I am truly out of words tonight but wish to thank any of you who have been praying with and for those suffering as a result of the Haiti earthquake, and specifically for the Rabb family. Only a couple of hours ago, we received word that Rev. Clinton Rabb, Director of Volunteers in Mission (VIM) for the General Board of Global Ministries (GBGM), has passed away from injuries he sustained during the Haiti earthquake a few days ago.
Really, truly, I have no words and a very heavy heart. I leave you, therefore, with words of wisdom Clint has spoken to me. I thought them wise enough to quote him at the time, and tonight am grateful to have these words to remember him by.
“We are sent. Not to do something. But Sent. We will know when we get there what we are called to do.”
“Jesus claims he is sent - be careful what you claim.”
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Haiti
I first got word about the earthquake on Wednesday afternoon. I sat at my computer on a lunch break at work and read an email from the Dakotas Conference asking for prayer and financial support. Immediately flashed before me were images of Haiti, of the work so many of my friends have gone to do or are doing, of the great need already evident before such a tragedy, and of how many people I know that have been or even could be there. Where are they? Are they accounted for? Didn’t I hear something about missions teams being sent there in January - is that now?
While these questions came to mind I simultaneously allowed my fingers to type Haiti into google in search of more information and let my voice cry out for my roommate Hannah, who I knew would want to know right away. Over the next couple of days, information flowed in slowly and took us on a roller-coaster of emotions. We misread information, were fed wrong information, were left without any information. I am especially grateful for those who have gone out of their way to share any information with us, as has proven difficult to keep up with any news in real time from here.
My heart is heavy. It has been heavy for days as I have been thinking about, praying for, and reflecting as I read others’ reactions to this tragedy. To be honest, in the past when a tragedy such as this has struck someplace around the world, I usually join them in prayer and think about it for a day or so, then feel guilty about going back to life as I know it while people are suffering. The guilt has come this time too, but its different this time.
This time, the guilt isn’t that I have forgotten them, failed to keep them in my prayers, or not “done” something. Rather, it the guilt has been about how lavishly I live my life and how easily I take it for granted. The guilt has been linked to how I can spend hours thinking about this, but at the end of the day still not be ready to give up certain luxuries I know I have.
It has also been different because this time, I can’t forget or move on. Something about this tragedy struck me deeply, and has left me without words. This has been true before, but never has it been true without the media constantly feeding me pictures, videos, stories so that I felt connected and was reminded of the crisis. This time, I have had only minimal access to media, and with the exception of occasional emails from my Conference, I could easily have forgotten it or moved on.
Friday morning, I discovered one of the unknown connections that perhaps kept me so closely tied (prayerfully, emotionally, etc) to Haiti. In a matter of hours, I discovered that 3 GBGM/UMCOR officials were in Haiti and were last seen entering a building that collapsed in the earthquake. Misunderstandings and a passing of wrong information led us to believe they were found but fine, then not found, then one walked away with bruises and the other two were pinned for 55 hours but then found alive and would be okay. It was a rollercoaster, to be sure, especially since the two pinned men, Clint Rabb and Sam Dixon, are two men who I have worked with (Sam indirectly) over the years and who I know to do incredible work. I also know that they are two of the men within the UMC that would know the most about how to get relief to Haiti in the quickest and most efficient way possible - Clint is the Director of Volunteers in Mission (short term missions) and Sam the director of UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief).
Tonight, we are not greeted with such great news. We finally have confirmed information, and know for sure that these reports offered to us before were not entirely true. It is true that the third man, Jim Gulley, an UMCOR consultant, is okay and walked away with cuts and bruises. It is also true that Clint and Sam were trapped for 55 hours under a pile of debris that was once the hotel. Tonight’s confirmed report tells us that Clint Rabb was found alive and has since been transported to a hospital in Florida, where he remains in Intensive Care.
Another report updates us on Rev. Sam Dixon. Unfortunately, Sam did not make it out of that pile alive, and today, thousands are grieving the loss of an incredible man.
Around the world, Sam Dixon was a loved servant and friend. With great hesitancy and difficulty, we (Hannah, Rachel and I) shared this update with Mama Tembo, our boss whose home we were at following an incredible evening of celebrations. We knew from conversations the past couple of days that Mama Tembo had known Sam well, and she was relieved to hear positive reports as we received them yesterday. Today, however, we had not such good news, and our celebrations quickly ended as we took time to mourn together.
