Thank You for Being a Friend.

The previous post may provide some context for this one.

I have been thinking about the same individuals in that last post, and about the good friends I’ve made in general. They’ve all went about their different directions. I’ve been thinking about making new friends. Not just people who I get along with and can joke around well with, but people who inspire and challenge me to be more like Jesus. I haven’t found many friends like that. Right after I had thought about this, I picked up the book I had been reading (Father Fiction by Donald Miller) and I read this chapter.

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/life/relationship/features/21527-you-are-who-your-friends-are

I need friends like this. We don’t make much progress in life alone. I need community. I need people to ask me good questions. I need to be called out. I need to be led by example. I need to be that kind of friend to other people as well.

(re)Conversion Story

Everyone has a testimony it seems like. If you’ve been around the church for long you hear people “give their testimony” and it goes something like “I did x, y, and z (bad things) and then one night Pastor so and so, or my friend so and so, or billy graham told me about Jesus and how I could pray a simple prayer and spend forever in heaven and so I did and now I’ve been a Christian for x years.” and that’s fine. I have a similar story, involving me as a 7th grader, hearing a radio evangelist, and praying a prayer to go to heaven. This is also sometimes a considered to be a conversion story, especially if the person was previously a non believer.

This is the story of my reConversion. It’s my story about a new chapter in my life. It’s a not as cut and dry as hearing a message, praying a prayer, etc. It is, however, my real life experience, of God breaking into my life and through all of my selfishness, in real, and seemingly small ways.

My grandpa died September 9, 2008. This was the single worst thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. Part of me died with him. And that’s okay. I went through a really difficult, dark time after his death. He was my father, for all practical purposes, and the member of my family who I was most able to relate to, and now he’s gone. On top of that I watched him suffer. On his last day he struggled for breath for hours and hours and hours and I was there watching, being there for him like he had been there for me all my life, trying to give him any comfort I could. So, he died that day, and then there was the funeral and immediately after that my grandma was in the hospital for a few days, and I remember  one day after visiting her there, going out to my car in the parking garage and looking out over the edge on one of the ramps. I was a few stories up and for the first time ever, I realized why people would kill themselves. Oh, how much easier it would have been at that time to just jump. But I didn’t. However, in hindsight, the year and a half or so that has followed has been as though I did jump that day. I’ve been walking through my life in such a way that, for lack of better words, has felt like sleepwalking. I haven’t been angry at God or anyone, I’ve just been apathetic. I have made everything about me. I have become sarcastic and arrogant. I have made life revolve around my sadness. I stopped going to my church (LoveCanton). I would cry at least once a week. Not just a little bit, I would sob. Life without my grandpa has been so hard.

So, about three weeks ago or so my friend Cory came into town with his wonderful wife Jeni. They stopped by, because we’re good friends. Cory is one of the most faithful friends anyone could have. He’s extremely loyal and humble, and he has picked me up so many times when I have been down. He’s faithful to God, and in turn faithful to people. He and Jeni stayed for about a half an hour, and then went on their way.

Soon after that, my former roommate and good friend Matt came into town and we spent an evening together just hanging out. Matt is more sensitive to God’s call on his life than anyone I know. He is willing to go anywhere or do anything he’s called to. He’s faithful. He’s consistent. And he loves me. He was there at my grandpas funeral, just to be present for me. He’s been there for me anytime I’ve needed him for the past 3 years.

A week or so following Matts visit, my friend Ryan came home from Indiana. Ryan is like Matt, faithful and consistent. He’s incredibly intelligent. He’s academically minded but still living out the gospel in practical and serious ways. He’s honest and fun. He loves Jesus with everything he has, and it is apparent in the way he lives.

And finally this weekend, my friend Jason came back to Canton from Chicago for a weekend. Jason and I have had a very short friendship so far but a good one. Jason has a way with people. He’s funny and smart. He’s just the kind of person people love to be around. This was apparent by the amount of people who showed up to see him while he was in town. His friendship has impacted plenty of lives.

