The Motley Crew...and Grief

Ever been to a memorial service that felt more like a party? Where there seems to be more laughter, celebration, and reconnection than mourning?

I was at one of those this weekend. My friend, Levi, finally lost his three-year, valiant battle with cancer a few weeks ago. Cancer is one of those words that cuts me to my core. I hate it. HATE it. And, although I use the word, “Hate” more than I should in my vernacular, I don’t honestly HATE things or people. I strongly dislike them, but I don’t hate them. Except this. I HATE cancer. With everything in me. It’s wrong. It’s cruel.

I digress.

Levi’s memorial was a party. In fact, his family called it a “Celebration of Life,” and that’s exactly what it was. He collected people like others collect coins or stamps. The group that showed up to his celebration was eclectic – we had members of the small-town where he grew up, and friends from his time living in a commune. You had people who could be considered as part of the “fringe” of society talking and laughing with church elders and town leaders. In truth, though, it was a testament of who he was.

Levi was odd. Even his brother, during the sharing time, described him as such. He was one of those guys who had a hard time finding his place in life when he was younger; which allowed him, as an adult, to love and accept everyone around him. In that acceptance, he collected a group that was as ragtag and odd as he was.

It was utterly fantastic, seeing who all came out to laugh, cry, and mourn with each other. To see who loved this man deeply, and who – through being loved by him in return – were changed. There were tears and moments of deep sorrow, but there were also shouts of laughter and recollections of deep joy. This club, this “Friends of Levi” club, is one to which I am proud to hold membership. I just couldn’t help but think how much HE would’ve enjoyed the other night, being surrounded by those who love him and who love those whom he loved.

I spoke earlier about death being a severe mercy, and that this road we’re on hurts. Finding mercy gives us strength to continue to walk this path of grief and mourning. I found the other night, at a pot-luck filled with an motley crew of people, sharing our love, sharing our grief, mourning, and even laughing together gave us a bit more strength to continue this journey.

It’s not easy. Loving well and losing that loved one never is. But, we have each other to lean on and give support through this, and I think…in his own, odd, collector, wise way…Levi made sure we did.

A Severe Mercy

I received some bad news the other day; a friend of mine, someone I loved deeply, finally lost his battle with cancer. He wasn't even yet 30.

Although his death was expected, it doesn't stop the pain. The knowing that there will never be, on this Earth, another heated debate, another goading of me until I re-examined my stance on things, another laughing-until-I-cry moment with him. It hurts.

Grief is a weird thing. You have moments of okay-ness, where life seems to be chugging along, and although there's a hole in your life, you think you're going to be fine. Then, without warning or seeming provocation, you get hit between the eyes with a pain so intense, it takes your breath away.

I've walked through grief a few times in my life, and what I've learned is that when those moments hit, I need to not squelch them, but rather, I need to lose my breath, acknowledge the pain for what it is, call it grief, mourn in the moment, and let it pass. Not doing so is wrong. It's not how we're supposed to mourn. It's unhealthy.

Yesterday, I had one of those moments. I had stopped by my friend's parents' house, where he had spent his last months. His sister is my best friend, and she was there, doing things that needed to be done.

One of the things that needing doing was his laundry. His favorite clothes of the past few months had been washed and dried, but folding them...that was a final act that was almost too hard for them to do. Dad couldn't do it, and Mom didn't even know the laundry was being done...the grown kids were trying to make it as easy as possible for her.

The thing is, I could see in their eyes, even the grown kids weren't sure they could get through it. So, I walked into the garage and started folding. It's a mundane job, really. Nothing huge, but I had this surreal feeling that every fold needed to be perfect. I think I folded one t-shirt three times, because it wasn't correct. His pants, his socks, even his underwear...I folded every piece.

I bit my lip hard to keep the tears at bay, and I had to stop a few times to breathe a couple deep breaths before I could pick up the next item of clothing. I might've even kissed the beanie that he was wearing the last time I saw him.

Sheldon VanAucken called death God's "severe mercy," and I can't think of a more apt way to describe it. It's severe in the pain - the ripping of a loved one away from our arms, and the tearing of our hearts. Yet...there is mercy. Mercy for my friend - because I know in my core that he is no longer in pain, no longer suffering, and he is at peace. That mercy gives US mercy - in the knowing.

