Friday, August 7, 2015

what a long, strange trip it has been











Dorothy Gale of Kansas was famous for reminding us “there’s no place like home.”  Even if it is Kansas.  There is something about where we come from, not necessarily about where we live that binds us to it, and when away from it we long for it.  40 years ago I left New Jersey and never looked back, but have been back numerous times.  Those who live there day to day don’t notice the changes, but I did, and do.  Someone else lives where Scottie used to live, the Sweet Shop is now a beauty parlor, and a bank sits where a gas station used to be.  Maybe not a big deal to many, but landmarks form my youth are gone, but not the memories.  Million dollar homes now sit where we used to ride mini-bikes in fields.  Even my junior high school is now a middle school.  Roads go through woods that were once bike paths, and stop lights dot the landscape, or road scape.  But somehow you know where to go, and although it isn’t home any more, things remind that is once was.  Some remind you of why you left, and others remind you of why you came back.  At least for a short visit. 
Today is August 7th, no big deal as far as dates go.  But to me it marks a day of returning home from Albuquerque.  After 54 days away, leaving on a motorcycle, taking a 250 mile life flight ride, and being taxied home in the back seat of a rented Camry, I can honestly say “there is no place like home.”  And with all due respect to Toto, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”  We were home.  And at first we noticed changes, but really it was us that has been changed.  I used to think that time went faster as you got older, but really we get slower.  Just two months earlier I had been counting the days till we left, then we had started counting the days until we got home.  And there were times we never thought we would.
After being released from the rehab center in 5 days, I was supposed to be there a month, friends of a friend gave us a house in Rio Rancho to live in.  And it became home for us, but we missed home.  Our home.  We had even started counting the days, first until August 2, 5 weeks after open heart surgery, my final release from my cardiologist, then August 6, the day my pic lines finally came out.  Dr. Ross my infectious disease doctor had hinted we might leave early, but wanted us to stay and be observed.  Daily for awhile, with Theresa being taught in changing my IV meds.  We had been counting the days, and August 5th, we checked out of Rio Rancho, with one more night in Albuquerque, at the Hilton, courtesy of a sweet lady.  August 6th, a short 5 minute visit and the pic lines were out, and we were heading west...a day I thought would never arrive.  I may be in the back seat, but I was going home.  And was a little scared.  I was out on my own, with only Theresa to help, without all the hospital doctors and nurses.  I was returning a much different person than when I left.  I had truly left my heart, or part of it in Albuquerque, who would even begin to understand what we had gone through, when we even didn’t.  How many things and how they changed awaited me.  Was I ready? 
I had already tired of people, well meaning telling me “they understood” what I had been through.  My answer became, “really, explain it to me, because I don’t.”  And some days I do, some I don’t.  I found so many well meaning people saying the right things, but saying nothing.  It wasn’t from the heart, and I know a little bit about that.  See we are trained in church how to react in certain situations, when to cry, when to laugh, and how to show concern.  The Byrds even sang about those seasons, but until it comes from the heart, it is just words.  Yesterday I caught a man off guard, sticking out my hand I asked “how am I doing?”  He responded “I’m fine,” then realized what I had said and changed his answer.  But his answer about heaven, and where he rather be amazed me.  He rather be here than heaven.  And when I mentioned being with God is better than being on earth, I know, he mumbled something about doing God’s work.  A trained response, not one from the heart.  And oh by the way, he is a pastor.  Do we really listen, do we really care?  Do we really love Jesus?  Do we listen before we answer?
Or are we like the man on Jeopardy who blurts out the answer, a wrong answer,  before finishing the whole question.  I am getting better at listening, and hopefully my answers are getting better.  And I know that truly there is no place like home.  Our heavenly home.  But do we desire to go?  Are we afraid of death and what God may have for us?  We say we trust, but are our relationships with Christ no more than religious rhetoric?  Do we know about Jesus, or do we know Jesus?
Crosby, Stills, and Nash had a hit called Woodstock, about getting back to the garden.  Do we seek the garden, the Garden of Eden where Adam walked in the cool of the day with God?  Do we seek to be with God or with his things?  Do we call heaven home, knowing we are sojourners, visitors here but for a short time? How am I doing?  We are told to set our sights on things on high, where God awaits our return.  To be called back home.  But until that day, we need to live expectantly, to miss God so much that we share his love with others.  So they may go too.  My two day trip back home seemed to take forever, maybe it was the back seat of a rented Camry, maybe it was the anticipation of getting home.  But stepping out onto my driveway, and being home brought joy.  Familiar surroundings where I felt safe.  The place had changed, I had changed more.  I had a new heart...in addition to the one Jesus gave me years ago.  And my desire is now more than ever to go home to heaven.  Even on a good day of riding, I still seek heaven.  And in the bad days, I ask God, “what are you waiting for?  When will I finally arrive?” 
Maybe that is why I went out of the city, and back to the country.  God has created a yearning in me to get back to the garden.  His garden.  Where time won’t matter, only Jesus will.  My aorta will not be plastic any longer, and all of us will be perfect.  Except for one.  He will bear the scars of our sin.  And it is him I want to see most.   To thank him for my new heart, and saving me from death.  For giving me life.  And suddenly it will all be worth it.  For behold the past is gone away, and I will be that new creature in Christ.  In heaven.  Forever.
Not whatever, but forever.  For now I will celebrate August 7th, the day I returned home.  Just as I celebrate June 25th, the day I got a new heart.  But really I celebrate everyday because Jesus is in it.  Kings and kingdoms will all pass away, but there is still something about that name.  And I can’t await to get there.  I hope you do too.  What a long, strange trip it has been.
And I wouldn’t change any of it. And you know, Toto knew, and it wasn’t any surprise to him either.  Will it be for you?
Now, where did I leave my ruby slippers?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com