I drove along with Carrie Underwood songs to that 1940's-like movie theater you're sick of me describing and I watched a scary movie which would shock you (hey, it was only PG-13, but your eyes would bug out if I named the title. Suspenseful and I was the only person in dark theater #3--just me and my eerie, creaking chair. Delicious.).
Then back out in the made-me-squint sunshine, I took the old neighborhood roads to that tucked-away hamburger stand by the river and nearly beneath an overpass. The one with the deck and the umbrella tables over the water and trees and an old house along the opposite side.
I ordered a strawberry-banana milkshake and since the shake is made fresh, I watched the laughing, teasing teenagers inside and thought about my own high school days and my cleaning job in the town's A&W restaurant.
Lately my high school memories have been renting space inside my brain.
No rocket scientist is needed to discover why--my 30th high school reunion will be held the last weekend of this month. If my old hometown were less than 2,500 miles away, hey, I'd go.
So anyway, I carried my strawberry shake to the deck with its white round tables, picket fence and tall posts all glowing in the sun and sat there alone, watching the water and feeling like I did when Tom, Naomi and I took the ferry out to the San Juan Islands many years ago and lunched on a weedy hill behind a restaurant at its wobbly white tables overlooking the Pacific Ocean (that's as exotic as my life gets).
I tried reading my book, but my head kept returning to high school. High school--probably the ultimate of the ol' "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" experience. Instead of the broad picture, we tend to peer backward and recall only our own tiny corner and our own varied emotions inside that corner.
And well, that's a whole other post.
But here's my point: Much of my life is about obedience to specific tasks God asks me to do. But this soon-coming high school reunion was one of those "I'll leave the decision up to you" things. I felt Him say either choice--going or not --would be all right. But with one catch--if I went, (He seemed to say), I'd have to go with no agenda.
No agenda at all.
No plans to make my old school friends think I am more than I am, no aiming to impress one single soul. No butting into conversations with my own stories, memories or accomplishments. No hiding in corners because I've gained weight the past 30 years and even--no plans to share my Christianity--unless someone asked.
He said, if I went to my 30th high school reunion, I must go simply to be available.
To attend the parties as a compassionate listener, to hear what was not being said --and to pray for that. To pray for everyone as I watched them drinking and dancing, as though with no cares, no history, and to gaze into their hearts--to love and accept what I found there.
And then pray some more.
Simply, to return to my old town--not as the scared, shy, needy kid I once was--but as the woman who's learning to care more about others' feelings than her own.
I loved that idea. But still, I'll not be attending the reunion.
But what if--even here now, even each day-- I could leave my own agenda at home, shred it up, actually, whenever I step outside my front door? What miracles might I see then?
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2 Timothy 2:21
If a man cleanses himself from the latter, he will be a vessel for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.
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