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Monday, June 02, 2008

Check out time is 1:00 PM Saturday


Bittersweet? No. Not exactly.

Sad? No way.

I'm not really sure what tonight feels like. Seven months ago today I moved into this little apartment. I brought my clothes, an air mattress, and ... and ... well, that's all I brought. When I first walked into it after dark on a Tuesday evening the wind was howling like my former Beagle on the trail of a renegade squirrel. In the dead of night you could still see the white caps of the waves rolling in on Lake Erie. I knew that this was the place I wanted to camp out until my house sold and my wife joined me.

Well, the house has not sold but my wife did show up. She's back in Missouri this week babysitting our granddaughter. And so I'm spending my final night in this little room all alone. The wind is absent. Almost eerily so. (No pun intended, Mr. Lake.) There are no white caps tonight though I did see a baseball cap or two on various heads strolling around the parking lot or by the pool. And the dreaded "Mayflies" have not only invaded the outdoors but one just landed on the screen of my laptop. Not good. He paid the ultimate price.

I've spent a lot of time thinking in this room. A lot of time praying. A lot of time agonizing over what God's will is for the church He has sent me to serve. He has not answered all of my questions yet. I suppose it will have to wait for the next apartment. The only meals I have cooked here have been in the microwave. The only phone has been my cell. I have fallen in love with the garbage chute. I have finished six books and I'm in the middle of the seventh. I have read over half of the bible here. I have looked at my balcony with the realization that I would not under any circumstances step out on it because of the ice and snow cover. And, more recently, I have spent entire evenings on it watching God put His sun to bed. To the best of my memory only five people have entered my doorway since I moved in.

Yes, it has been a lonely place. But I won't forget it. And I won't miss it. Still ... it is strange. I was thinking earlier that it is like reading Edger Allen Poe's poem "The Raven." I don't totally understand it. What I don't understand intrigues me. What I do understand frightens me. God has been doing a work on me in this room. It is a silent work. That is my least favorite kind. He hasn't told me what He's doing. He's just, well, doing it. And it leaves me going, "Hmmmmm." God often leaves me going "Hmmmmm."

So tomorrow it's another jet which leads to a U-Haul which leads to my house which leads to filling the U-Haul which leads to driving back here and moving the "stuff" of my life into another apartment. Same lake view but from six floors lower. It's got a real kitchen. And a breakfast bar. And a living room. And a bedroom. Honestly, after seven months it sounds like a mansion.

God, if you read my blog, (and I suspect that you do,) thank You. I mean, for everything. The quiet. The loneliness. The frustration. The joy. The gazillion fast food meals. Blowing backward on the parking lots ice without even moving my feet. The trash chute. The view. The first day. The last day. The days in between. I don't understand it all but you do and I'm good with that. Just ... thanks.

(And God, erase three more Mayfly. Sorry about that.)

2 comments:

Spamalot said...

You forgot to thank Him for the brown racing stripe on the wall!

Anonymous said...

I'm sorry that we've not visited you yet, but we hope to this summer at the new mansion. :-)

diane