WRITTEN JULY 1, 2017
Ten years ago today I received an early morning phone call that changed the world forever...for me and for so many others. My precious friend that shared my name was gone from this earth. She left behind two beautiful and brilliant boys, an adoring father and a brokenhearted mother who lost her first born child, only daughter and very best friend in the whole world all in the same instant. She also left behind countless people, myself included, that were forever changed by the intersection of their lives with hers.
***
I've only written about this once before, in my confidential law school admissions essay. When asked why I wanted to go to law school, there were several reasons that aren't worth getting into today...but one of the reasons was her. Her death and the horrific circumstances surrounding it were a small part of it but the larger part was how she lived her life...fully, embracing every opportunity, meeting every challenge and always changing and growing and somehow become more beautiful, more enchanting, more alive. She was so many things to so many people but I will start with how I remember her best - as a girl.
We met in modeling classes when our mothers got to talking because we had the same name, right down to the spelling. She was there because she was a model and a beauty queen and a gymnast. I was there because my mom was trying to build my confidence and help me not to be so shy. (I realize its a little hard to imagine now that I was shy to the point of needing a class but its true.) She was stunningly beautiful - strangers would regularly approach to say so - but her beauty or poise or talents really didn't define her in her day-to-day life. The little girl I knew was way more than any of that...she was mischievous and fun, silly and creative, daring and smart and funny and always up for adventure. She came up with the best schemes and kept everyone around her - especially adults - on their toes. She was fearless and bold and honest and genuine. She was brave. Even as a child, she knew who she was and was comfortable in her own skin. You could dress her up in ruffles and sequins and put on crowns and makeup but she wasn't the least bit fake, not ever. She loved the taste of baby lotion and those weird dot candies you pull off the paper to eat. She loved games and swimming and trampolines. Sometimes she and my sisters would team up against me. The three of them were tall, tan and skinny with long blonde hair and could easily pass as triplets. They had a club, sometimes, called the Fiesties. The club's main objectives seemed to be coming up with money making schemes (like selling friendship bracelets at the pool) and tormenting me. But often, it was the two of us. Underaged and running around the casino at Circus Circus in Vegas. Cracking open oysters to look for pearls and sneaking into the pool at the resort next door that had the slide in Hawaii. Days spent in the sun and the water (where she was a natural fish who would bake to a lovely brown while I was awkward and splashing and would blister and peel). Walking to the neighborhood playground. Driving (and occasionally crashing) the cart at the racetrack. That time she was so tired she starting using her bacon as a fork and we all laughed and laughed and laughed. When she fell in gymnastics and hilariously showed off her bruise. On stage. In the Winner's Circle. Waving from a convertible in the parade. We made enough memories as kids to last a lifetime. Looking back, I am especially grateful for that, knowing now how short our time together would be.
I didn't know her as well as an adult. As often happens, we grew up and went in different directions. Got busy. Got sidetracked. Our families always stayed in touch but I didn't keep in regular contact, something I will always regret. But there are memories and smiles from the times I saw her - still so lovely and funny and bold and enchanting. I will remember the moments we spent together forever. Anyone who knew her - even for a moment - was eternally blessed to have crossed her path. She was just special. She was always beautiful and popular and moving from one adventure to another. Whenever we got the opportunity to catch up, she would keep us rolling with laughter with her hilarious stories. She was the kind of girl that lit up a room and when her warmth landed on you, it lingered long after she had left. And even now, ten years after she left this world, that's still true. Her light remains on those of us who were lucky enough to be touched by it.
***
I try to stay in better contact with her parents and her boys. When I'm lucky enough to be around them, often they remind me so much of their mom it momentarily stops my heart. Its beautiful and miraculous to see her live on so strongly through them. But it doesn't completely remove the sting from losing her. I still think about her often. Every time I'm tempted to say something about getting old, I try to stop myself and be grateful for years to "get old" - years that were stolen from her. When something is beautiful...or funny...or nostalgic, she pops into my head. When I think about mothers...sisters...friends...I remember hers. When my life is touched by any kind of loss, she's swept into the current of my sorrow and swirls around my heart and mind.
Her memory doesn't make me sad, though. The loss of her does - it always will. But the thought of her life and all it meant, even in its brevity...it inspires me, challenges me, makes me treasure my moments and my people more, reminds me to appreciate our short time here and our precious loved ones.
