Living on a Bridge
Moppy has always been a free spirit, so while this was unexpected, it wasn't really shocking. She kept in touch with her daughter, who is something of a mentor to me, so we knew she was okay. As I understand it, she went out to California, meandered her way down the West Coast, and then got holed up in New Mexico or Arizona for about half a year when Covid hit. She did most of her driving at night and slept during the day, usually in her car. Sometimes she found friends, or friends of friends to stay with.
We all wondered when she would be back, but she didn't seem to be in any kind of a hurry. She got a smartphone and called her granddaughters sometimes, who of course missed her dreadfully, and stayed on the road.
Well, a couple weeks ago, her daughter showed up at her house to do the typical things she does to take care of it, and found signs that someone had been there. Lo and behold, Moppy was home. And last night, I got to sit and talk with her for the first time since she left.
In so many ways, she hasn't changed a bit. I mean, once you've been through eighty-five years of life as a spontaneous lady, one year of being a radically spontaneous lady isn't going to make you a different person. Moppy is more herself than ever. She still casually rubs my arm as she speaks, calls anyone younger than herself "cuteness," and says the most entertaining things, which are even better because they're 100% true.
I was eager to hear her talk, both because I love and missed her, and because of my own upcoming trip. She said it had been scary at times; she mentioned a blizzard that she had driven in for five hours, and a hurricane that had lifted her car right off the road, and some truckers who had helped her out. And all this she said not to shock, not to entertain, not even looking at my face or anyone else's for a reaction, but looking into space because all she was doing was reflecting. Though it had been scary at times, she said she had never really been afraid. She had felt God's presence, felt the prayers of the saints, and she had known that she was secure.
And that's where the difference lies. Not that she hadn't known that she was secure before, or that she hadn't felt God's presence and trusted him, but there's a difference between believing a bridge can hold you and walking across it. And there's a difference between walking across a bridge, and living on it for a year.
I don't know what two weeks of living on the bridge will do for me, but I can only pray that I feel half the peace that Moppy did. It makes me think of Hebrews 11 and 12, how the writer talks about all the Old Testament heroes of the faith, those who did mighty acts by faith in God, and then begins the next chapter, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..." This is one reason why the church is so important, and why it's so important to be learning from saints who are older and wiser than I am. Moppy has been on her pilgrimage for a lot longer than I have, and has experienced more of God in her life, simply through time and experience. I can't ask Abraham how it was to leave his home and go to the land of promise. But I can ask Moppy what it was like to travel around the country with no one but God to rely on all that way.
That's a privilege I would rather not take lightly.
I've never been able to get in the habit of editing blog posts before putting them where everyone can see them, and I'm certainly not going to start now. I know it's messy and imperfect, but such is life.
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever,
To him who led his people through the wilderness, for his steadfast love endures forever.
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