Someday, I will live here.
But that's not exactly the point of this entry.
Wednesday morning was the beginning of something I had been looking forward to since the day I knew I would be able to make this trip. This was to be my graduation gift to myself. Prior to this trip, I've been out this way three other times, and loved it every time I'm out here. The only difference this time is that I find myself repeating over and over again, "Don't over-romanticize the PacNW. You've always been here on vacation, so your perception of this place will probably be rose-coloured."
Well, naturally when I ended up spending seven hours at the Minneapolis/St Paul airport because of flight delays, I was irritated. A part of me still wanted to be in Anderson, knowing that the hustle and bustle of the North American Convention of the Church of God was still going on. Another part of me wished I was already at PDX, just because I've always loved being here.
All at the same time, given that airports and airplanes have become a second home after Singapore, Anderson and Berlin all lumped into one, I got comfortable a little too quickly, then realised, "Oh crap. Now I have to deal with myself."
Sure, there had been a lot of highs and lows within the span of the few days prior to Wednesday. But it was there that I started grieving how airports shouldn't really feel like home, but it did. Airports are transitional places; and no one should live life being comfortable with transitions. At least, that's what I think.
And yet the reality of my life is exactly that. The in-between times of coming and going shouldn't be comfortable, but yet I've gotten used to them. But at the same time, do I look forward to going? Yes. Do I ever want to leave? No.
There is a sense that, "For every beginning there is an ending... and for every ending there is a beginning." (Thanks, Jacquie Gross) Every transition brings with it a deep sense of celebration of things to come, and also a deep sense of mourning the things that are left behind. Every transition brings with it a sense of guilt as I try to embrace celebrating the things to come. Because even while I'm look forward to things that are ahead, I don't stop mourning the things that are left behind.
I've often asked myself if I'm simply in over my head with being emotional. But the truth is, I mourn not simply because I don't know when I will see the ones I'm leaving behind again. Heck, I'm not a person that can stay put in one place for a long time, so I might eventually find my way back to some of these old haunts with these good ol' souls again. But I'm starting to wonder if the time of separation between now and "until next time" is in its essence a reflection of the grief of "eternal" separation. If I have loved the ones in the "now" the way Christ would have, even if I knew for sure there was a "next time," the time between "now" and "next time" should be hellish, right? (Let's leave my theology of hell and universality for another time, k?)
I'm not saying that Christ allows suffering of this nature, but... I kind of am. I've been thinking today too, that I've never encountered any kind of theology of suffering that I've wholeheartedly agree with. It's either been packed away neatly in a box as, "If we are TRULY in Christ, we will have no suffering because Christ's burden is easy and light," or as "If we are TRULY serving Christ, then we should suffer for Jesus." And quite frankly, I'm not ok with either.
But maybe that's just because I have a twisted theology of suffering that says you have to suffer through your theology of suffering in order for it to 1) make sense; 2) be ok with where you land with it.
Wow, this post got nerdy again. I
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