Sometimes I wonder how many situations I've been in where I've been unkind to people. Sometimes I wonder about it, and then sometimes I actually THINK about it, and when I actually think about it, what I come up with can be quite depressing. Perhaps many of my Seaman friends reading this will remember the pain that May 25 holds for us - or maybe you won't, because I know in my brain, things seem to be fuzzy and kind of in a weird order. Maybe you have certain parts of your memory that are especially vivid and you don't want them to be, or maybe you have some that you've struggled to remember for three years and have only faded more. Many of my memories from May 25 have started to fade, or are completely gone. But what I do remember after three years: the Jimmy John's guys and the lady from the news station.
Three years ago yesterday, my life felt like one of those thousand piece puzzles that you just finished and is resting peacefully on your kitchen table. I felt like all of the things in my life made sense - I had my high school diploma, knew where I was going to college, knew what I wanted to do, and was excited about my future - a future still distant enough that I didn't need to be nervous for it.
Three years ago today, it felt like someone took that puzzle and dumped it, face down, and I watched the pieces scatter as a big wind picked up. The next two and a half years were spent picking up the pieces and figuring out where they went. I was at work when I got the phone call that Brenna had gone missing - but unable to leave, as the time passed, I felt more and more weary about the situation at hand. My phone continued to buzz from friends who were in the same situation - trapped at work and worried sick, wondering if anyone had any more information. I was able to leave work early and I joined hundreds of others as we walked up and down streets, searching through ditches, fields, and shrubbery, alternating between being sad, but then going back to talking about college because we were sure this wasn't real. By the late hours of the evening, hundreds of people had migrated slowly to the caution tape that had been posted where her glasses had been found on the side of the road. The feeling of hearing police yell into an abandoned building for my friend and seeing a helicopter swoop low over the field to search for her when she had sat the row behind me at graduation just days before is engrained deep into my brain, but also my heart.
I remember vividly getting the phone call from my mom where she told me that Brenna was gone. My phone was on it's last leg of battery by that time of night and there were surely close to 1000 people out searching - making it near impossible to stay near my parents. I was, quite literally, knocked to my knees and I only remember hitting the side of the truck that was parked next to where I was standing. I remember getting through the sea of people and the only two people on the planet I wanted to see were my parents, but it felt like it took hours to find them - when in reality it was probably only a few minutes. As we stood in the field that was filled with my best friends, I watched them, one by one, get similar calls from their own parents who would show up shortly after. Many staff from our school were out there and I saw my best friends fall sobbing and shaking in the street. The next morning, I woke up and it took all the energy I had to move myself to the couch. My mom came in and she made a comment how it was probably time I try to eat something - I truly admire her for her patience with me during that time of convincing and the car ride across town. I know 17 year olds can be unpleasant, but I know for a fact that day that I had long surpassed the grounds of 'unpleasant'.
Please note that I do not share this so that anyone has to relive it, or that I think these are important details three years later. What I do think matters, however, is the boldness of the situation compared to the seemingly small acts of kindness that follow it.
It wasn't until we walked into Jimmy John's that day until I realized that I was still wearing my pajama pants, hadn't combed my hair, and my eyes were still swollen with tears from the night before. The guys at Jimmy John's that day showed only genuine kindness - continuing to comment on the beautiful weather, asking about our plans for the weekend, and seeming to not notice that we were probably very unkind, and possibly very checked out. When my mom paid for our sandwiches, they made manual change and never touched the register. With her questioning look, he responded that the shop wasn't actually open - but they had bread ready and were happy to serve.
It is possible that them making our sandwiches outside the normal store hours meant nothing to them; they weren't intending to be especially kind, or maybe they were but it was only because the weather was gorgeous and they were in a good mood. Maybe they and seen the news. Maybe they guessed who we were, or maybe I had a Seaman shirt on. Maybe the pajamas and tear stained face gave it away. All I know is that they didn't have to, and they did.
