The Maiden Voyage of the Dutch Fury: The words I haven't said

Nana was my only grandparent. Clearly, I am biased, but I cannot imagine a better grandmother. She was a scrappy little red-headed woman; unforgivably sharp, hilariously clever, beautifully wise, and wondrously loving. These characteristics earned her the loving nickname "The Dutch Fury". January of 2016 brought me news that Nana had some health condition that would ultimately lead to her death. Since then, we've learned it was something under the umbrella "Parkinson Plus". We had no real trajectory of the condition, nor any specific prognosis, but we knew that Nana was, relatively, nearing the end of her life. Grieving began that night for me, though I didn't realize it. Do we ever "realize it" with grief?

Grieving the [expected] loss of a loved one was a new experience for me. I did what I do when I am stressed: withdrew from the world. In the first week after the news was shared, I read something like 2,500 pages. Escapism at it's finest. Reading consumed most of my day. Some days I'd hardly put clothes on, and others I would forget to eat. As the year got rolling, I found a job and began having things to do, so I had some structure and started living normally again. Throughout the year, Nana started to lose her ability to speak. Communication began to rely more on typing or writing. Eventually, Nana's motor skills deteriorated as well. Being out of town and thus removed from the situation, it was easy for me to ignore it. When I would go home to KC, however, and visit Nana, of course I would see the changes. Those visits tended to rock my world a little bit.

As the year went on, I got better about handling my visits with Nana. In actuality, I felt very isolated in my feelings. How bizarre that, while grieving for the same person for whom my whole family was grieving, I felt alone and like I couldn't share my experience. Whenever I had felt that way in life, Nana would receive my thoughts and feelings, enter into that isolation with me, and subtly coax me out of it. Nana being largely the source of those feelings, though, made me feel like talking to her wasn't an option. 

I did my best to function in life that year. Life started changing: I got a new job, my private voice studio tripled in size, I moved into a new home, and bought a car. I made it all the way to the fall of that year without facing my genuine feelings. One of my visits to KC, I almost left without going to see Nana. I had forgotten about it. Fortunately, someone accidentally reminded me. The realization that I had forgotten Nana was an awful feeling. So, naturally, I was emotional going into that visit with her, which turned out to be exactly what I needed. I walked in, saw her in her wheelchair, and started sobbing. She asked me the truest "Nana question" that there ever was: "What are you thinking?" As Nana and I typed back and forth to one another since she couldn't talk, and I was unable to at that moment (sobbing), I confessed that I missed her. Though she was still physically in my life, I felt like I had already lost her. That conversation is now one of my most cherished memories. She sat there, working hard to type to me, and comforted me. She drew me out of my isolation, loved me, and told me that it would be okay.

In October, Nana got to meet my best friend, Jasper; something she had wanted to do for a long time. In November, Nana got to come back home for Thanksgiving: I did all the cooking. The day after Thanksgiving, all of her children, and almost all of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered for a reunion with Nana, knowing that it would likely be the last time some of us saw her. It was lovely. We looked at old slides from her years as a young parent, ate food, shared stories, and loved one another. At one point, I was sitting with Nana, encouraging my cousins to talk to her as normally as they would if she could verbally respond (it's a bit uncomfortable at first if you aren't used to it), and Nana reached over and grabbed my hand. Though she couldn't speak, I know what was said in that one gesture. It seems small and easy to us, but moving was difficult for her, and this was a smooth and direct motion with a firm squeeze. She expelled a good amount of energy for that. 

A few weeks later, on December 16th, Nana died. We knew it was coming, so I was able to go say good-bye and be with my family. I cannot express the gratitude I have for Nana. She raised me, she enabled me to pursue music through my life, taught me to cook and bake, demanded authenticity from me, encouraged me to be the best person I can be, and, most of all, she loved me relentlessly. Truly, I miss her every day.

