For years I have believed that we are only in transit to heaven. We are mostly spiritual beings, caught for a moment in a cocoon of the physical world before being released into the eternal. But our possessions wrap themselves around us, making us feel like this cocoon is permanent. It isn't. It is only a stopping point, a layover on our journey to the real world.
I needed to be reminded of that this past month when I walked through my house deciding what was worth enough to put in a storage shed and what was better off being sold or given away. It was a good exercise for me. She who thought she wasn't very sentimental started to feel attached to things.
I felt grasping, clutching to my heart things I love. It hurts to let them go. It wasn't just possessions. There are friendships that will be changed by our move across the ocean. I wanted to hang on. Opening my hand to release them gave me an unexpected sense of insecurity.
And then I realized that in holding on to my things, I'm only trying to create a cocoon of permanence around a life that isn't meant to be permanent at all. The false walls of my possessions give the personification that this life is reality. That antique dish given by my great-aunt feels like it should be part of my family forever. But in reality? It is only a thread of my cocoon making me feel like a citizen of earth.
The thing is, I'm not. And I will be glad of that on the day this cocoon bursts open and lies in pieces at my feet. I won't miss all this 'stuff' that has wrapped their silky arms around me. I'll laugh the laugh of the free when I'm winging my way towards Home. In those moments, I'll be glad for each time I've purposely loosened my grip on temporal things.
Opening my hand willingly to release some of this terrestrial webbing is an exercise good for my soul. I am mostly spiritual, after all, when adding Eternity into the equation. Every reminder I have of that will make me more earnest in my walk with God, offer me a more heavenly perspective, and make my cocoon feel more like a rest stop and less like home.
John came to me a month ago and showed me a video clip he, a pilot, came across. It was the cockpit's view of a plane landing in dense fog. Not being a pilot myself, it made zero sense to me. He must have noticed my confusion because he said of the video, "It's going. It is a plane landing in fog." Only, there was no visible plane and no runway. Only fog whipping past the screen. It could have been anything in fog.
"It is descending," John translated, making sense out of the clouds.
A single light came into view and even to a non-pilot it was apparent that the plane was nearing a runway. Another light showed up and a few runway markings became visible. I still could see very little and felt thankful I wasn't a passenger of this ship descending into cloudy unknown. There were no buildings in sight. There was nothing but a few lights and a short strip of visible runway. But the pilot knew what he was doing. Between his collection of instruments and his skill, the plane landed gently right on target.
The two of us felt like we could relate to the video clip for our future was as clear to us as the foggy view through the cockpit. Just a few weeks before, we were asked to consider returning to Ghana, West Africa as missionaries. Both of us have been there before as single young people and also as a married couple. The idea wasn't new. But was it God's will?
We were willing. That was about as much as we knew at the moment.
Fortunately, God is already surrounding our future and knows what our destination looks like even when it is completely obscured by uncertainties. God unveils His will at precisely the right moment. Even while I believed that completely, I stifled feelings of impatience. It would have felt better to see what was happening and to know immediately what His will was. But not having the luxury of seeing farther than the step at hand, we trusted ourselves to His gentle guidance. One of His instruments of guidance is peace. We felt led by it, as though the first light on the runway came into view. We agreed to return to Ghana.
But which need should we fill? One of them was close to our heart. It was in the North where we would live simply among a tribe similar to ones we lived among before. Living there would feel familiar and we would be actively sharing the Gospel message. The other need was in the South, shouldering the logistical side of things for the missionaries in the North. It would be an easier life (running water, electricity and bathrooms) but unfamiliar to us and possibly not as naturally fulfilling as preaching the Gospel.
Our pros and cons lists were long for both alternatives. We continued to pray for guidance and His peace. Again it came. The second light was visible on the runway.
Lord willing, we will be moving to southern Ghana. Between now and our departure there are enough details to juggle to make the fog seem as dense as ever. We'd love to take in pre-field training in NC and visit family in IN and CO. John has a part-time job as a flight instructor and has students who want to get their license before we leave. He also is working on training in his replacement at the office. We have belongings to sort and things to pack. The Big Blurry Question of our immediate future is how to fit all these pieces into the puzzle frame of the three months remaining before take-off.
"God's got it all settled already," a friend told me, hearing unrest in my voice. I would like concrete dates cemented into my schedule.
I drew in a deep breath. My friend is right. All I need to do now is seek His guidance and wait for the lifting of the fog.