***
I've heard the pastor, Levi Lusko (who tragically lost is young daughter) talk about how he isn't farther away from her as time passes. He explains that's because he will spend eternity with her, way longer than her all-too-brief time on earth. With every day that passes, he is drawing closer to her. Every time I hear him preach, I think about my friend because I know the same is true for us. We don't get farther away from her as the months and years pass by - regardless of how it sometimes feels. The truth is, we are always moving toward eternity...where she is now, more alive than ever. And so today, I don't mark the anniversary of the day she was stolen from us...I celebrate the knowledge that one day I will see her again...and this day, I'm just ten years closer.
SWJ
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
a life well-lived
Last Saturday night I had the great privilege of witnessing something spectacular. On a high school football field in a tiny little town in southern New Mexico, under twilight skies and stadium lights, more than a thousand people* gathered to say goodbye. They cried together, laughed together and spent a couple hours remembering two young men who used a relatively brief time on earth to make an extraordinary impact. The event that triggered our gathering was a devastating tragedy, but, somehow, Saturday night was not a melancholy occasion. On the contrary, it was a celebration. A tribute to two well-lived lives. A glimpse into the incredible impact a person can have on the people and the world around him.
One of the young men remembered was my friend. The other young man was my friend's oldest son. The people who spoke described loving, charming, honorable men who shared their joy and smiles and fun and many gifts with those around them. I knew some of the stories...others I heard for the first time. I'd only met the son once or twice in passing when he was a little boy, but it was clear from all accounts that he was a special guy - wise for his age, fun and funny and smart and hardworking. Two remarkable people who forever changed the world around them simply by being the best versions of themselves.
***
I have to admit, when I first heard the news of their passing, my first thought was why. Why would God allow this? Why did this family have to suffer another loss? Why do bad things happen to such good people? Because of my faith, I truly believe to the depths of my soul that everything happens for a reason and that God works all things for good...but when something like this happens...I have to admit that I struggle...because I just don't understand. And the truth is, I will probably never understand this. But after Saturday night, my whys are a little different. Why was I so blessed to get to share in these lives? Why was God so kind to me to put my friend in my life? Why did I get the privilege of witnessing this amazing outpouring of love and community? And while I still don't understand, I'm so incredibly thankful. Since that night, my heart has been overflowing with gratitude...for the memories I have with my friend...for the fact that his life touched mine...for the beautiful community we share.
When I left the field Saturday night, after hugging friends from a lifetime ago and crying with family and witnessing the very best this world has to offer in the love and faith and community and kindness being poured out in front of all of us, I felt an overwhelming peace and appreciation for the life I've been given. Growing up in a wonderful community, having a loving family, making friends and memories that have lasted a lifetime...I've been so incredibly blessed. It got me thinking about the legacy I want to leave when my days on this planet are over. How do I want to be remembered?
One thing that stood out to me after the service was all of the things that people didn't talk about. My friend was wildly successful and very generous with benefits that came from those successes - but that's not what people remember about him. My friend was charming and smart and persuasive (a mover and shaker, if you will) and he had a knack for connecting with all kinds of people - and while that may have drawn people to him, that's not why they loved him. By all accounts, my friend's son shared many of his father's gifts and talents - but that wasn't what brought hundreds of his peers to the field that night. It can't really be boiled down into a single word or thought but the thing I heard over and over on Saturday night was how much my friend and his son invested in the people around them. They poured out their time and love and energy and resources in service to others. They gave themselves.
"God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another." 1 Peter 4:10 (NLT).
***
I began writing this post with the words: "if I die young..." I quickly realized, however, there are a few problems with that title. First, "if" is a bit optimistic. I think the odds on me eventually passing away are roughly 100%. Second, if I die "young" is a little naive given my current...maturity. Still, "if I die rapidly approaching middle age," while more accurate, doesn't really have the same ring to it. But I digress... The real question I'm asking myself is: What do I want my life on this earth to mean?
I want people to know that I loved them - those closest to me and those who barely knew me. I want everyone that crossed my path to feel like they mattered...that the were special and significant. I want people to have good memories of me - times I made them laugh or feel valued, moments I encouraged them or strengthened them or made their lives a little bit easier. I want to have pointed people toward Jesus - not because I was holy (pause for laughter) but because I really tried to rely on Him and did my best to love and forgive and comfort like He loved and forgave and comforted me. I want people that asked me to pray to know that I really did pray for them. I know I won't be everyone's cup of tea (heck, some people are just coffee people), but I'd love it if even the people that didn't like me all that much remembered me as kind...or generous...or good for a laugh (with me or at me, whatever the case may be). I want my family and closest friends - who witnessed my very worst moments - to know, despite my many (MANY) flaws, that I loved them with all my heart and that I appreciated them and that my world was better because they were in it.
