A Moment Out Of Time
Have you ever been someplace, talking with someone, when all of a sudden, it's like time stops, and you know what is being said or about to be said is of eternal value? It's like God stops you, removes you from time and surroundings and says, "This is important. Remember it!" It's happened many times for me, but recently I had one of those incredible moments I can't ever forget.
It happened at a wedding.
Because I work with kids, I'm aware of the fragile importance of time. For two or three years, God will give me the honor of loving, teaching and encouraging a young person. It's a hellish time for them (their adolescence, not my presence) but then, if a kid ISN'T in turmoil at that age, that's when they need therapy. It's the nature of the thing, and my real challenge is just seeing through those frightening adolescent times. Then, they move on. Unlike many other youth pastors, though, once they are "ours", they always will be. And they always will be part of me - important to me.
Shaun was from another youth group. He was raised in church, but life, and bad church treatment left deep scars on him. Yet he followed Jesus and kept walking.
Something clicked when I first met him. "Deep calls unto deep". I KNEW him. Loved him. I started talking to him; he was polite but distant. He didn't trust easily.
He met some of our kids and started coming to our bible studies. One night I said, "Will you bring your guitar and help with worship?" His eyes lit up. "Really? You want me to? Sure!" And he did. It was powerful. Our voices and playing were totally in sync, and the presence of God was overwhelming every time we worshipped.
I became Shaun's confidante and friend. He caught the vision of my life through a tape I'd done years before, "Love Is A Fire", and it burned in him to know God's love. Our times were never shallow chatter; we always spoke deeply, heart to heart. For a young man of just 18, I knew it spoke of a profound calling on his life. I trusted him enough to take him on a difficult, spiritually draining seminar trip. He was a champ. And he really enjoyed watching me, coffee-less, attempt in the mornings to get ready for the day's teaching, bumping into walls, growling, dropping things and stubbing my toe. ( Co-ordination has never been my strong point.)
Shaun went away for a while, far away, trying to make a life for himself out of state, away from the memories, the pain. It failed, but I wasn't sorry to see him return. We needed him. I needed him. For the next 8 months, we enjoyed his presence, used his gifts and watched him grow. Soon Donna became his second love next to Jesus, and they were soon to be married.
That alone was emotional. Donna was wonderful, and together they were a deeply caring, loving team who had already begun to touch other kids' lives. All that was good news. The hard part - they were leaving the day after their wedding for North Carolina. I saw it as a good move, away from old surroundings and demands of ministry. They would grow closer under Jesus' loving hand. I had to be stoic, because I was about to lose Shaun again. Our work would feel the absence of him, our worship would ring less fully, and I would miss his friendship. There would be an unfilled void God would have to give me grace for. Notice I didn't say He would fill it. Human relationships in Jesus are part of us forever, and it would cheapen their value for God to just say, "Here, it's filled, you won't miss them". I'm glad it's that way, for the very pain of a loved one's absence proves their value and worth in our lives. To let go is to hurt, but not to lose. It's to better appreciate every moment you've had together.
And so, they married one breezy October Saturday. It was emotional for me. I always get deeply touched when one of our kids marries.
But the eternal moment I spoke of took place just moments before the ceremony began. Shaun and I were tuxed up, sweating, standing in the back waiting for the ceremony to start. I was adjusting Shaun's bowtie and we talked about their future, their move back east. "Shaun", I said quietly, "If the move doesn't work out, you can always come home". Time stopped. "This IS home", Shaun said, then place his hand on my heart. "THIS is home."
The scriptures say we have no permanent place here, but we look for a city - a home - still to come, that God made for us. We're strangers. We don't belong here. The homesick longing at times is nearly unbearable, as it was that day when I watched Shaun and Donna drive away. In that eternal moment, I understand what a great comfort God has given us; in our hearts, we find in each other our home away from "Home".
