Quicker than I would have hoped; our destination appeared ahead of us. Our conversation fades and reality sets in a little deeper.
We have arrived.
Settled deep into the land there is a little blue farm house that is surrounded by different pastures.
The first thing to catch my attention is the front door. It bids a warm welcome with its deep rich red color, its an odd but fitting contrast to the color of the house. It looks worn to the eye at first, but considering the surroundings, its appearance merely suggests that it is a home. Not yet ours; but a home none the less.
Before our car even has a chance to stop, we are greeted by two barking dogs. All of sudden the quiet serenity of this little farm seems to be harshly broken. Situated behind the house is a small wooden barn and from it I see a tall individual emerge. Their hood is pulled over their head and slowly they begin to walk towards the stirring commotion. As quickly as the tension had rose, composure was found once more and the dogs were hushed with a few words from their owner.
In an attempt to avoid the rain and yet still bid a warm welcome to us, the individual only slightly pulled their hood above their eyes, and with genuine words we were introduced. It was when her eyes met all of ours that I felt as if I had always known her. She looked weary as if she had been hard at work all day. I quickly got the feeling that she was unaware of our planned visit, hence the frazzled look upon her face.
None of us knew that we would meet on that rainy afternoon, but God did, He planned for it.
After our greetings were exchanged and the situation explained, our conversation began to change. Within moments it was as if we were reunited friends, comfortable and joyful in each others presence. Soon our new friend began to share bits and pieces of her life story with us. All was vague, but still she shared with us, and along the way I began to pick up what I could and fill in the blanks. I stood there watching her story unravel before my eyes. She was an only child who grew up in this house, the walls know memories and the fields know the joy. There was so much of her intertwined within every part of this place, it was clear to see why she was so attached, this was a part of her that she was leaving behind.
As the story continued another reason for her attachment began to surface . . . her father. This was his house, and in his absence it had been all that she had to hold onto; all that she had left to remind her of him. Now I know. Now I see my friend, I see why its so hard for you to leave this place, the memories, the recollections of all you have ever known, it can’t be easy to walk away from it all. I understand, truly I do.
I stood there and my heart felt like a string had been attached to her, and I wondered why. God why to this person whom I may never again see in my life, a person who I’ve only known for twenty minutes and yet I feel like I’ve know her my whole life. I feel like I’ve been there with her through everything she’s told us about, like I’ve been there living her story with her, and yet why?
I didn’t plan this. I had no idea that I would have been standing here with this stirring in my heart at this moment. Yet God did.
He knew, and He knows even when I still have no answer to it.
As her story finished my eyes caught hers. And what I saw in her eyes I surely know was in my own; that ever-so familiar fear, the fear of the unknown. There we are, each one of us standing in the drizzling rain, face to face with an unknown reality, standing there without a clue as to what the future will bring.
Yet in it all I remember a hope for all of us; a hope that will hold us up when we eventually have to step into this reality and risk all we’ve known and been confortable holding onto. It’s a hope that knows when we walk with Him the new realities and changes that we face will never be enough to weigh us down.
Our farewell was long-lived as we all knew that we would probably never see each other again. And then I feel it again: that string tugs at my heart as we begin to depart. I know its to remember her, to remember her story, to remember her in prayer because for whatever reason, God had orchestrated that time and place for that particular encounter.
With everything in me, I prayed that the words we spoke and the encouragement we were able to offer was able to blow hope into her soul, because I know it surely was blown into mine.
There’s never a void reason behind moments like those.
God knows . . . He always knows.
