Yesterday, I attended my last service at Aspen Grove Community Church, and later shared a last movie and dinner with two sweet friends. I’ve been walking through a lot of “lasts” in the past several days. Until recently, my focus has been more on the excitement of a new season of life, the anticipated joys of a new ministry to undertake, new challenges to overcome, new relationships to embrace. And while I remain fully convinced of God’s hand in all this, His divine leading and way-making, it’s hitting me at last just how hard it’s going to be to say goodbye…

            I moved out to Littleton three years ago this August to attend Denver Seminary. Even though my two-year degree ended up taking three years to complete, that time has gone by in a blink. My graduation back in May had an air of unreality – it may take until this fall, when I’m surrounded by students but with no study requirements of my own, for the truth of my graduate status to hit.

            As I sit here, thoughts of all that’s happened in the past three years rush in on me. Thousands of words written, millions more read. Miles walked down the South Platte River trail behind campus, taking in the ever-changing sky and water above and below the immovable mountains. Stacks of textbooks sold in the bookstore. Countless meals prepared and eaten alone; fewer but memorable ones shared in the company of friends. Dozens of golden days captured in digital pictures. Lists of goals achieved, adjusted, or abandoned. And all the people who’ve crossed my Colorado path … those I’ve helped and hurt, loved, lost, and learned from.

            Some of the goodbyes I’ve said lately will be the last words I’ll ever share with those friends. Our season of connection has passed, or will soon taper off into memories, leaving us the richer for knowing each other while making room for new ties. But some of my goodbyes, God willing, are less permanent. Conversations will be much fewer and farther between, maintained over phone and Facebook rather than face-to-face. But the bonds that have joined us will hold, and I’m looking forward to seeing what new shapes they take.

            I’m not the same person I was when I arrived here three years ago. I’ve been stretched and strengthened, enlightened and encouraged. I’ve walked through pain I didn’t know it was possible to walk through and still endure. And I’ve savored moments of blessing so rich they’ve made me feel like God’s favorite child. Then there’s been the string of ordinary days in between – seen from the perspective I have now, maybe they weren’t so ordinary after all.

            I’ve got less than one week left in Colorado, and I know it will be over nearly before I can take a breath. I anticipate poignant remembrances to strike without warning as I walk through now-familiar places. I expect tears to build with each glimpse of my beloved mountains, silent symbols of the hope that brought me to this place and of all I now leave behind in order to move forward.

            One thing I like about goodbyes, though, is the way they soften hearts, stirring the depths to bring forth words, embraces, and heartfelt expressions seldom inspired by everyday life. Maybe it would be better for us if we could be more open with our loved ones on a regular basis. But for many of us – myself included – it takes something like a goodbye to overcome our reserve and give us the courage to say or do something we’ve felt in silence for a long time. So to add to my store of memories, I have been collecting a wealth of farewell words, both written and spoken, words full of encouragement, reconciliation, understanding, and love.

            I don’t know what the next three years will bring, or even the next three weeks. I do know that I can face them with an even greater hope, trust, and openness than I’ve been capable of before, because of what I’ve learned, who I’ve met, and who I’ve become here. I’ll have to let time and distance confirm, but from where I stand, I think it’s been a fruitful season …

  Where to begin? The downside of not posting in five months or so, (besides frustrating xanga-faithfuls like Sheryl and Andrea to no end), is having way more life happen in the intervening time than I could possibly hope to do justice to in one entry. Too late to complain, so I'll just forge ahead.

On the theme of simple pleasures, I must first confess my absolute delight that my apartment complex finally pressed professional window washers into service this afternoon. When one lives on the third floor of a Colorado apt., beset by a year's worth of dust and intermittent thundershowers, it is a peculiar sort of freedom to be at last gazing at a panorama of fleecy clouds and blue sky, undimmed by a coating of water-spotted grime. If you will allow me to push the comparison, it is an apt metaphor for my life these days. A bit more of your patience, and I'll try to explain.

Back a few months ... the end of the spring semester was grueling on several levels, though more emotionally and spiritually than academically. With the help of some beloved mentors, I made yet more uncomfortable discoveries about myself that needed to be addressed. By God's grace, I worked toward a tenuous peace with an estranged friend. And I made a difficult decision, one that seemed best at the time - and indeed, it probably was. Still, it had the unwelcome side effect of wrenching me out of one sphere of influence, one comfortable role, into ... nothing. At least, not right away.

My two-week trip to Turkey and Greece provided a welcome break from reality. I walked ancient roads traveled ages ago by the Apostle Paul and climbed over ruins of cities he witnessed tall and proud, though dimmed in his eyes by the darkness of their paganism. All the while, I marveled at his dedication to traverse endless miles of rough terrain and uncertain sea, single-minded in his devotion to shine the light of Christ into every shadowed corner of his world.

