Monday
Jun052006
Renee's first blog
Monday, June 5, 2006 at 9:14AM
It's my turn, I suppose. To blog, that is. Bernie has been doing it for a while, Jonathan has his own page of the website and now that Cori has posted a blog, I don't want to be the holdout. Unless, of course, it involves vulnerable sleeping conditions and situations where I have toilet paper in one hand and a small shovel in another.
There have been times over the past month when I have also seemed to be the emotional holdout as well. I have walked unaffected through one emotional situation after another these days. Some of you may have been concerned and some even hurt or offended. I hope not, because the lack of tears has by no means been a reflection of the degree to which I will miss family, friends, co-laborers.
Just as the trains that pass outside our new little apartment for one month here at Wheaton run on one track, so it seems does my mind and my emotions. I have been singly intent on one thing -- dealing with our belongings. Even when taking a break for things like District Conference, homegroups, special services or visiting with friends and family, my mind has always been partly on the packing task before me.
It finally hit me, and I use the word hit very deliberately. Wednesday, with the boxes ready to go the Post Office, it hit. Lest I come across as incredibly cold and calloused, it wasn't the completion of the task or the moving of stuff. On the way back from the Post Office Bernie took our dog, Chip to his new home. It's a wonderful new home and I am so grateful to God for it, but it's not our home. He's not our dog any more. He has a new family to love him, and they already do, but he was not a pet -- he was family. As I type it hits me again.
As we worked through the night into the morning, trying to accomplish what has seemed to be impossible, that is emptying our home, I was able to get back on my track. I was relatively successful until the end. I vacuumed Jonathan's room and turned off the light. As I did, it seemed as if he were there, in his top bunk as he has been every morning for the past five years, surrounded by his Titans memorabilia and his weather equipment.
Then I went to Cori's room, vacuumed it and turned off her light. The big dancing flowers Bernie had painted on her purple wall seemed lonely without her there. I felt like I was in the finale of some long-running TV series, turning off the lights and walking away. I remembered the day after putting the nail on our Christmas tree (most of you know what that means, but if you don't ask me), Cori crawling into Bernie's lap in the big chair downstairs and saying she wanted to be a Christian.
I remembered the many nights and often late into the night, singing, praying, fellowshipping, struggling, having exciting conversations and hard conversations with so many of you. While we hope to have many more of those opportunities in the future, they will have to be somewhere else, because I turned that light off too.
Okay, if this is blogging, I may never do this again because this hurts, and I prefer to holdout from hurt. Yet as I type, I remember that though the light to one season in our lives has been turned off, there really is only one Light that counts because it will never be extinguished. His light stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes, let me see, and now it is my privilege to take His light to other eyes, with the expectation that one day, we shall all share in His promise. “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine one it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it and night will be no more for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever (Rev. 21:22-26, 22:5).
And just as the former things are passing from us in this season, so they all will in this life, but He will wipe every tear from our eyes and there will be no mourning, crying or pain for those who are His.
I'm going to stop here, before it stops being a blog and just becomes a sermon. Ah, now I know why Bernie enjoys this so much.
There have been times over the past month when I have also seemed to be the emotional holdout as well. I have walked unaffected through one emotional situation after another these days. Some of you may have been concerned and some even hurt or offended. I hope not, because the lack of tears has by no means been a reflection of the degree to which I will miss family, friends, co-laborers.
Just as the trains that pass outside our new little apartment for one month here at Wheaton run on one track, so it seems does my mind and my emotions. I have been singly intent on one thing -- dealing with our belongings. Even when taking a break for things like District Conference, homegroups, special services or visiting with friends and family, my mind has always been partly on the packing task before me.
It finally hit me, and I use the word hit very deliberately. Wednesday, with the boxes ready to go the Post Office, it hit. Lest I come across as incredibly cold and calloused, it wasn't the completion of the task or the moving of stuff. On the way back from the Post Office Bernie took our dog, Chip to his new home. It's a wonderful new home and I am so grateful to God for it, but it's not our home. He's not our dog any more. He has a new family to love him, and they already do, but he was not a pet -- he was family. As I type it hits me again.