It doesn't make this path any easier to climb, but the mercy gives us some strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The Greatest Compliment I've Ever Been Paid...

I was sharing this story with my friend, L, the other day; and she told me that I needed to write this one down "someplace safe" so that I can remember it. What better place than a blog?

Ahem...here it is: THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT I'VE EVER BEEN PAID...

Quite a few years ago, I was at a dinner party with a bunch of friends. Some of those people I'd known literally all my life, others didn't know me all that well.

One of the "newish" people at the party started asking me about my love-life (sadly, it was then as it is now...single). This is NOT my favorite topic at all, because of many reasons, some of which are that conversations on this topic inevitably lead to the person feeling as if he/she needs to reassure me that "the right one is coming, just be patient" (gag me now), or they reach over, stroke their partner's arm, and say something along the lines of, "I'm so glad I'm not on the dating scene anymore. How DO you do it?" (that one just makes me want to bang my head against the nearest concrete wall. Better yet, maybe bang THAT PERSON'S head...). No matter what happens, I always end up feeling sub-human and condescended to, because I haven't found "Mr. Right (now)."

This night's conversation started off in the same manner:

Annoying-can't-not-ask-invasive-personal-questions-person: "Jane, you're so amazing, so smart, so funny (personal note: I agree! She could've just stopped THERE)...what's wrong with men these days?"

Me: "Excuse me?"

ACNAIPQP: "Well, why aren't you dating anyone?"

Me: "Again, excuse me?"

ACNAIPQP: "Well, you're fantastic. Why can't men see it? Why aren't you dating anyone??"

Me: "Thank you for telling me I'm fantastic, but I can't say why men haven't seen it."

ACNAIPQP: "Well, have you dated? Why aren't you with somebody?"

Me: "Honestly, ACNAIPQP, I haven't found a man who can convince me that life with him is better than life without him." (Another personal note: 1) That's a stinking-fantastic line! Not only is it the truth, but it usually stops the person right then and there. 2) For those of you suddenly wanting to defend the men of this world, please know that I DO give them chances...I don't just write a guy off at the end of the first meeting...or date...or sixth date. I just know that an "US" is supposed to be better than just "ME." So then, I date, I enjoy getting to know guys, but until "US" is better than "ME," it's just not worth it.)

ACNAIPQP: "Yeah. NO. Seriously, what is WRONG with men?"

(I think she honestly expected me to have an answer for this!)

Me: ----? (I didn't have anything to say to that. At all.)

ACNAIPQP: "Aren't you lonely? I mean, how do you DO it all by yourself?" (Yep. She went there.)

Me: ----? (There might've been a few incredulous looks, and my mouth might've been doing the "fish" thing. I had NOTHING to say to her at that point.)

This is where my savior rode in on a white horse. Okay, really, he was sitting at the other end of the table; but in my mind, when I remember this scenario, he's on a large, white horse, riding up to the dinner table.

Kobster (that's what I call him): "You know, ACNAIPQP, I think we're looking at this in a totally different way."

ACNAIPQP: "What do you mean?"

Kobster: "I think you're looking at Jane as you look at yourself, but she's a very different person than you are."

The man had everyone's attention at that point. Did I mention that it was a LARGE dinner party? Yep.

Kobster continued: "I believe that there are two types of people in this world. Both are valid, one is not better than the other; but they are very, very different. The first type includes people like you and me. We're the ones who aren't complete until we find our soul mate (and here, he looked at his wife, Michi. It was all very romantic, now that I look at it in retrospect). We strive so hard to find that right person because there's something missing inside US without that person. We're desperate to find that person, and life is better once we do.

"But, there's another type of person out in the world. This person doesn't have to search so desperately to find her soul mate, because that person is complete within herself. She's able to take her time and be picky because she's looking for the person who will compliment everything within her. She's complete, totally and wholly, in who she is. Being connected to a person who isn't her perfect compliment will diminish the gift she is to the world.

"Jane is one of those people; and the way I see it, she's doing just fine as she is."

Those words sunk deep into my soul and took root. They're still blooming today.

