This post will be weird to some, funny to others, and hopefully interesting to all. Today is September 6. This day means absolutely nothing to me.
In the last seven years or so, since college, this weird thing has happened. I would, oh every 6 months or so, look at the clock and it would say 9:06. (Background: In college, I was a part of Campus Outreach for three years. CO is a Presbyterian (kinda) college ministry, and...well, I'll just leave it at that. The only thing related to this story is that every week, there was a campus wide meeting called "906." If I remember correctly, it was related to some verse in the Bible. I honestly don't remember (Jamie? Jo?)) I always thought it funny I saw that on the clock. And I always remembered it.
Then, starting about four or five months ago, it started happening all the time. ALL. the. time. Two or three times a week. And I wasn't looking for it. It would always catch me off guard. At one point, I was so caught off guard that I actually stopped mid-sentence and stared at my watch. The person I was talking to thought I was crazy. I was so weirded out that I called Rodger to see if he thought I was crazy. "Maybe God is trying to tell me something," I railed. I would not have been surprised.
I looked up Sept. 6 on Wikipedia. Three posts jumped out at me.
~1492 – Christopher Columbus sails from La Gomera in the Canary Islands, his final port of call before crossing the Atlantic for the first time.
~1620 – The Pilgrims sail from Plymouth, England, on the Mayflower to settle in North America.
~1847 – Henry David Thoreau leaves Walden Pond and moves in with Ralph Waldo Emerson and his family in Concord, Massachusetts.
Three major stories of someone or some group setting off on a journey.
Now, I looked that up a couple of weeks ago. I don't really think God was necessarily using that to tell me to go. But it was interesting. And encouraging. It's funny, because I see Chicago-related things EVERYWHERE nowadays. TV, magazines, books, etc. Yesterday, during Dragon Con, my friend Monty and I went to Hard Rock to watch the game. We were given coasters for our drinks, on which were random cities or countries that had Hard Rock restaurants. Monty had Bali (which is funny because I just watched With Honors, and there's a joke in there about Bali...). Me? You guessed it. Chicago. I stole it. It's in my car.
And this morning, I woke up and I was reading The Voice of the Martyrs. It's a book filled with stories of people who died for the Gospel. People who refused to deny God in the face of death, and were killed because of it. And all-of-the-sudden, I felt at peace about leaving. I've tossed and turned for, I don't know, two years now really. And now I feel at peace. On September 6th. Also today, I watched this thing my mom taped from TBN (I don't watch TBN, so I never would have seen this). A guy was interviewing Jim Caviezel about The Passion of the Christ, and he said a lot of things about acting and about being a Christian in Hollywood that I have always thought, and I really needed to hear. I always had the idea in the back of my mind that, in becoming an actor I would be able to do some cool faith-related projects. That perhaps God could use me in this capacity. And Caviezel was talking about that very thing. And I was kinda just sitting there dumbfounded. And I remembered it was September 6th.
It may seem hokey or nutjobbish to some of you, but I've been looking for this for a while. Something to let me know that either it's okay to go, or I need to stay, or I need to go somewhere else. While I don't think God is going to use a burning bush with me, I do believe He speaks and leads, though I'm not always in tune enough to hear it.
On Wednesday, my mom has an appointment with the doctor. Unless he says that my mom only has a couple of months (which ain't happening), I am quite certain that I am out of here.
Here's to the open road.