We had finished our drinks and cookies and had stretched the moments as long as was responsible for what the day held. A single tear tried to roll free, but I blinked a couple of times, reminding it to stay put.
She and her daughter sat quietly. Neither spoke much, but they seemed to be at rest with the commotion of the coffee shop - sifting the little moments out of the air.
Nick stood - the cue that this moment, with the others, had its place and we must move on. There were hard moments ahead. Hard and gritty but also mixed with joy. They must all be embraced before moments of reunion could be reached.
The mom watched us all stand.
Our laughter grew solemn.
Brett reached out for a hug and Nick, Christopher, and I reached in. "Friendship," said Nick. "The one ship that never sinks." One of us wobbled a little and the group hug teetered slightly. "Or, if it does," said Brett. "We'll go down together," Christopher interjected.
I caught a glimpse of her as she watched us. A gentle smile crept across her face. It was as if she was aware she was witnessing something precious. Her eyes spoke. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of what our friendships were like. She smiled like she understood the rarity of true friends. I smiled back. I think good friends are like a cozy fire on Christmas after coming in from sledding, or like hot chocolate one sips on a camping trip before everyone else has crawled out of their tents. I wonder how she would describe it. True friends, like Christopher said, "Faithful in joy. Patient with pain. Present, even if in spirit." That's what community is like, and I saw that mother's eyes speak like she knew. I envied her. For a split second, I envied her. Because she saw. She saw the joy, but she didn't have to say the goodbye.
Yvanna joined us, and we headed for the door.
I'd already said so many goodbyes that week. My heart ached for Tobi, Shania, Libby, Travis, Danielle - I'd never felt so unready for more. Or perhaps I had, but goodbyes sting anew each time.
We walked out. We left the mother and daughter in the Patisserie. We left them to continue sifting quiet moments out of the chaos. We left them holding our spot until our return.
We took a picture - a memory, something to hold close.
So. Here I am, coming to the last days before I leave everything I've ever known, even down to the primary language. I'm going where I am been called. Peru. I'm trusting the most vulnerable parts of my courage to a God whose full plan I do not know. I'm trading the Rocky Mountains for the Peruvian Jungle. I'm trading warm showers for cold showers. I'm to expect getting lice. I COULD avoid it, but if I'm to love on the people and children without reserve, it will be easiest to just accept it and treat my hair before returning home. Feminine products will be available, but their price will be outrageous. It's best to bring supplies from home. I've had Montezuma's Revenge once, but I won't be immune. Ever careful precaution must be taken. I'll be living out of a suitcase for 10 months. (Although I MAY have a closet? Sources have mixed reviews.) I will greatly miss many loved ones, and I'll miss the wedding of one of my dearest friends.
I'm scared.
People acknowledge that it will be one of the hardest things I'll ever do, but they tell me it will be one of the most special experiences of my life. I pray so. I think I believe them. But, wow, this isn't proving easy.
My worst fears are subsiding. I've been petrified of losing my people. I've had loss before. I've healed, but there are scars. Mama says sometimes scar tissue must rip before it can heal properly. I'll be gone a year...or nearly. It hasn't even taken a summer, in the past, for people to move on. My scar tissue is ripping. It almost hurts more than the initial wound. Funny how that works. I know it won't be the same, but recently I've allowed myself to dare that it could be as good or better when I come home. Torn scar tissue HURTS, but when it heals, it's almost like new. Maybe stronger. I have hope for that. More than hope.
I have a great community, and they are making this process easier. "We are soo proud of her for being brave and setting out for this adventure," Chris said to Auntie Buff when I introduced them. "Yes, we're sending her with all of our collective courage," Brett chimed in. And... "I'm going to have to buy ALL the ink to keep up with the letters I'm going to write." I'll hold you to that, Nick. ;)
I'm blessed. I have a village filled with people who are rooting for me. These people have shown me what it means to come together for strength - "collective confidence." I have people who will hold my heart while they're too far away to hold my hand. "Present. Even if in spirit."
I'm blessed. That is why I want to go. Yes, I'm scared. I don't know what to expect. There've been many days that I've struggled to look past "But, what if I fall?" to the "Oh! But darling. What if you fly?" (Erin Hanson) I have been given much. That reality does not escape me. If I can bring that same blessing to those who will enter my life in Peru, I will consider myself successful.
And, I tell myself this. It's not goodbye. It's simply, "See you later!" And I believe it.
T - 3 days. Here goes!
~TBS~
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