Space to Be Filled Reaching Up

“Are you excited?” they ask.

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.” I reply.

Am I supposed to be excited? What is supposed to be going through my head days before being transplanted into a different space – a space that seems to have stood still over thousands of years and I picture like I did this morning with my Bible in my lap reading Acts. 

This whole Africa thing has come steadily for me. Steadily since I declared boldly that I didn’t want to go eighteen years ago. 

He wasn’t going to push me. Demand me to go like an overbearing father who wants his will more than his daughter’s.  He knew my grip was too tight around this life of mine I wanted.    

But subtly the loosening began.  He started small with simple requests – Is that friendship right for you? Are you honoring me with your time? Should you be dating that boy?

My muscle grew a little bit and my trust did, too.  Maybe he really does love me.  Maybe he does know what’s best.  My clinched fist began to weaken, and my fingers began to soften.

Until he asked some more.  Is that pride I see deep inside?  Are those dreams really idols?  What about that anger you won’t give up?  Are you going to allow only my one foot in forever?

The stakes were higher now, and I just couldn’t seem to do it.  The muscle weakened and strengthened contracting with each failure and triumph.  But he stood there in that door frame, with only one foot in my heart, with no intention of leaving until I closed the door behind him.  One finger at a time began to fall from my fist held tight.  And there was open space.  Space to be filled.

He came to me that August morning while my fingers pointed outward and that space in my hands faced up.  And he asked me if I was ready.  If I was ready for both of his feet to come in.  “I want you to give your life to me including all I will”, he said. “Even if you don’t understand.  With every hurt and ache I want you more than that.  I want all of you. Only then can I fulfill the days of yours I’ve already prepared.”

That August morning I turned my head.  My husband rolling away to life support was all I saw.  And his other foot stepped in. I closed the door.

This day has been prepared. This day to go to Africa.

So am I excited about going?

Yeah.  I guess.  I don’t know.