The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 2): The U-Turn
Ξ August 24th, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |
Wednesday morning we packed up once again and headed back up I-5 to Lake Shasta. As soon as we got out of Santa Clara city limits, my head and sinuses cleared and almost within minutes I began to feel better.“Wow—that’s crazy. I feel totally better,” I marveled, breathing deeply in and out of my nose to demonstrate. Jeff turned to me and smiled, but I could tell he was lost in thought about our weekend there. A moment later, we saw the flashing lights behind us, and that panicked sinking feeling took over us both as we looked down and saw Jeff’s speed, ten miles per hour over the limit. We slowed and stopped along the side of the freeway, cars zooming past us.
Two-hundred and forty-five dollars poorer, we cautiously pulled back onto the freeway, crawling along at the speed limit while Hummers and Escalades veered and sped around us like we were standing still.
“Great end to the trip, huh?” Jeff looked ahead, visibly deflated. I patted his thigh and gazed out the window at the enormous white windmills sprinkled across the rolling hills, wondering what direction the wind was blowing.
Mark met us at the dock at Lake Shasta, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm as they always did when he spotted something new on the horizon of life.
“How was it?!” He hugged us both. “You totally connected with them, didn’t you?” We looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders.
“I don’t really know. I mean, I can’t say we could really tell one way or another.” Jeff admitted, as if we’d led Mark down. We walked down the dock together and hopped on a house boat and snuck into one of the rooms so we could have a chance to talk before the two-hundred some-odd students showed up teeming with needs and energy. Jeff shared with him about Chase and Kelly.
“I knew it! I mean, those’re the kind of people you want to be ministering with. It sounds like you guys just clicked right off.” Again Jeff and I just kind of looked at each other, wanting to join in in Mark’s contagious enthusiasm, but unsure whether it would be authentic for us to do so. After we’d talked a bit more, someone was calling for Mark so he excused himself and left Jeff and me alone.
“Maybe I just need a different perspective,” I said. “I mean there were some really good things about the trip, and I really did enjoy Chase and Kelly. Maybe we just need to focus on the good things.”
Jeff pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I love you, Sauce.”
A week later, I had the joy of playing the lead role in a large-scale theatrical performance put on by our church. We had adapted the script of Tilly, a story about a woman dealing with the issue of abortion. The emotionally packed play had every audience member in tears, and for all of us who spent the months of dedicated weekends, evenings, and countless hours of work, the play was like our own child. Sarah, the girl who played my daughter in the play, became like a daughter to me. We’d performed plays every year for three years thus far, and the entire drama ministry had been my baby, been born out of my tears and suffering and had flourished. Watching this ministry blossom was like watching a child grow up and succeed.
The last night of the play, as I packed up my bags and hugged the last of the cast members, I couldn’t help but think, this might be my last drama. The reality of that was too much for me to even deal with at the time – to leave Corvallis was like leaving a baby behind. The drama ministry had become so precious and dear to me. As I got into my car that night, I once again wept, leaning forward on the steering wheel and weeping like a child, in loud sobs, crying out to God. I wanted to obey Him and wanted to go forward and pursue what He wanted for us, but leaving meant uprooting bonds and ties and investments that seemed too deep to sever. I was torn.
A few weeks later, our senior Pastor, Rob, invited me to join him on a TV interview promoting our church’s city-wide purity event, Pure Choice. We were interviewed during the Water Cooler segment, and afterward Pastor Rob took us to the Olive Garden for dinner so we could talk. We shared with him about our Santa Clara prospect while he dove into his Chicken Parmigiana and admitted our uncertainties while he ordered us a Tiramisu to share. Through dinner he’d remained quiet, probably due in part to the fact that Olive Garden fare was his favorite, but after two or three mouthfuls of Tiramisu, he pushed the plate toward us and wiped his mouth with his napkin, leaning back in his chair. We waited.
“Honestly?” He asked. We looked at each other and nodded. We respected him and trusted his wisdom. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you.” We looked at each other, surprised. He continued, “In order to serve under someone you have to know that you’re like-minded. Not identical, but of one heart and direction. I know some things about this church and they’ve had some difficult situations down there. I’m not saying it’s going to be a failure, but I’m just saying I’d be careful. You can go if you feel like that’s what you have to do, but just be prepared that it may be a crushing time, a difficult time, a wilderness experience.” He’d said it. We sat in silence, unsure of how to respond. Finally, Jeff did.