So how do I get there? What does that mean for today's agenda? How does that picture of my life compare with my current priorities? There's not one word about being awesome in my career or living debt-free or reaching my goal weight. I don't picture my memorial service and imagine someone standing up to say how amazingly buff my arms were or that my 401k was really well funded. So why am I spending so much of my time and energy and resources on things that I know in my heart are not the things that really matter to me? More importantly, why am I NOT spending my time and energy and resources on things that I realize do matter:
RELATIONSHIPS. PEOPLE. ONE ANOTHER.
"Above all, love one another deeply..."
It's eye-opening and convicting and inspiring for me to realize how out of whack my priorities can get. Not that being financially responsible or good at my job or healthy are bad goals - they're not bad goals at all. They just aren't the kind of goals worth spending a life on. If I'm going to pour out my time and energy and resources (and I am - we all are - one way or another), then I want to pour those precious and limited gifts somewhere they have the potential to make an impact.
***
That's the word that has been stuck in my head since Saturday night: IMPACT.
My friend's life made an impact. His son's life made an impact.
I know his family and friends will continue making an impact.
So now, his life and the life of his son, are not only my reminder - of the impact he had on me - but also my encouragement and inspiration to do better...to think about what really matters and how I'm spending my one and only life...to prioritize relationships...to give...and serve...and invest...to LOVE...and, hopefully, to make an impact too.
Thank you, my friend. You've raised the bar for us all.
xoxo
***
*The size of the crowd is significant, but not only for the obvious reasons. To really grasp its larger implications, you need a little background information. In about an area of about 150 square miles, there are a handful of communities with a total population of roughly 10,500 people (give or take). TEN PERCENT of the area's population came out to remember my friend and his son. That's impact.
One of the young men remembered was my friend. The other young man was my friend's oldest son. The people who spoke described loving, charming, honorable men who shared their joy and smiles and fun and many gifts with those around them. I knew some of the stories...others I heard for the first time. I'd only met the son once or twice in passing when he was a little boy, but it was clear from all accounts that he was a special guy - wise for his age, fun and funny and smart and hardworking. Two remarkable people who forever changed the world around them simply by being the best versions of themselves.
***
I have to admit, when I first heard the news of their passing, my first thought was why. Why would God allow this? Why did this family have to suffer another loss? Why do bad things happen to such good people? Because of my faith, I truly believe to the depths of my soul that everything happens for a reason and that God works all things for good...but when something like this happens...I have to admit that I struggle...because I just don't understand. And the truth is, I will probably never understand this. But after Saturday night, my whys are a little different. Why was I so blessed to get to share in these lives? Why was God so kind to me to put my friend in my life? Why did I get the privilege of witnessing this amazing outpouring of love and community? And while I still don't understand, I'm so incredibly thankful. Since that night, my heart has been overflowing with gratitude...for the memories I have with my friend...for the fact that his life touched mine...for the beautiful community we share.
When I left the field Saturday night, after hugging friends from a lifetime ago and crying with family and witnessing the very best this world has to offer in the love and faith and community and kindness being poured out in front of all of us, I felt an overwhelming peace and appreciation for the life I've been given. Growing up in a wonderful community, having a loving family, making friends and memories that have lasted a lifetime...I've been so incredibly blessed. It got me thinking about the legacy I want to leave when my days on this planet are over. How do I want to be remembered?
One thing that stood out to me after the service was all of the things that people didn't talk about. My friend was wildly successful and very generous with benefits that came from those successes - but that's not what people remember about him. My friend was charming and smart and persuasive (a mover and shaker, if you will) and he had a knack for connecting with all kinds of people - and while that may have drawn people to him, that's not why they loved him. By all accounts, my friend's son shared many of his father's gifts and talents - but that wasn't what brought hundreds of his peers to the field that night. It can't really be boiled down into a single word or thought but the thing I heard over and over on Saturday night was how much my friend and his son invested in the people around them. They poured out their time and love and energy and resources in service to others. They gave themselves.
"God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another." 1 Peter 4:10 (NLT).
