Falling in love with Jesus

On Friday night I opened my email to find a message from my Mom saying my Grampa had suddenly died. I read it twice and then I walked slowly onto the verandah and sat down against the wall. Last week we’d had classes about death and dying and the grief response, but what is it like in real life? I didn’t know my grampa as well as I’d liked. Just before I went to Antigua I visited him and we sat and talked together and he had taped photos of my graduation on his wall. I knew he was proud of me. When we said goodbye he’d kissed me and I’d told him, I love you Grampa. I love you too, Heather, he’d said.
My housemate Burton was sitting on the porch and I told him about the email. And then I cried. We talked for a while and prayed together, and after awhile I went for a walk, talked some more to God. I felt so small. What am I doing in this foreign country all alone (well, sort of), studying medicine, cooking pasta in a rice cooker and chasing cockroaches out of my bed? (And yes, I do have cockroaches in my room to add to all the other little animals.)
I was still getting over a stomach upset that lasted three days, and feeling a little stressed about the volume of homework I was behind on. (Not to mention the fact that I’ve developed tendonitis from taking too many notes).
I walked up the hill with grass waving in the breeze, the stars bursting out of the night sky and the sound of cicadas and birds like a growing symphony. I stood on the top of the hill and lifted my arms up to the sky.

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in- behind and in front. You have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too high for me to attain.

On Sunday morning I drove with Burton and Kingsley into St. John’s (the city) to go to church. The church was a tin-roofed building with no walls, which made it a little cooler in the hot sun. We stood there and sang and worshipped and then sat and listened to the pastor preach about a man in the bible that Jesus gave a new lease in life to. A new year (2008!), a new creation, a new hope. A new purity, a new mission, a new peace.
In the afternoon we took our books to the beach, and in the evening I washed laundry and cooked dinner. I spread a sarong over a little bedside table and made wraps (including some awesome guacamole) and served dinner to my housemates. We’d bought some icecream and we sat in the fading light and tried to eat it quickly before it all melted. What can I say?
It is as if God’s arms have been wrapped around me in a giant hug, and he is saying, I love you too, Heather.
A song we sang on Sunday keeps coming back to me.
You are great, you do miracles so great, there is no one else like you, there is no one else like you.