Day 47

Patriots' Day, April 15, 2013.

In Massachusetts, Patriots' Day is an official state holiday commemorating the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the first battles of the Revolutionary War.  It is celebrated every third Monday in April, and most widely marked by the running of the Boston Marathon.

The Red Sox also play every Patriots’ Day beginning at 11am, making it a great package deal for the sports fan.  The vast majority of the runners are making their way past the 25th mile marker in Kenmore Square just as the baseball game is finishing up and the stadium is clearing out.  I have probably attended the Sox/Marathon twin bill about 6 times in my life (between visits up from Texas and living here).  It’s just an amazingly awesome experience!  

So it was only natural that Austin and I were seated in the grandstand seats behind the first base line that day.  Beautiful blue skies.  Spring chill in the air.  A Sox win.  And a quick visit with friends from Connecticut.

By the time we made it into Kenmore Square, the crowd lining the street was 10-15 deep.  We were able to find some holes to peek through and cheer a few runners on. Packed like sardines, we inched toward the subway entrance.

“Do you want to go to the finish line and watch?  Or just head back home?” I asked Austin.

“Let’s go home.”

“You sure?  I know a back way… we can skip the crowds.”

“Yeah, I’m just kinda tired.”

“No worries, buddy.”

So we slowly fought our way down into Kenmore and onto the Green Line.  Jammed into the train car what seemed like the rest of humanity, we unloaded quite a few of them at the next stop.  It happened to be the closest stop open to the Finish Line.

After waiting for another long minute without moving, a voice came over the speaker announcing that everyone must get off the train.  The station was being evacuated.  I rolled my eyes at the inconvenience.  Seriously?  (Little did we know then, that the bomb had just exploded above ground at the finish line.)

As we exited the doors at the top of the station, I made a split-second decision NOT to turn left toward Boylston Street, simply to avoid the crowds in order to get back to our car the quickest way possible.  I tried to check twitter to see what was going on.  Couldn’t get through.  I tried calling Rob.  Couldn’t connect.  I realized something big was happening.  So I texted Rob we were ok.  I texted my sister we were ok.  Just in case.

As we walked down the back alley, police were beginning to throw up barricades.  I overheard one officer mention the possibility of a “secondary” explosion.  I’m not a rocket scientist… but I quickly realized that meant “primary” had occurred.  I decided then to lead us as far away as possible from any potential targets.

We camped out for a few minutes on the sidewalk of one of the Back Bay streets as the sounds of ambulances and emergency vehicles grew louder and more frequent.  I eventually found an MBTA officer who was able to tell me that all of Boston was shut down, but Cambridge was still running (which is where our van was parked).  Eventually we walked across the Mass Ave bridge, along with hundreds of our closest friends, into Central Square and onto the Red Line.  By 7pm that evening and 3+ miles of walking, we were home safely.

I am heartbroken over so many things that day.  I am also thankful for so many things that day.  Had Austin agreed to go to the finish line, we would have been extremely close the the second bomb that went off.  Also, had we turned left after exiting upon evacuation, his little eyes would have seen much devastation, blood, and things he could never unremember.  

We went back to the Sox game for Patriots game the following year.  It was and important and healing step for us both.

Day 36

I always made fun of people who used online dating sites.  Yeah, well.

I lived in a brownstone apartment in the Fenway neighborhood of Boston.  I was working at a residential treatment facility for adolescent girls in Arlington.  I knew Milton and Ginger, who lived about 30 miles south of Boston; and Allyson, who lived about 45 miles west of Boston.  I had made friends at work, but most of them were 20-somethings out of college.  

I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, but I thought dinner and a movie would be a fun thing.  So I signed up on match.com and was enjoying the occasional date and conversation.

Until Rob came along.

Our first email was during a Celtic playoff game.  I lost count of the number of back-and-forth exchanges.

Our first phone call was over three hours long.  I was extremely tired at work the next day.  

Obviously, we hit it off.  

Rob’s wife Lynne had passed away from breast cancer, and Rob Jr was 6 at the time. They both stole my heart, and I quickly went from not looking for a relationship, to married and being a mom, in a matter of months.

Rob says he’s not sure he would do it again had he known what I meant by “package deal” with Spunky… but we all know better ;-)

Day 35

Mike Yaconelli.  Oh how I miss him!

We were chatting on AOL messenger one day in April 2001.  The conversation was bouncing back and forth about my job, his speaking engagements, etc.  Then out of the blue, this pops up on the screen from him (and I quote):

"Here's what I think. I think you are too comfortable. I think you stay there because change sounds too scarey and painful I think you stay there because it's like staying home, it's safe, comfortable and it's slowly killing you. You didn't ask me, but I'm telling you you need to take a risk, run from this place and when you do, you will discover the Christy who is buried somewhere screaming to come out."

No one ever accused Yac of not telling it like he sees it!

I had been contemplating a change, but not very seriously.  But when someone 2000 miles away crystal-balls your life, it wakes you up.  I left the office to meet a friend for lunch.  I got out of the car and told him, “I think I’m moving to Boston.”

And that’s where it all began.

Day 34

It never feels good to know you are not wanted.

There are some moments that, for one reason or another, are burned in our memory.  This is one.

I was driving northwest on Hwy 183 in Austin in my silver Mustang, top down.  It was March. Shawn Mullins’ “Lullaby” came on the radio, and I started bawling like a baby.  I don’t mean just crying.  I mean, tears streaming down my face, toddler heebeejeebees kind of crying.  The kind of deep heart crying that I thought I was going to have to pull over.