***
I began writing this post with the words: "if I die young..." I quickly realized, however, there are a few problems with that title. First, "if" is a bit optimistic. I think the odds on me eventually passing away are roughly 100%. Second, if I die "young" is a little naive given my current...maturity. Still, "if I die rapidly approaching middle age," while more accurate, doesn't really have the same ring to it. But I digress... The real question I'm asking myself is: What do I want my life on this earth to mean?
I want people to know that I loved them - those closest to me and those who barely knew me. I want everyone that crossed my path to feel like they mattered...that the were special and significant. I want people to have good memories of me - times I made them laugh or feel valued, moments I encouraged them or strengthened them or made their lives a little bit easier. I want to have pointed people toward Jesus - not because I was holy (pause for laughter) but because I really tried to rely on Him and did my best to love and forgive and comfort like He loved and forgave and comforted me. I want people that asked me to pray to know that I really did pray for them. I know I won't be everyone's cup of tea (heck, some people are just coffee people), but I'd love it if even the people that didn't like me all that much remembered me as kind...or generous...or good for a laugh (with me or at me, whatever the case may be). I want my family and closest friends - who witnessed my very worst moments - to know, despite my many (MANY) flaws, that I loved them with all my heart and that I appreciated them and that my world was better because they were in it.
So how do I get there? What does that mean for today's agenda? How does that picture of my life compare with my current priorities? There's not one word about being awesome in my career or living debt-free or reaching my goal weight. I don't picture my memorial service and imagine someone standing up to say how amazingly buff my arms were or that my 401k was really well funded. So why am I spending so much of my time and energy and resources on things that I know in my heart are not the things that really matter to me? More importantly, why am I NOT spending my time and energy and resources on things that I realize do matter:
RELATIONSHIPS. PEOPLE. ONE ANOTHER.
"Above all, love one another deeply..."
It's eye-opening and convicting and inspiring for me to realize how out of whack my priorities can get. Not that being financially responsible or good at my job or healthy are bad goals - they're not bad goals at all. They just aren't the kind of goals worth spending a life on. If I'm going to pour out my time and energy and resources (and I am - we all are - one way or another), then I want to pour those precious and limited gifts somewhere they have the potential to make an impact.
***
That's the word that has been stuck in my head since Saturday night: IMPACT.
My friend's life made an impact. His son's life made an impact.
I know his family and friends will continue making an impact.
So now, his life and the life of his son, are not only my reminder - of the impact he had on me - but also my encouragement and inspiration to do better...to think about what really matters and how I'm spending my one and only life...to prioritize relationships...to give...and serve...and invest...to LOVE...and, hopefully, to make an impact too.
Thank you, my friend. You've raised the bar for us all.
xoxo
***
*The size of the crowd is significant, but not only for the obvious reasons. To really grasp its larger implications, you need a little background information. In about an area of about 150 square miles, there are a handful of communities with a total population of roughly 10,500 people (give or take). TEN PERCENT of the area's population came out to remember my friend and his son. That's impact.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
my small town family
"...when you see this please pray...something terrible has happened...he and his son are gone..."
I woke up at 3:02 a.m. this morning because I have a very naughty dog and I'm a lousy, undisciplined pet owner. That part isn't really relevant. I just happened to notice my phone, lit up with a missed text I had received just after midnight.
"...he and his son are gone..."
***
I grew up in a really small town. One school. When I was there, kindergarten through sixth grade was in one building. When you moved up to seventh grade, you moved up to the high school. Yep. Sharing the hallway and lockers and lunch room with the cool and completely terrifying seniors. My graduating class was a big one - and I think there were only 44 of us (give or take...its been a few years). Suffice it to say, everyone knows everyone...the kids older than you and the kids younger than you...the loud ones, the quiet ones, the jocks and the nerds and the alternative kids. In a small school, the labels don't seem to matter as much and you have to wear more than one because there just aren't enough people to fill up all the stereotypes otherwise. You could be a band geek AND a cheerleader. Do FFA and drama. Play football and sing in the choir. I'm sure its slightly more idyllic in my faded memory than it probably was in reality, but I'm pretty sure that even with its challenges, growing up in a small town is the best kind of growing up there is.
