Leaving

I thought to do this in a two-part series. It seems important to separate leaving from arriving. The thought processes and emotions are different, and in a lot of ways I am still processing both the coming and the going. Plus, more pictures that way. Get excited.

The turmoil of packing, discarding, and cleaning has not given me adequate time to process my departure. If I had thought about it, I would have photographed the piles of belongings that left my house in the past few weeks, simply to astound everyone with the enormity of what is gone.

So, here's the list:

A carload full of clothing, housewares, and electronics (to Goodwill);
A television (which felt a bit like aiding and abetting a theft);
A couch (in the back of a pickup; I defy anyone to secure it better than we did);
A bed, refrigerator, some bookshelves, and assorted odds and ends (to a trio of needy grad students);
My car (quite nearly in a puff of smoke—in actuality, simply gone from the lot by the time I left the dealership).

At the moment, I’m finding it hard to be sad that “my” things are no longer “mine.” I’m just relieved all the stuff is gone.

What I do miss, though, is my community. I have to say, I have great friends. Not only did they send me off with multiple dinner parties (what can I say?… we love to eat!), but they have prayed for me and served me as I packed my bags and sold my stuff. This motley group, from academic pursuits, church family, and weekly ultimate Frisbee games completely served me, kept me laughing, and watched me cry with such compassion in my last weeks. Though I want to say that I fully appreciated these individuals—who both know me well and barely at all—during my time in LA, I think I’m only realizing how great I had it now that I’m gone. Whether it was cleaning my oven, packing my bags, or helping me drop off my cable box, these folks kept my heart light while doing the very tasks that cemented my departure.

Erissa somehow managed to help me fit everything into my bags. And at midnight, no less!

Some pictures from our times together are here. Despite some of the faces people are making, we really did have a great time eating Matzo Ball Soup at Canter’s in Hollywood (two years without mishmosh is certainly a sacrifice) and while Mi Piace wasn’t necessarily the best dining experience, the company was great and I felt truly loved.

In case you missed it, that's me in the corner, not paying attention...

Mi Piace just a couple of hours before I left for LAX.

The airport, as one person put it, was a bloodbath. We all sobbed, we said nice things, and in the end, I somehow found the strength and courage to get on the plane and go. I’m not one for whom tears come easily. It takes a lot to get my eyes all misty, and even more to drive me to sob uncontrollably. Nevertheless, I did it. Children gaped in horror at my puffy eyes and sniffles. No doubt some thought I was overreacting. But even though the pain was acute, the people who stood by me as I checked my bags and cleared security made sure that in leaving, though I felt sad, I was also incredibly blessed. The words and tears they shared with me have endured these past few days. I feel so gifted with that time.

So I did it. I finished with the anticipation and the preparation that prompted so much reflection. All those emotions met their match, first in the empty apartment, and then in the three suitcases stuffed with my few belongings. I was reminded of the story in Matthew 19 of the rich young ruler who is told to leave all his possessions, and follow Christ. I now understand his sighing, because leaving possessions is certainly a lot of work. Yet, he missed out on the joy in owning only three bags (and if I’m honest, it could be less) of property. And as I looked them over before getting on the plane, I wondered, is this too much? Would it be better to follow with less?

It is painful, this leaving. Yet it is liberating. Though I walked away from my friends standing at the airport, now it is their prayers, encouragement, and love that sustain me. These are the things that don’t fit in a suitcase, and aren’t contained by time zones. I left, but in some ways, I’m not really gone.