The Mystery of Following Jesus

Sometimes, cliches exist for a reason. My least favorite is never say never, probably because I do say never. I have said to myself that I never want to move to the Bay Area. I still don’t want to live there, but it became abundantly clear that it is God’s will that I live there for a year—maybe more.

At first, I mourned, which looked like listening to melancholy break-up songs on repeat. The words of one song in particular always left me teary: If you’re strong enough to let it in, you’re strong enough to let it go. Leaving Alaska brings up a lot of feels. I treasured the wild beauty of the mountains. The landscape there makes wonder accessible almost every day. The pink skies in winter, the lush green summers, and the turquoise lakes never failed to draw me out of myself and into the moment. I saw eagles almost daily and witnessed baby moose trembling through their first steps. Despite the dark, cold winters and the lack of good produce, I love Alaska far more than I ever expected to.

And ironically, next to the Bay Area in California, Alaska was on my never, never list. During my first few months there, I was a bit numb. I felt sure that bears lurked behind every corner. I lived in unnecessary fear due to the glee with which Alaskans describe their bear and angry moose encounters. Opening myself up to the beauty of Alaska took some time, but I even tear up as I write this. Alaska opened my heart to new and deeper access to my spirit and inspired my imagination. I will miss her so much.

And now, having survived a nine-day migration with five uncooperative cats from Anchorage to Redwood City, I am learning to open my heart to new people and new experiences. I forgot how much I missed sunshine. The two large fig trees at our new house produce luscious figs at a rate faster than my jelly-making abilities. The produce in the stores is varied and glorious. And the restaurants are exponentially better.

And it turns out that God lives in the Bay Area, too, though I think I unconsciously expected to have difficulty finding him there. In front of our little (and I mean, little) house, the landlord had planted some lavender, which failed to grow. It looked small and dried out. She indicated I could do whatever I wanted to the brick planters out front, and I wondered if the sickly shrubs could be rehabilitated. I don’t know how and when the Lord speaks to everyone, but sometimes, he does me the favor of being very specific. As I stood evaluating how to revamp the little depressing planters, I heard him say to my spirit, Tear them out. They are root-bound. When he said this, I realized it wasn’t just about the straggly lavender.

For those who aren’t avid gardeners, if a plant is left in a too-small pot for too long, its roots get programmed to the size and shape of the inadequate container. When you transplant it, you must tear those roots up, score them deeply with a knife, and break up the root ball. It looks violent, and it is a bit. But roots are similar to a bird caged for too long. The bird doesn’t remember how to be free, and the roots don’t remember how to reach their rootlets into new rich soils.

I pulled out the plants, and they came up with no effort. The root balls were small, with rotted roots that had grown inward instead of expanding into the welcoming soil. I put in new shrubs, tearing apart the roots, teaching them that their new location was expansive with the possibility of growth.

And now Jesus is teaching me that my new location is expansive with the possibility of growth. I live closer to kids and grandkids, a real privilege. I get to grow my relationships with them. My husband and I started a home church that is a satellite of the one we attended in Anchorage. Our neighbor joins us, and our little services are so sweet. She is incredibly grateful, and watching her grow in confidence in our prayer times brings me such joy.

So Jesus has once again torn up my roots. Moving is painful. Uprooting one’s life is brutal. And honestly, Alaska has its limitations. That seems obvious to many, but I was comfortable in my house with the mountain view. I had a comfortable group of friends and a routine.

And living near San Francisco is challenging. I clicked on a news article featuring a fair in San Francisco, a mere 15 miles away. To my shock, it was a celebration of BDSM, with attendees dressed in very little but a few leather straps and metal spikes. I closed the page immediately. My fertile imagination does not need images like those. But then came a wave of grief and a desire to show the lost the surpassing love of the Father. It is much easier to look at the endless mountain ranges of Alaska than live on the doorstep of a modern-day Pergamum.

But the Chugach range in Alaska doesn’t need my little light shining in a dark place. Following Jesus to Redwood City exploded my plans for my life. I didn’t need miracles in Alaska. Not really. But here in Redwood City, I need Jesus to show himself in more areas of my life than ever. And he is. And my garden metaphors aren’t close to over.

The house we moved to has an area in the far back- a glorious 1500 square feet of nothing but dirt surrounded by producing fruit trees. I have planted my first garden in six years. Winter vegetables are just beginning to put out their squeaky leaves. A couple of late summer hopefuls are giving me a few colorful habaneros. I know I am sowing seed in this new place that will bear fruit. And I am learning to live in the presence of God in an area where he seems notably absent. People are angrier in the city. I hear harsh language every day and witness road rage almost daily. My sense of safety is challenged, just as in my early days in Alaska.

But my life is not my own. That is the mystery of following Jesus. He leads us in paths of righteousness, not of comfortable retirement. So, I am still a bit anxious. Moving is exhausting, and it takes my body a while to learn the new rhythms and routes of a new place. But I’m excited, too. In every place I have lived- twelve to date- God has shown me mercies and brought new people into my life. I learn something important with every new city. And I am beginning to love Redwood City because Jesus loves Redwood City, with its beautiful downtown, its lost souls, and its few remaining redwoods. And with every move, I remember afresh that God is my home. In him, I am never displaced.

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