Grief is a weird thing. I have not been able to write this post until now, whether out of fear of the emotion, or lack of understanding, or feelings of debilitating loneliness. The year 2016, and the early part of 2017, has been the most isolated time of my life. I firmly advocate genuine communication, honest appraisal of one's well-being and emotional state, and openness with our loved ones.  Yet, I have not done those things. Part of it is because I didn't know how. How do you share these feelings when you don't think anyone will get it? How do you add your own burden to someone else's? I don't know the answers, but I know that I'm tired of living like this. A life in isolation and confinement is hardly a life at all.

Nana has sailed across smooth, clear waters, into a new existence with Jesus. As Easter is near, a day when we celebrate Jesus' victory of death, it takes a new meaning for me. Nana is made whole once again. She is on a brand new journey in Heaven experiencing Life the way it was meant to be. As she left this earth, she got to rise up and go Home for the first time. She is made new.

Lay down your sweet and weary head

Night is falling; you’ve come to journey's end

Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before

They are calling from across the distant shore

Across the Sea a pale moon rises

The Ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn to silver glass

A light on the water, grey ships pass

Into the West

Ponderings of a Wandering Heart

Rarely am I unable to express my emotions. Now is one of those times, and as a result, I am here blogging. This post is not currently about anything; I simply feel the need to process through writing. 

July 8th brought with it the Grace Presbyterian Ignite Mission Trip, which I agreed to chaperone. To really give you a full picture of all of this, I should tell you that one and a half years ago, a youth made me promise to go on the trip his senior year. As I agreed, I included the contingency of "if I'm in town". This particular youth is one whom I have known since I first started working at Grace over five years ago. He plays in the band, and through that I have gotten to see him grow up and developed a close friendship with him. I am genuinely glad I got to be with him on this trip. However, I was not prepared for the emotional turmoil it would highlight, though I should not have been surprised.

Youth ministry is something with which I struggle. Leading Young Life for 5 years was great, my times working for Young Life have been fantastic, and the few youth lock-ins have been a blast. Upon my return from Oregon last October, the GPC youth director, Kirk, asked me to help with the new college student ministry. I agreed, though a touch reluctantly, so it started as me helping to drive for their college trip and evolved from there. I told Kirk many times that "I'm taking a break from youth ministry". In fact, I still tell him that I'm taking a break from youth ministry. He ignores me. One of the many things with which I have been blessed is an ability to establish really close relationships with students younger than me. The college kids are people whom I love, and this mission trip showed me how great our high school youth are as well. The caveat to this is that, like any good relationship, I learn things about each of them. Sometimes, I learn things that as a church staff person, or as a youth/college group leader, I don't want to know. Walking the line between close friend and mentor is something that, up to this point, I feel I've managed well. As kids get older and are faced with more decisions, I'm afraid that this balance becomes more difficult. Another difficult thing is seeing potential in them, and seeing potential that they are not meeting. 

Being as emotional as I am, my feelings are very much tied into the success of my "kids". When they make decisions I'd rather not see them make, I'm impacted emotionally. Now, I do not claim to have the perfect way of life. My path through life has worked for me, but it isn't the right path for everyone. But, I do believe in my ability to see damaging situations, or decisions that are not going to pan out well. When my kids make these decisions, it breaks my heart. They confide in me because I love them unconditionally (as much as I am able), and because, somehow, I have earned their trust. This is a situation that I never want to jeopardize. I cherish the authentic conversations about life, love, and all things that I have with these guys. Part of this is my heart's willingness, and almost need, to jump into the pit next to someone before I even know there is a pit. But I find myself, when they open up to me, taking their brokenness on as part of my own. The weight of their worlds gets added to the weight of my own. And I think Jesus designed me this way intentionally, yet I don't cope with it well, always. It overwhelms me. 