Summer Fun

A few weeks ago, I received an invitation in the mail to a summer bbq for my church's worship team. It's an annual thing, and every year we have a different theme. This year's theme is "Fiesta," so the postcard included a paper-doll cutout of our worship pastor, including a sarape, a sombrero, and an itty-bitty mustache.

J and I were bored. It happens towards the end of summer vacation (J's a teacher, too) - we've done all the usual "fun" things, and suddenly we need to tap into our creativity to find something fun to do. That's when we remembered the postcard.

Our worship leader's name is Mark. In the hours following our amazingly brilliant idea, he became "Marco Libre," and we...well...Marco had quite an adventurous afternoon. We documented it. Here you are:

Let's play "Where's Mark?" Ready? Go!


Marco Libre was our Navigator (or, as J called him, our "NaviGATO.")


Marco "chopstuck" up a tree. He loves their spring rolls:

BookMark!

Tall, skinny latte:


"X" Marks the spot!


Marco...?


"I'm on a horse":


A Tiny Marco! (Get it? Hahah!)


CD. E. D. B. D. Marco!


Giant Dipper...little dip...er:


Sand in los pantalones, no bueno. Amigo con cannon, muy bien.


We still have ideas...more fun in the works.

Changed...

I've been home longer than I was gone, but it's taken me that long to work through the culture shock, jet lag, and just...re-entry. Plus, my amazing family has claimed so much of my time since I've been home, that it's just now that I'm able to really process (during the school year, they are shamefully abandoned; and then I left the country not 48 hours after graduation...they get to claim as much of my time as they want.).

Am I changed? Yep. You can't journey to the fifth-poorest country on our planet, look into the faces of their neediest children, walk in the dirt to their homes, talk with the caregivers and NOT be changed. My heart is even more broken for their plight than ever before. And, a mighty huge chunk has been left in a feeding centre in the middle of the "bush" in Malawi. It's in the care of children with names such as Bridget Chomba, Mishak, Jonathan Saidi, Zione Flak, Yankho Guya, and Gabu...

Another thing that hit me like a two-by-four between the eyes was watching MY students rise to the occasion. In trips past, there was always something that fell through the cracks, some minor task that needed completing (if not, it would upset the whole applecart), some child that needed a friend that was overlooked, some person who needed a kind word. Not this year. This year's crop of students CLICKED. One person's weakness was covered by another person's strength. There were very few holes - in our team's strengths and in our program. To the point that I felt lost at times. Where was my job? I'm used to following the pack, picking up the dropped pieces, and filling in the cracks.

That loss of equilibrium is actually what we want. It means I feel a bit...off...as a leader, but it's a real dream come true. It means that we have enabled our students to the point that they don't necessarily NEED us to do what they were meant to do. The biggest dream of any person who's training leaders is to "train ourselves out of a job." Will we ever be out of our job? NO. There's always a new crop of students rising through the ranks for whom we need to be available. But, to actually see confidence, talents, and gifts woven together so beautifully as we leaders were able to...that happens very seldom in our lifetimes.

After a day or two of feeling a bit...not needed, I realized that this off-balance-ness was what I needed to learn. That maybe, just maybe, there was something for ME to do that didn't involve training or equipping my students (because, we already did that SO WELL.). That's when I got to look around and realize the incredible need for LOVE in the children at the centre. It was made abundantly clear to me when a seven-year-old boy climbed in my lap like a baby and sat there, letting me hold him, rock him, and sing to him for almost an hour. Seven-year-old boys in Malawi DON'T snuggle like that. But, this little boy had a deep-seated need, and he took the opportunity presented to him - one that, if I had been doing my usual "job" wouldn't have been available.

Memories are embedded in my heart, and since my camera broke down while on the trip, they're all I've got. Once I steal some photos from my team, I'll post them here. :)

The Tale of the Money Jar

A little while ago, I mentioned that I have a grammar kitty in my classroom. Any time that a child uses the incorrect form of a pronoun ("Me and Johnny went to the store...") or chooses "can" when they should've chosen "may" ("Can I go to the bathroom?"), they owe me 25-cents.