Life is such a delicate thing, and we sat around the table rotating between moments of needed silence, tears, or opportunities to share stories about Sam and the incredible difference he made in the world - in our worlds. As we did so, I began to also reflect on this delicacy of life, and how incredible it really is that Sam truly lived his life as a fun, joyful, hardworking and passionate servant of God. He truly loved his work and was great at it, blessing millions along the way. Sam was in Haiti on business, and I like to imagine there was no other place he’d rather have been.
As I sit rambling and writing this post, it is nearly 4am and I am sleepless. It has indeed been a full and exhausting week, and yet I know it is far from over. I remember Sam’s family, friends, and extended community around the world, a community I cannot quickly forget as Mama Tembo tells us of what an integral role Sam Dixon played in getting funding for SHADE early on. I also think of and pray with and for Clint, who lies in ICU in Florida, and for Suzanne (his wife) and their large family, and pray for ease of pain, for healing, for comfort and patience. I hope they can feel the thousands of prayers flowing for them, can feel the incredible love and support being poured out to them though it is only minute compared to what they have first offered to their communities.
As I prepare to try again to get a bit of sleep tonight, I remember and pray for the thousands of people still missing or still suffering in Haiti. I pray for the millions of people in Haiti - and around the world - who are grieving following this terrible tragedy. May we continue to be aware of the many ways God is with us in these difficult days.
(I also encourage you to give, to donate what you can to support relief efforts in Haiti. Perhaps in honor of the incredible work Sam Dixon has done, I recommend giving through UMCOR, which you can do here.)
While these questions came to mind I simultaneously allowed my fingers to type Haiti into google in search of more information and let my voice cry out for my roommate Hannah, who I knew would want to know right away. Over the next couple of days, information flowed in slowly and took us on a roller-coaster of emotions. We misread information, were fed wrong information, were left without any information. I am especially grateful for those who have gone out of their way to share any information with us, as has proven difficult to keep up with any news in real time from here.
My heart is heavy. It has been heavy for days as I have been thinking about, praying for, and reflecting as I read others’ reactions to this tragedy. To be honest, in the past when a tragedy such as this has struck someplace around the world, I usually join them in prayer and think about it for a day or so, then feel guilty about going back to life as I know it while people are suffering. The guilt has come this time too, but its different this time.
This time, the guilt isn’t that I have forgotten them, failed to keep them in my prayers, or not “done” something. Rather, it the guilt has been about how lavishly I live my life and how easily I take it for granted. The guilt has been linked to how I can spend hours thinking about this, but at the end of the day still not be ready to give up certain luxuries I know I have.
It has also been different because this time, I can’t forget or move on. Something about this tragedy struck me deeply, and has left me without words. This has been true before, but never has it been true without the media constantly feeding me pictures, videos, stories so that I felt connected and was reminded of the crisis. This time, I have had only minimal access to media, and with the exception of occasional emails from my Conference, I could easily have forgotten it or moved on.
Friday morning, I discovered one of the unknown connections that perhaps kept me so closely tied (prayerfully, emotionally, etc) to Haiti. In a matter of hours, I discovered that 3 GBGM/UMCOR officials were in Haiti and were last seen entering a building that collapsed in the earthquake. Misunderstandings and a passing of wrong information led us to believe they were found but fine, then not found, then one walked away with bruises and the other two were pinned for 55 hours but then found alive and would be okay. It was a rollercoaster, to be sure, especially since the two pinned men, Clint Rabb and Sam Dixon, are two men who I have worked with (Sam indirectly) over the years and who I know to do incredible work. I also know that they are two of the men within the UMC that would know the most about how to get relief to Haiti in the quickest and most efficient way possible - Clint is the Director of Volunteers in Mission (short term missions) and Sam the director of UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief).
Tonight, we are not greeted with such great news. We finally have confirmed information, and know for sure that these reports offered to us before were not entirely true. It is true that the third man, Jim Gulley, an UMCOR consultant, is okay and walked away with cuts and bruises. It is also true that Clint and Sam were trapped for 55 hours under a pile of debris that was once the hotel. Tonight’s confirmed report tells us that Clint Rabb was found alive and has since been transported to a hospital in Florida, where he remains in Intensive Care.
Another report updates us on Rev. Sam Dixon. Unfortunately, Sam did not make it out of that pile alive, and today, thousands are grieving the loss of an incredible man.
Around the world, Sam Dixon was a loved servant and friend. With great hesitancy and difficulty, we (Hannah, Rachel and I) shared this update with Mama Tembo, our boss whose home we were at following an incredible evening of celebrations. We knew from conversations the past couple of days that Mama Tembo had known Sam well, and she was relieved to hear positive reports as we received them yesterday. Today, however, we had not such good news, and our celebrations quickly ended as we took time to mourn together.