As we worked through the night into the morning, trying to accomplish what has seemed to be impossible, that is emptying our home, I was able to get back on my track. I was relatively successful until the end. I vacuumed Jonathan's room and turned off the light. As I did, it seemed as if he were there, in his top bunk as he has been every morning for the past five years, surrounded by his Titans memorabilia and his weather equipment.
Then I went to Cori's room, vacuumed it and turned off her light. The big dancing flowers Bernie had painted on her purple wall seemed lonely without her there. I felt like I was in the finale of some long-running TV series, turning off the lights and walking away. I remembered the day after putting the nail on our Christmas tree (most of you know what that means, but if you don't ask me), Cori crawling into Bernie's lap in the big chair downstairs and saying she wanted to be a Christian.
I remembered the many nights and often late into the night, singing, praying, fellowshipping, struggling, having exciting conversations and hard conversations with so many of you. While we hope to have many more of those opportunities in the future, they will have to be somewhere else, because I turned that light off too.
Okay, if this is blogging, I may never do this again because this hurts, and I prefer to holdout from hurt. Yet as I type, I remember that though the light to one season in our lives has been turned off, there really is only one Light that counts because it will never be extinguished. His light stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes, let me see, and now it is my privilege to take His light to other eyes, with the expectation that one day, we shall all share in His promise. “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine one it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it and night will be no more for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever (Rev. 21:22-26, 22:5).
And just as the former things are passing from us in this season, so they all will in this life, but He will wipe every tear from our eyes and there will be no mourning, crying or pain for those who are His.
I'm going to stop here, before it stops being a blog and just becomes a sermon. Ah, now I know why Bernie enjoys this so much.
Reader Comments (7)
Hi Renee - thanks for writing! You are constantly in our prayers and thoughts. Sam Judd reminded us yesterday that when Jesus called the sons of Zebedee to go, he was also calling Zebedee to stay. There is much cost in going, and I am discovering again the cost of sending. We miss you! - Jon (for all the Swifts)
Oh, you're going to make everyone cry for sure! Definitely me!
All I can say is Thank you! Thank you for going. Thank you for being willing to make these incredible sacrifices. I grew up on the mission field but there never was a time when it felt like moving to a new place as it will for your kids. And please, never feel bad for the times you don't cry. It's all in there, it chooses when to come out and when to stay dormant as you're focused on other things. God bless you guys!
Bernie's not the only writer in the family. You really connected with the readers and they could surely feel some of your emotional struggles. Aunt Barbara called me and told me to read it because it was sad. Well...it IS sad in our worldy eyes, however, your illustration of the light says it all. Those of us who know Him...know. This IS a new book and we look forward to more blogging from you.
I've never had so much mixed emotion about moving into a "new" place. The walls still sing so loudly of the all that you mentioned, yet we must continue down this road. You are missed already! I'm at headquarters today. New job. =) People ask if I know you. A little. =)They talk about how excited they are for you guys. It's interesting to hear only about the good, the adventure, the excitement, the challenge ahead, the fulfillment of the call. Makes me feel selfish - again. But it also makes me proud.
See you soon.
Lisa
I read your blogs and am praying for you and the family, Have you ever noticed that it is the changes (scenery, and seasons alike) that make a journey significant? At the heart of discipleship is movement and change. Isn't God good!
Hey Renee, I already e-mailed you, but I just wanted to let you know how much I have enjoyed your family website. I really feel very connected to all of you. Now that I know how to get to it, I will try to check it more often. I hope you have a great weekend and we will keep all of you in our prayers.
Miss you very much,
Love,
Kim
[...] There is a sense of déjàvu’ as I write this. My first blog a little over a year ago ended with Revelation 21 and it seems right to encourage myself with words from this chapter again. This time, verse 4: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.� [...]