 Most moving of all, in my estimation, was our team's visit to the picturesque fishing village of Behremkale, or the little-known ancient port of Assos. It was here that Paul planned to meet up again with his companions, having sent them on by boat from Troas while he traveled on foot. One of our missionary guides commented on Paul's reasons for this solitary journey, noting that he nearly always appears in the company of others. He speculated that Paul, having recently been warned by the Spirit of his impending capture, may have taken this journey as his own private Gethsemane, using it to prepare his spirit for the trials to come. Noting the rugged loneliness of the landscape and the serenity of the surrounding Aegean, I could easily imagine such a motive on the beleaguered apostle's part. 

Idyllic as the trip was in most respects, it was also incredibly wearying to scurry about from one fantastic site to the next, barely having time to absorb the significance of each before loading up the bus and pressing on. We stayed no longer than two nights in any one place, and in beautiful Behremkale, among several others, only one. I am incredibly grateful to God for allowing me these adventures and memories - along with 500 digital photos - that will scratch my traveling itch for some time to come. Still, at the end of my two weeks away, I was more than ready to return "home" to Colorado.

But touching down again into "reality" came with its own challenges. Finding myself with minimal responsibilities and even less motivation, I settled into a listless pattern that consisted of little more than eating, sleeping, and rereading nearly every fiction book on my shelf. (For those of you who haven't seen my bookshelf, I'll estimate it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 20.)

Of course, that wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't promised myself I was going to work on my own novel this summer. Eventually, I did manage to put some solid hours' work in on it. Sometimes the words flowed like water; other times, it was like squeezing blood from a turnip, as a curiously quaint but nonetheless expressive simile has it. Around the first of the month, I finally succeeded in bringing my page count to 100 pages. No mean accomplishment - I celebrated like mad! Alas, I've struggled since and have seen earlier progress slide to a current standstill. It's frustrating, in some respects, but as my attention has been drawn in other intriguing directions, I can't entirely begrudge myself the break.

First, and most heartily welcome after the deadening dryness that has seemed to cloak my spirit since spring, came a bit of spiritual renewal. After any intense season of growth and painful stretching, such as the one I experienced last semester, I tend to relax into the false comfort of spiritual apathy. This continues ad nauseam, until I finally scrape up enough awareness of my plight to issue a bleat of desperation, always answered in time by a rescuing lift by the Good Shepherd. Of course, never how or when I would expect it. One would think it's been repeated often enough for this stubborn sheep to learn her lesson, but ... I think it's a fairly common pattern.

So, without going into too much detail, let me thankfully relate that desperate prayers were answered by a renewed desire to pray, and distance was overcome by the intimate reminders of a faithful Friend who never left my side. As often happens with me, renewed passion for Christ and His kingdom are doggedly shadowed by nebulous fears I can seem neither to define nor conquer. Since I have not yet learned to experience one without the other, apathy at times appears a welcome alternative. In the past few weeks, I have, by God's grace, again chosen to risk the rugged peaks and valleys of kingdom living rather than to drift through the bland plains of mediocrity. I pray He will strengthen my resolve to continue so journeying in the days ahead. One great help in the past week has been the decision to carve the verses of Philippians 3:7-14 on my heart; the daily repetition of Paul's steadfast purpose has proved both immense comfort and soul-tingling challenge. "... I want to know Christ - Yes! to know the power of His resurrection and participation in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death ... Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." It's worth a few moments of reflection, at least, if you're so inclined.

In the midst of all this, a particular honor and challenge has come my way. It was not something I sought, was never something I would have volunteered for, but now that it's here, I can trace God's fingerprints all over it. I have accepted a (volunteer) position on the new leadership team for Renovation, my church's young adult ministry. Since this ministry was born in February '06, I have been a faithful but rather wall-flowered part of its operations. Flying in the face of my self-preservation instincts toward relative obscurity, I believe the Spirit has had a hand in flushing me out of the back corner and into the thick of the fray. It's not that I don't thrive in opportunities for leadership - I absolutely do - it's just that sometimes, I'm afraid I like them too much. I know better than anyone else where my weaknesses lie, not the least of them being a never-ending struggle against perfectionism. One that has caused two wise leaders on separate occasions over the past two years look earnestly into my face and carefully drill in the identical message: "Lindsey, you ARE going to make mistakes!" Thankyouverymuch.

Despite my reservations, hesitations, and cowardly glances back into beckoning corners of anonymity, I am honestly excited about the chance to serve in this way. Though it came about through a somewhat controversial process, I believe the Spirit has worked to pull together a solid team of leaders. On some levels, the skills, personalities, gifts, strengths, and weaknesses the four of us bring to the table cover extreme ends of the spectrum. But I think if we can work through the humbling process of learning to truly listen to each other, we will serve to sharpen, balance, and enhance each other amazingly well. I have great hopes for what God might choose to do through us to deepen, equip, and expand the Renovation community in the days ahead.

In myriad ways great and small, it seems God has delighted to peel away the film of apathy clinging to my soul, allowing vibrancy in all the shades of abundant life to shine through undiluted. It's undeniably breathtaking, in more ways than one. That proved especially the case the other day when, heart racing and hands shaking, I shared some thoughts with a friend ... but no - that is a story for another day.