Life is such a delicate thing, and we sat around the table rotating between moments of needed silence, tears, or opportunities to share stories about Sam and the incredible difference he made in the world - in our worlds. As we did so, I began to also reflect on this delicacy of life, and how incredible it really is that Sam truly lived his life as a fun, joyful, hardworking and passionate servant of God. He truly loved his work and was great at it, blessing millions along the way. Sam was in Haiti on business, and I like to imagine there was no other place he’d rather have been.
As I sit rambling and writing this post, it is nearly 4am and I am sleepless. It has indeed been a full and exhausting week, and yet I know it is far from over. I remember Sam’s family, friends, and extended community around the world, a community I cannot quickly forget as Mama Tembo tells us of what an integral role Sam Dixon played in getting funding for SHADE early on. I also think of and pray with and for Clint, who lies in ICU in Florida, and for Suzanne (his wife) and their large family, and pray for ease of pain, for healing, for comfort and patience. I hope they can feel the thousands of prayers flowing for them, can feel the incredible love and support being poured out to them though it is only minute compared to what they have first offered to their communities.
As I prepare to try again to get a bit of sleep tonight, I remember and pray for the thousands of people still missing or still suffering in Haiti. I pray for the millions of people in Haiti - and around the world - who are grieving following this terrible tragedy. May we continue to be aware of the many ways God is with us in these difficult days.
(I also encourage you to give, to donate what you can to support relief efforts in Haiti. Perhaps in honor of the incredible work Sam Dixon has done, I recommend giving through UMCOR, which you can do here.)
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Reflections on Wounded Healers
The conference thus far had been absolutely amazing. Words cannot describe how great it has been to meet the delegates and satellite leaders, to share in our stories that have brought us to this place, to learn and worship and pray and feast and fellowship together in this conference center that has been made a holy place by so many great people gathered in one place.Every night I go home and think about the days past, about how much I have been able to learn and grown in this short amount of time. I debrief a bit with my sisters I’m staying with (Hannah, Rachel, Lucy and Joyce) and think about what has been and what is yet to come. About how we are growing not as individuals but as a larger community across the continent of Africa. I think about what it means to be a “wounded healer” and am thankful that so very many people who have such deep, cutting wounds have sought healing in Christ and want to use those wounds to seek further healing or prevention of wounds for others.
I have heard stories that sound like they are from a book. These are the stories that I have heard “of” - you know, the ones someone else once encountered and it affected them so strongly they brought it home to share, to share with others that others might seek a means to help and make a difference. These are the stories I have heard before, the stories that have helped connect me to these men, women and children. The stories that have played such a strong role in developing my understanding of my call to do what I can as one part of the body who has a means to make a difference. We were told many times this week, “As one person I cannot change the world, but I can change the world of one person.” That is the humble goal we seek this week. To make a positive change on person at a time. Easier said than done, as it is often harder to love one person well than to love the idea of changing a community. But that really is the point, isn’t it? That the higher path is rarely the easy one, and the right path requires a community such as Sister2Sister to rely on, encourage, and offer strength through prayer to one another. That is what this community has embraced. Those are the stories I am hearing.
Stories of lack of clean water in communities that are desperately trying to move on with education or development or farming, but who cannot because they must walk to carry dirty water home each day for cooking, cleaning, washing. Water that is making them sick, so the sick are taking turns with days off, meaning they really do need every person to help out.
Stories of communities where the average age is 14. Where entire generations have disappeared because of HIV/AIDS. In many households, it is difficult to be clear who is caring for who: the grannies for the babies, or the babies for the grannies. What would they do without each other? Where will this lead the next generation of youth?
Stories of women and children having violent crimes committed against them. Crimes of abuse, of violent rape, of being taken as child soldiers or sold into slavery. Crimes committed out of fear, confusion, miseducation. Crimes being committed because no one was there to break the cycle for them, because violence and abuse and fear are all some generations have ever known. Fear is the heart of so much of the evil and pain, and at times it seems unstoppable.
Then one comes to Sister2Sister Tujenge conference here in DRC, and we know differently here. Here, we are a room filled with people who carry these same stories, but something was different for them. For these women, children and a few men, these stories are as real today as they were the day the were a victim. The difference is that someone somewhere along the way reached out a hand to them - to one person - and offered them a way out of that cycle. Their worlds were changed. Now, these “Wounded Healers” want nothing more than to be that glimmer of hope and change for one other person. To return the favor as many times as they can. God has led us to this place, God has guided us through this healing, God has given us the courage and wisdom and presented us with opportunities to move beyond the cycles we were once in the midst of.
