December 13, 2006
2006 Moments
2006 was a year of mile markers, some superficial (finally got an iPod and chopped all my hair off), and some significant - I turned 30. So when I try to name a single defining moment, I'm hard pressed. I would think, initially, that it would be Romania, and while it was undoubtedly a defining trip, and my heart and life were changed because of it, it feels so much like its own beginning, rather than a single moment that sticks out in one year.
I catalog the year in my head, running through all the trips, travels and significant dates. I stood on a beach in Negril and saw two of my friends get married. I marked the first anniversary of homeownership and it came and went without me running off somewhere or robbing a bank. There was a fateful trip to Las Vegas where I heard God loudly telling me that perhaps the reason none of my relationships work out is because I'm the one doing the choosing. I turned 30. Michael was born and my heart no longer belonged to me. And then I got on a plane - more scared than I've ever been - and flew to a country I never dreamed I'd visit, to serve people who served me far greater in return. Sometimes in my dreams I can still see the countryside. I still hear them worshiping in their native tongue and I see with my own eyes Timisoara's Victory Square laid white with snow, the way it was washed clean that fateful December day in 1989.
I fell for someone I had no business falling for and I made the conscious decision to stop dating, perhaps for good. There was Labor Day Retreat where Francis Chan spoke words that wrecked my world and I fight daily to remember them, only to be wrecked again and again. Sarah and I stood in a New Mexico field and watched hundreds of hot air balloons ascend into the sky, littering it like candied confetti. I waded into the Caribbean seas off the Yucatan Peninsula and, totally alone save for the tide, raised my arms to God and proclaimed "We are yours, we are yours, we are yours," and knew right then that as long as there is an ocean, I will never have trouble remembering how vast He is.
And those are just the big moments. It does nothing to encapsulate the millions of words exchanged or the friendships forged. It doesn't speak of the low times when I wondered how I would ever persevere; the times I felt alone or victimized or slandered. It doesn't even speak to the little memories in the big moments - like how Rodica took us on a walking tour of Timisoara and I was overwhelmed by the thousands or roses everywhere. They were pink and white and red and I thought that how strange it was, in a city that was the birthplace of a revolution, in a country that was ruled by a heartless dictator, still there were roses; still there was beauty amid the gray buildings and downtrodden citizens. There were moments of worship when I thought I would never stop singing - and I stopped and opened my eyes and saw in front of me, behind me, beside me, friends whose arms were also raised; people who were worshipping the same God I was; who love Him just as much, with as much awe and appreciation. On one occasion, those people were singing in a different language, but their hearts were saying the same thing. There were moments where I felt totally unacceptable and then was suddenly told in the next moment how appreciated I am, and how lucky that person feels to be my friend. There are moments I'll never forget - like driving to Teri's house - my beloved, wonderful Teri without whom I would have been lost long ago - to hang out with her two-year-old child and getting a phone call from my beloved, beautiful Melissa telling me that she is getting married. And I felt nothing but lucky.
Sometimes I am amazed - amazed! - at how different I am. When someone strikes me, instead of striking back or getting worked up over how unfair life is, I wonder what I did to make them lash out. And if necessary, I apologize and then that's the end of it. Forgiveness is never easy, and sometimes you have to wake up every day and forgive again and again, but when you're no longer struggling on a treadmill of being the BEST, life gets easier. It'll never be easy - suffering came into the world on the tail of sin and we will never escape it while we inhabit this skin. But knowing that my life isn't about me and that I'm not running a race for a flush bank account or a hot husband makes it easier to swallow the petty and the stupid and the simply unnecessary.
I know that this is sometimes a dirty word on the Internet, but I am happy. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed and sometimes I wonder if it will ever be my turn, and sometimes I wish I had enough will power to not eat so many dang cookies, but almost all of the time I am happy.
To be able to say that at the close of 2006, when I most certainly could not have said it at the start, is perhaps the best moment of all.
Posted by hannah at 05:16 PM
