The Swarming Hug Thing

It’s that first time you lay eyes on each other in a long while, and they are many but you are one (or two).

For Ken and I, it doesn’t happen until we step into the meeting room for evening worship time.  Just the timing of things; our arrival, our need for a jet-lag survival nap, their return from school, when supper is served.  No proper first-greeting has yet taken place.

But coming through the door, there it is.  That one who sees us first and says our names with a burst of yay, and comes running.  This alerts everyone else, and there’s a slow-mo, over-the-top moment of happy swarming.   The only thing to do is to stop right where you are, put down anything you are carrying, and attempt to receive as much of this joyful connection as you possibly can in the moment.

I can’t express how much this always means to me. 

Of course, hugs are beauteous anyways.

Hugs from children are especially phenomenal.

But happy, running, swarming hugs from kids you know deeply as being ‘from your heart’ (aka grandchildren), that’s breath-snatching.

Last time, last November, when I came by myself for three weeks following an almost three-year absence, something was off in this.  I wrote about it (Hokey Pokey), painfully remembering the easy, attentive connection of every other single time here, that has been such a big factor of why this family is family. 

I wanted to be patient with the ‘trauma=informed’ process of rebuilding trust necessary due to pandemic travel realities, and wait for their cues.  We are humans in a crazy world, and these are young humans already exposed to traumas of varying sorts my white-privileged experience can’t ever fully understand.  Trust is delicate. 

So last time, last November, I did my best to remain emotionally available.  Followed their cues, not really sure if it was working.

But by tonight.  Well. 

Like you I suspect, I often wonder just how did they capture ‘that moment’ on video or picture to post it online?  For this, no one was assigned.  And I for sure had my hands full.  So, I do not have a picture of the swarming hug thing to put with this post.

No matter.  I do have a picture of the now-famous salt and pepper shakers that, earlier in this story, when I truly had no words to describe how painful was our planet-stretched separation, helped convey my love and commitment even then.  And it’s only grown by now.   Bonus feature of this picture, though, is how our Sponsored Child Eak, who is 17 now but into sculpting things back then, made this replica.  It's as if he captured somehow the significance of it all, even then.

I have the Thai words now, so…or….maybe I don’t.  Because in English or Thai, how can this actually be described, explained, articulated in mere words?  Really, how can it?

 What I did get pictures of, however, was every child with what they received from their Sponsor in their packets (or envelopes for the older teens).   If all goes well for today’s plan (code for, if jet-lag doesn’t crush too much) I will do my best to send a personal email to each of the Sponsors.

We’re really here!

And I suppose I should say it’s so lovely for me to be here with my best hugger ever.

A Hug In Reverse

So, I'm going just come out and say it.

Even in the midst of so many joys, opportunities and new things waiting, this entire season of letting go has been painful.  And it's only getting worse the closer it gets.

In less than two months, May 27,  I will officially step down as Highview's Senior Pastor.  Even in writing that out just now, I've stopped to heave an involuntary deep, and slightly shuddered sigh.   Okay, more honestly, I've been pretty weepy these past few days.

It's that big a deal.  Because....love.

When you've loved a certain way, with a certain freedom and permission, if you will, for this many years, it becomes far more part of your chemistry and synapses and DNA and heartbeat and breathing and being than you could ever have imagined.

Problem is, I love Highview with all of me.  And love makes this letting go really sting.

And lately I've realized it feels like what I'm doing right now is very much like the opposite of a hug.  Like a hug in reverse.  Everything that prompts a hug - the desire to hold close, draw near, be fully present in the moment of - I'm feeling all the feels of that, but doing the exact opposite.

In my leadership, shepherding, pastoral life, I have had by default the honour of knowing and being known, loving and being loved in ways that run into the deeper places of our lives.  I have stood in holy places with you, beautiful and wretched, where life is most real and love is grown; birthing beds and death beds, gravesides and coffee shops turned into confession booths, emergency rooms, ICUs, and in ceremonies, indoors and out, where vows are spoken.

And also, even less intensely, in the every day way of loving that a pastor just does, just making sure things run smoothly, leading meetings, following up on all the nuanced conversations, scooping up all the body language, building teams, praying, studying, preaching.  All of it.  It was - is - all part of how I have hoped to love you.

But this season I have handed over, delegated, stepped aside, released, let it be someone else.  Someone capable and humble and ready and respected.  And it all feels very, very right, and good and freeing, and part of a true and fascinating story God has been writing for our church. 

There is  no worry in my mind at all that Highview won't be well loved when I'm gone.  Just, know that.  And I have lots else to do.  This is also very true.  It's not like I'm bored or lonely or wondering what comes next.  My days are full still, even as the shift begins, and I map out weeks now that include more time for some of the things that are ahead of me.

But it still just feels so weird that I'm not 'doing' all those love things I used to do.  Feels like indifference, neglect, like I don't care, or at least that it looks that way, even though inside of me love rages on.

But this is the most loving thing to do now.
Let go.
And go away.
For a while.

Like a hug in reverse.

So....in real time hugs, I'm going after as many of those as I can for these next eight Sundays.  Fair warning.

[Don't worry.  The non-huggers in my life and congregation have nothing to fear.  You know I know who you are and love you just the same, just the way you are, and won't be bugging hugging you.  Well, not too much, at least.]

But the hugs in real time will help, I think.  I hope they help you know I love you, even as I let go of this.  And the hugs will help me too, so thank you in advance.

Because the joy at the other end of all of this is that I don't have to go all the way away.

Three time periods chunk themselves out before us.

Now to May 27 - Letting go and getting in as many real time hugs as I can.

June 1 to December 1 - A time of deep resting for me, and for allowing space for Highview to continue to be amazing.

December 2 and onward - A new era of being with you.  And the real time hugs can happen again.

Oh Highview, do you know how much I love you?  Do you?

It would be such a shame if, somehow, you didn't know this by now.