Remembering

Now a moment away from Nairobi.

This Friday will be eight years since the death of my Aunt Ruth. The next day will be two months since the death of her daughter, Tiffany.

I miss them.

Certain images have come to hold significance, as I process their lives and their story in my family. Angels. Purple. The Organ. And now- Stars. Candles. Country.

It is strange, yet very real, how these images weave their way into my experiences and come to create meaning. When B, the admin manager in Nairobi walks into the office with purple scarf and shoes, and a bright smile. Ahh, purple is my favorite color, I tell her.

Moments like this seem to come especially when I need them. I think stories and miracles in the bible take on meaning in the same way, as themes and images resurface throughout to tell a bigger story.

On the plane ride here, I read the first chapter of Mark, knowing that my fellow congregants St. Lydia's would be reading the same in the coming month. A few images were striking that I want to share.

First, of the voice crying out in the wilderness. Tiffany's husband shared how "O Come Emmanuel" has taken on new significance for him, as grief feels so much like "mourning in lonely exile." We have found ourselves in an empty, lonely place.

The wilderness: far from civilization. The wilderness: no screens, no distractions. Where you are left with your mind, and your survival instincts. Where a voice cries out, prepare the way of the Lord.

Jesus shows up in Mark not as a baby, but as an adult receiving the Holy Spirit. And just a few verses later, he is driven into the wilderness to spend 40 days with the devil.

Here is where I lost it. While Jesus is in the desert, it says:

the angels ministered to him.

The day I left New York, it had been 40 days since Tiffany died. Sitting on the plane, I thought of my time in the wilderness and the angels who ministered to me. So many friends, some very close and some unexpected, who held me together. Sleep overs, serious conversations, meaningless conversations, salads, desserts, text messages, phone calls, and one letter.

My good bye party in New York had been planned for the same weekend I flew to Minnesota for Tiffany's funeral.

More than a month later, I was able to invite friends over for a potluck brunch during the 12 hour layover I had between San Francisco and Nairobi. And they came - so many people came. With food, and smiles, and music. I left for the airport while many people were still at my house. They formed a tunnel and cheered me out the door.

I don't know if Jesus got a tunnel of angels on his way to the airport, but I bet he would understand the feeling.

This is the feeling:

There is love, there is love, there is love.