We've been keeping a running tally of the money because, as per my students' requests, at the end of the year a donation in their name will be made to Malawi Children's Mission. We were talking the other day, and I mentioned that if we raised $50, it will pay the school fee for a child at MCM for a whole year.

This morning, we decided to count the money. $43.75. Not too shabby, if you ask me (although, to be honest, the teacher in me is appalled at how many mistakes I've caught!). One of my boys walked to his wallet and pulled out $7.00.

"Let's pay for a child's education, Ms. Doe!! I don't need the ice cream I was going to spend this money on, anyway."

I. SERIOUSLY. LOVE. THIS. JOB.

The Storm

I'm a blessed woman. I have some amazing friends who ask me how I'm doing and then demand a real answer. None of this pansy-butt, "I'm fine" stuff (they'd just cock their heads and give me the "cut the crap" look), but the dirty, real, ugly, honest truth.

Kd is one of those friends. A few months ago, she asked me how I was doing, and my answer was, "I'm in that holding spot. I know there are storms brewing off the horizon, I know they're coming, but right now I'm in the sun. Sooooo...I'm soaking up everything I can - every moment, every deep breath, every joy, every laugh...because I know the storms are coming." She just nodded, squeezed my hand, and smiled. There's nothing to say - it just is.

Life has continued on since then - there is nothing we can do to stop the march of time. The storms brewing off the horizon have moved closer. Ever stand on the coast and watch a storm move in? That's where I'm at right now. The dark clouds are still a bit away, but I can feel the whip of the wind on my face - the wind that always comes before a gale - one that ushers in the dark, cold weather.

A few weeks ago, I helped to teach our church a new song, called "Always." (Oh, my dear readers - I sing in the band at church. I haven't mentioned that, have I? Oops.) In the song, there's a line that says, "I will not fear the war; I will not fear the storm; my help is on the way..." (*Feel the need to clarify - the theme of the song is that our Lord will not abandon us in our times of distress, and that His love endures "always." I just re-read that and it sounded very militant-cultist-like, and that is SOOOOOO not the type of church I attend!)

I had a hard time singing that line that day...and every time we've sung the song since. Remember that bit about feeling the wind on my face? That day is when I realized just what that wind signifies. It's not a gentle breeze of a summer's day. It's a harbinger.

It also reminded me of a journal entry from a long time ago. Like, 2003, long-ago, but the words I wrote then still ring true to me today. Maybe even moreso. (Background: a friend and I had been traveling through New Zealand, and we had finally finished the last of the "big travel" days. We had just arrived at my family's house in Christchurch.)

We drove down from Blenheim today. It’s a beautiful drive – when you’re not sick of traveling. The news said a Southeasterly’s moving up the coast…looks like it’ll be a cold and snowy Fourth of July evening. Just outside of Kaikoura the storm came into view. A huge wall of gray. It’s fascinating really, we’re still in the brilliant sunshine, yet we’re on a collision course with a horrible storm. One predicted to bring the coldest temperatures in 10 years. I could probably wax poetic about how this signifies life, and how we need to be ready for the inevitable trials that lie ahead, and…blah-blah-blah…

Truth is, as fascinating as the storm’s approach was, it was J's (my nephew’s) reaction to it that has stuck with me. We get into Christchurch, it’s windy, snowing, colder-than-cold, and the kid is so excited that the only thing holding him together is his skin. At first, I thought it was my arrival (after all, I’m the favorite “Auntie” and he hasn’t seen me in 16 months)…but…no. Truth is, he’s bursting because the storm means snow, and snow equals snowball fights. In fact, we get to the house, and I’m unloading all the gifties I’ve brought for him (everything from microwave Kettle Korn to the VeggieTales “Jonah” movie), and where is he? Bundled up, out back, singing and dancing in the midst of the howling wind and blowing snow.

He was a great visual of abundant life and trials. I often look at the stormy times in my life as the stretches when the joy and fun stop. The “good” of life is put on hold until this hard time has passed. I honestly do not think that’s how God designed it. I think He wants me to be in the midst of that storm ~ and all that entails: wind, cold, darkness…and yet, to still be able to sing and dance because I am joyously looking ahead to the snowball fights to come.

So, help me to dance, Lord. Even when the only music to be heard is that of the storm's howl.

I think I need to practice my dance moves.