Please let this wind blow me home.

I prayed two days ago that he would find comfort. I prayed that he would find peace and rest. I prayed that God would give him joy, that we might see him smile again. I prayed that he would feel loved and protected. I prayed that God would take away his fear, his frustration, and his pain. I prayed that he would once again know hope.

He didn’t seem to have very much rest the past few days. Comfort seemed impossible to find. Joy, only in the moments when his eyes caught those of his daughter or son or wife. I want him to still be here. I want him to ask me what I thought of the latest Eagles game. I want him to playfully roll his eyes as he realizes my “political rebellion,” has rubbed off in subtle, small ways onto his daughter. I want to hear about the latest book he’s been reading. I want to listen as he and Sarah debate who has the best basketball program in the ACC. I want him to be here and I’m angry. I want him to be here and it’s just not fair that he’s gone. I want him here. And I am sad.

He went home to be with Jesus late last night. He left his body and the rest of us behind and he went home. We cried and cried and cried. Last night was by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do. To watch this man that I love die, to look into his eyes and to know that I will never be able to see them again, to watch as his family grieves their loss. The most heartbreaking thing I have ever known.

I am sad for Sarah and I am sad for Wes and I am sad for Lisa, but I am also just sad, because I love him. He made me laugh and he made me feel like I was a part of a family that I wasn’t really a part of. He welcomed me into his life, into his home, into his family day after day, week after week, year after year. He gave me advice and he asked me about my life. Sometimes he was frustrated when he tried to watch the news while Sarah, Lisa and I talked too loudly in the kitchen. He didn’t always love when I showed up at midnight unannounced, but I never doubted whether or not I belonged. Not one second of doubt. Mr. Sutton has always made me feel welcome. The Suttons have always made me feel like I was one of them. The W always made me feel like I belonged. I can’t over emphasize how redemptive his treatment of me has been over the past eight years.

I am thankful for him, for his life and the legacy that he leaves behind in his beautiful children, who are honestly two of the most incredible individuals I know. I am thankful for his words of wisdom and his sense of humor. I am thankful for the ways that he challenged me. I am thankful for the ways that he encouraged me. I am thankful for how much love and support he poured into me year after year. I am thankful for the children that he raised and the pieces of him that I see in each of them. I am thankful for the wife that he has loved for twenty-nine years. I am thankful for how hard he worked to take care of them. I am thankful for his family. I am thankful. And I am sad.

He left us last night and after the initial tears, the shock set in. Is this really happening? Can we all wake up from this nightmare now?

I will never understand. I know that. I don’t know why children have to watch their parents die while they are still children. I don’t know why death comes and steals our loved ones away like it does. I don’t know why he seems to take the good dads and leave the other ones behind. I don’t know why some people get to live and some people have to die. I don’t understand. And I know I never will. The mystery of our Lord is not always beautiful from where I stand. Today, it is hard. Today, not understanding makes me angry and sad.

Today, not understanding doesn’t leave me in awe, it leaves me in tears. And I don’t know how to correct that. I don’t know how to pretend as if this feeling isn’t there. I don’t know how to move from anger and sadness and pain to wonder.

And I think maybe that’s ok.

“A broken and contrite heart, Oh God, you will not despise.”

So today we will be sad that he is gone, because there is certainly much to be sad about; there is certainly much to mourn.

Last night Sarah, Anthony and I sat together on the tiniest sofa in the tiniest, “Serenity Room,” at Wesley Long Hospital. Sarah looked around for a minute and finally she said, “he’s so happy now.” 

We are sad, but praise the God of comfort for we can take hold of the knowledge that he is no longer sad, he is no longer in pain, he is no longer afraid. We are sad, because we miss him, but he is not. He is not sad. You are right Suttontown, he is so very happy.

I know only a portion of the peace I will one day know in full. I know only a small amount of the rest I will one day find. I know only a hint of true comfort and joy and love. I know bits and pieces of those things. I have caught glimpses of the beauty we were meant for, but I feel it at the core of my heart, this fact: he now has all of those things in full. He has joy and rest and peace and love and beauty and God. He is free from his cancer. And he is home.

He found comfort. He found peace and rest. God gave him joy, and we will see him smile again. He has found love. He has found protection. He knows no fear. He knows no frustration. He feels absolutely no pain. And he is at the right hand of the God of hope.

He’s with Nana.

He’s with Anthony’s dad.

He’s with Ashley’s dad.

He’s with Anna’s dad.

And they are all with Jesus. 

Something changed inside me, broke wide open, all spilled out.

I went to Costa Rica for a week in August, and I’m still not entirely sure how to talk about it. I’m not entirely sure what I want to tell people or how I want to word what I want to tell people. Have mercy. I did my best.

I saw evil as up close and personal as I ever have before. The huge weight of the sex trade industry, the complete darkness surrounding prostitution, the urgency in the faces of orphaned children, the hopelessness of drug addiction; these things all looked me in the face and they leveled me. I looked into the eyes of human beings that are used repeatedly night after night and I saw deep brokenness. I saw the kind of brokenness that knocks the air out of your lungs. I saw poverty individually on the faces of countless children, but I also saw it in a bigger, systematic cycle. I saw women roll their eyes when I told them that God thinks they are beautiful. I saw fear in the eyes of a 14 year old mother. I saw so many things that filled my heart with pain and sadness and those things made days in Costa Rica hard.

