Big Pink

When my husband Rob and I were married last November, my mom sent us luggage as a gift. But, it’s my mom—so the luggage that appeared on the doorstep of our new home that fall from the L.L. Bean Company were not the typical sleek, black, roller-board cases that most reasonable folks travel with. Instead, we received two huge duffel bags with insane wheeling contraptions that make them easy to wheel through airports but also amazingly squish-able as well. The best part of all—mine is a very discreet bright pink, plaid with my new initials ‘TJW’ embroidered on the side. Mom does not do sleek, black roller board—and so therefore, neither do I.

Currently, the pink, plaid, wheeling duffel bag resides in the middle of our living room floor. It’s nearly empty—and it’s 2 weeks since I returned home from Huanta, Peru. The other night I attempted, for the third time, to finish unpacking my bag. It’s growing mildly ridiculous that there are still dirty clothes in there, all this time later. But this morning as I ran out the door for church, I noticed again, the Big Pink on the floor—still partially full.

I have a major problem—and I guess it’s finally time to admit it. If I finish unpacking the Big Pink, it’s over. If I wash the pungent smell of wood stove, spiced tea, freshly baked bread, and mountain air out of those clothes—then I’m really home. If they remain in that bag, then somehow, some part of me is still with my brothers and sisters in Huanta.

If I wash the blue sweater that I wore to worship on Tuesday night—then I fear I’ll no longer actually be in that tiny sanctuary, singing, praying, laughing—worshipping a God that I’ve never felt so close to before. I won’t be holding hands with sisters who carry their children in brightly colored blankets on their backs and prepare spiced tea and soda crackers and serve them with so much humble pride that it feels as it is a 5-course dinner.

If I un-bunch my yellow paint shirt and throw it in with the Tide, the stains might still be there but the detergent odor will take over and the sweet, sweaty mountain smell from our long days of work will be replaced. Sure, other folks may actually benefit from this shift in scents, but it will mean that we’ve actually completed all of our church pews. It will mean that the pews really have been picked up by Elders from rural churches, in two Presbyteries, who walked hours to come pick them up only to walk hours to carry them to their home churches. It means, too, that now their brothers and sisters will have a place to sit come this Sunday or Tuesday or Thursday night.

I’ve convinced myself that if I wash the brown cardigan currently squished into the side pocket of the Big Pink, then early morning walks through the mountain town, the sweet smell of wood fires burning, the overnight sounds of scrappy dog fights in the back alley, the 3 am rooster call, the garbage man bell, the smell of freshly baked bread, the taste of luscious tangerines, the touch of old, gnarled hands holding mine tightly through evening worship, and the sight of old friends embracing and not letting go—will all actually be finished.

And the truth is… I just can’t bear for these endings to be real.

I’ve resolved to allow the Big Pink one more week in the middle of the floor and then Rob and I have to pack up and move everything from our home—so something will have to be done with the bag’s contents. Each time I walk out the front door this coming week, I will remember to thank my Mom for sending luggage that it’s impossible to miss on the airport conveyer.

I will continue praying each night for the chance to return to Huanta, Peru—but perhaps more importantly, I will pray that I might live each day like I’m still there—to work hard, worship, pray, study in the Lord’s name, and then to enjoy amazing fellowship with brothers and sisters that the Lord has so graciously given to me.

I pray that you, too… will live each day in the humble way that Jesus Christ has called you. How will your actions today define what kind of world we live in tomorrow?

Jesus is Risen-He is Risen Indeed. So what will we do now?

Theresa Wolf
Director of Christian Education and Youth Ministries
Port Orange Presbyterian Church