September: Safe Harbor
[PART 7]
God gave me some of the world’s bestest friends.
Eric took me to dinner when I got home. He wanted to hear everything, straightaway- but we were waiting on Elijah, who was at the office late. I wanted to tell the story once- because- ugh. I was still so beaten, and how to explain? But when Elijah tarried, I gave in and took it from the top.
I was about 60% through recounting the drama, when Elijah found our booth. We got to our feet for big, strong hugs, and then Eric retold the entirety of my story- like he had been there himself. He didn’t miss a detail (though his version was subtly flavored with plenty of ‘compassion for Emily’). Relieved for the break, I tagged back in to bring us to ‘The End’.
My brothers took some beats to say wow, and then praised me for my joyful view of the whole ugly ordeal. They were amazed that I carried no bitterness for what was behind, nor fear for what might be ahead. They praised God for his sovereign hand in everything- especially in how he had made us friends. And then they said a few times (to make sure I got it), they were so glad to have me back.
“Wealth attracts many friends, but even the closest friend of the poor person deserts them.”
Among many complicated feelings about my desertion, I was bummed about not being a rich lady anymore. It was same old, same old: unemployed homeless girl in the house!
“We can honestly tell you, Emily”, my friends assured me, “we have never been friends with you for your money!”
We laughed, caught up some more, prayed a bit, and finally left to meet Anna at the improv asylum. (That girl carries a deck of “bear-your-soul” questions in her purse- so you can imagine it was a night for basking in belovedness.)
“For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you- that is, that we may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith- both yours and mine.”
Everything felt so muddled, so gross, and it would for a long time. It would take me a while to accept that I don’t need to punish myself for what I did when I was drowning.
(Actually, that’s one of those big DUH tenets of the Christian faith- Jesus paid for ALL our mess-ups. All of them. He already suffered the punishment for them. So, how does he feel seeing us trying to take our own licks? It’s a no-go. He is our Savior- His saving saves us completely! That is how he wants it… cause he loves us. As I said, big Duh. But, I had a journey to go on to arrive to that home base again.)
Let me go back now, to that Summer day, when I let my ship leave me in Missouri.
That day on the dock, I sat for 2 hours, frozen, unsure what to do, until I finally called a car. The destination? The Old Spaghetti Factory, where I filled my sad, famished face with pasta. Then dragged my zombie self to a motel, where I slept
And slept
And slept
And slept.
Two mornings later, I woke up feeling like a person. And with my revived brain back on the watch, I recognized that what I had done was not good. Not noble. Not courageous.
Running away did not represent Jesus. I owed apologies. I needed to fess up, and show up.
“Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the LORD.”
From the nurturing cocoon of my motel bed, I ran these calculations over and over again- because they didn’t add up. No, I couldn’t be in the wrong. I was justified in shaking the dust off my feet. I had to leave. In the moment, I made room for no alternative- because I had surrendered fully to my own inevitable defeat.
But there had been alternatives.
In days before, I had prayed that God would make me endure- that he would hold me up - that he would renew my strength.
And on the day I fled, he did give me chance after chance not to. I marked them all, and I rejected them, one by one.
I remembered to call Dawn in my frenzy of packing. Of all people, she was the one I owed the most. I didn’t want to dishonor her. I called to thank her for the time she had invested in me, and tell her I was sorry to waste her efforts. “I think you should not go”, had been her judgement.
Pounding knocks on the door of my cabin interrupted my evacuation. Gayle had dragged a hysterical Opal to my doorway. She was sobbing, “Emily’s leaving, Oh, we really aint shit now!”
“I can’t stay”, I told her. And composing herself, she said with a tearstained face, “I am praying you will change your mind.”
Gayle said, “You can reconsider.”
And I said, “I already packed”, to which she said, “You can always unpack.”
Jay said one last time, “I still think you’re the girl for the job."
While I stared at the sky from my perch above the river, Nora and Essam happened by: “You have a team in there. You can go back.”
My getaway car driver kept making wrong turns in his attempt to find the main road. Without meaning to, he brought me three times back to the ship.
I had opportunity to turn back. I just didn’t care to.