Here at Sister2Sister Conference, we are choosing God and God’s grace to continue moving us to a place of healing. We are focusing this week on the theme, the one thing that keeps us moving not from week to week or sometimes even day to day, but from moment to moment as we grow out of our own painful stories. We (Wounded Healers) are remembering that “Hope Is The Cornerstone of Africa.” Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The Circle of Life
January has been a difficult time for me for several years now.
It was in January of 2004 that I first discovered my father had a relentless cancer, and was given 6 months to live (he fought for nearly 8).
It was in January of 2006 that the lives were needlessly taken from 7 people I knew and loved... 6 of them in 2 separate car accidents. The seventh was my dear friend Jenny, who died in her sleep due to an aneurysm. She was one of the dearest friends I have ever been blessed with; I still miss and love you, Jenny.
I have been grieving this week for a dear friend who is losing her father to a rough struggle with cancer.
Today, I received more news that makes my heart deeply sad. Marcie Sidie was my Spanish teacher in jr high/high school. I took classes with her for 5 years, but more than my teacher, she was a friend. She is responsible for forming the first support group I was ever a part of - and no one knew she was doing it until it was done. This is because while most students take 1-2 years of foreign language in high school, there were 7 of us that stayed with her for the long haul. She was gone a lot - in and out of treatments for her cancer that would go in and out of remission. And we were supportive as we knew how to be without being invasive. We sent cards, flowers, balloons - and not least of all our love and prayers. It was always a celebration when she was able to return to us. We did not always learn a lot as a result of having frequent substitutes who did not know Spanish, but we always managed to work independently well enough to legitimately pass the course.
So the 8 of us - her 7 students and Señorita Sidie herself, grew to be very close. We laughed, played games, taught (at the elementary school), and learned together. When we had reason to celebrate, we celebrated together. When there was reason to be sad, we took time out of our class to mourn together and support each other. When the planes hit the towers that dreadful morning of September 11, 2001, we sat in speechless terror and watched together. Then she was the only teacher we had who was willing to talk about it and debrief with us rather than respond with "if our lives stop and we talk about it, we're letting them win."
In the process of our relationship-building, she won our trust and as such, I learned more from her than any other teacher I've had. Further, she provided a space for us that allowed some unlikely folks to become the best of friends, relationships that I still keep up with today (even if only via facebook and gatherings are seldom due to distance).
On Monday, the same day that new life entered this world through my close friends' first son, little James Bennett Baker, Señorita Sidie passed away. The obituary did not list her cause of death, and from afar my best guess is that she finally lost her decade-long struggle with cancer.
I certainly wish the 7 of us could be together for one last time at her services on Friday, saying something ridiculous in Spanish that I know would give her a smile. Since we can't, I am pleased to know that many of her students who have come after us will be honoring her by doing just that. As for me, I honor her with this farewell and an old picture from our final day of class only days before our high school graduation.
Rest in Peace, Ms Sidie. We'll miss you.
It was in January of 2004 that I first discovered my father had a relentless cancer, and was given 6 months to live (he fought for nearly 8).
It was in January of 2006 that the lives were needlessly taken from 7 people I knew and loved... 6 of them in 2 separate car accidents. The seventh was my dear friend Jenny, who died in her sleep due to an aneurysm. She was one of the dearest friends I have ever been blessed with; I still miss and love you, Jenny.
I have been grieving this week for a dear friend who is losing her father to a rough struggle with cancer.
Today, I received more news that makes my heart deeply sad. Marcie Sidie was my Spanish teacher in jr high/high school. I took classes with her for 5 years, but more than my teacher, she was a friend. She is responsible for forming the first support group I was ever a part of - and no one knew she was doing it until it was done. This is because while most students take 1-2 years of foreign language in high school, there were 7 of us that stayed with her for the long haul. She was gone a lot - in and out of treatments for her cancer that would go in and out of remission. And we were supportive as we knew how to be without being invasive. We sent cards, flowers, balloons - and not least of all our love and prayers. It was always a celebration when she was able to return to us. We did not always learn a lot as a result of having frequent substitutes who did not know Spanish, but we always managed to work independently well enough to legitimately pass the course.
So the 8 of us - her 7 students and Señorita Sidie herself, grew to be very close. We laughed, played games, taught (at the elementary school), and learned together. When we had reason to celebrate, we celebrated together. When there was reason to be sad, we took time out of our class to mourn together and support each other. When the planes hit the towers that dreadful morning of September 11, 2001, we sat in speechless terror and watched together. Then she was the only teacher we had who was willing to talk about it and debrief with us rather than respond with "if our lives stop and we talk about it, we're letting them win."
