The Oak at the Oaks

I’ve spent days wanting to share about the big moments up at the Oaks and meeting one of my heroes and a bunch of other truly incredible people and sharing my story with them. But like so many of the other beautiful, bucket list busting memories I’ve experienced over the past few months of this journey, by the time the experience is over and I’ve fully lived in the moment and I have all the pictures and videos… I’m exhausted and without words. I’m physically recovering from all the energy it took to live every single moment to the max. Now, that doesn’t mean I would trade it, and certainly, it’s not about sacrificing any of the experience just so I can make a post about it… in my opinion that would defeat the purpose.

The difficult thing about that, though, is it does create snapshots of the big moment without providing the context of how those moments are the few (though cherished). When I get comments about how “good” I look.. it might be the first time I’ve been able to get out of bed in days. When I say yes to coffee or creating a memory with a friend, I may plan a whole day on either end of it in bed to both rest up and then recover. I’ve made a choice, over the last few months, not to share a lot of the difficult side of the logistics of navigating this #terminalaintterrible life unless I find a way to bring it back to what I’m learning or how we can all grow from difficulty and struggle. Because truly it isn’t terrible. And with the medical and all the other things it just doesn’t seem like the most important piece to share.

Today I drove up to the Oaks, which has so quickly become such a place of healing and hope for me that I’d say its cheaper than therapy… but let’s be real, with California gas prices it would probably just be more economical to grab a seat on a couch. 

I was looking forward to spending some time with my new friend Stefanie, who runs the retreat center… and also hopeful I might get a few moments to sit (or lay and take a nap) next to a tree, “my” tree that we planted last week. I posted a video of this really sweet, special, and sacred moment when a new group of friends and I worshipped in a field and then planted an oak in my memory, or honor or something like that. 

It’s another experience I’ve wanted to share more about. So as I pulled up to the camp, more than a week rested from all that last week held, I thought maybe I’d be inspired to put the words I’ve been searching for around all the precious memories and moments.

Well, I got to the Oaks and I was surprised to find that my friend Bob was hanging around and he generously spent time sharing stories and sowing wisdom (and let me be that person who FaceTimes their best friend to talk to Bob Goff). After a sweet hour of dreaming and devising some potential mischief for my coming days, he invited Stefanie and me to sit in while he talked with a group of pastors. I have heard from almost anyone who frequents his space that when Bob asks, you say yes. And we did. As he wrapped up his talk to the pastors, he invited me to share my story… something else I’m learning and leaning into saying yes to. A little while later, Stefanie and I finally got some time just the two of us and we decided to make our way over to that sweet and sacred spot where we had planted my little oak. And what did we find? 

Guys, that tree is dead. 

And if not dead, it looks about as brown and shriveled and lifeless as a branch after that first, painful autumn freeze. I left the Oaks encouraged and inspired and on that “retreat/camp” high I haven’t experienced since my teens years. But since then, the physical toll and the logistics that won’t come together have left me equally shriveled and sad. 

I could have cried… because that was the tree. That was the thing. That was supposed to be the inspiration. But honestly what I’ve learned over the past several months is not only that I find myself in the company of people who can help me make a metaphor out of anything, as my friend Stefanie did, but it is exactly a picture of how I feel. I drove 3756 miles to get to California. Yes. You read that right. I drove from West Palm Beach to Tallahassee to Nashville to Springfield, Missouri to Phoenix than on down to San Diego to end up at the Oaks. The final goal wasn’t just to end up here for my bucket list and Bob but to move here and begin medical treatment in an elevation that isn’t causing more lung damage and further complicating my health like I was experiencing in Colorado. This was just going to be my first stop along the way.

Well, as you may have noticed, my two days at the Oaks were life-changing, impactful and some of the very best of my life. But everything since then has been extremely difficult. My housing situation fell through and rentals and hotels in California post-Covid restrictions and lockdown have gone bonkers. I was left with the reality that after this long forced pilgrimage across the country that I tried to frame as an adventure… I will likely need to return to Colorado. And go on oxygen. And leave the ocean. Is it the end of the world? No. But it does leave me feeling a lot like my oak tree was looking. It feels like I’ve spent a week and a half without water.

We stared. And then Stefanie pointed to the random weed, actually a cluster of weeds, that were growing and thriving right across from my dead oak. We talked about the word adjacent. And what is growing adjacent is so different than our expectations or the big moment when you plant the thing (dream?).

I don’t know what that means big picture and I don’t why there have been so many moments over the past several months where not having a timeline has been beautiful in the sense that I’m alive, but it’s also meant new challenges like getting to the end of a lease in Florida and not knowing what to do, or going to a specialist doctor and breaking a bone on the way, or getting to California and living out of my car. Because it also means incredible bucket list adventures like snorkeling and being in Hawaii (but followed by a trip to the ER) or 5 amazing hours in Disney with my sister (then dropping her off at the airport and not getting out of bed for days after).

Here’s what I know. In the midst of those big moments and what could feel like a lack of nourishment and water… new things, new hope is growing. Things that are wild and shouldn’t be growing but are. 

What I know about being around my friend Bob is that some things are going to work out… and other things aren’t. Being curious in the midst of all that is great, is needed, is hope. Nobody can take away that time worshipping and planting that tree and all that came with it. And even though I’ve felt a bit like my little oak, forgotten and unwatered… that’s ok. Because what God’s doing is in the wild. As much as he’s working in the big moments… He’s also working in the weed that wasn’t there and now is wild and IS growing. 

And really, I’m probably a lot more like that wild weed than I am a future towering oak tree. I feel like that’s what my story has been.

So, should I, a girl with a terminal illness and more medical issues and broken bones than you want to read about probably find a place to live, wherever it is, and stop living out of my car? Probably. And should someone go give that little oak tree a drink and perhaps replant it amidst the green field rather than dirt, try to bring it back to life? Might be nice. 

But I’m also going to keep being curious, with eyes open to the things that God is doing adjacent to the big moments. The way He’s working in my off days and deferred dreams. He’s in your wild, too. Because He’s in all of it. Go take a drink.