Last night I had the strong desire to not be a confidant for everyone. I didn't want to know things anymore, and I didn't want people to ask me for advice. The introvert in me, having spent 9 days with 30 other people, was suffering hard. My mother received a tear-filled phone call, during which I cried like I haven't cried in a long time. Part of this was very positive. The senior who invited me and I shared some really incredible moments, and I am changed because of it. I told my mom that I didn't understand why he loved me, or why I loved him, but we really do love each other. Part of it was frustration with watching students be led on, drunken videos being sent to our mission trippers from people in leadership roles after a really high moment on the trip, actions not following the words that were spoken to me, and seeing a student not meet the expectations I thought were made known to him (I've since learned that no one made the expectations known).

A lot of the conversation was wrestling with this idea of how to do ministry without wrecking myself, and if I should really pursue ministry. Ministry is something I feel very called to. Ministry is also something I want nothing to do with as a career. The conflict is real. This mission trip was full of people, unprompted, telling me they really think I should pursue ministry. They had no clue about my inner-struggle, and when they learned of it, they encouraged all the more. Do I listen to that? I don't know. Right now, I'm terrified that I am not strong enough for it. My fear is that I will live in a constant state of exhaustion. I don't doubt my ability to love my kids. I doubt my ability to maintain any separation. But, Jesus maintained no separation from us. But, I'm not Jesus. You see my struggle? I have no ability to limit my heart, nor do I want to. What I do want is to never feel like I felt last night. I never want to be so exhausted and overwhelmed that I can't think straight. I don't want to be in the position of knowing things that kids needed to express so that they can still be loved through it, but having those same things be things I feel strongly against, and should probably tell someone higher than me, all while knowing that telling someone would affect the kid negatively (positively?), and potentially be detrimental to our relationship, and my relationship with that person's friends. 

All I've ever known is how to love people. It seems to be the one thing I do well, consistently. But I'm scared. My heart hurts, and I'm tired. For now, I shall address conflict and hurt as I know to do, I will love my kids as those relationships turn to genuine friendships, I will always be truthful with those people, and I shall pray. But is that enough? Scripture says yes. I am not, do not want to be, and cannot be Jesus for these people. Only the Son of God can do that. However, sometimes I feel like only Jesus can actually do what I'm being asked to do. I'm sorry that I don't have an uplifting spin to end this with. Right now, my heart is full of love, questions, and hurt. And I don't know when I'll receive answers. Faith and Love can move mountains. Now I'm waiting for them to move me.

In darkness, Light

"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Isaiah 9:2

Advent has arrived. Over the last four or five years, Advent's worth and meaning in my life has increased at a steady, rapid rate. In fact, Advent has become even more the focus of my excitement than Christmas day itself, at least the gift exchange part. Without the birth of Christ, Advent would lose its power, as it is the anticipation of said birth. Perhaps it is due to maturity, or more likely my employment at a church, but regardless I adore Advent. Each year I find such a peace of heart and mind during this season. Even when I was student and December meant the end of the semester rush and the chaos of finals week, this season felt calm. The church becomes my location of choice for more than the usual activities. I suspect that the juxtaposition of darkness coming so early in the day, and the church's light and warmth increases my attraction, add to that the wonderful adornments within the church such as wreaths, greenery, purple and silver decorations, and the large Christmas Tree in the Sanctuary, and you have my favorite place to be during this season.

Grace Presbyterian Church, my church, has become home and family for me ever since I began my work in the music ministry there in March of two-thousand eleven. The music ministry itself has taught me more than my awareness declared I needed. Most weeks I can be found on a piano bench aiding in rehearsals on Wednesday and Thursday nights for a couple hours, entering into a community of people sharing in the worship of God, while rehearsing so that others may enter into a deeper level of worship come Sunday morning. All people unfortunately have a certain relationship with darkness, and I am no exception. Darkness takes on many different roles so as to not leave anyone untouched. In the depths of my perceived despair, at any point, I find and have found solace at Grace Presbyterian. The church, a place which I avoided for a period of my life, has shown a brighter Light than any place ever has; Light filled with community, vulnerability, acceptance, encouragement, challenge, belief in me, and unconditional love. Tonight, our fearless leader shared words of remembering moments of our lives and glorifying God by honoring those memories. The memory that I suspect inspired her words is a tragic incident in her family the resulted in the loss of multiple loved ones far too soon. While that occurrence is six years in the past, I can only imagine that it must feel so fresh at each anniversary, and yet there she was using that memory to bring Glory to God the Father. She is finding Light in darkness, and in sharing that Light with others partners with them in driving out their own darkness. The Light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it.