Ev-er-y-thing’s gonna be all right, rockabye, rockabye

Ev-er-y-thing’s gonna be all right, rockabye

I had been holding it in for, oh, a few days since Mike had told me the news.  Gerald thought it was time for me to go.

Riverbend was not run like your typical church. It was more like a business, with Gerald as a Pastor/CEO.  It was a really efficient way to get things done, with a board of trustees for accountability.  The ministry was handled by the ministry team, deacons, etc.

So when Gerald made a decision, it usually stuck.

I had been mulling over my options.  (a) Leave before he has a chance to tell me to.  (b) Start looking for another job.  © Stay and make him force me out.  But there on the freeway, God and Shawn Mullins grabbed my heart.  Everything’s gonna be all right.  Rockabye.

I surrendered.  I figured God was bigger than both Gerald and me.  He had put me at Riverbend and He would need to be the one to lead me away.  

So I decided to try to find new ways to minister.  I began writing a daily devotional for the congregation.  At that point in time, daily emails were innovative - hey, what do you know!  And the distribution list quickly jumped to close to a thousand.  I also edited and published a book of comeback stories written by Riverbend members.

I never heard anything negative again from Gerald.  In fact, our relationship deepened, and when I did decide to leave over a year later.  It was on God’s terms.

Rockabye.

Day 33

One of my friends had season tickets to the San Antonio Spurs through his work.  On occasion, he would invite three of us to join him for a game.

These were the days when the Spurs still played in the Alamodome.  David Robinson and Tim Duncan were the Twin Towers, and winning came often.  In fact, they won the NBA Championship that year.  This wasn’t simply a basketball game invitation, however.  This was an experience.  A package deal.

It begin with the drive down to San Antonio.  Always filled with laughter and  embellished stories.  Then dinner was at the “Top of the Dome Club.”  This was a pre-game VIP buffet spread for certain season ticket holders.  Always great food.  Seats were about 8-10 rows up, free throw lane extended.  I mean, seriously.  Who wouldn’t say yes to that invitation?

One of my favorite moments of those game days, was during the dinners.  David Robinson’s father seem to always be there.  Same table.  Same chair.  Anyone would know it was him… they are carbon copies of one another.  We would walk by and politely say, “Hello, Mr. Robinson…”  He would always return the greeting and smile.

We saw David at an NCAA tournament game this past Spring, and I had a chance to tell him this story.  His eyes lit up when hearing about his father.  He relayed that his dad still lives in San Antonio, still attends all the Spurs games, and still has that great smile.

Some invitations have lasting effects.

Day 32

It was 1998. Gerald had been leading annual trips to Israel and the Holy Land for several years by then.  People from across the nation who watched his TV ministry would go, as well as several Riverbend members.  Each year, he would also take a staff member or two.  That year was my turn.

After landing at Tel Aviv, we began our time in Galilee and Northern Israel, then spent some time at Masada and the Dead Sea, and stayed the last few days in the Jerusalem area.  It was an amazing journey that became even more meaningful on this side of the trip, as having been there provided context for the stories I had grown up learning, and continued to share and grow in.

One of my most favorite moments occurred as I was just seeing the Sea of Galilee for the first time.  A friend of mine and I had wandered through a cemetery (imagine the dates on those stones!) and down the street toward the water.  Just as we reached the port, a party barge was coming in to dock.

It was loaded with people.  Lots of dancing.  Lights flashing.  And music playing.  No less than…  The Macarena!

I couldn’t decide how to feel.

Should I be upset that this was my welcome to the Sea of Galilee?  The place where Jesus called his first disciples?

Should I be offended that the Macarena was blasting on these very waters - these sacred stormy waters - that Jesus himself once calmed?

And then it hit me.  This was probably not much different than what it was like in Jesus’ day.  It was just the 1998 version.  Whatever the Macarena party boat looked like back in 30 A.D., I’m sure it was cruising over these very waters.  And I’m sure Jesus was very well aware.

So I just chuckled to myself.  And welcomed myself to Jesus’ world.

Day 31

One of my all-time favorite books as a child was Barney Beagle (and any of the sequels).  As it turns out, two beagles were the finders of one of the best treasures of my life.

I had just returned from a quick overnight trip to Louisiana.  Joey showed me a shoebox containing a t-shirt and an ugly black-and-white, palm-sized, rat-looking thing.  Upon closer inspection I found it to be a kitten, dirty and barely alive, eyes still closed.  The beagles had sniffed it out behind the fence.  It had been abandoned by it’s mom.

I called my college roommate who lived in town.  Her husband was a veterinarian.  After getting instructions and well-wishes from him, I set out to purchase a tiny pet bottle, milk, a heat lamp, and the other things he said just “might” help him survive.

He made it through the first night.

And then the second.

He didn’t like his first bath very much.  But he loved his bottle.  Every.  Four.  Hours.  Even at 2am. 

He opened his eyes on the third day.  He would sleep under the heat lamp until hunger awoke him.  He would cuddle up under my hair on the pillow case after his bottle.

I took him to work.  He stayed in my office for the first few weeks.  In a box under the heat lamp.  He quickly outgrew the shoebox, but stayed relatively contained for quite a while.  People would stop by to check on him; ask if it was feeding time; ask if they could feed him, hold him, etc.  Funny.  Nobody asked if they could litter train him!

Spunky became the little guy everyone pulled for to make it.  One of my preschool friends affectionately called him "Skunky.”  He was the hero to many.

Well, make it he did.  He made the move with me from Austin to Boston.  He’s almost 19 now.  He’s been with me through many ups and downs.  He’s made me laugh and made me want to throw him out the window.  I’ve often called him my cat-dog-human.

He’s one-of-a-kind.