The greatest thing about growing up in a small town is the community. There are people, families, that I have known all my life. People I went to school with all the way through - people I literally grew up with - from kindergarten to graduation. Rode the bus together. Little league. Field trips. High school sports and clubs and FFA. Pool parties and rodeos and dates and dances and homecoming and prom. Celebrating graduation each year whether it was your graduation or not. And the beautiful thing about this kind of community is that it doesn't end when high school does. Later, its visiting friends at college, hearing about degrees and jobs, going to weddings, bumping in to parents and getting updates, meeting spouses then kids. Its wonderfully surreal...watching little boys and girls you chased on the playground and passed notes with and cheered in the bleachers with...now succeeding in careers and having families and building lives for themselves. It doesn't seem possible but one day, you look around and realize somehow we all grew up to become actual, real-life grown adults (whether we feel like it or not).
Some of us stayed in the community because we realized early the value of a small town life. Some of us left and came back as fast as we could. Some of us have moved away but intentionally stay close enough, or visit often enough, to keep connected.
If you're not blessed to come from a small town, I'm really sorry. There really is nothing like it. Knowing the same people and their families, sometimes for several generations, creates a community so close-knit its more like one huge extended family. You share a history...memories and stories and secrets...the same seasons of life...the same passions like high school sports, 4-H and FFA, the big rodeo over 4th of July weekend...the same rivalries with the next small town over... You tell the same stories about the crazy bus driver or the friendly town cop or the terrifying teacher or that girl with the huge thumb... You know the same places that make no sense to anyone else...IT and FM and "that" particular mile marker... You have shared experiences, more rare than you ever knew until you went out into the world and realized not everyone grew up taking 4 hour bus rides to play a basketball game or to cheer for the football team, not everyone has known the joy of searching for an outhouse to go on top of the homecoming bonfire or the pride of wearing an enormous mum all day, that not everyone took classes like meat-cutting and welding or experienced a police escort out of town for big game, that there are people who never spent their lunch hours at a gas station or doing donuts at the fair grounds, never went to parties in the middle of a field or a forest or at the end of a dirt road, never skipped school to lug paint up the hill to refresh your school's letter on the side of mountain...
I could go on and on...
But perhaps the biggest blessing of small town living is the love you have for your community and its members and then, later, your love for all the people they love and bring into the community. Whether its your classmate's wife, your friend's cousin, your sister's best friend's daughter or your best friend's dad...you love them because, in whatever way, they are connected someone you love. You're all part of the same little community. Part of the same family.
So when any one person is lost, we all break a little, we all mourn together and, ultimately...hopefully...we pause and remember how lucky we are to have each other.
***
Last night a man I've known since I was 5 was killed tragically, along with his son. I remember a laughing little boy with the bluest eyes you can imagine...and then a teenager with his football jersey on, teasing and joking in the hallway...and years later a man telling me about living back in our little community and what his little brother was up to and mourning his mother's tragic and untimely death... I remember the last time I saw him...old friends laughing about being the "grownups" now and his being on the radio and my ridiculous love life. He was the kind of guy everyone is proud to know - a good son, a good brother, a good friend. He was a leader, involved in his community and so incredibly supportive of our alma mater. He did more with his 39 years than most people do with twice that much time...but...he still leaves behind a thriving business and countless friends and family, including a dad and a brother and a beautiful wife and kids. As heartbroken as I feel, I cannot even begin to imagine their grief. There are no words.
***
And its not just him. A little over a week ago, the shy and quiet boy who graduated at the top of our class passed away suddenly. He had a successful business and friends and family and a lovely new bride. And while his family dealt with the devastation with a grace and peace that was completely miraculous, there still are no words. But its not just him either. There was the adorable younger cousin of my best friend. Amazing dads of of my dearest friends. Their lovely mother. Our high school football coach. His wife. That kind boy with the motorcycle. The quiet guy with the sad eyes. Her little sister. Their little brother. Daughters. Sons. Friends.
Each members of our little community...loved...and lost...and mourned...and remembered.
***
I'm not sure there is a point to this rambling, really. I just tend to find myself typing when my heart hurts and I don't understand. Sometimes I don't know what to do with the pain so I just ask God to wrap me up in His love and peace and comfort and hold me tight.
But when things happen that are awful and painful and impossible to comprehend or explain...when there are no words...it comforts me to remember the other things...those things that are wonderful and miraculous and beautiful and holy in this world.
And one of those things, for me, is the fact that I get to be a part of my small town family.
So for those of you hurting over the losses today (whether they are a little older or brand new), please know that the rest of us hurt with you. We lift you up. We are here if you need us. Most of all, WE LOVE YOU.