“Mark really thinks we should go.”
“Mark is great – he really and honestly wants to see you two succeed and go far and wants to push you to take risks and attempt great things for God, and so do I, but Mark hasn’t been around to see the things that I’ve seen.” He left it at that. Again there was nothing for us to say. A third of the Tiramisu was still on the table so we all stared at it and Rob waved for the check. After he’d paid, we headed toward the door. As we drove back to the church, we talked about Pure Choice and what we hoped God would do. As he dropped us off at our car, we got out and Jeff went around to let me in the passenger side. Rob rolled down the window. “I love you guys.” He meant it.
That night was one of the lowest. We’d begun to feel certain that we were going, but now this totally threw us and we felt like we’d been hit with a left hook out of nowhere. On top of that, Jeff’s seafood alfredo apparently didn’t agree with him, and he was on the couch with diarrhea and vomiting the entire night. After a trip to the store for 7-up and saltines, I sat on the floor by the couch and rested my head against Jeff’s stomach and cried.
—–
“Rob just doesn’t want to let you two go.” Mark said so matter-of-factly the next day as we recounted our conversation from the previous night. “Of course he doesn’t want you to go! I don’t either, but I’m thinking of you. This is an amazing opportunity. You’re stifled here and you could be doing so much more.” His argument seemed logical and by mid-June we had made our decision—we were on the road to Santa Clara.
The night of the last Real Life, we announced our decision to the college students. We said goodbyes and cried. Many stood and shared about how God had used us to change their lives. I wept and wept—feeling like my insides were being wretched, like a precious child was being yanked from my arms. After the regular Bible study, a group of student leaders stayed to pray for us. One by one, students began to pray and share what they sensed God putting on their hearts.
“God is going to bring hundreds of students . . .”
“God will defeat the enemies in the area one by one, little by little . . .”
“I see you digging through soil, uprooting and planting . . .”
“In a year there will be a hundred students . . .”
When they had finished, Jeff and I opened our eyes and looked at each other in awe—there was our confirmation. It seemed that every student had shared something about God doing great things in the college ministry down there. All we had to do, was obey.
But something was still nagging and I needed God Himself to right it. One afternoon in late June, I was waiting at a friend’s house while Jeff was finishing up a meeting on campus. I was done visiting with my friend, and was trying to decide whether to go directly to campus and assume Jeff would be done soon, or whether I should go across town and get my grocery shopping done before I went. I didn’t know when he’d be done, and while this may seem like the most inconsequential of decisions, I didn’t want to go all the way across town, get in the middle of a long grocery line, only to have Jeff call and say he was ready to have me pick him up. On the other hand, I really needed to get groceries and didn’t have much time, so if he was going to be awhile yet (which he often was) then it would be great to get the shopping done. Indecision. Such is the plague of a perfectionist. As silly as it sounds, I prayed about it. Hey, why not? And in an instant, I decided to go for it and go across town to get groceries. I hopped in the car and wheeled out on 9th street, and wasn’t four blocks down the road when my cell phone rang. It was Jeff. He was ready for me to pick him up.
Although they’re not legal in Oregon, I did a quick look around to check for cops, made sure the coast was clear of oncoming cars, and pulled a quick U-turn. As I headed back the other direction I was struck with a thought that was so clear it could have been audible. It’s ok to make U-turns. I almost stopped the car I was so taken aback. My agonizing over making the right decision was unnecessary. Yes, of course we should be purposeful and careful about making wise choices, but my agonizing over it, afraid of making the wrong choice, was not needed. God was faithful to guide me, even when I headed off the other direction, and it wasn’t a waste. The four blocks I drove in the opposite direction were not a waste, they were part of a lesson that God was teaching me. Sure, they were extra minutes traveled, but they were necessary for God to show me that He was in control and that at any moment He could turn me around, and that that was ok. God can to U-turns. He never changes, but He can lead and direct us in whatever direction He wants, even in U-turns.
