The walls around me contract and squeeze, pressing in and pushing out.
I’m reaching, reaching.
Her hand grabs mine, and she pulls. Then she crams colored pencils in my fist and says, “Go forth, and mark up your Bible.”
The words become life to me, and this world is not my home. My home and my hope are here in these pages.
I’m sitting in the balcony of the church in Marietta, Georgia, and I’m unrolling my butcher paper art–the entire book of Revelation, colored pictures on a scroll. And we stretch it out and down the row, and she looks up and nods and applauds. Nine months we live in that book, and she carries me from “In the beginning” to the last “Amen.”
That’s the last year she drives weekly from Chattanooga. So we gather friends and organize a Romans study in our church. And I can’t get enough.
We’re called to move to a new home in Tampa, and I fight it. But I find DeeDee, and she’s got me leading a Precept group there. Then I’m sitting in an airport hugging Kay. And she writes me beautiful words.
I’m in Chattanooga at the “ranch” taking notes on Philippians and memorizing the humility verses. She’s describing the crucifixion, and a storm is blowing, and it seems like the lights go out for a moment, but I can’t remember. Maybe everything just went dark for me before the light blazed.
And I can’t breathe.
She teaches me how to uncover treasure for myself, to test what others tell me.
She teaches me about lists and comparisons and color-coding and verb tenses and moods and voices and how to make my own chain references and how to study from a Bible without notes–because the Holy Spirit alone can teach me.
And my Bible falls apart.
She teaches me about God’s character and His sovereignty and oh, how that’s held me through so much.
She’s a nurse, too, so I feel tied to her. She calls me a co-laborer, birthed of labor, and she assures me that nothing I do in the Lord is in vain.
Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord. ~2 Corinthians 15:58
I have this God-sized dream of walking with her in the Holy Land, hearing her teach from the places Jesus walked and talked and prayed and rested–and died. I’m overwhelmed when I think about it. And I pray for the miraculous provision of finances that will let me do this while she and I both can.
I thank my God on every remembrance of you, dear Kay, and for the love of the Word you’ve birthed in me, for helping me to know God.
Oh, how I love you, my mother and my sister.
I ache for the day I can hug your neck again.
And I’m still pressing on,
Celebrating with Sarah Bessey today
And linking with Lisa Jo and the Five Minute Friday community on the word prompt, home.
Yeah, I know it took a bit longer than five minutes, but I did let it spill,
and I did use the word “home” a couple times.