed a coat.

Don’t worry, I have stayed warm all these winters. My mom started buying me coats when I was an infant. There is a funny family story of how she put me in a snow suit for the 4th of July parade nearly two weeks after I was born.

They would just show up during visits. “Oh, I picked up a coat for you!” These were lovely coats in a variety of styles she located on the deep sales racks at the end of the winter. She knew my size and tastes and kept me supplied. Confession: I hardly wore the leopard print one though. She stopped coat shopping for both of us a few years ago when she could no longer get around.

Occasionally I would pick up a coat for myself too, at the resale shop, to wear in between seasons. Mom’s coats were mostly “dressy,” and I needed some casual outerwear for my everyday lifestyle. I did buy a few new jackets in my life but no winter coats. No need.

I started my coat quest early this fall by checking out all my usual (resale) shops. Nothing seemed right. Too long/short/wrong color or style etc. My goal was to land one before this surgery and now I was running out of time.

Runner-up

My daughter offered to help as she excels in online shopping, but I needed to see it, feel it and try it on. Thus, the trip to the mall. I was sending these pictures to her as I shopped!

Turns out, the experience was fun! I allowed enough time, money and energy and didn’t overspend on any of it.  I only looked in two stores and went back and got the first one I chose.  It was in my budget and then I found out it was on sale. I would have danced except I can barely move my knee ☹

A little sleeve alteration was in order and I was attended to by a lovely woman who probably had been doing this all her life. They will even send the coat to me after the mend for no charge so not having to carry it home was a plus.

It wasn’t until later that I realized it was my first coat buying experience ever! I think I will try it again in a few years.

Hope for the best,

Tish

Walking With a Limp These Days

Midway Airport

I surveyed the long concourse last weekend at the airport and realized I couldn’t make it to the gate without help. More help than my ever-present walking stick, aka cane, could provide. I keep pretending I’m out for a hike in the woods with my trusty blue stick except I’m really inside my house or nearby, mincing along.

So, I flagged down some assistance and climbed into a wheelchair to get to my gate. The view is different from the chair. I felt I could notice everyone more clearly and no one noticed me. Certainly no one noticed me for about an hour as I waited for a push to baggage claims when I arrived at Midway.

Hopefully, my limp should be resolved sometime next year after my November knee replacement but for now, it is a daily reality. After months of lament, I’m beginning to stop resisting it and getting closer to embracing it as the next big adventure. After all, what’s the alternative?

For sure, I would like to avoid this invasive surgery. Many prayers have been offered with much resulting peace and presence of God, but no healing has come. At least in my knee. Later on, I will likely be aware of something fresh from the Holy Spirit showing up or waves of gratefulness sustaining me during this season – another kind of healing of sorts. I do trust that I have been heard.

Meanwhile, I am scheduling loads of pre-op appointments, rounding up comfortable clothing for the couch days, reserving books at the library, freezing food for no fuss dinners, thinking about how I will decorate my hospital room (this is fun!) and taking my sweet time getting places.

But before that day comes in a few weeks, with my faithful stick in hand, I’m hitting the road again. Taking the train to New Mexico, the bus to Phoenix, the plane to Chicago, the train again to Quincy and one more drive to a retreat. Many steps for this damaged knee, but these events were on the calendar before the surgery date. I always long for some time to reset after a lot of travel so this time I will get it for sure.

Life is full of plans we make and plans that get made for us. I’m leaning into reaching for the available grace no matter what’s on the table. Well, some days at least.

Hope for the best,

Tish