Frequently, I am overcome with distress caused by the state of our world. So much hate, so much unrest, so much persecution. Why? Why do we drive ourselves into acts of cruelty and a life of pain? Whether it be rejecting refugees, attacking one another because of differing opinions and beliefs, or discrimination based upon race, class, and sexual orientation, it all causes further separation between people and breeds more hate. Hate cannot drive out hate. There must be Love. Darkness adores company in the way of fear. Genuine Love extinguishes fear. Lightness casts the darkness aside and shines evermore brightly.

This year will mark four years in a row that I will have sung either Comfort Ye and/or Every Valley from the Messiah. Preparations for my yearly contribution to worship have involved a new perspective on the text. The prophetic texts of Isaiah that comprise both pieces of music have become of my favorite. The idea of the entire world preparing for the birth of Jesus is incredible to me, and a little bit overwhelming. "Comfort Ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak thee comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, and her iniquity is pardoned." I see so much brokenness impacting my loved ones. A friend has health conditions that weigh heavily on him, even if he doesn't want me to see. Family members struggle to support one another and grow weary. When these kinds of things weigh on my heart, simple things like having best friends live across the country in either direction from me and not knowing when I will see them, hearing the hurts of people about whom I care dearly, and really small irritations start to disproportionately burden me. However, as we explore Advent, we are actually awaiting the birth of a King. He is a King that will right every wrong and lay our brokenness to rest. 

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace" Isaiah 9:6

Any time I feel darkness creeping in, I can hear the opening lines of Comfort Ye. "Comfort Ye, Sean. Your iniquity is pardoned. There is no darkness here, only Light, and darkness will not overcome it".

"Glaf Clops"

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Hours of preparation for a thirty minute meal surrounded by loved ones are always met with mixed feelings. I, for one, really love cooking, however I frequently find myself cooking arguably the largest meal of my year (Young Life Camp excluded) in a small kitchen that is relatively unfamiliar to me, which is less than desirable. This year was no different on that front, however I had a lot of help. This is the first year that I have been responsible for such a great amount of the meal, and it went really well. I coached my mother through prepping the turkey, I handled a bourbon pumpkin pie and a jello salad, and she aided me in creating two mashed potato dishes: one for gravy and one to stand alone. We had nine mouths to feed, and no one left any way close to hungry. All parties were thrilled with the food, and I think all our hearts were thankful for one another and the shared time.

My Aunt Teresa is famous for her ability to switch letters and syllables in spoken words (golf claps came out as glaf clops) and is thus the subject of much of our laughter as a family. She provides us with stories to share for years. Actually, we all have provided humorous antics. Each year the same stories are told, and we laugh just as hard, if not harder. We always play Catch Phrase, and this year we played the Game of Things which was most enjoyable. My cousin Joely is now seven years old and is getting to the point where she can really interact with all of us, and I think we all appreciate getting to see her develop and gain more of her own personality as kids do. She has energy and excitement almost all the time, and that can rub off on the rest of us. My mother and Aunt Teresa bonded with Joely well this year, I think. "Miss Mary Mack" was taught and repeated many, many, many times. And then repeated some more. I know all the words, and I certainly did not before.

