Our house before leaving for ScotlandThe year is 1999. The kids and Eric were waiting in the car. Yep, a maroon chevy minivan, in our 2 car garage and a short distance behind it stood our Gorilla brand glass basketball net; the kind you can wind down with a handle to fit your kid’s size.
I was the last one to leave the house that day. I’ll never forget the pain.
My last stop before saying goodbye to our 4,000 square foot house, was the open foyer with the double wide staircase and the open balcony that showcased our beautiful chandelier with about 20 glistening bulbs and a design that was outstanding.
Kids still in the car I’m listening to the car run in the garage, sounding strangely empty as the motor echoed. I had to make one more stop – the foyer. I waited three years to find the right wallpaper for this grand foyer I loved. I put my face on the wall as I ran my hand down the wall to feel the texture for the last time, I was hugging it. “I love this wallpaper”. My permission for you to laugh would be now. It is funny 11 years later.
That was 13 houses ago, four countries, and one less kid ago, over 200 souls coming to the Lord, roughly. Many other God encounters. Scotland and its price. Revival and it’s accompanying fire. Pioneering with its fear of the unknown. Phase II with revival/pioneering – the cost to carry it with passion. This pioneer conference has struck a couple of deep chords with me which is why I’m up at 4:50 am writing this now.
I remember the first step to becoming a pioneer. The goodbyes. Goodbye to life as I knew it. Where will revival lead to? Where does the pioneer call take you? Onward and upward. A kingdom to be won, a life to be lost. Yours.
I waited three years to find the right wallpaper for this foyer. Perusing books, coming home with samples and scotch taping them for weeks at a time on the wall, walking by on my way to soccer practice with Luke or Caleb glancing back, “hmmm”…too dark …. Not kid friendly… Little did I know that as soon as I got the last sheet hung, in one week God would supernaturally call us out of our life of “the perfect American life”.
It was coming down that same set of steps in my foyer when I looked at my husbands face the day he said at 5:00 am on a Sunday morning. He was scheduled to preach, both services. He had been with the Lord. “Hun, could you come down and have some coffee with me, I have something I want to share with you.” In my white robe walking barefoot softly with down my thickly padded cream carpet, I walked down the steps. One hand on the balcony and one on the freshly hung wallpaper; there was a lump in my throat. “I wanna talk before the boys get up”. “Okay. Let me have a minute, I need coffee.” He quickly got me some with my Coffeemate, hazelnut, liquid creamer.
You see I had not shared with him what had happened to me last Sunday morning standing before the congregation while helping to lead worship. God must have told him I chuckled to myself, I’m in trouble. We were in a beautiful, amazing and God presenced-season in our church. His manifest presence visiting us nearly every week in worship. We would stand in awe of His presence among us at the church. Something really different had happened to me last week that caused me to leave worship and go to the choir room and weep for an hour.
I now sit, one week later, at my table with in my Waverly kitchen, vine design at the time, staring and listening, but really I was admiring my coordinating cotton placemats. I really liked them, noticing that the white background really made my walnut wooden table stand out and brought out the beautiful woodgrain. “I have been with the Lord this morning and I have something to share with you; or really ask you.” The lump grew bigger. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.
I knew it! slightly slapping the table. I proceeded to tell him what happened just the Sunday before. I was standing in worship and suddenly I couldn’t remember any of our congregation” (of about 600 people). I looked from the balcony, down to the front row and I couldn’t remember anyone. I grazed the congregation again, for someone I recognized and couldn’t find one person I knew for a brief moment. I concentrated on Angie Botazzi (the little Italian woman who I sat with nearly every week on the front row who was a widower). She pinched our cheeks every Sunday in affection. I loved her. She made me feel as if I always belonged. This wonderful church had taken me in at 19, after losing my mom, now over 20 years later, they were my dearest family.
Standing there, I couldn’t remember her name or who she was or anyone else. Something was not right. I closed my eyes and asked Lord, what is going on? In my heart the words pounded like sudden unexpected news. “You’re finished here, your job is done, get ready to leave”. Immediately I said “no” quietly, even out loud while the others were singing in the mics. My heart hurt; ached actually. I went to the choir room to regroup and I sat by the fold up chairs and cried for the next hour.
Eric proceeded after a long pause, “I was in the word this morning and was reading about Jacob leaving Laban his father in law. He approached his wives and asked them, if they were ready to go and they said yes. I feel it’s time to leave our church. Don’t know where we’re going, don’t know how, but I feel I had to ask you first if you were ready to go … like Jacob. I feel it’s time to go and God is calling us out, somewhere.
That’s where it all started. The call. We prayed for the next six months on our knees not sharing this with anyone. The only prayer we had in us was, “Lord send us to the hungriest people on earth, hungry for you and your spirit”.
Nearly 12 months later, I’m hugging the wallpaper on my way out, to a rented house where we will live till we leave for Scotland.
Goodbye American dream. Hello, uncharted wilderness.
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Postscript: We’re returning to Scotland (Feb. 12, 2012).