During our years on staff with Real Life, Jeff was teaching at the School of Ministry, a one-year Bible school that we’d both attended. One of his students, Aaron Seifer, also happened to be a frat guy who’d come to know Christ just a few years earlier. He’d been discipled by Jeff and had decided to go through the school before launching into his desired career path of sports marketing. This decision was a significant one, and as a student at the school, Aaron had excelled, rising to the top of the class. He always had the best grade, was the most diligent, disciplined, and mature student. Not only was he Jeff’s disciple and student, he grown to be Jeff’s peer and friend. Aaron and his fiancé Candi were to be married that June, right after school got out. I didn’t know Candi, but we’d hung out a couple of times as couples, and I respected Aaron so much that I figured Candi must be something special as well. Jeff had always told Aaron, “If I ever get to be a pastor somewhere, I’d want you at my side.” So, when we were tossing around the idea of moving to Santa Clara, we’d tease Aaron by saying we were hoping he and Candi would pack up and move to Santa Clara with us. He’d laugh it off, but finally said, “No really . . . I’ll pray about it.” We agreed to do the same.
After the decision was finalized – we were going to Santa Clara – we notified Pastor Steve and asked for a recommendation on whether we should find an apartment before now or scope things out once we were there.
“Oh, didn’t I mention? You’ll live here at the church. All of our pastors live here at the church for the first year or two. It’s a good way for you to really be in the thick of things and for us to get to know you and it saves us money so we don’t have to pay you for housing.” Jeff thought that sounded great. I did not.
“What?! We have to live at the church?” I began to feel panic setting in – I’d finally gotten myself to a point where the idea of leaving everything, our home, our family, our friends, our ministries and church body, would be ok, but this seemed to be above what I could handle and I could hear my voice quivering.
“I’m sure they’re nice; I mean the sanctuary and the rest of the church is beautiful,” Jeff reasoned. “How about this, I’ll call down and talk to Chase and get a feel for what they’re like and I can get all the dimensions and everything so that you can be prepared and we know what all we can take down with us. How’s that sound?” Jeff came over to me and once again, as he’d done so many times in the previous months, pulled me close to him and enveloped me in his arms. “It’ll be ok,” he assured me. I closed my eyes to hold back tears; I didn’t have the energy to cry.
But cry I did. As I inevitably came down from the high of anticipating a new adventure, the reality of this decision felt like an enormous wave, growing and gathering strength, ready to swallow me whole. If I let myself think about all the implications, I literally felt like I would go crazy. In mid-June, in the middle of one sleepless night, I got up and went into the study to sit and pray and try to sort through my thoughts.
As I sat down on the carpet and leaned against the wall, I pulled my knees up and hugged them to my chest, burying my face into my arms. All the waves of fear and sorrow welled up and I found myself weeping like I’d never wept before. I thought of how we’d met – the innumerable memories that haunted the streets of Corvallis, the places we’d walked, the restaurants where we’d dined, the friends’ houses where we’d enjoyed dinners and game nights and worship and prayer meetings. Every walk and drive through town brought a rush of memories like a sweater that smells of a familiar friend. I thought of our home, of the miracle that it was that we even were able to buy it, of the amazing circumstances surrounding the accepted offer, of that night we’d first gotten the key and we drove out and painted the walls until midnight, snuggling on the carpet and toasting sparkling cider in paper cups. I thought of the countless friends who’d come to be like family. The girls I’d discipled who now had small groups and Bible studies and young disciples of their own. The other drama participants who’d spend months of labor together with me to perform the plays. I thought of the Real Life staff, whom we’d cried with, laughed with, served with. I’d never experienced friendship like I had in Corvallis. I thought of our pastor, who’d loved us and pushed us and fed us as a loving shepherd, who’d pointed us to Christ. And like a strong current that swept me along and refused to let me go, my thoughts went to my family. My mom, just recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s. My mom who was my best friend, who would listen to me for hours, who would rejoice at my every success, who would cry with me and cheer for me, give me advice and sit in silence when needed. Who’d taught me everything I knew about being a godly woman and wife. I thought of my dad who was the most amazing father I could ever imagine. I thought of how he’d drop everything to run down to Corvallis to visit us; of camping trips and boating excursions, of barbeques on hot days and splashing in the pool at their house. I thought of my brother, my amazing brother who I looked up to, who I idolized. My brother who used to take me out to Chinese food on Valentine’s day when I didn’t have a date. My brother who always had a new wound from some new mountain climbing excursion. I thought of the holidays, my entire family bustling around my parents’ house, the smell of mom’s fresh crescent rolls filling the air, the sound of my dad and uncle Tom telling jokes and comparing stories, the laughter of my aunt and cousins around the table playing pictionary.