I must confess that I have moments of extreme cynicism in regards to family. No family is perfect, and it is easy to believe your family is the worst, and I get stuck there. My family certainly has what sometimes seems like more than its fair share of discontent, but for this four day period, I believe we were largely able to look passed any issues and simply enjoy one another. I got to see my mother display a child-like joy that I have not seen in a long time as she played clapping games with her sister and niece. Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary were able to relax more and not worry as much about what their daughter might be doing. Aunt Teresa was there to field difficult questions for me and provide a listening ear. Nana sat, watched, directed the baking of rolls, and laughed. If you looked into her eyes, there was love and peace that she probably has not felt in a while as she manages the less wonderful parts of age and a weaker body. When I wasn't in the kitchen, I sat and watched a lot. Siblings can certainly lose sight of the good in one another as they face life, realize that they are vastly different, and see one another change. However, this Thanksgiving I am so thankful for clarity of vision in what is important and what is beautiful in family - my quirky, dysfunctional, broken, hilarious, loving family.

Along with family rides friendship in my heart. For whatever reason, this Thanksgiving equated with a trip into Sean's past. High school was not my favorite time of life. In fact, I loathed it, and thinking back to it isn't loved either. Those four years were pervaded by broken friendships, a keen lack of understanding of myself, and heartache. Of course there were good things, too, those are overwhelmed by the not-so-good it seems. I have apologized time and time again to people I hurt, and have forgiven people that have hurt me. However, forgiving myself is the most difficult task for me, and probably deserves it's own post or five... As I reflected on a few lost friendships last weekend and the beginning of this week, I had no idea what was awaiting me on Wednesday night. I literally faced a friendship which I assumed was long gone. It didn't end well in high school, at least I didn't handle the end of it well. What actually happened was that our needs changed. Tell that to an angsty, emotionally intense, seventeen years old Sean, and see how he takes it.

Josiah (the friend) and I saw each other randomly at a friend's house. There was no awkwardness (I let go of my hurt and anger over that friendship long ago), and we simply started talking and catching up between interruptions and distractions. We talked about music, literature, random stories and anecdotes, and laughed a lot. At the end of the night we were both getting ready to leave and the conversation led us to the point of no return: discussing our friendship. Neither of us seemed to avoid it, so in we jumped. Apologies were given and accepted, honesty was displayed, and genuine wishes to have done things differently were shared. At one point I told Josiah "I have thought a lot about what I would say to you.. Turns out that this was it". That was the truth, and it caught me off guard. Never had I actually thought this kind of conversation would happen, nor that we would ever simultaneously express the desire to re-enter each others' lives. Redemption. Reconciliation. My heart Rejoiced. No where in my being was I aware that this is what my heart needed, but it was. I had spent so much time looking at the ways I had messed up and hurt people, and I found myself believing that nothing would ever change that. Not one day later, I faced Truth. Truth that says that love, time, and genuine hearts can allow Redemption. Nothing is completely lost if there is real desire for change. There is no room for "glaf clops". No. My heart erupts with applause at the thought that, even after heartache and friendships dismissed, there can be Redemption, Reconciliation, and Rejoicing.

And there is much Thanksgiving for that.

My Declaration of Independence

“And by and by Christopher Robin came to an end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn’t stop.“

I think I've been avoiding this post. Sitting here, reading that quote for the one-hundredth time, I am forced to admit my reality of being in Wichita with no set plan to return to Oregon. You see, A. A. Milne spoke that quote to me, a year after my first encounter with it, a brief two nights before I departed Oregon after spending almost half a year there. Five and a half months is quite the expanse of time, my friends. In fact, I challenge you to spend that much time in a place and not allow your heart to settle there. That was the most trying part, because in past experiences, I have only been long enough away to build really great relationships, but not feel like I had actually moveed, Does that make sense? I've always known where in my tenure I was. This time, however, there were enough pace changes and even season changes that my whole person settled as if it was a more permanent situation. In one way, that made it all the more worthwhile. I lost the sense of "I'm leaving" and gained the feeling of "this is life", so I dug into it more. In another way, it hurts. Unfortunately, I cannot work around that.