In the process of our relationship-building, she won our trust and as such, I learned more from her than any other teacher I've had. Further, she provided a space for us that allowed some unlikely folks to become the best of friends, relationships that I still keep up with today (even if only via facebook and gatherings are seldom due to distance).
On Monday, the same day that new life entered this world through my close friends' first son, little James Bennett Baker, Señorita Sidie passed away. The obituary did not list her cause of death, and from afar my best guess is that she finally lost her decade-long struggle with cancer.
I certainly wish the 7 of us could be together for one last time at her services on Friday, saying something ridiculous in Spanish that I know would give her a smile. Since we can't, I am pleased to know that many of her students who have come after us will be honoring her by doing just that. As for me, I honor her with this farewell and an old picture from our final day of class only days before our high school graduation.
Rest in Peace, Ms Sidie. We'll miss you.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
My Heart is at "Home"
Sometimes, it is very, very difficult to be away from that place that I will always call "home."
Sometimes, "only" a phone call away sounds like a terrible nightmare.
I got a dreaded phone call today that my grandmother is in ICU after a surgery on a blood clot. While I was VERY upset that this call came more than 15 hours after she entered the hospital, I am relieved to know that things are looking really good and she may even be sent home as early as tomorrow.
In the same conversation, I was filled in on the incredibly tragic stories of other things going on at home. Another suicide of a young man - only 24 years old, and graduated a year behind me in high school. Heartbreaking news. It gets worse: there was an accident in the middle of his procession from the funeral to the burial today.
To add to my frustration, I have spent the day reading and writing a paper on John Calvin's theology of predestination and how that applies to Christian life. The only thing good about writing this paper is that I am learning what I do not believe, hence I am more able to articulate what I do. Calvin's theology is, in many ways, so contrary to my own that I am incredibly frustrated to "listen" to someone talk about life, death, struggles, sin, faith, etc in such distant ways... as statistics or facts rather than as individuals, lives, beautiful and worthy creations of God that we are. It is difficult to read that God uses all things for good and that everything that happens has been pre-ordained by God. Really? My grandmother may be okay, and for that I am thankful. But what does this say about my friend's 16-year-old brother who died in a car accident just over 2 weeks ago? Or was the young man from my home town destined to be so miserable that he would want to take his own life?
I don't think so. We have more than that. We have hope. I think it appropriate to come back to what has been one of my favorite quotes since I first read his biography during college... from none other than Harvey Milk... now a familiar name to many as his story appropriately made it to the big screen. Mr. Milk leaves us with these words:
“You cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living."
Sometimes, "only" a phone call away sounds like a terrible nightmare.
I got a dreaded phone call today that my grandmother is in ICU after a surgery on a blood clot. While I was VERY upset that this call came more than 15 hours after she entered the hospital, I am relieved to know that things are looking really good and she may even be sent home as early as tomorrow.
In the same conversation, I was filled in on the incredibly tragic stories of other things going on at home. Another suicide of a young man - only 24 years old, and graduated a year behind me in high school. Heartbreaking news. It gets worse: there was an accident in the middle of his procession from the funeral to the burial today.
To add to my frustration, I have spent the day reading and writing a paper on John Calvin's theology of predestination and how that applies to Christian life. The only thing good about writing this paper is that I am learning what I do not believe, hence I am more able to articulate what I do. Calvin's theology is, in many ways, so contrary to my own that I am incredibly frustrated to "listen" to someone talk about life, death, struggles, sin, faith, etc in such distant ways... as statistics or facts rather than as individuals, lives, beautiful and worthy creations of God that we are. It is difficult to read that God uses all things for good and that everything that happens has been pre-ordained by God. Really? My grandmother may be okay, and for that I am thankful. But what does this say about my friend's 16-year-old brother who died in a car accident just over 2 weeks ago? Or was the young man from my home town destined to be so miserable that he would want to take his own life?
I don't think so. We have more than that. We have hope. I think it appropriate to come back to what has been one of my favorite quotes since I first read his biography during college... from none other than Harvey Milk... now a familiar name to many as his story appropriately made it to the big screen. Mr. Milk leaves us with these words:
“You cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living."
Friday, August 8, 2008
Safe Arrival In Chicago
I have safely landed back in Chicago.
It was a welcome hospitable greeting as a friend (thanks, Kate!) picked me up from the airport... and airport that is quite out of the way from where we live, and included a drive through the city in rush hour traffic to get me... but I have never been so happy - with all of my bags and my excitement to be home - to have a friend so generous as to pick me up, curbside.
Arrival to Evanston included a quick greet to Kim, who picked up the keys to my apartment this afternoon since the office was closed by the time I arrived. We dropped my bags on the floor and stood in my apartment a whole of 4 minutes before moving on to a place where food could be eaten... clearly my cupboards are a bit bare after being away for over 2 months.