By now I was crying so hard I felt like I couldn’t breeze. My chest felt like a thousand pound weight was smashing, squeezing, suffocating me. It hurt so bad I curled up in a ball on the floor, the scratch of the carpet on my cheek. I’m dying, I thought. Everything inside me, everything that I love is dying. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and reached up on the desk where Jeff’s Bible sat, tattered and worn with frequent use. I opened to a familiar passage, Mark chapter 10, verses 29 and 30. Tears fell as I read: So Jesus answered and said, “Assuredly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife[e] or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel’s, who shall not receive a hundredfold now in this time—houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions—and in the age to come, eternal life. I didn’t even have the strength to underline it – I just sat there and read it, over and over, crying with sobs that reached down into my stomach. My hair stuck to my tear-stained cheeks and I pushed it clumsily away from my eyes and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and tilting back my head against the wall behind me.
Slowly, I began to pray, “God, I am counting on this. I feel like I’m dying, but I am willing to let go of everything that I love, in order to follow You. I don’t know how to do it, but I’m trusting you.” My body began to relax and I sat there for a long time, feeling like a heap, a heap of brokenness, without the strength to even get up. Eventually, because there was nothing left to do, I got up and crawled back into bed, snuggling next to Jeff as he peacefully slept.
“Can you please talk to them about this apartment and find out more details?” I asked Jeff, grasping for something, anything that I could hold onto. I knew nothing of what to expect down there, and without any understanding, not to mention control, of the circumstances I felt like I was just floating out in blackness, unable to even discern up from down. For me, the planner, the one who always had things mapped out and organized, this was torture. I had no idea what to pack, what we’d need, I didn’t even know how many bedrooms we’d have or if we needed a microwave. Some friends who were moving back East invited us to join them in their multi-family garage sale, and I needed to figure out what we needed to sell and what we could keep.
“Sure, hon,” Jeff assured me, “I’ll talk to Steve today.” Later than day I heard them on the phone. It was torture for me to sit there and listen, giving up control, letting Jeff handle the situation. The woman, the homemaker in me wanted to get on the phone and demand to know dimensions and details, but instead I sat resignedly in Jeff’s lazyboy chair, my head tilted back against the head rest, my eyes closed, listening to Jeff’s end of the conversation.
“Yeah, so what can you tell me about the apartment where we’ll be living?” Silence as he listened. “Ok, well that sounds great, three bedrooms is really spacious.” Silence. “Oh. . . converted from offices? . . . Ok, well that should be interesting. I mean, there’s a kitchen, right? . . . Ok, and a bathroom? . . . Ok, can you have someone email us the dimensions, just so we can figure out if we can bring our couch and so forth? . . . Oh, ok. Well, that’s fine. We can just guess. . . .yeah . . . what’s that? What? Really? Is that safe? I didn’t even know you could do that. Yeah, I mean I’m sure it’s fine. No, that’s no problem.” By now I was no longer sitting resignedly, I had opened my eyes and was trying to catch Jeff’s. He wasn’t sure if what was safe? Their conversation had drifted to other things, and I went and leaned on the counter next to Jeff, willing him to end the call. Finally he did. He put the phone back on the receiver, his eyes down. I knew he didn’t want to discuss the apartment.
“Is what safe?” I demanded. He looked up at me with that look I hate that says he has to tell me something that I won’t like. I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms, waiting.
“Well, I guess the apartments are actually just converted offices, and there aren’t any windows.” I pulled my head back and furrowed my brow.
“No windows? What do you mean no windows?”
“Well, I guess the entire apartment is in the interior of a larger building, so there are no windows in it. But he says it’s safe.” Safe? Safe? Once again I could feel myself beginning to panic. Now I had a clear picture of myself, sitting alone and in the dark, in a heap of tears in a windowless apartment. There was no use in arguing or insisting that I didn’t want to live in a windowless apartment. I’d told God that I would go, so go I would.
I suppose you could characterize my state-of-mind at this point as just resigned. I’m not sure if surrendered is the word because that seems to imply a dramatic giving over, and in my Christian circles at least, seems something admirable. I don’t know that I was there yet, in the admirable column yet, I was just resigned, accepting the fact that this was happening. Surrendered would come later.
And, of course, it did. There did come a point where I realized that God was doing something through this—much more than just moving us out of Oregon. He was breaking me. More than once I thought of the verse, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.” I knew that I was dying, and I hadn’t realized how much there was of me that was capable of dying! I felt like everything I cherished was being stripped away, one by one. But, I would remind myself, I had my husband and I had my God – could I be content with these? I had a choice. Yes, I would.
