It’s my last night in Columbia. I’ll be back in three weeks, but I am sad nonetheless. When I arrived I carried hope with me. As I head back to California that hope is still alive, but I feel guilty. My heart and spirit are ready for the journey west. Redding is my home. I miss it. I miss the slow traffic, chill culture, and the slow topped mountains. I’m looking forward to my solitary strolls in the forest and youthful friends. Redding is the place I grew into a man, a faithful God-loving man. If I could pack my parents in my bad I would.

When I arrived I thought my dad would be knee deep in cancer treatments. Turns out, the doctors continue to order tests. So we’ve waited, which is not awesome when the attacker is cancer. Aside from its general destructive of healthy cells, it also robs its prey of time. It robs us of hope and disrupts our lives, demanding attention better wasted on a beach or backyard swing. As previously stated, I still have as much hope as I did the day I arrived. It’s the waiting, the tests and more tests, and every little unanticipated turn. It’s a sort of exile where making plans seems premature, yet necessary. That’s what wears me down.

Hope and faith are essential to walk with the Lord, especially in moments such as these. Every step of the process is as it should be. I can’t change what has happened. I can make room for the Lord to be God and choose to believe it’s not all about me. Hope and future are gifts the Lord promises to us in the midst of every furnace. We aren’t alone struggling through it. The Father is at hand in every situation if we have faith to latch onto to Him. So, Lord, be with me as I travel back to Redding. Bless my steps and my words. Guide my heart into fertile fields of joy and peace. Heal my parents and love them. Shout your love and approval over their lives, and lift them upon the Rock of your grace.

Amen.