Dinner was great. A welcome meal with friends (more joined us!) that it was GREAT to catch up with! It was also good to be back in time to see the "baby bump" forming on Amanda!!! Followed by the recognition what we were all tired but not ready to say goodbye, we landed in the home of friends that immediately felt like home again. I cannot express how GREAT it felt to be HOME! Greeted with a fresh pot of coffee and a new video camera, the laughs were without end. And as more friends came to visit (they just kept calling - "are you here yet!?!"), I could not have felt more welcome, or more loved.
A phone call from a friend I've been trying to get in touch with all week was welcome and encouraging... it is a strange thing to try to grieve with friends hundreds of miles away... and it is an encouraging thing when they seem to genuinely be handling things so incredibly well... and with grace, peace, and trust in God. I am thankful for friends like this I can learn from, grow with, and be "present" with (even from afar) if/when a deeper reality later sets in.
God has really blessed me with some amazing relationships, and tonight I am reminded of that. I am reminded as I think of how great it was to see Laura and her children this morning... to spend the morning with my mom on the way to the airport, to spend the evening with great friends in an amazing community this evening... to stay in touch via phone to hear the voice of a friend I love and miss dearly, and for the gift of technology that has allowed me to chat and send messages to so many friends tonight. I talked to 6 members of the Ride:Well Team tonight- some brief, some more extensive - but all enough to remind me of the blessings they have brought upon me.
It was a welcome hospitable greeting as a friend (thanks, Kate!) picked me up from the airport... and airport that is quite out of the way from where we live, and included a drive through the city in rush hour traffic to get me... but I have never been so happy - with all of my bags and my excitement to be home - to have a friend so generous as to pick me up, curbside.
Arrival to Evanston included a quick greet to Kim, who picked up the keys to my apartment this afternoon since the office was closed by the time I arrived. We dropped my bags on the floor and stood in my apartment a whole of 4 minutes before moving on to a place where food could be eaten... clearly my cupboards are a bit bare after being away for over 2 months.
Dinner was great. A welcome meal with friends (more joined us!) that it was GREAT to catch up with! It was also good to be back in time to see the "baby bump" forming on Amanda!!! Followed by the recognition what we were all tired but not ready to say goodbye, we landed in the home of friends that immediately felt like home again. I cannot express how GREAT it felt to be HOME! Greeted with a fresh pot of coffee and a new video camera, the laughs were without end. And as more friends came to visit (they just kept calling - "are you here yet!?!"), I could not have felt more welcome, or more loved.
A phone call from a friend I've been trying to get in touch with all week was welcome and encouraging... it is a strange thing to try to grieve with friends hundreds of miles away... and it is an encouraging thing when they seem to genuinely be handling things so incredibly well... and with grace, peace, and trust in God. I am thankful for friends like this I can learn from, grow with, and be "present" with (even from afar) if/when a deeper reality later sets in.
God has really blessed me with some amazing relationships, and tonight I am reminded of that. I am reminded as I think of how great it was to see Laura and her children this morning... to spend the morning with my mom on the way to the airport, to spend the evening with great friends in an amazing community this evening... to stay in touch via phone to hear the voice of a friend I love and miss dearly, and for the gift of technology that has allowed me to chat and send messages to so many friends tonight. I talked to 6 members of the Ride:Well Team tonight- some brief, some more extensive - but all enough to remind me of the blessings they have brought upon me.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
An undesired gift
I spent a bit of time today doing something I have done a few times before but dread equally each time. I was able to do a small thing to help a friend by making "that" phone call (and sending "that" email) that no one wants: to pass on the information that my dear friend Rosie's mom passed away this weekend.
It is a bitter-sweet call, complete with the sadness in others' voices as we express our pain and sorrow (and helplessness) of the situation. It is sad because too often, those phone calls are made to folks we don't talk to often- as was certainly true for me, it has been over two years since I last spoke with Katie on the phone.
Yet it is also a gift. For if it were not for the blessings of how tragedies bring us together in this way, I would still not have spoken with those I did today. I would not have been offered the gift of and peace of hearing old friends' voices and laughing at old jokes I'd long forgotten without anyone to help me remember them. So today, instead of lamenting such tasks, I instead choose to celebrate moments like this that offer me an opportunity to be reminded of all that I have and all of those whose lives have touched and blessed my own- and I am thankful.
It is a bitter-sweet call, complete with the sadness in others' voices as we express our pain and sorrow (and helplessness) of the situation. It is sad because too often, those phone calls are made to folks we don't talk to often- as was certainly true for me, it has been over two years since I last spoke with Katie on the phone.