My most recent stint in OR was one of the most impacting periods of my life. Not only was I isolated in a desert, but I was also isolated in my job. There was no community handed to me. In fact, if I wanted it, I had to work to get it. Eventually, I did achieve a really wonderful community in my roommates and a couple other people, but it took a while to get there, and then even longer to really maintain. Murphy's Law would dictate that the community begins flourishing just as it is about to be disrupted, and Murphy was right. However, that is okay. My goal is not to discredit any of that community, as it was necessary for my survival, and it was wonderful. That being said, the lack of community that I mentioned influenced me just as much as the moments filled with community.

Before going to the Ranch last May, I was far more dependent on my friendships than I would have ever cared to admit. Furthermore, my identity was wrapped up in having friendships that looked the way I wanted them to look. So, I was put in a desert working my ass off in a job that didn't have tons of companionship (managing people, being managed, and only having one other person in your position who always worked opposite shifts of you), living with three guys whom I didn't know beforehand and hardly saw. Truthfully, I thought I would rely on older friendships to get me through, however communication is difficult out there. I've always prided myself on my communication abilities, but even the best laid plans go awry when exhaustion is so pervasive and you work harder than you knew you could. Because of these things, I learned to not only survive, but thrive independently. My reliance began to shift from those relationships upon which I leaned too heavily, to the relationship on which I don't lean enough.

Part of me wishes I could tell you that this season changed all of my habits, rid me of all of my sinful nature, got me doing daily devotionals with ease, and all other wonderful things that "true Christians" are supposed to have together. That would be a lie. What this season did accomplish was changing my view to see Christ in things that I otherwise would overlook. It allowed me to see Christ within my own heart and truly believe that my identity did not need friendships to exist. Do friendships aid in molding me to be this person I believe Christ wants me to be? Of course. Are friendships necessary in life? I believe so. However, they are not necessary for the reasons I thought. Friendships are there to sharpen us, teach us, love us, but not define us. This was knowledge that existed in my head but had never quite made it to my heart. Because of this new "heart-knowledge" my friendships prospered. Naturally I saw it in my friendships out in OR, and in the broader Pacific Northwest, but now I do see it in the relationships in which I'm investing here in Wichita.

Friendships in Wichita, and even my work in Wichita, have helped to smooth this transition. But all the smoothing in the world cannot prevent my heart from longing for what it knows exists in relationships all across the country. Interestingly, I had no tearful farewell. I say it is interesting because tearful departures are kind of in my blood. Even this quote didn't shake me enough to bring tears. However, as I was leaving the the state of Oregon, I heard the quote a little differently in my head: 

"And by and by, we have come to an end of the things, and we are silent, and we sit here, driving out into the world, and just wishing it wouldn't stop".

Truer words have ne'er been spoken. And as I meditated on that statement, I realized that in all of my readiness for change and home that I never wanted those relationships, that world which I was leaving, these adventures of travel, to ever, ever stop. And tears finally flowed.

My Friends of the Week

I have been awfully remiss in my blog posts over the last several months. Many times I have found myself wanting to collect my thoughts by writing, yet I never seem to make the time to do it. Hopefully, this will reignite the discipline in me to articulate myself more regularly. 

If you don't know or have forgotten, May brought my departure to Oregon for a brief five months to work at Young Life's Washington Family Ranch, much like it did last summer. While yes, I'm at the same location with some of the same people, the two summers could not be more different. Last summer taught me much about living in community, and the importance of community in my life. However, this summer has been the opposite. Over the last three months, my "knowledge" of friendship has been torn apart. Truthfully, I have somewhat prided myself, justified or not, in my ability to be a friend and my understanding of what friendships should look like. Now, I still hold true to my values in regards to healthy relationships and what those look like. That being said, I realized that I have been pigeon-holing my friendships. Friendship is the state of being friends. A friend is someone, generally outside of family or sexual relations, with whom one shares mutual affection. Thanks, dictionary.  "Open-ended" hardly begins to describe those definitions. So why have I always viewed it as a finite entity? What compelled me to view friendship in such constrained terms? I wish I had the answer, but I don't. Speculation would guess it was my insecurities and my desires to have my friends fulfill certain holes in my heart.

