HEAVEN AND EARTH

Last night, our twentysomething group from church had a wonderful time at our vespers service at Bethune Beach ("vespers" is an archaic word meaning "evening"). It just seemed that God was smiling on us the whole time. The weather was beautiful - sunny, with a robust wind - and the attendance was very surprising. We had new people come out, college kids who were back in town for the summer, and even our PASTOR'S family. I mean, I know pastors aren't super-stars, but to have the head pastor of the church come out to support an event felt significant. We had the perfect amount of food, and we even had a gifted guitar player named Aaron show up, so I didn't have to struggle my way through the chords of praise songs; I could just concentrate on leading the singing. And Philip did great at delivering the devotional message.

The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.

However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.

While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.

But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.

That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.

TWO YEARS

Yesterday marked two years since Philip and I met and began dating. To commemorate, we drove out to the Orange County fairgrounds, where roadies were setting up for Cornerstone Florida. C-stone FL debuted in 2003, and Philip and I met there when we both helped set up the Relevant Media Group vendor booth.

Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.

I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...

But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.

And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.

He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.

I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.

And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.

And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.

There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.