Waiting Room

It's 2 a.m.  I'm laying in bed in my old room in my parents house in Grove City, listening to the sound of silence. The trip out of Los Angeles was pretty uneventful except for an hour and half delay due to a mechanical problem. I hardly noticed. I was reading The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson, which I give a major thumbs up, particularly to all you lovers of narrative nonfiction out there. Fascinating.

Tricia asked me earlier today if I was excited, and I said I wasn't, really. On the plane I decided that the calmness that I'm experiencing is a great gift; steadiness of purpose and an ability to not think ahead too far is an asset, I believe, right now. Incredibly, the only moment of sadness I've had today is a spasm of tears at the thought that I'm now over 2,000 miles away from my dog Cocoa. Funny, odd, and endearing that she's the current placeholder for all the loss. Baby!

It's hard to believe that I'm released from this project of 12 years-- I came to study with Jim, that season is done, a new one is beginning. Years and years of work. And waiting. And anguishing and despair about the waiting. Then finally relenting and relaxing into whatever came, and what came was life abundant.

Was California a waiting room? Is the real show about to start? It's tempting to think this, probably because it appeals to my magical thinking side about what's ahead and recasts me into a central and more successful role in the drama. What was my prayer in leaving LA? Ah yes, that I would keep hold of the truth that I am living in God's story, and not the other way around.

On the other hand, California was a waiting room like all of life is a waiting room-- a good place to learn how to live, how to love, and how to walk with joy into the next big thing.