And so, as I always did, I began to take this experience and put it into teachable form. I was honored with an amazing treat, just a few weeks before we left. On the night of my last women’s Bible study that I would teach, all the girls who I had discipled came. Some 20-30 girls piled into the Red Door House living room, eyes bright, pen and paper and Bible in hand. I was overcome with emotion as I looked around at the faces that represented lives. The lives that I had cried for, prayed for, loved. I had failed many of them, I had been an imperfect example at best, but I did love them, and their presence in the room that night was the best gift anyone could give given me. I shared for them one last Bible study, entitled “Lie Still,” which captured what God was doing in my heart at that time, urging me to lie still on the operating table while He was given free reign to do surgery on my heart, removing things, applying balm, healing me and making me more whole than before, preparing me for the uphill road ahead. I shared about the windowless apartment, and was vulnerable about my struggles and how God was meeting me as I felt like all I loved was being stripped away. To close I shared the top ten things that I wanted them to know, parting words that I prayed they would hold close to their hearts. As we ended, they all joined round and laid hands on me and prayed. Beautiful, heart-felt prayers poured from their hearts. I felt God’s love and favor wash over me and knew that it was in His kindness, His goodness, His favor, that He was choosing to put this road ahead of us. I just didn’t know, at that point, what that road would include.
At the end of the June, just two days before our friends, Aaron and Candi, were to be married, Jeff’s cell rang showing Aaron’s number. I listened in as he greeted Aaron and asked about his step into married life in just two days. Then I heard the conversation change direction.
“What?!” Jeff was shocked but obviously in a good way. Whew! At least one surprise that would hopefully be positive. “Are you sure? I mean, are you serious?” Jeff listened, he glanced over at me but gave nothing away. “Well, of course we want you to! I mean, that would be amazing – is Candi ok with it?” Long silence. “Wow. You’re kidding! That is absolutely amazing. Bro, you are the best. I’ll talk to you soon; you just focus on your new wife, man. I love you. Yup. Late.” Jeff, once again, hung up the phone and looked over at me in absolute delight.
“What?!”
“Aaron and Candi are moving to Santa Clara with us!” I too was amazed. I mean, we had mentioned it to them, but it seemed like an absolutely ludicrous thing to ask anyone, let alone a newly married couple. “He said that they’ve been praying about it, and they both thought, why not?! They actually going to move down before us, just two days after they get back from their honeymoon. Candi is going to transfer to the Nordstrom store down there and Aaron is going to just wait until they get down there and start applying to Sports Marketing positions in the bay area. They said they’ll just pack up all their stuff and wedding gifts into a U-Haul and find a place to live when they get there.” I was speechless. I just sat there, staring at him, unable to even comprehend being that flexible and willing to bless us. I shook my head. “I know, Sauce,” Jeff came over and hugged me close. “I know, it’s amazing. They said they want to just be our friends. They want to support us in this adventure, whatever it is.” I still couldn’t speak. I’d only met Candi a few times, I barely even knew her. And yet, this young bride, with the whole world in front of her, was willing to leave her family and go to another state to support her husband’s friend and his wife?! All of a sudden I realized I knew her – though not in person, this decision she’d agreed to spoke volumes about what she must be like. I knew I’d have a friend.
…
Read The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 3): The Jeep »
on September 8th, 2007 at 8:02 pm
Wow! Sauce, you are such an incredible writer. I find myself so engaged, so lost in the story and enthralled in the characters, only to pause and realize this is our story. Totally unreal, and redemptive, and knowing the character and depth and perseverance this and other experiences have wrought in our lives. To God’s grace we owe it all, and His glory is revealed in our being satisfied in Him alone. (Habakkus 3:17-18)
on April 13th, 2008 at 12:01 pm
[…] The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 2): The U-Turn […]
on September 8th, 2008 at 9:09 pm
Okay, I’ve got to go to bed ….but I can’t quit reading this story now. Oh, the decisions….
on October 3rd, 2008 at 9:16 pm
The three rooms with no windows. That was an upgrade for us after living in a converted classroom.
I appreciate how you are able to weave a journal with God and the details of life into a story to tell others. I think I can make it through chapter 3 tonite.
Doug