I didn’t know what to do with all of those things. I still don’t know what to do with all of those things. The place where we were staying had stalls in the women’s bathroom. On one of the stall doors someone had written, “God is not based on feelings.” I read it the first day and laughed because it was right next to some cheesy David Crowder lyric that made me roll my eyes. But I read it again the next day. God is not based on feelings. And then again the next day. God is not based on feelings. I read it every day that we spent in Costa Rica, and eventually I came to feel that there was power in that statement.

God it not based on feelings, but I sure did feel a lot of very different, very intense, very deep feelings while I was in Costa Rica.

Joy.

I left the United States full of it. The day before we left I had the privilege of standing next to one of my favorite people as she married her best friend. The wedding was beautiful in every possible way. There was so much love and laughter and so much hope. Hope for a future full of Jesus, and hope for a life full of real love. I was and am so incredibly happy for these friends of mine. Their wedding, their relationship, and their marriage have all brought me so much joy.

Encouragement.

We met so many incredible people during our time in Costa Rica. We saw so many incredible things. We spent time building each other up as a team and we spent time in prayer for the people of Costa Rica. I felt loved. I felt the safety and comfort that community brings.

Exhaustion.

Amber and Brandon’s wedding was beautiful and flawless and I would do it all again in a heartbeat. The process was exhausting in the best kind of way. Leaving the reception I felt full and peaceful but I also felt tired. The following morning I met the rest of my Costa Rica team at the airport and we took off running.

You can ask anyone. I was the first one to sleep every night and the last one up every morning. I was just exhausted the entire week and I couldn’t seem to shake it. My body was tired. My heart was tired. My mind was tired. It seemed like every single inch of every single part of me was desperate for fuel. I felt helplessly exhausted.

Homesick.

Upon our arrival into Costa Rica, we were greeted by a country that looked, smelled, and tasted differently than anything I am used to. I’ve been out of the United States before and I work with people from all around the world. But in Costa Rica I gained a greater appreciation for how hard it must be for someone to leave everything they know and come to a new country, a new culture. I wasn’t uncomfortable or afraid. It wasn’t even that I didn’t like the culture of Costa Rica. It was beautiful and hugely humbling to see people do life so differently, and with so much beauty and grace.

It was hard for no other reason, except that I missed the comfort and stability of my own culture. I was tired and I wanted the comfort of home. How fortunate that nine times out of ten I have that option, that comfort. How humbling that so many do not.

Sadness.

Most days I spent at least some amount of time with children. We helped with a Vacation Bible School ministry. We visited several orphanages. We met incredible women who turned their homes into safe houses for abandoned children. We held babies and jumped rope and sang songs. We folded laundry and cleaned tables and organized shoes. We did things that needed to be done for these children. And I am glad we did it, I am glad that we were there, but more than anything these places filled me with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Sadness for these little souls who know so strongly what it is to be rejected. Sadness for the brokenness of so many families. Sadness for the countless fatherless babies. I felt sadness because the kids we met were perfect and so many of them didn’t know it.

I am an introvert except when it comes to babies and kids. Babies and kids give me things that adults do not. I can say this now only because I am not a parent and one day when I have kids of my own I will surely eat my words, but I love being around kids because they fill me up and make me laugh. They play game and sing songs and it makes my heart happy. They give love so freely and they feel feelings really well and I love that. They are honest in the best possible way and it is great.

It was really hard to be around so many beautiful kids in Costa Rica that genuinely needed things that they were not getting. I felt like they were giving me so much and there was nothing that I could give to them in return. I couldn’t put their pieces back together. All I could do was be there for a few days. All I could do was sing a song or play a game or fold some clothes. I felt guilty and sad that these precious little souls were filling me up and I had nothing to give them. I need for nothing. I felt like I was stealing their joy.

Anger.

I thought that seeing sex trafficking and prostitution in such a real way would make me sad. And, yeah, it did. But I felt anger more than anything else. I felt this burning hatred for the evil that swindles people out of their dignity. I felt animosity for the people that make this cycle continue. I felt outraged by the size of an industry that survives by taking pieces of people away from them and filling them with the lie that they are worth no more than a monetary value. We saw so much pain and confusion and loss and brokenness. And it made me angry, because it just doesn’t have to be that way. People are doing this to other people and it’s not right. It shouldn’t be happening.

I walked around all week in Costa Rica and I tried to remember that God is not based on feelings. I tried to remember that the Lord I serve is changeless. I tried to remember that he is sovereign and all-powerful and that he is good.  I tried to remember that the Lord is strong and loving and he is in complete control. I tried to remember that he loves me and he loves the people of Costa Rica.

I am still trying to remember that most days. I know it’s true. I know that God is not subject to my emotions at any particular moment, (and praise Him for that because sometimes I cry watching State basketball highlights) but the point is that even though I know he is not based on how I’m feeling, that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it still doesn’t feel like he loves me or us or that man I met on the street in Costa Rica.

I know that he does. I know that it’s always true. He loves me more than I ever could imagine and he loves me all day every day. I believe those words and I ask that God would give me eyes to see his heart for the people of Costa Rica and for the people of this world. How our father’s soul must ache watching his children hurt so badly. God is not based on my feelings, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel things. Help me to feel the things that you feel, Lord. Help me to see things as you see them, through the lenses of a masterpiece that has already been completed in full. The race has been won. The fight is over. The enemy is defeated. That is not always easy to believe. Lord, help my unbelief.