And for those members of our little community that are gone too soon, please know that we remember you and we always will. We will miss you until we see you again. We will love the people you left behind to the best of our ability. Most of all, WE LOVE YOU.
Rest in peace, my friends.
#CapitanTigers
I woke up at 3:02 a.m. this morning because I have a very naughty dog and I'm a lousy, undisciplined pet owner. That part isn't really relevant. I just happened to notice my phone, lit up with a missed text I had received just after midnight.
"...he and his son are gone..."
***
I grew up in a really small town. One school. When I was there, kindergarten through sixth grade was in one building. When you moved up to seventh grade, you moved up to the high school. Yep. Sharing the hallway and lockers and lunch room with the cool and completely terrifying seniors. My graduating class was a big one - and I think there were only 44 of us (give or take...its been a few years). Suffice it to say, everyone knows everyone...the kids older than you and the kids younger than you...the loud ones, the quiet ones, the jocks and the nerds and the alternative kids. In a small school, the labels don't seem to matter as much and you have to wear more than one because there just aren't enough people to fill up all the stereotypes otherwise. You could be a band geek AND a cheerleader. Do FFA and drama. Play football and sing in the choir. I'm sure its slightly more idyllic in my faded memory than it probably was in reality, but I'm pretty sure that even with its challenges, growing up in a small town is the best kind of growing up there is.
The greatest thing about growing up in a small town is the community. There are people, families, that I have known all my life. People I went to school with all the way through - people I literally grew up with - from kindergarten to graduation. Rode the bus together. Little league. Field trips. High school sports and clubs and FFA. Pool parties and rodeos and dates and dances and homecoming and prom. Celebrating graduation each year whether it was your graduation or not. And the beautiful thing about this kind of community is that it doesn't end when high school does. Later, its visiting friends at college, hearing about degrees and jobs, going to weddings, bumping in to parents and getting updates, meeting spouses then kids. Its wonderfully surreal...watching little boys and girls you chased on the playground and passed notes with and cheered in the bleachers with...now succeeding in careers and having families and building lives for themselves. It doesn't seem possible but one day, you look around and realize somehow we all grew up to become actual, real-life grown adults (whether we feel like it or not).
Some of us stayed in the community because we realized early the value of a small town life. Some of us left and came back as fast as we could. Some of us have moved away but intentionally stay close enough, or visit often enough, to keep connected.
If you're not blessed to come from a small town, I'm really sorry. There really is nothing like it. Knowing the same people and their families, sometimes for several generations, creates a community so close-knit its more like one huge extended family. You share a history...memories and stories and secrets...the same seasons of life...the same passions like high school sports, 4-H and FFA, the big rodeo over 4th of July weekend...the same rivalries with the next small town over... You tell the same stories about the crazy bus driver or the friendly town cop or the terrifying teacher or that girl with the huge thumb... You know the same places that make no sense to anyone else...IT and FM and "that" particular mile marker... You have shared experiences, more rare than you ever knew until you went out into the world and realized not everyone grew up taking 4 hour bus rides to play a basketball game or to cheer for the football team, not everyone has known the joy of searching for an outhouse to go on top of the homecoming bonfire or the pride of wearing an enormous mum all day, that not everyone took classes like meat-cutting and welding or experienced a police escort out of town for big game, that there are people who never spent their lunch hours at a gas station or doing donuts at the fair grounds, never went to parties in the middle of a field or a forest or at the end of a dirt road, never skipped school to lug paint up the hill to refresh your school's letter on the side of mountain...
I could go on and on...
But perhaps the biggest blessing of small town living is the love you have for your community and its members and then, later, your love for all the people they love and bring into the community. Whether its your classmate's wife, your friend's cousin, your sister's best friend's daughter or your best friend's dad...you love them because, in whatever way, they are connected someone you love. You're all part of the same little community. Part of the same family.
So when any one person is lost, we all break a little, we all mourn together and, ultimately...hopefully...we pause and remember how lucky we are to have each other.
***
Last night a man I've known since I was 5 was killed tragically, along with his son. I remember a laughing little boy with the bluest eyes you can imagine...and then a teenager with his football jersey on, teasing and joking in the hallway...and years later a man telling me about living back in our little community and what his little brother was up to and mourning his mother's tragic and untimely death... I remember the last time I saw him...old friends laughing about being the "grownups" now and his being on the radio and my ridiculous love life. He was the kind of guy everyone is proud to know - a good son, a good brother, a good friend. He was a leader, involved in his community and so incredibly supportive of our alma mater. He did more with his 39 years than most people do with twice that much time...but...he still leaves behind a thriving business and countless friends and family, including a dad and a brother and a beautiful wife and kids. As heartbroken as I feel, I cannot even begin to imagine their grief. There are no words.