Later that day, people flooded in and out of my house to make scrapbooks and watch the news together. Among those people was a woman from a local news station. I don't remember her name, or what news station she was from, or really anything else about her. What I do remember about her was her genuine care for our situation. We had been contacted by several other stations over the course of a few hours to be interviewed, and none of them struck me as anyone who cared about our hurt for more than anything but a good news story. What I liked about her was that she asked several times if I wanted her to leave, or get out of the kitchen, and she asked politely more than once if it was okay we be interviewed. When a few of us agreed, she patiently moved all of her equipment to the front steps per our requests to give us our privacy in case a breakdown occurred. Her questions revolved around our memories, giving us a chance to share the things we loved most about Brenna, not the case, the situation, or any opinions of things that would have made a better 'story'.
To the blonde woman from the news station who covered this story three years ago - thank you for your genuine care for my friends and me. Thank you for not pushing us, and truly caring to develop the story of my friend as a person and not just as a news story. I never thought that would be hard to find, until I was in that situation, and I realize we were very lucky.
Over the course of that summer, it was easy to see hundreds of cars throughout the day with the letters "WWBD" printed in the back - the letters we had picked a day before her funeral after finding out the the Phelps had decided to protest. the phrase "What Would Brenna Do" became a sign to be printed on cars, among other things, to show a member of our family, and someone that you could catch a smile with in a parking lot - knowing that you had shared the same pain only a few weeks before. I now know how important the example set by the Jimmy Johns guys and the lady from the news station really was - Brenna wasn't a miracle worker, barely had her high school diploma, but she definitely would have made someone's lunch when having the ability. She definitely would have gone out of her way to treat them with kindness. And she definitely would have taken extra and gentle care for their situation, even if she didn't understand it.
People always say that the first year of a loss was the hardest. If you prove to yourself that you do everything once, then surely you can do it again. For us, though, the first year, or at least the first nine months, just meant getting past the legal side - It was not until January of 2013 when it was truly 'over' and I came home from work that day to read an article on CJ Online that tore me to pieces - but I could also breathe a sigh of relief because there would be no more court dates or hearings - it was finally over. Additionally, when the grief journey came to an abrupt halt in October with the loss of our sweet Luke, I felt like raising the white flag with God. The sweet boy who had won my heart with his life sized imagination and our shared love of Starburst jelly beans was suddenly gone - two people who loved life with their whole hearts - suddenly gone in five months of each other. God, where are you in this? I knew this meant that our 'one year clock' was potentially starting over - but this time, I didn't have much confidence in it's ability to keep ticking.
I wish I would have known in those really terrible first months with the court dates, another funeral, and days when seeing a K-State rowing shirt on campus nearly ruined my day that the best really was yet to come. I wish I would have known that grief would not always have such a stronghold on my life, and that I would eventually make it to the other side and would eventually lead a bible study, find the best group of friends I'd ever had, and be a part of a mission team to Hong Kong the summer after my sophomore year of college where I met a family who continues to impact on my life and journey with Christ. I wish I would have known that helping write an obituary in a yearbook for my friend would have helped fuel my love for writing three years later. I wish I would have known that the Jimmy John's guys and the lady from the news had it right all along.
To the guys at Jimmy John's that day, and to the lady from the news station who covered our story - Whether it be considered a 'random act of kindness', just going out of your way to make an extra sandwich when you didn't have to, just the way you did your job, or true care for a hurting group or kids, I still appreciate that three years later. I know for a fact that the actions of complete strangers got my day started off on the right foot - the first day on a very long road of emotionally draining days. Your kindness was the very first of many footprints of the angels in my path that has helped me accomplish so many things that I could have never, ever done on my own. To the guys at Jimmy John's and the lady from the news- thanks for starting out that journey with a perfect example of how to make it through. Nothing big, nothing hard, but definitely something important.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
To The Nostalgic High School Senior
I remember my last week of high school very vividly - starting Monday morning thinking about how this was probably the last time my mom would ever make my lunch, and how it would be exactly how I liked it, before I started having to eat the 'dreaded' dorm food, before living in a room the size of a coat closet, and before sharing a bathroom with 40 other girls. I remember going to my senior breakfast where we 'tailgated school' and played frisbee in the parking lot, my last day of dance team where I got to hand down my treasured job of co-captain and prayer leader before each game. I remember riding my bike to school with 30 or so other seniors on my last day, and crying my way through the halls as I found each individual teacher to get my infamous 'yellow sheet' signed stating that I had no unreturned books, missing assignments, or unresolved squabbles and was good to go for Sunday at 4:00.