Over the past month I have been more compelled to follow Jesus than ever before. There hasn’t been anything overtly spiritual about my conversations or visits with any of these four (or five, if you count Jeni ) people. Their silent witness and honest friendship compelled me to seriously follow Jesus more than any sermon or evangelical message ever could. I am honored and humbled to have such faithful and excellent people in my life constantly pushing down the right path. This is my (re)conversion story. Community does matter. The way you interact with people can and will change lives if you let it. They’ve let Jesus transform them into the people they are, and through them (and surely others) He has transformed me. Faithfulness and consistency is the pattern I see in the lives of these people, and I hope (and trust) that one day, those traits will define me as well.

Friend Request

Lately, I find myself getting depressed, and it doesn’t stem from anything directly related with my own life situation. Facebook is the problem. Well, Facebook isn’t exactly the problem, but it’s the reason I know there’s a problem. It provides an awareness of the going-ons in the life of people who I normally don’t see or speak to in my day-to-day life. I start to type in their name, Facebook instantly suggests pages to match my inquiry and one click and I’m there. I know about the things they’ve been up to, where they’ve moved, who they are dating, what job they have etc. I write this in full knowledge that it sounds like the confession of a creeper, but am less than worried about that because I know full well that if you have a Facebook you do this too.

I often do not like what I see. I say this with not even a touch of self-righteousness behind it, knowing that people probably much of the time don’t like what they see in my life (though I hope not!) I see people who are bright and talented, completely smashed in picture after picture. I see people who are running away from things. I see people who are settling for relationships that aren’t healthy for them because they want to feel loved and think “he’ll change” or “he’s really sorry this time.” I see people who at one point made a commitment to follow Jesus who for one reason or another found something that was more appealing to them. And it kills me. It physically makes me feel sick seeing people who I used to know well and still care about doing things that are going to leave them empty. Some of these people have really mistreated me and been bad friends in the past and they’re the one I feel the most sad for. I hate seeing people hurt themselves, and I hate that I can’t help them understand what they’re missing. I can pray for them but beyond that, I can do nothing but log in and see (with great sadness) what they’ve been up to on my homepage.

What a beautiful God there must be…

Over the past week and a half I have had conversations with some wonderful people. And these are people I have had conversations with before. They are people that are so full of life that it spills over into your conversation and you walk away with some of what they have. I walk away from these people with inspiration and motivation to be different than I was when I entered the conversation. I am in constant awe of the kind of people God makes us into, and in a way discouraged because I don’t feel like I am there yet. I want to be the sort of person these friends of mine are. I want my speech to overflow with love and kindness and grace and peace and goodness. Often times it doesn’t.

Our conversations are sacred. Community is a spiritual matter. Having coffee with your friend is spiritual. The 2 minute exchange you have with one of your peers between classes is a holy moment. I think that if we don’t treat it that way we’re robbing ourselves and others of something intensely good and life-giving. At least thats my experience.

Returning the Favor

Im sick. I feel terrible, so I slept between my afternoon classes.

And I dreamt. 

I was in a driveway. I looked to my left and my aunt was sitting in a car there. I was surprised. She said “Go ahead honey, I’ll be in in  a second.” I looked puzzled. She motioned across the street. And I saw my grandpa. He was walking up the stairs into some house. I bolted across the street. “take my hand grandpa” i said. He turned “Theres my buddy!”, he said. and he patted the back of my shoulder and grabbed my hand. My eyes locked on his hand for seconds. God, Ill never forget those hands. You could put his hands in a lineup of thousands and I could pick them out in an instant. It hit me, he’s dead, why in the world is he here? Was it a different family member that died? I recalled him in his casket. Blue suit. Glasses. He had surely died. But I was leading him in a house and he was upright and apparently healthy.  We walked inside. I could hear the voices of some of my distant family members. He walked towards them.

 

And I woke up. But today, when I was sick, and my grandpa visited me. I figure he was just returning the favor. and I thank God for that.

Its the most wonderful time of the year (for me, even before it is for anyone else…)

“I love Christmas more than anyone you know.”

