The Time and the Dream

As per Michelle’s request in the comments, very soon I will answer the question about the little flowers. (It’s actually a rather amusing story.) But right now something else is in the forefront of my mind. You see, Luke left for Dallas this afternoon with his cousin Nathan. Not such remarkable news, except that I won’t see him again for a year. Unless I go to Cote d’Ivoire, Africa.
A whole year.
Thankfully I’ve been so preoccupied the past couple of months with preparations for Curtis and Grace’s wedding, I haven’t had the luxury to sit around contemplating exactly what his absence will mean to me. I knew it was coming, but I was busy enough to hold the emotions at bay. Even for most of today I thought, “Wow. I’m handling this really well.”
Early in the afternoon Luke wanted to spend some farewell time with his Gibson guitar, so Nathan grabbed my classical, and the two of them jammed classic Radiohead and Weezer, some current Brand New songs, and some of Luke’s originals. I just sat on the couch, soaking it in, taking pictures, singing some harmony, imprinting Luke’s face and voice on my mind. I was still fine. Happy. Glad to be enjoying those moments with him.
After he’d completely finished packing, he dashed off a quick e-mail to a friend. As he typed, something happened to my heart. It began to ache. A deep, dull ache of impending loss. I thought, “Dang it. I’m going to cry.” But even then I held it together.
He gathered his suitcase, which was more than half filled with supplies he’s delivering for World Venture, and his back pack (how do guys pack so lightly?) and headed toward the door.
“Can I pray for you before you go?” I asked.
The three of us sat on the couch and held hands. And it all crashed in. For a few moments I didn’t know if I’d be able to speak at all, but I opened my mouth and started to pray. The words kept coming, and with them a steady stream of silent tears flowed down my cheeks and landed in my lap. Like someone had turned a warm-water faucet on slow drip. But it didn’t release the pressure of the ache.
After I prayed, Nathan prayed. A sweet, life-long-soul-friend-and-brother prayer. And then they loaded the car and drove away. Just like that. I stood on the sidewalk and waved, mostly because I thought that’s what moms do. But it all felt surreal.
It’s probably a good thing that this evening I had to speak to our church’s women’s group. Instead of indulging myself in an emotional break down, I made a bunch of people laugh. And now I don’t feel like crying any more. I’m just sort of tired and numb, but also peaceful. Glad that Luke is who he is. Thankful.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the lyrics to a song he wrote not too long ago for two friends who were about to get married. The words say a lot to me about Luke’s faith and outlook on life. They stir memories from the past–Great Ormond Street hospital in London is a reference to Peter Pan, a story my kids and I love–and hope for the future. The time and the dream will each in turn return redeemed. There’s so much to ponder there.
So, here it is. Great Ormond Street, by Luke Damoff.
I have watched the dance you weave
Run back and forth between the trees
It has been redeemed
And it will be redeemed
And the rain may fall on your wedding day
Don’t pray the clouds away
They were sent as a grace
And the rain will rise from churchyard stones
Your mother cries ‘cause her child is grown
But we all laugh because we know
Your love has found its home
At the end of Great Ormond Street
A mother cries just for relief
Will her tears be redeemed?
Cause the rain will fall on courtyard stones
And the child cries when he’s left alone
And the siren’s wail will let you know
That love is going Home
But if the rain won’t fall, then the grass can’t grow
Though we’re all just scared of dying alone
Do not fear—just know
That Love will guide us Home.
The time and the dream have each in turn returned redeemed.
The time and the dream have each in turn returned redeemed.
The time and the dream have each in turn returned redeemed.
The time and the dream have each in turn returned redeemed.
Go in peace, Luke, to love and serve the Lord. Alleluia. Alleluia.