Looking around my house, I made a mental list of all I had to do. Because I didn’t want to waste any time, I had purchased a flight leaving in two days. It cost me all the miles I’d accumulated and more, but it was worth it. Or at least I hoped so. Somehow, I felt like Vicky was right. More was happening here, but I had no idea what.
God, what are You up to?
As I made a simple pasta dish, grateful I hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet that week, I sat at the table, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
The fact was, when I was there, I had fallen in love with San Diego. It was the strangest, most unexpected feeling. I adoredliving in Italy, but when I passed under the arches near Balboa Park, the thought that came to my mind and heart was… home.
I never told Vicky or anyone else about it, but I had mentioned it in my prayers since my visit, trying to understand this unfamiliar feeling and asking God to make it clear. How could San Diego feel like home after only a short visit?
As I twirled my pasta, forcing myself to eat even though my stomach was still upset from the meeting, I let my mind wander about what it would be like to actually live there.
“That’s not even possible, I don’t think.” I grabbed my phone and looked up what it would take to live in the U.S. The options were pretty much what I expected. Work visas, green card applications, years of waiting, mountains of paperwork, and lawyer fees. It was overwhelming. Then I nearly choked on my carbonara when I glanced down at the last possibility.
Marriage.
If I were married to a US citizen, things would be somewhat easier. Thinking of Vicky and her recent announcement that she was well on her way to citizenship since marrying Miles, I ran my fingers through my hair. Then a smile crossed my face, and I shook my head at the silly thought, making my curls bounce.
I laughed as I took a sip of my Pellegrino. “That’s thelastthing I would ever do.”
CHAPTER THREE
Mike
Pushingthrough the doors of Lumina, I inhaled deeply as I prepared to start another workday. I enjoyed my job and had moved up to Senior Product Researcher, which was just a fancy title for the guy who gets to check data, read study updates, and, on occasion, do fieldwork.
I had been in the science field for almost ten years, moving from lab to lab until the opportunity to work at Lumina opened. It was much closer to the kind of research I was interested in, and I had worked my way up to the senior position in only five years.
But being in a fluorescent-lit lab for the past decade had me itching to do something different. There was no satisfaction or drive left in me for the field that I used to live and breathe for.
As a surfer, rock climber, and overall nature lover, working up to ten hours a day in a lab had lost its appeal quite a while ago. But it was all I knew, and San Diego was too expensive to consider a risky career change. And what would I do, anyway?
Picking up the tiny carved cross on my desk, I smiled. It was the first piece my father had helped me make when I was twelve years old. He had learned the skill from artisans in Kenya years ago, and wanting to feel close to the work he did thousands of miles away, I asked him to teach me. From that day on, my love for the art of woodworking grew.
I rubbed the smooth oak piece, my thumb gliding over the varnished cross. It was crooked, but it was mine.
“Dad, it didn’t turn out perfect like yours,” I said to him, my little boy eyes filling with tears.
“Michael, one thing you will understand as you grow in God is that He is the only perfect one in this world. And yet He loves us perfectly.”
Remembering that conversation caused a familiar pang in my chest. Perfection. The elusive goal that I’d chased for years, despite my father’s wise words. I blew out a heavy breath, reining in the emotions.
The memory also brought back a strong feeling of nostalgia and made me miss him more than usual. He and Mom had taken a full-time position in Kenya, their second home, as directors of a growing ministry that taught impoverished families trades and skills. We only saw them a handful of times a year when they’d come home to raise money.
My parents had been doing mission trips twice a year since I was ten years old, and I was incredibly proud of the work they did for God. My first trip with them was when I was thirteen, and it had been life-changing. Seeing the humble way so many families lived gave me a broader perspective on the world I would never have understood otherwise.
As much as I appreciated their sacrifices in serving God, it made for a lonely childhood since they would be gone for a couple of months at a time. My grandparents filled in those gaps,and after Grandpa passed, Grammy became one of my closest friends. Now I vowed to be the person she depended on.
I’d visited Kenya multiple times over the years, but by the time I started college, my days were filled with labs and classes.
I’d always been fascinated by science, but it ended up pulling me away from my faith for a while. Trying to reconcile science and faith led to many passionate conversations with my parents as I grappled with what I believed versus what I had been taught all my life.
I leaned my forearms on my desk, grasping the piece of wood as more memories came back, ones I’d wished I could erase. As shame once again flooded my mind, I recalled how I’d slowly left behind my faith in that first year of college.
Rebelling against what I’d been raised to believe, I lived life the way I felt was right for me, making mistake after mistake. By the time I turned twenty, God and His love had become a foreign concept, yet I still longed for that peace. Back then, I’d hidden this double life from my family, but I always suspected that Grammy knew the truth. There were times when I was passed out drunk and could almost feel God’s presence again, and I knew she must’ve been praying for me at just that moment. I could almost picture her on her knees on her prayer mat, calling out my name.
I had met Niko in my junior year, and he prayed with me, talked with me, and tried to help me work through this crisis of faith, but I remained unmoved. I saw no real purpose in my life except doing what I wanted. I didn’t need or want God’s involvement. By then, I doubted He was even real. I had drifted so far from the God I knew as a child and convinced myself He’d never want anything to do with me again, even if He were real.
Isn’t that what you’re doing now? Believing He wants nothing to do with you?