This is often an introductory remark about myself. If people ask me to tell them something about myself, use this. I’ve been known as a huge lover of Christmas for years. It just feels good. The world feels good. Eternity must (if I’m comparing it to things i experience now) feel like Christmas all the time. I love that baby, born some 2000 years ago. Thats first. Thats why I can’t keep from tears every Christmas eve at church. It’s really the most beautiful story, ever.  I love the commercialization even. Thats not to say the consumerism, but the lights, and tinsel, and santa..the whole shebang. I love it all. I love eggnog. I love candy canes. I thoroughly enjoy caroling. And most strangely…

I start loving it every year, before it’s even on anyone elses mind.

I get random cravings for the holiday midyear.

I get really sad in january, knowing I have eleven painful, mundane months before everyone is feeling it again.

And everytime, normally around September, Im ready to roll on celebrating it. (alone, no one else is at my level of insanity.) This year, this was delayed by grandpas death. But here I am today, having clocked a few hours of Christmas music listening, and having already had a few cups of seasonal coffees (eggnog as well as chocolate peppermint, which you can purchase at your local World Market). Ive had Christmas soda as well. I bought Willie Nelson’s Christmas album the other day. I’m waiting the arrival of Sufjan Steven’s Christmas album from amazon.
And I’m waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

Grief doesn’t stop for Greek

I’m not supposed to be here right now. Im at Panera. Iced Chai and whole grain bagel with honey walnut cream cheese to my immediate left. I should be in the Johnson Center at Malone College taking in Dr. Watsons introductory Greek class. 

This is simply not a possibility for me today.

It’s how grief works. You get time off for it. I missed four days of school excusably to mourn my grandpa’s death, but then I’m expected to get back in the grind. And at times it works. I took and exam last friday. I did well. But then there are times like now. I cannot focus on anything but this empty sadness that seems to always be looming. It’s as if its over my shoulder breathing down my neck while I try to read about whether or not God is everlasting or eternal, and trying to make the distinction. And I start to not care about the distinctions and the arguments that I’m expected to immerse myself in everyday. “I don’t know what God’s view of our actions look like Boethius, but frankly I don’t care right now!” I just know that I miss my grandpa and I am not at all acclimated to getting along without him. How do I manage mourning and grieving and coping and tending to responsibilities at the same time? At times the weight of it all is so immense that I cannot comprehend how I am to get along with my daily activities. But I imagine it’s expected. The world isn’t frozen as I am…

The weight is real..

David Crowder talks about death in his book “Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, But Nobody Wants to Die.” I read it. I read it twice. I read about the weight he feels in his chest because his beloved friend Kyle Lake is no longer with him. I read how he still has moments of great joy, but the weight is still there. I feel the weight now too.

My grandpa is gone. He’s been gone for a week. The weight has come. It does indeed pull at my chest. It is as though someone tied a large rock to my heart, and I feel it tugging. The sinews that hold my heart in place are sufficient to keep me from destruction, but just barely. I have moments of great agony. The night he died I listened to a voicemail he left me a few weeks ago. I had a freakout. A real freakout. I started screaming right there in my car. 20 minutes of intense shouting. It was of such volume that my voice was nearly gone when I was finished. I’m unsure that I am finished. There are still screams within me. I could scream right now in the middle of this lecture and not care what everyone thought of it. But I hold back out of respect. 

And I want him back. When we lose someone of the utmost importance to our very being, logic is not prevalent. I tell God to give me my grandpa back. I find myself irritated at his doctors because they told us he could live six months and I was shortchanged by only getting three and a half. And oh! do-not-even get me started on his suffering. Why should the best man I have ever known have to die a painful death. He basically drowned. Drowning? my grandpa? my buddy? Clearly not fair. 86 years old. Wonderful man. Excellent husband (“61 wonderful years”, he’d say.) Great father. The best grandpa. my buddy! How can anyone justify his suffering.

And there are moments of joy. God grants me that. I still smile when I see Rachel. I am still excited that the Dodgers may make the playoffs. I still enjoy my friends. But the weight follows me. I have added the weight of his world war two dog tags around my neck, but this isn’t the weight I’m feeling. This weight follows me when I take them off. It’s there in the shower. It rests on me when I sleep. It’s there when I laugh. It will not leave me alone. 