Yet it is also a gift. For if it were not for the blessings of how tragedies bring us together in this way, I would still not have spoken with those I did today. I would not have been offered the gift of and peace of hearing old friends' voices and laughing at old jokes I'd long forgotten without anyone to help me remember them. So today, instead of lamenting such tasks, I instead choose to celebrate moments like this that offer me an opportunity to be reminded of all that I have and all of those whose lives have touched and blessed my own- and I am thankful.
Friday, March 14, 2008
A Tragic Loss
I've begun my day in the one way everyone dreads.
With a wake-up call from a very dear friend that her mom has (somewhat unexpectedly) passed away this morning. I sat with her as she journeyed home from her work to her house so she could be driven to her home town where her parents still reside. I was without words, full of prayer, and wishing more than anything that I could reach through the phone and just hold her as I cried with her from several hundred miles away. My heart aches, my whole being is prayerful. I'm saddened and confused... and I feel her pain. She is too young to lose a parent, and there are no words that can change that or make it feel better.
No matter how many times we lose people we love, no matter how many times you are a friend or colleague or pastor - it doesn't get easier. My one prayer, that I hope you can join me in, is that the God who gives us life will continue to be with and wrap Her arms around those who are mourning and suffering and in need in these days. And that those I lift up today- my friend and her family- will feel that presence and be strengthened and encouraged by it.
With a wake-up call from a very dear friend that her mom has (somewhat unexpectedly) passed away this morning. I sat with her as she journeyed home from her work to her house so she could be driven to her home town where her parents still reside. I was without words, full of prayer, and wishing more than anything that I could reach through the phone and just hold her as I cried with her from several hundred miles away. My heart aches, my whole being is prayerful. I'm saddened and confused... and I feel her pain. She is too young to lose a parent, and there are no words that can change that or make it feel better.
No matter how many times we lose people we love, no matter how many times you are a friend or colleague or pastor - it doesn't get easier. My one prayer, that I hope you can join me in, is that the God who gives us life will continue to be with and wrap Her arms around those who are mourning and suffering and in need in these days. And that those I lift up today- my friend and her family- will feel that presence and be strengthened and encouraged by it.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Prayers for the Garrett Community
In light of some very unfortunate circumstances on Garrett’s campus yesterday, campus is buzzing with confusion, pain, anger and questions. Slowly but surely, folks (staff and students alike) are learning details of the events that unfolded. After a prayer meeting this morning, I am happy to have been offered another perspective from the one I had. There are two sides to every story, and in this situation, there are a great number of people to be cared for… not the least of which is the very one around whom this conflict revolves.
I was fortunate enough to meet with our Dean this afternoon, and it was reassuring to confirm that positive steps are being taken in all directions. Our faculty and administration really do genuinely care about our students, and I feel that the steps they have taken have been well thought out, positive ones. There are always things that could be done better, always “if… then” statements to be made… but the reality is, no one will ever know the answers to “what if” questions, and I fully affirm their decisions to take preventative steps, putting trust in the “safe way.”
I have not yet heard results from the meetings that took place a few hours ago. Nor have I stopped praying that whatever is best for both this community and the individual involved who is now (in many ways) isolated from this community is able to happen. There is a great deal of healing that needs to take place, and in the days to come, I pray we are able to walk together and allow movement of the Holy Spirit among us, in our hallways and conversations and frustrations and laments. I pray that our cries of pain and sorrow and confusion and isolation are heard, and that more importantly, we are able to feel God’s presence and movement among us as we seek peace for our community, school, and selves.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Tragedy Strikes NIU
My heart aches on this Valentines Day, finding it hard to imagine how one could be happy on this cold, frigid, bloody day.
There was another shooting at another American University today. Today's shooting took place only about 70 miles away from here, on the campus of Northern Illinois University. 21 people were shot in a classroom, where a former Graduate student opened fire in a lecture hall full of geology students with a shotgun and two handguns. After injuring 16 of those victims and killing 5, he then shot himself.
I'm speechless and heartbroken and frustrated with the media. People need time to mourn and try to make sense of this senseless situation. Yet the media is plastered with photos and video feed of events immediately following the shooting, including pictures of victims before they received care (one of a stuent shot in the leg, surrounded by students who had carried him to safety in another building) or on stretchers, covered in blood, as they're put into an ambulance- with a clear site of the person's face. Is this really "just a news story" to them?
