I got on an airplane. It was rather unexpected as the call came only days earlier, "We're going... Can you come?" My mom and I have talked for just about a year about that day in the future when she would travel to close my grandparents house out; I missed his funeral last year. Tickets were outrageously expensive and I just couldn't make it. But, the call came last week. I wondered, "Is it worth it?"
I knew it was, but money and time barriers briefly blocked my vision. Logging onto my favorite airline's website, I saw a ticket for a little over $400. To be honest, this was surprising. Not to say the money is easily found or spent, but the ticket was a very "normal" price and not out of reach. I sat on the decision for a day.
Booking it made me a little nervous--I felt tension about stewardship and fear regarding finances--but I did it. The comfort I carried was the opportunity to cancel the ticket within 24 hours without penalty. I set an alarm on my phone to remind me that I could.
Sitting in a coffee shop later that day, I ran into a friend I'd shared all of this with the day before. She offered wisdom, "You will never be able to get this opportunity back; once it's gone, it's gone," she said. That was all true. What is money, after all? Would God fail to provide for me?
The next day, my cancellation alarm sounded. Momentarily I considered it, but just as quickly turned it off and took a deep breath. I relaxed into trust.
So I got on an airplane. I'd fly into the evening, spend the whole next day on the ground and at 4:00 AM the day after that day, I'd head to the airport to fly back. I felt crazy, but thankful. I was going. I was given the privilege of saying goodbye in person and I was stepping into it.
Pulling up to the house, I was curious how I'd feel walking in. The last time I was here, the house felt empty without her. We filled it--my mom and dad, brother and sister, our extended family--to the brim. Now they were both gone; the house filled with memories and quiet and some of their things. There's something so strange about walking into a place where so much life has been lived and realizing those lives have left us behind.
The Russian neighbors and the Estonian house-caretaker questioned my age, my weight and wondered very directly and to my face in Russian and in English as to the reason for my singleness. I ate borsch and heard this phrase repeatedly, "Eat!... Eat!" The caretaker of the house told me to return and stay with her so she could take me to church. (There's an enormous Protestant Russian church around the corner.) In light of our previous dialogue about marriage, I asked, "So you can introduce me?" "No," she replied, "I don't need to introduce you... They will FIND you..." She said it all with a smile and a gleam in her eye.
Oh, I love my heritage. Those moments were so precious to me because it reminded me that some things don't change. I receive it in the best sense here. The absolute best.
And we cleared out so many things in that house. Junk and trinkets and belongings that reminded us of them. We went through books in his study and I grabbed a few and made them my own. We went to their graves. Taking purple flowers that were growing over the fence at the house, we placed them there. I plucked up stray blades of grass that were interfering with my ability to see their names with clarity. I remembered that while their bodies are buried there, they are experiencing so much life. I cannot begin to imagine what abundance they've stepped into in the presence of Jesus. They're there together--for almost a year now, in fact. Amazing.
Early the next morning, I walked out, taking one last look at his bedroom where I slept. Out the front door, down the stairs and up the path to the gate; I felt foggy with sleepiness, but tried to smell the trees and flowers as I passed them. Closing the gate, I looked back at the house in the dark. I smiled at it and soaked in the memory of them and the lives they lived in that sweet home.
I'm thankful I get to see them again someday and grateful because these goodbyes are only temporary. Boarding the plane, I came home. My roommate brought me flowers. I put the books on a shelf in my room. It's nice to have a piece of them with me.
I made a wise decision getting on that airplane.
