This End is not the End

I am sitting at the computer at my house in Harrisonburg, thinking back to week ago and it doesn't feel real. On one hand, it feels as though I never left. My dear, devoted friends still come over and swim and the pool or drink tea with me. We still talk about Touring Choir and EMHS. I still go to church and the unchanging faces of adults from my childhood are still faithfully in the pews (though actually its chairs  now because of the construction). When I go over to the Myer's house, we still watch British period dramas as if there was nothing new to talk about. My family is still here, still bantering, still being obsessively organized and still loving. It's as if I never left. But, in a way, I feel as though I never left Johnstown. I still marvel at this house that isn't falling apart (and though I thought I'd never miss the rotted flooring, I do almost). My dear unit family still comes to my mind so often and so much of what I see I wish I could laugh about with them. Snapchat does not fill the gap. I still go to the silverware drawer to find the measuring spoons, but they're three hours away. I still flinch when people burp because I'm waiting to be slapped by housemates in other time zones. I still am surprised when people comment on my short, hennaed hair because that is who I have been for so long. 

Last Sunday at church. They said thanks to us, but it was really us that were so grateful. Note: It was extremely sunny when we took this picture.
From Left: Evan, Krista, Eva, Me, Leah, Jonathan

In coming home, I am grieving another. It's a death of sorts, a death of an era, a death of the person I was there, a death of housemate-ship, a death of Service Adventure. Compared to others, I've experienced so little death to grieve in my life, so I hardly have the perspective to see the truth that death and goodbyes were not God's intended plan. 

I think I learned it first last summer in leaving EMHS friendships, a romantic relationship and my family. I felt that stepping farther away from relationships could not be how God created us. I thought of the infinite Garden Eden where God was forever present, where death didn't force goodbyes and time had no place to catch hold on anyone as they lived, loved and were. Then entered endings, goodbyes, hearts torn in two because it was too soon. I cannot remember where I heard it said (let's be real, it's probably CS Lewis) that humans were created for eternity which explains why humans are always searching for an answer beyond what the earth can give (if someone can point me to where that is from, I'd be grateful :) ). God being infinite, and our souls being in his image, shows why break ups hurt so badly, why we can't seem to process death (though a natural and inevitable part of life), the importance of committed relationships, the the sadness over temporal places and people, and then the joy of a promised eternity where there are no more goodbyes. 

End of the year trip to the Delmarva peninsula where we sight saw, kayaked, and played on the beach. 

While I lived in the midst of Johnstown, far from my friends now building lives I was no longer a part of, I took comfort in the knowledge of that eternity when I could know them in fullness. I clung to Sheldon Vanauken's picture of heaven as a timeless place where infinite relationships took away any boredom I feared from the never-ending, CS Lewis' image of "Deep Heaven" in his book The Great Divorce where "Everyone of us lives only to journey further and further into the mountains [in pursuit of God's presence]," and also of the words in Revelation of ultimate restoration for God's people and Earth. 

The Germans and I spent four days on the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail after program ended enjoying being so close to the hand of God in the woods. 

Throughout the final insane, but precious weeks of Service Adventure we were saying goodbyes everyday it seemed. Goodbye to families we'd just gotten to know, to places we'd come to love, to suppers together and worship components of Thursdays, to the church family on Sunday mornings, to the hill at the farm, to supper with the Allens' house, to every last until last Thursday: "Ok, last picture with Erin." Oh. 

How can it be that I will not see these people tomorrow, they are my life?  Last hugs. 

How is it that they're walking out of the door and we won't ever come back to this house together? Last goodbyes. 

It still doesn't feel real, because I don't think it is; I was designed for eternity. 

Look at us from the beginning. From Left: Evan, Krista, Jonathan, Abby, Leah, me, Eva

In our final days of lasts, I couldn't stop singing This is Not the End by Gungor (well, that and Sarah Sparks ;) ). I sang it to myself as we drove in the car, in my last days at work as I roamed over the farm, as I ran up the clunky stairs, and with every last. Coming from EMHS Touring Choir where H and Jared would always tell us that the songs in our heads were there for a reason, I listened to the lyrics and found them so fitting. I know that as I move on into the newness and challenge of service in South Dakota, then into the unknowns of Wheaton, then beyond, time will demand ends, and like there was never enough time in the world to have been in Service Adventure to finish all of the things we dreamed about or even at EMHS, there will never be enough time anywhere. I find my comfort in the eternity that I have been promised when I will again be housemates with my Service Adventure family in God's house of many rooms because 

This is not the end

This is not the end of us

We will shine like stars bright, brighter