I remember driving home from my last graduation party on Sunday night around 2:00 and seeing the sign at Mother Theresa Catholic Church that simply read 'Congrats to the Grads" - it was dimly lit and one of the letters was crooked, but as I finished my drive home, I realized how incredibly content I felt with my life at that very moment. That week I started working for the summer at my favorite job - not too concerned about college, mostly worried about what that evening or weekends' plans were. But I remember, as August crept closer, feeling more nervous. What would happen to the family that I had been apart of for 13 years? Would it feel different to go home again? Would I still be close to my sister? I had been saying that I was 'ready to move on' for months, but what if I didn't like college?
To the nostalgic high school senior; I promise it will all work out. That dorm room you are about to move into seems small now, but within a few days it will seem like the homiest place in the world. That bathroom may seem scary, but I promise you will be forced to bond with those other girls by brushing your teeth in the morning together or trying to figure out why there's a red velvet cake on the floor in the bathroom (yes, that happened). You will meet your RA and they will be your 'mom away from mom' when you need them, but your real mom will still always your number one phone call away, and trust me, you will utilize that. You will learn to appreciate your car when you have to park it three miles away from the dorm and that run to the store is unavoidable at 2 a.m. because you NEED Chinese (and it's probably pouring down rain). You'll learn how little time it actually takes you to get ready in the morning when you've been up since two studying (or listening to your roommate talk about her date last weekend)
To the nostalgic high school senior, your high school will always hold a special place in your heart, and trust me, nothing is as special as reuniting with your high school friends and catching up on significant others, who has changed their major the most, and who hasn't actually ATTENDED their sociology class this semester. It will feel different to go home, but it will feel like the most comforting thing in the world - after being away for a few weeks, Betty Crocker couldn't make anything as good as your mom can and suddenly YOU are the one annoying your younger sibling because you want to spend time with THEM.
To the nostalgic high school senior, suddenly, your college friends become a part of your family. When you run out of gas, suddenly they are a lot closer than your parents. The first time you really, really mess up anything on your own, they are the ones you run to. And when the fire alarms go off every hour and a half because of a leaky pipe during finals week, THEY are the ones who truly understand your pain.
To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise you that the best part about college is choosing your own niche. Choosing the people you hang out with, the classes you take, the way you spend your weekends. Your freedom dictates your happiness and success, and you have the opportunity to choose whether or not you will 'like college.' I promise you that your professors are nothing like the English version of Professor McGonnagal.
As I'm writing this post, I'm sitting on the floor of the library, drowning in my own physics and neuroscience notes. I have dishes from dinner three hours ago that need to be taken home and washed, a cup of sweet tea that's getting me through tonight, and a Royals game to watch with some friends that I'm pretty excited about later. College is a little less predictable than high school, we just got kicked out of the library for an hour because of a 'leak' (whatever that means) with nothing but our phones. But, hey, memories, right?
To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise it will be okay. You will make friends, some for keeps and some not so much. You will make grades, some for keeps and some you could have done better. But I promise you that the memories, whether it be a college game or a Chinese food run at 2 a.m., will be well, well worth the nerves.