It’s as if the whole creation feels this with me. At least it did the day he died. It poured rain. The clouds felt the weight, and they burst. Wind storms. Power outages. The earth has set the stage for my grief. It’s as if the sun didn’t want to be insensitive and burn so bright when I felt so low. I appreciate that. I still think about him everyday. most days I tear up a little, if I don’t blatantly cry. Some people have been most consoling. Some people have been put off by my sadness and took a bit more distant approach. Everyone seems to notice that Im carrying the weight, and seemingly they are willing to help me to deal with it alone. I’m grateful for the gift of community, that God gives us each other

I just have issues when it comes to ordering fast food

On my way to the Hartville flea market today with Richard, and we stop at McDonalds for breakfast. I order a McSkillet Burrito and a hash round. (I always say “hash brown”. However, I think its “round”.) and a latte. (Note: McDonalds premium coffee is only premium to people who have never had coffee that was decent or people who have had an unfortunate accident leaving them without the ability to taste.) my food comes. I have this convo with the register lady (clerk?):

Me: Can I have a few extra packs of salsa?

Lady: Sauces?

Me: Yeah just a few extra packs of salsas.

Lady: Um we have like 50 kinds of sauces! what kind do you want?

Me: Uh..Salsa.

Lady: Okay, heres some salsa. (Pause) Did you say salsa the other five times?

Me: yes.

I give up.

Its business time

So. Friday day I get back from work and my phone rings (at this point in time i will refrain from telling you that my ringtone is “Our Song” by Taylor Swift) and its Chris, who lived on my floor this past year at Malone. He informs me that he has tickets to see the band Flight of the Conchords. I decide that I will take the free ticket and go. It was important that I get in their route so that we could ride together, and so I would meet them (Nate and Dan were going as well) at Wal*Mart in Massillon. Nate tells me not to eat food, as we would have plenty of time to all eat before the show. Fair enough. about an hour and fifteen minutes later I have been at wal*mart for twenty minutes wondering the aisles and I am wondering if they were picking me up. I call Chris, who informs me that dan is picking me up. Dan then calls. says he will be at the wal*mart (express, by the way) in fifteen minutes. He also mentions that we’re running late. I ask about eating. He says, again that we’re running late, and he heard nothing of not eating. I call Chris. He also thinks I should eat. I make a b-line (bee line? bee-line? b*line?) to the ever-so-convenient wal*mart (express) subway, that is IN THE STORE (brilliant!) I get in directly behind what looks to be a fifteen year old girl and an elderly african american lady, probably about 65 years of age. this particular woman is ridiculous. I mean this in a nice way. she is absolutely absurd. she is clearly under qualified for sandwich ordering. This was the conversation

Worker: Hi ma’am, what can I getcha?

Lady: UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM… I want the sub with the various lunch meats. the one I had last time

Worker: *blank stare* …silence…. Um, ma’am Im not sure what that is…I mean, well a lot of our subs have lunch meats… and…

Lady: The one from last time. It had the various lunch meats on it. Salami was one of em’.

Worker: well… umm.. the spicy italian?

Lady: no nuh uh I dont think that was it!

Worker: maybe the subway club

Lady: No

Worker: Umm the BMT maybe?

Lady. No.

Somewhere in this conversation the lady started making a sandwich and the other subway worker (the one who apparently made the original sandwich containing the various lunch meats that captured this poor womans heart, but couldnt remember what that sandwich was) confirmed that it was the correct one.

absurd.

So the young girl steps up.
She orders. 3 subs. One with the toppings on the side ( “you cant microwave veggies” she exclaims.) she then, and I am not kidding, yells across the restaurant to her mom each topping option as it comes in to her vision. Example: “Mom you dont want tomato do ya’?” “yeeah!” “Tomato please.” This went on forever. And I wasn’t ready when dan got there.

Anyhow the concert was good. and I am still an awful blogger.

Flight of the Conchords, check them out.