It's Thanksgiving and I'm not in Canada. What do I do?

It's Thanksgiving Day. Normally I'm in Canada on this day being part of normal Canadian life and not gorging myself on turkey and pumpkin pie, but this year I'm here in Fort Collins and looking forward to the feast to come this afternoon.

I don't always stop and think about what I'm thankful for when I'm in Canada on this day so it's a change to have reflective moments of thankfulness today. Really, it's something I should do every day, not just on the 4th Thursday in November when I happen to be in America, but I'm still grateful for the deliberateness of a day that reminds me of the good I know.

I saw Runaway Train again. Not just once, but four days in a row. It's probably the oddest thing to be thankful for on this day and yet it's what is most present in my thoughts this morning.

For anyone joining my blog since more or less February, Runaway Train is the nickname I gave to a man who had a very brief yet destructive place in my life. A completely unexpected diversion, someone who took my heart by surprise and then dropped it almost as quickly as he had snatched it up in the first place as he ran off to the next woman.

I have a tendency to take things to extremes. This combined with a tender and loyal heart means that when my heart breaks, it breaks hard and takes a long time to heal. I envy the people who seem to be able to bounce back from heartbreak in a brief amount of time. I have never been one of those people and doubt that I ever will.

I was almost healed when November finally appeared. Almost, but not quite. And I think it was the "not quite" that made seeing RT an unwelcomed necessity, sort of like how sometimes a bone needs to be re-broken so that it can be set correctly for healing to take place. Sometimes a cast isn't enough to heal the original break and more breaking is the only option to make straight what is crooked.

I recently read a book written by one of my colleagues - Sifted, by Rick Lawrence. There are books that come into our lives that seem to have been written just for us. That was Sifted to me. It's brilliant and I'm not just saying that because we both work at Group and sometimes I loan him my stapler. Rick takes a very short verse - "Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers." (Luke 22:31) - and tackles the hard subject of what it means when Jesus gives Satan permission to mess with our lives, to sift us as wheat.

It's one thing to believe in a God who allows hard and painful things to happen, like meeting RT in the first place. It's a whole other thing to believe in a God who doesn't stop - in fact, gives permission to - the enemy whose only purpose is to destroy.

I knew for about a month that the time with Runaway Train was coming. In hindsight, I'm both grateful and resentful of that month. Grateful because it gave me time to let the crazy, unfiltered, raw emotions run their course privately instead of publicly and it gave me lots of time to pray and talk through it with others. Resentful because of the heavy burden it brought into my life and the resulting stress and angst that threatened to take over what should have been a fun and exciting event.

I knew for a month that permission had been asked to sift me and the request was not denied. It is a very hard thing to look at the One you love, the One who has given everything on your behalf and understand why He would give permission to let you be sifted.

The sifting part is what we notice first in that verse in Luke, because that's the part that hurts and disrupts life. But the part that comes next brims with power - "I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail."

I had lots of people praying for me during the week that I had to see him again, but the most important person praying for me that week was Jesus Himself. My faith is of great worth to Him. It is a treasure that He cares for and died for and so He prayed that His treasure would not fail and I think it's reasonable to say that when Jesus prays, things happen.
So I survived my week of sifting. I realize I'm leaving a lot of details out, and that's deliberate. But I will say that through the sifting, I was given closure and the freedom to finally leave him behind with no more questions, no more longing (it's crazy how much you can still long for someone who shattered your heart), and no more reason to ever talk to him again. For real this time. The bone has been reset and is no longer crooked and it no longer needs a cast.

I keep thinking about what I should have done differently a year ago when he first appeared in my life, but I think that's a protective mechanism more than anything. If anything, I think the lesson is to keep living life exactly the same way. I wasn't looking for love when I met him. He was unexpected but I think that is the best way for love to start. I would rather be taken by complete surprise and have to re-route my life, even around heartache, then to spend all of my time running after love that may never come. I think that is where the greater heartache comes - when you invest everything in trying to get and find love only to be let down if you never find it and realize how much you missed out on along the way. I would rather live each day to its fullest rather than spending my brief moments here on earth seeking something I may never find.

So as I have the rare opportunity to be in America on Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for the hardest week of my life, the week spent with Runaway Train, for the growth, the closure, the strength, and the beauty that it brought. I'm thankful that even though Jesus sometimes gives Satan permission to try and wreck our lives, He prays for us that our faith won't fail.

I'll eat pumpkin pie to that.

Quiet

I'm still on Santo Domingo time as I write this at 6:20 AM. I've been wide awake for about an hour and a half, knowing that it's after 9:00 AM on a small Caribbean island and that traffic is crazy, the morning school shift is underway, and life is going on three hours ahead of me as I sit in the still dark (and cold) early Fort Collins morning.

I savor these first few days after getting home. It's like holding a newborn baby - so quiet and sweet and precious, who in just a few short weeks will grow and change and never be that newborn again.
There is a stillness in my soul and a gentleness in my heart that I don't seem to find anywhere else except after spending 8-10 days outside of my own country, surrounded by those with much less than me materially but so much more relationally and spiritually.

I think a lot of people want to go on a mission trip because they truly believe they can save the world in the course of seven days. People who have maybe never stepped foot in a soup kitchen in their own community or shared their faith with the neighbor across the street. To be honest, I've never done either of those things either. And I know for sure that my week in Santo Domingo didn't result in any great changes in anyone's life except maybe my own.

But this trip more than any other taught me some important things. I learned how to walk slower, how to listen without needing to speak, how to care for those with needs far greater than my own. I learned that forgiveness sets one free but that there is wisdom in creating boundaries with those who have caused great harm. I also got to meet one of the girls I sponsor through Compassion International. I plan to blog separately about that experience, but for now I can say that while my week in Santo Domingo didn't save or change Estrella's life in one instant, my monthly commitment to her over the course of the next 7 or 8 years will change her life.

I know that in a few more days I will be sucked back into the frantic pace of my American life. I will stay in bed until 7:00 AM and moan and whine about things like my obnoxious cat or not being able to make the copy machine work. All of the silly things that distract me and keep me stressed. But for today I sit quietly in the dark morning holding my quiet and gentle heart, grateful for the stillness that poverty, chaotic traffic, and unfamiliar language brings to my soul.