What If I Said...: Activate 2013, Final Days: The Downshift

I've been home for about 36 hours now. While part of me is so tempted to just post "And then I came home, the end", I know I need to write it out just for the sake of closure. If not for your sake, definitely for mine.

We stopped for the night in Little Rock, to give us a break before driving to Memphis the next day. Memphis is a beautiful city, although a little gritty a la New Orleans. Live music was blaring from every bar and every corner street musician, trolleys and horse and carriages made their way up and down the streets. We saw surprisingly few Elvises (is that the correct plural usage?), but surprisingly frequent panhandlers.

Memphis didn't leave that much of an impression on me, even though when I first got there I declared I might love it more than New Orleans. That was mostly based on the Orpheum Theater's sign advertising its playing of Breakfast At Tiffany's and The Parent Trap. Two favorite movies of mine. But the more we walked around, the less I loved Memphis. There's a scummy feel to it, of dark things crawling beneath the surface, grubs under a log. Carol pointed out that, although New Orleans was just as dark and dirty, they at least wore it on the surface. You knew what you were facing. A charging rhino rather than a slithering snake. Some of this may be because we had a man try to scam us into giving money to his questionable shelter for men, all while we were in the middle of talking to and praying with a man who was actually homeless. We met Tarvis outside of the Starbucks, a man with no legs... And less than that. He was just leaning in his wheel chair, his body gone from his waist down. But he had kind eyes. We talked with him for a few minutes, and a more helpless feeling than I'd had yet on this trip came over me. Even more helpless than I felt in the wreckage of Little Axe. Because, really. What could we do for Tarvis? We could give him money. We could offer to buy him food. But we couldn't give him new legs, short of a miracle of epic proportions. At this point the other man came up, trying to get us to give to his homeless ministry that was up the road, claiming he was a member of the Memphis welcome committee, all the while reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne (not that cheap cologne makes you a con. But it sure does give me a headache). He called Tarvis "Buck", and said over and over what a good guy Buck was. But Tarvis appeared to watch him warily and we mistrusted a man who said he helped keep alcoholics off the street while he himself smelled like a still. Here's where grace comes in. It's not our place to judge. But it is our place to be discerning and wise, especially with our money. We looked for Tarvis again a little later, because we were a little afraid that other man would take away the money we had given him, but we didn't see him again that day. I've thought of him a lot since then, sweating on the sultry streets of Memphis, smiling at passerby. I pray protection over him. Grace. Favor. And yes, a miracle of epic proportions.

We also met Miss Ann, a server at our restaurant that night- not our server. But when she sidled up to us and sang Walking in Memphis with us as it played over the speakers, we fell a little in love with her, and ended up talking to her for awhile after our meal, and giving her a tip just for taking time to brighten our day.

Nashville was our next stop, to meet up with some of Missy's family, and a part of the trip I'd been looking forward to as a boon whenever I would get so weary I didn't think I could make it another day. I met her family three years ago when I went with her to her cousin's wedding, and I fell in love with them hard. And haven't stopped loving them since.

We had dinner Friday night with her uncle and aunt and cousins, laughing and eating and soaking up the warm family rays. Nothing profound. Just home. Missy's cousin has two small children and I just loved and loved on them, especially their little daughter, who sat with me for hours that night. Although I suspect it was due largely in part to my letting her play my iPhone at dinner, I loved every minute of it, sitting in the recliner with her, shaking maracas and sharing bracelets. We left dinner and went to Missy's other uncle and aunt's house to stay the night, hung out with more cousins. We stayed up late into the night with them, sitting on the bed, talking books and TV and life. Sisterhood. Deep, calming breaths of it, reaching to my fingertips, my toes, my lungs and heart expanding with it. Awed at the way hearts can knit together even over so many miles, and stay knitted.
Saturday morning we had breakfast with the family, and then headed to downtown Nashville to get the last of our souvenir shopping out of the way. We stayed down there for almost four hours, trying to find gifts for everyone left on our lists. When I finally bought that last gift, I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. I did it. I did it!!!

We left Nashville and turned our car toward Virginia and home. As we checked into the hotel that night, Lesa came out with a strange look on her face while we were unloading the trunk. "I just realized this is it," she said wonderingly. "This is the last night we'll do this. We're done."

Tennessee started the downshift for us, where our focus turned again from outward to more inward. Time to start shifting our thoughts to real life. To the people and jobs waiting for us back home. It was a natural progression, not sudden or forced in any way, and in that shifting, I believe it was God's way of easing us back. We ended with family and fun and love. Dinner and breakfast and lying on the floor, swinging our feet back and forth, talking and laughing about life. We ended exactly the way we were meant to end. Not with a huge, blustery bang. But with a sweet, calming murmur of, "Well done. Welcome home. Rest."

I don't want to forget all the things I've seen, all the people I've encountered the past two weeks. Wanda. Bo. Emilie in downtown Mobile. Irene and Terry; Big Tiny, Donna, Hezekiah; all of our family in Texas; Greg, Lisa, Margaret and the people of Little Axe; the amazing cloud of witnesses we met with in Missouri and Arkansas, Tarvis, Ms. Ann, and even the possible con man. Missy's family in Tennessee, and the people in between who I loved and Christ loved through me. Our list is long and full of grace. Grace for us, grace for them. Not all of them will remember us, I'm sure. But I'll remember all of them. I'll thank God for the role they played in changing my life, my opinions of others and of myself.

As I've been writing this, my kids have come out of their bedroom no less than 4 times each, to plop next to me on the couch and stroke my hair, wrap their clammy bedtime arms around my neck, kiss me on the cheek. They missed me. They are what caused the downshift in me, the "Ok, this has been good. But I'm ready to go home". Today was hot and sweltering at The Box House. There were arguments to interrupt, lunches to make, medicine to dole out, laundry to put away. But through it all the downshift stayed with me, and I never once wished to be gone again. Already parts of my trip have seemed like a dream, just like my real life seemed like a dream while I was gone. Now I understand how the Pevensies felt when they left Narnia. During my trip, I was a person who created and caused change, activated myself and others, spurring them on toward, I hope, something bigger. Here, on the other side of the wardrobe, I'm just me. Myself. Mom and wife and epic failure when it comes to keeping up with the laundry. But I'm reminded of a line from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe: "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia." I haven't left that part of myself somewhere on the highway between Tennessee and Virginia. I've brought it with me, carrying this whole new facet of Mary, that was birthed on this journey. I may have downshifted, but it's just to get me up the next hill, to the next horizon, the next facet waiting to be birthed.

I'm ready. I'm ready to be more of myself. To my husband, to my kids, to my community. I'll encourage you to be do the same: be more of yourself. You don't need to leave home to change the small worlds you come in contact with. You can do it at home, at work. You can change someone's life, and more importantly, change yours, by simply loving.

Thank you to all of you who have kept up with me on this journey. Although a part of me is sad to close this final entry, another part of me is excited to see what else is in front of me. I hope you'll keep pace with me as I run this race set before me.

-M