One Last Time

It's that time again. In 9 days, we'll all roll out of our beds and get ready for it. "The Trip." Not the Russia trip, but the trip of getting from here to there. The drive to the airport, terrified that you've forgotten something (I have your passports!) Getting through check-in watching David panic as he pays for all that luggage. Eating a burrito knowing you'll regret it in an hour. Saying goodbye to family and trying to figure out why there is a soulful game in your gut involving the butterflies of excitement trying to land on that iron ball of regret at leaving family. Then making your way to the gate and hoping Byron doesn't stall us at boarding time. Then the first flight. Then get the luggage and re-check it and then ... the 12 hour flight. Then customs, then another flight, then the drive into the hotel then sleeping on a bed designed for a Hobbitt! "OOooo ... my precious ..." And all of this only takes up two days and 9 time zones ... so ... ok, then.

Then, it begins in a whole new way. The last of so many things. Last tourism with a great group of folks, last Folk Show (actually, we're seeing the ballet - I lied!), last souvenirs of tacky t-shirts (McLenin in McDonald's livery, and yes, I talked to them about copyright infringement) last time I'll see those remarkable faces and souls in camps 40 and 14. Last time ... last time. But, it won't be the last time for some things. As we take the Gospel to the kids, God is there. He was there long before we arrived, and He'll be there long after. It won't be the last time I pray for them, or think about them, or miss them. It won't be the last time God works a matter of love in my heart and it won't be the last time that I miss home with a power that is overwhelming while weeping for children that are not mine. It won't be the last time that I leave what I love to join what I love and then repeat the process in order to come home. It won't be the last time I cry. It won't be the last time ... and on it goes.

I have this picture in my mind, of a scene taken from across the road at camp #40. The scene should have the buildings and children in it, but the they are not there and even the forest and sand looks different. It's clean. Spotless. Almost untouched. Like the world looked like generations ago - no human intrusions or cumbersome people about. Then I realize there is one person, squatting down. His presence seems to lighten things up like those sunglasses that make things brighter even if they are not. It's the Son of God, standing on that shore, looking around. I realize this is before time, when the Spirit is still on the waters, before creations' completion. Jesus is there, waiting, knowing the kids will be there, knowing we will be there. Even then, even at creation, He knew. All along He knew we would be there. Some before us, some after.

So I am reminded, it's not the last time. Not at all. It's just the created following the Creator in order to do what He commands. God was there, in those camps and He's still there, in those camps. He'll be there long after we're gone. So, let's go meet Him, one last time.