This summer has taught me to be content in the present. By that I mean not only the present time, but also physical present. Often my mind wanders to this place of comparison between the friends whom I am discovering, and the friends whom I have already known. In growing close to friends in one location, I have felt like I am doing a disservice to my friends from home or from another adventure. Because of this, I hold back. I hamper the amount I will invest and care because I am scared of growing close to someone new. Friendships are not mutually exclusive, it turns out. Nor does the definition of friendship limit the number of friends you may have. Many of us have heard that quote that says we only have two or three genuinely close friends at one time. The thing that people leave out is that those two or three friends may change as often as weekly. In trying this summer to invest in our high school volunteers (Work Crew), college volunteers (Summer Staff), and Interns, I have learned that I simply cannot handle all people at once. In fact, I am not supposed to do such a thing. For every person that I invest in and get to know, there are many others loving the people I cannot. And there is nothing wrong with that, which I say as much for my benefit as anyone else's.

Physical location has a lot of influence over with whom we are close. Simply, it is easier to be involved with those we see all the time. But, there will always be days where we need someone across a distance who has been with us for longer or knows a certain part of our lives better. Is it true that right now one of my closest friends is a soon-to-be senior who lives in Lake Oswego, OR? Yes. Today was our last day of spending almost every day together for twenty-one days. We chose to invest in one another and be parts of each other's lives. Wouldn't it be strange if he wasn't one of my closest friends? I think so. Does my close friendship with him, or anyone else out here, discredit any of my friendships back in the Midwest? Or from last summer? No. I am not betraying anyone by caring for and investing in another human being. Everyone, out of their inherent worth as a human, deserves to receive love and care. So, when Jesus places a high school student from Edmonds, WA, or a wild-man who tries to convince me to drop everything and travel around the world, in my path and on my heart, I say "party on". 

The hardest part in all of this is accepting that some friends are for a season, or multiple non-consecutive seasons. I have always wanted all of my friends to be constant and in one place. This, I have come to know, would cheapen all of them. If they were all with me all the time, how would I be able to invest in all of them? That would be a disservice. Allowing these friendships to exist separately is what allows me to love them all. The beauty of these friendships is that I can visit them when I need them, or when they need them.

"You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place." 

Amen. And I would add that never being completely at home again is one of the most beautiful aches that I have ever known.

"Why don't you talk? I don't even know what you sound like."

The first redeeming quality of that treacherous is simple and takes far less writing than the others. Jasper and I couldn't be more different, and sometimes that is a bit intimidating. However, one of the things that we agree on is the need for quality time with a person. In expressing love, I much prefer touch and verbal communication, whereas Jasper would rather keep a three foot buffer around him with little to no invasion of that space. Jasper loves to show love through acts of service, which in turn I don't know how to receive. He also isn't terribly expressive verbally until it is really needed. But quality time we can come together on. And that trip to Pendleton, OR provided a great deal of that, as well as some leaning on one another for support and to keep spirits up. Whether it was driving in the car, walking around Wal-Mart, waiting for a miracle or a tow-truck, or spending the night in the hotel, we had plenty of quality time with each other. And let me tell you, when you see someone almost every day for 3.5 months, and then live 1,600 miles apart for 4 months, you really miss that physical presence in your life. 