Today's shooter was a Sociology Grad student NIU last spring. Sociology. Whenever a tragedy like this one strikes, I always wonder what kind of pain they must have first experienced. What would drive them to that point? Today, I feel like this is an even deeper question, as he was s Sociology student. Sociology. The study of people and groups. The study of human interactions with one another... What might his educated mind- that probably understood what this would do to people before, after and during the event- have been thinking?
Its been a long couple of weeks. I've had a long week. Blessed, but long. But nothing compared to these poor folks who are hurting so much tonight. So I do the only thing I know how to do. Pray. Then listen. Then Pray. and Pray some more. I hope you will join me. As we pray together, let us remember one thing that is hard to remember in these moments: God Loves That Guy. I hope we can too.
There was another shooting at another American University today. Today's shooting took place only about 70 miles away from here, on the campus of Northern Illinois University. 21 people were shot in a classroom, where a former Graduate student opened fire in a lecture hall full of geology students with a shotgun and two handguns. After injuring 16 of those victims and killing 5, he then shot himself.
I'm speechless and heartbroken and frustrated with the media. People need time to mourn and try to make sense of this senseless situation. Yet the media is plastered with photos and video feed of events immediately following the shooting, including pictures of victims before they received care (one of a stuent shot in the leg, surrounded by students who had carried him to safety in another building) or on stretchers, covered in blood, as they're put into an ambulance- with a clear site of the person's face. Is this really "just a news story" to them?
Today's shooter was a Sociology Grad student NIU last spring. Sociology. Whenever a tragedy like this one strikes, I always wonder what kind of pain they must have first experienced. What would drive them to that point? Today, I feel like this is an even deeper question, as he was s Sociology student. Sociology. The study of people and groups. The study of human interactions with one another... What might his educated mind- that probably understood what this would do to people before, after and during the event- have been thinking?
Its been a long couple of weeks. I've had a long week. Blessed, but long. But nothing compared to these poor folks who are hurting so much tonight. So I do the only thing I know how to do. Pray. Then listen. Then Pray. and Pray some more. I hope you will join me. As we pray together, let us remember one thing that is hard to remember in these moments: God Loves That Guy. I hope we can too.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Life and Death in a Small Town
Tragedy has struck at home, and 20-year-old Alex Nelson has passed away in a car accident while his two friends who were with him walked away. Everyone is really shaken up, and I think my sister Alicia stated well why this is so hard on all of us, no matter how close we were or weren't to him:
"The worst thing about a small town is that everyone knows everything about everyone. What happens when someone you know everything about, dies? It doesn't matter how close you were to them. It matters that you shared a place that was dear to you. You play in the same playground. You tell the same stories of the lame town you grew up in and call home. You shared moments with the person's mother. You graduated with the persons brother. Your families go to the same church. Just the same, you know everything about him, he probably also knew everything about you. When he dies, a part of you also dies. We will all mourn together. This is what it means to be in a small town."
So true. and so sad. Yet at the same time, we have to ask: is that a negative thing to know everyone, to have those kinds of relationships? Maybe that's one of the gifts of the small town... that when something happens, you have a network of support, because it has affected everyone on some level and it isn't just "your problem." Better yet, you don't have to make those "dreaded phone calls" or explain yourself...because everyone already knows. My small town has made me who I am (for better or worse). They have supported me, encouraged me, battled with and challenged me... I am grateful for all that my small town that will always be home has offered me.
I didn't know Alex that well, yet I did at the same time. I know his brother, who I graduated with. We have countless mutual friends, including my little sister who also graduated with him.
May Alex RIP as we keep his family, friends, and our community in our thoughts and prayers.
"The worst thing about a small town is that everyone knows everything about everyone. What happens when someone you know everything about, dies? It doesn't matter how close you were to them. It matters that you shared a place that was dear to you. You play in the same playground. You tell the same stories of the lame town you grew up in and call home. You shared moments with the person's mother. You graduated with the persons brother. Your families go to the same church. Just the same, you know everything about him, he probably also knew everything about you. When he dies, a part of you also dies. We will all mourn together. This is what it means to be in a small town."
So true. and so sad. Yet at the same time, we have to ask: is that a negative thing to know everyone, to have those kinds of relationships? Maybe that's one of the gifts of the small town... that when something happens, you have a network of support, because it has affected everyone on some level and it isn't just "your problem." Better yet, you don't have to make those "dreaded phone calls" or explain yourself...because everyone already knows. My small town has made me who I am (for better or worse). They have supported me, encouraged me, battled with and challenged me... I am grateful for all that my small town that will always be home has offered me.
I didn't know Alex that well, yet I did at the same time. I know his brother, who I graduated with. We have countless mutual friends, including my little sister who also graduated with him.
May Alex RIP as we keep his family, friends, and our community in our thoughts and prayers.
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