***
And its not just him. A little over a week ago, the shy and quiet boy who graduated at the top of our class passed away suddenly. He had a successful business and friends and family and a lovely new bride. And while his family dealt with the devastation with a grace and peace that was completely miraculous, there still are no words. But its not just him either. There was the adorable younger cousin of my best friend. Amazing dads of of my dearest friends. Their lovely mother. Our high school football coach. His wife. That kind boy with the motorcycle. The quiet guy with the sad eyes. Her little sister. Their little brother. Daughters. Sons. Friends.
Each members of our little community...loved...and lost...and mourned...and remembered.
***
I'm not sure there is a point to this rambling, really. I just tend to find myself typing when my heart hurts and I don't understand. Sometimes I don't know what to do with the pain so I just ask God to wrap me up in His love and peace and comfort and hold me tight.
But when things happen that are awful and painful and impossible to comprehend or explain...when there are no words...it comforts me to remember the other things...those things that are wonderful and miraculous and beautiful and holy in this world.
And one of those things, for me, is the fact that I get to be a part of my small town family.
So for those of you hurting over the losses today (whether they are a little older or brand new), please know that the rest of us hurt with you. We lift you up. We are here if you need us. Most of all, WE LOVE YOU.
And for those members of our little community that are gone too soon, please know that we remember you and we always will. We will miss you until we see you again. We will love the people you left behind to the best of our ability. Most of all, WE LOVE YOU.
Rest in peace, my friends.
#CapitanTigers
Friday, March 3, 2017
3 years and 40 days (or I AM trumps I should)
March 1 marked three years since I moved to here and basically
started my life over again...again. [If you know me, you know that I
tend to do that (start my life over) on a fairly regular basis.] It has
been one of the best decisions I have ever made. I love being close to
my family, I love living in the shadow of the gorgeous Organ Mountains,
I love the 300+ days of sunshine and I love the abundance of chips and
salsa.
There have been some changes over the past three years...I made new friends, added a dog to my family, started a new job, left that job and started another new job, sold a house, built a house, welcomed a nephew, lost loved ones, grew my hair, cut my hair, dyed my hair...like 10 times. Still, in some ways, I feel like I haven't made as much progress as I would have liked. I get frustrated because I'm not moving forward (whatever that means) as fast as I should.
I should be more disciplined by now. I should be out of debt by now. I should be over it by now. I should be at my goal weight by now. I should be ready to settle down and start a family. I should have a church home or a small group or some accountability. I should stay in better touch. I should keep a cleaner house. I should teach my dog to stop barking. I should stick to my budget. I should eat more veggies and stop giving so much money to those girl scouts.
I should should should...
I get up on time one day and oversleep the other 6. (Yes, you can oversleep on the weekend...it happens when you set your alarm for something ridiculous like 10 am and still hit snooze and sleep until noon.)
I run regularly for 6 months then take 2 months off.
I look put together on Monday and like I got hit by a train by Friday.
I read my bible and listen to church podcasts in the morning then spend all evening watching crap tv.
I bring my lunch to work all week then blow all the money I saved on Amazon Prime. (But seriously, I really needed that firepit and firepit cover and marshmallow roasting sticks and food scale and barking collar and approximately 15 books on various topics.)
I have friends that are creating nonprofits and bodybuilding and running successful businesses while raising kids and having their own ministry and writing books and running ultra marathons and I'm trying to finish watching all the episodes of Dawson's Creek and eating frozen burritos for dinner. For me, an aspirational goal is doing a load of laundry from start to finish (i.e. getting it all the way to the closet in a single day, not a day to wash three days in the dryer and two weeks in a pile on top of the dryer).
***
March 1 also marked the beginning of Lent, Ash Wednesday. The solemn season leading up to Easter Sunday, when we celebrate the resurrection of Christ, the hope of the world. A season of fasting and reflection - making sacrifices to focus our hearts on the One who sacrificed everything to save us.
In deciding how I wanted to fix my eyes on Jesus this season, I found myself going back through all my "shoulds" and trying to pick one. [Ultimately, I did feel very convicted to give up watching t.v. and Netflix and Amazon Prime etc. so the Dawson's Creak marathon has been postponed indefinitely.]