Redeeming quality number two comes from a man whose name we do not know. We call him Scott because he looks like a Scott. Scott was the cook at the Rainbow Cafe. The place was set up in such a way that Jasper and I sat at a little bar and the kitchen was no more than five feet from our faces. We got to watch Scott cook and chat with him while we ate. It was really slow that night, so we got a lot of his attention. Scott is this older man, kinda rough around the edges, with white hair and a white beard, who is missing some of his teeth. Making small conversation, I asked if Scott had cooked all his life. Expecting a simple answer, what we received was so much better. He embarked on stories of going to culinary school, working at the Crater Lake Lodge and working his way up from making Omelettes to being the Sous Chef. We heard about the hierarchy of breakfast foods and what each post meant. He told us about getting to the Rainbow Cafe and how long he has been there and his highlights. He had a child tell him he made the best Reuben sandwich that she's had, and wrote him down in her list of Reubens.  He had a boy who had to be younger than 10 ask for crab cakes only to learn that they were out, and then he promptly changed his mind to a grilled cheese. I will say, writing these tidbits down, they don't have quite the impact that Jasper and I felt. That's because the importance was not in the information we acquired, but in the experience of having another human being share parts of his life with us. Scott exuded joy when telling his stories, and you could tell he delighted in sharing his experiences with us. Well, Scott, we certainly loved hearing them. If any of you find yourselves in Pendleton, OR you must go visit Scott at the Rainbow Cafe and eat some Pressure-Cooked Fried Chicken. He'll only be there for 3.5 more years, though, because he's retiring. Jasper and I want to go see him again sometime. It'd be well-worth it. 

Now the third experience is similar to our experience with Scott. However it was on a larger scale. We met Shawnie the receptionist at the Knight's Inn the night we checked in. She was the person who recommended Rainbow Cafe to us. That night I was over it all and was kind of joking and charming with great abandon. But hey, we got a sweet hotel room for pretty cheap. Anyway, that set the stage for our friendship. We chatted a little with her that night about whatever movie she was watching and about Pendleton. I didn't think much of it other than being friendly. The next morning, however, Shawnie was at the desk once again! Jasper and I had gone down to eat breakfast and ended up chatting with Shawnie for something like an hour and a half. Once again, we just made small talk about our room, the hotel, breakfast, the Rainbow Cafe. She asked us what we were doing in Pendleton and we told her. Simple things like that. Joking all throughout. She had a great sense of humor, and a boisterous laugh. It was just really fun to be around. At one point, she looked at Jasper and said "Why don't you talk? I don't even know what you sound like." Jasper replied something snarky about him being the brains and me being the mouthpiece (rude), and then proceeded to freak Shawnie out by talking in a British accent. She couldn't decide if he was American using a British Accent, or British using an America. Eventually she just said "yeah, I'm gonna need you to stop...". It was hilarious. 

Shawnie really told us a lot about her life. She told of her siblings, her mom, and what her life had looked like. It's a pretty cool redemption story. One of us asked her how she got to the Knight's Inn, and off she went. An hour later, we had heard about her perspective on taking charge of one's life. "if you're stuck somewhere, you might as well take advantage of the programs around you. Educate yourself, take yoga, learn to cook, so something! Your situations will only improve if you make them". We got to hear about learning to stand up for one's self, the importance of getting where you want to be - even if it means walking for miles in sweltering heat with your belongings on your back, the blessing of truly kind people, and her relationship with God. Shawnie has an appreciation for Life that I envy somewhat. She has come so far, and is moving up at the ol' Knights Inn in Pendleton, OR. I have hope for her. People like Shawnie just get it done, and are a light to those around them. 

People receive and show love through so many ways. Quality time is a commonality for Jasper and me. Apparently it works for Scott and Shawnie, too. There are few things I love more than a good story, and there are few things better than personal stories. I love listening to a person tell me about his or her life, and Jasper is better at listening than I am. We walked into the Knights Inn the night before wondering why we were stuck there, and pretty frustrated and saddened that we hadn't gotten to visit Justin. As corny as it may be, we left knowing that Pendleton, OR is exactly where we were supposed to be. 

I only hope that Scott and Shawnie got a fraction of what they gave us.