I wanted the weight off, and I didn’t care what collapsed after me. I wanted comfort. I wanted relief. And I did wrong.
“Let all bitterness, and rage, and anger, and clamor, and slander, be removed from you, along with all malice. And be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, as also in Christ God forgave you.”
I had no lack of malice in my heart for Jill, Erin and Bobby. I kept talking it over with God as I drove through Illinois, explaining to him that, well, I hated them.
Jesus is the one to speak to about mortal sins like that. He is the only one who has every right to judge our cruel intentions- while being the most tender-hearted, and the most perfectly able to rescue us from our cataclysmic selves.
Between Indiana and back to Illinois, he extracted that useless, damaging bitterness out of me. He cleared up my eyes to see through a lens of mercy again. I wasn’t faultless. Jill, Erin and Bobby had been sweet and forgiving to me in their own way. Choosing to remember the best of them, and to be grateful for the good times was the only way forward.
“If you forgive the failures of others, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you don’t forgive others, your Father will not forgive your failures.”
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.”
I took a deep, humbling breath, and wrote an email to Nick. The subject was “Apology & request to rejoin”. It said I regretted the way I had left, and though I expected it might be impossible for them to let me to come back, I was willing. I would happily take a lower place- lower rank, lower pay- whatever. If I could, I would like to support the team, and finish what I started.
Then I started driving. If I hurried, I could meet the ship in Iowa by the next morning. I stepped on the gas and covered the miles.
I stopped that evening at a plaza, where I bought the nonslip shoes I’d been needing (the ship’s supply was still backordered, going on three months). There was only one pair in my size, and they were 3-inch heels. I took that as a love note from God: Even here, even today- always- I mean for you to stand tall.
I hadn’t heard anything from the ship as regarded my request. But I thought, well, as much as depends on me, I will do.
Even if the answer would soon come through as a no, I would still meet the ship. I owed my friend Ian a hug. He had asked me to make sure I hugged him on the day I left, but in my hurry, I had completely forgotten. I could make that right, if nothing else!
But at the sunrise of the next morning, I waited beside an empty harbor.
A couple walking past me said hello, and I asked them if they knew about the new ship that should soon be making her inaugural call.
“Oh, we’ve been expecting that ship for months”, they told me, “But she’s delayed again. We saw the report on our local news. She won’t stop here today. Not for another few weeks, we’d say.”
“Well, alright,” I said, “I guess I won’t wait too long!”
They laughed as they continued by,
and I went to breakfast.
“Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.”
That was the end of that road. I never saw that ship again. Nick never would email me back. Neither would Art return my phone call. I guess I expected them to, and that hurt.
I stopped at a coffee shop somewhere outside of Chicago, and sat all afternoon applying for jobs with other boats. When the shop closed, I moved to their curb outside, till the internet ran out of job openings, and the sky ran out of sun. And then I spent some more days driving.
Back home, I was received with enough love to make anyone forget their troubles.
Haley put me under her roof for a while, and the beautiful familiarity of everything from our old life in her new apartment was a balm.
Kurtis, Dan and Damon took me out at our favorite taco spot, and I told my tale for them. They shared voraciously in all its comedy and incredulity, while dusting me off- letting me know they still saw all my shine. How blessed I am by their strength and their ready laughter.
Svet could hardly wait from the moment she knew I had disembarked- she was blowing up the group chat, mapping fun Summer plans on the calendar.
Sarah and Tess both sent word that I should come and stay.
And when I finally marched my well-traveled legs to Malden, I found Grace out front, tending the garden.
“Welcome HOME!” she sang out, with a smile as warm as the sun.
Safe in the care of the bestest friends, I spent September puzzling over these two simultaneous truths:
I had messed up. I had abandoned the post and the people that God had assigned to me.
I was victorious in Christ. I was forgiven and accepted. I was meant to walk tall.
I had given up, but God had never and would never give up on me.
His love and care will never know an off day.
And Jesus is nothing like companies and corporations of this earth- though he is the authority over them all. He always forgives. He always takes you back. Oh what a Savior.
Part 8: October: A Time to Mourn
Part 6: August: The Shipwreck