But recently in the quiet moments, when I have tried to get really still and listen for the Holy Spirit's prompting, I keep sensing something bigger and more profound that I'm still trying to fully understand. Something to do with how little it matters that I struggle so much with I should because I'm loved by I AM.
Jesus said in John 14:6: "I AM the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." God told Moses in Exodus 3:14: "I AM WHO I AM."
He is I AM. And He loves me.
And because of that, I think He wants me to take a break from my shoulds.
***
That's not to say I don't need to make changes. I am always going to have improvements to make so that I can be and have and do all I am called to be and have and do. I'm certainly not throwing away my life-long addiction to personal development (as if I could). But I am going to try and beat myself up a little less and rest in my Father's love a little more. Stop regretting the past or fearing the future and enjoying the present because He's here with me.
Most of all, I'm going to focus on laying down all my shoulds at the feet of the great I AM. Because He cares for me...and meets my needs...and strengthens me...and because I AM is always going to be enough for me. And I AM trumps I should.
There have been some changes over the past three years...I made new friends, added a dog to my family, started a new job, left that job and started another new job, sold a house, built a house, welcomed a nephew, lost loved ones, grew my hair, cut my hair, dyed my hair...like 10 times. Still, in some ways, I feel like I haven't made as much progress as I would have liked. I get frustrated because I'm not moving forward (whatever that means) as fast as I should.
I should be more disciplined by now. I should be out of debt by now. I should be over it by now. I should be at my goal weight by now. I should be ready to settle down and start a family. I should have a church home or a small group or some accountability. I should stay in better touch. I should keep a cleaner house. I should teach my dog to stop barking. I should stick to my budget. I should eat more veggies and stop giving so much money to those girl scouts.
I should should should...
I get up on time one day and oversleep the other 6. (Yes, you can oversleep on the weekend...it happens when you set your alarm for something ridiculous like 10 am and still hit snooze and sleep until noon.)
I run regularly for 6 months then take 2 months off.
I look put together on Monday and like I got hit by a train by Friday.
I read my bible and listen to church podcasts in the morning then spend all evening watching crap tv.
I bring my lunch to work all week then blow all the money I saved on Amazon Prime. (But seriously, I really needed that firepit and firepit cover and marshmallow roasting sticks and food scale and barking collar and approximately 15 books on various topics.)
I have friends that are creating nonprofits and bodybuilding and running successful businesses while raising kids and having their own ministry and writing books and running ultra marathons and I'm trying to finish watching all the episodes of Dawson's Creek and eating frozen burritos for dinner. For me, an aspirational goal is doing a load of laundry from start to finish (i.e. getting it all the way to the closet in a single day, not a day to wash three days in the dryer and two weeks in a pile on top of the dryer).
***
March 1 also marked the beginning of Lent, Ash Wednesday. The solemn season leading up to Easter Sunday, when we celebrate the resurrection of Christ, the hope of the world. A season of fasting and reflection - making sacrifices to focus our hearts on the One who sacrificed everything to save us.
In deciding how I wanted to fix my eyes on Jesus this season, I found myself going back through all my "shoulds" and trying to pick one. [Ultimately, I did feel very convicted to give up watching t.v. and Netflix and Amazon Prime etc. so the Dawson's Creak marathon has been postponed indefinitely.]
But recently in the quiet moments, when I have tried to get really still and listen for the Holy Spirit's prompting, I keep sensing something bigger and more profound that I'm still trying to fully understand. Something to do with how little it matters that I struggle so much with I should because I'm loved by I AM.
Jesus said in John 14:6: "I AM the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." God told Moses in Exodus 3:14: "I AM WHO I AM."
He is I AM. And He loves me.
And because of that, I think He wants me to take a break from my shoulds.
***
That's not to say I don't need to make changes. I am always going to have improvements to make so that I can be and have and do all I am called to be and have and do. I'm certainly not throwing away my life-long addiction to personal development (as if I could). But I am going to try and beat myself up a little less and rest in my Father's love a little more. Stop regretting the past or fearing the future and enjoying the present because He's here with me.
Most of all, I'm going to focus on laying down all my shoulds at the feet of the great I AM. Because He cares for me...and meets my needs...and strengthens me...and because I AM is always going to be enough for me. And I AM trumps I should.
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