I remember driving home from my last graduation party on Sunday night around 2:00 and seeing the sign at Mother Theresa Catholic Church that simply read 'Congrats to the Grads" - it was dimly lit and one of the letters was crooked, but as I finished my drive home, I realized how incredibly content I felt with my life at that very moment. That week I started working for the summer at my favorite job - not too concerned about college, mostly worried about what that evening or weekends' plans were. But I remember, as August crept closer, feeling more nervous. What would happen to the family that I had been apart of for 13 years? Would it feel different to go home again? Would I still be close to my sister? I had been saying that I was 'ready to move on' for months, but what if I didn't like college?
To the nostalgic high school senior; I promise it will all work out. That dorm room you are about to move into seems small now, but within a few days it will seem like the homiest place in the world. That bathroom may seem scary, but I promise you will be forced to bond with those other girls by brushing your teeth in the morning together or trying to figure out why there's a red velvet cake on the floor in the bathroom (yes, that happened). You will meet your RA and they will be your 'mom away from mom' when you need them, but your real mom will still always your number one phone call away, and trust me, you will utilize that. You will learn to appreciate your car when you have to park it three miles away from the dorm and that run to the store is unavoidable at 2 a.m. because you NEED Chinese (and it's probably pouring down rain). You'll learn how little time it actually takes you to get ready in the morning when you've been up since two studying (or listening to your roommate talk about her date last weekend)
To the nostalgic high school senior, your high school will always hold a special place in your heart, and trust me, nothing is as special as reuniting with your high school friends and catching up on significant others, who has changed their major the most, and who hasn't actually ATTENDED their sociology class this semester. It will feel different to go home, but it will feel like the most comforting thing in the world - after being away for a few weeks, Betty Crocker couldn't make anything as good as your mom can and suddenly YOU are the one annoying your younger sibling because you want to spend time with THEM.
To the nostalgic high school senior, suddenly, your college friends become a part of your family. When you run out of gas, suddenly they are a lot closer than your parents. The first time you really, really mess up anything on your own, they are the ones you run to. And when the fire alarms go off every hour and a half because of a leaky pipe during finals week, THEY are the ones who truly understand your pain.
To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise you that the best part about college is choosing your own niche. Choosing the people you hang out with, the classes you take, the way you spend your weekends. Your freedom dictates your happiness and success, and you have the opportunity to choose whether or not you will 'like college.' I promise you that your professors are nothing like the English version of Professor McGonnagal.
As I'm writing this post, I'm sitting on the floor of the library, drowning in my own physics and neuroscience notes. I have dishes from dinner three hours ago that need to be taken home and washed, a cup of sweet tea that's getting me through tonight, and a Royals game to watch with some friends that I'm pretty excited about later. College is a little less predictable than high school, we just got kicked out of the library for an hour because of a 'leak' (whatever that means) with nothing but our phones. But, hey, memories, right?
To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise it will be okay. You will make friends, some for keeps and some not so much. You will make grades, some for keeps and some you could have done better. But I promise you that the memories, whether it be a college game or a Chinese food run at 2 a.m., will be well, well worth the nerves.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
To my Favorite Guardian Angel - Happy 21st Birthday, Brenna
I think that of all the days in the world after someone dies - the anniversary of that day, the holidays without them, the everyday things that make you think of them - birthdays are definitely the toughest. Today would have been Brenna's 21st birthday - the last of the milestone birthdays we would have all celebrated together.
This day usually falls each year right around the first thunderstorm, when the trees are changing, and as the weather is finally starting to warm up. (emphasis on finally) The first year, I remember thinking a lot of "Will this ever go away? Will it stop being the first thing on my mind in the morning? Will I stop being reminded of it every time I see the Lion King or Tangled, or hear any words associated with loss, or drive anywhere in Topeka, or see a K-State rowing shirt on campus? - everything seemed to remind me of her.
There was a time in life when I wondered if we would attempt to do something in her honor for her birthday, but it hasn't happened. We've now all moved on to college and her day falls in the middle of the most challenging part of the semester. I made it to the cemetery once over Memorial Weekend the year after she died with a few friends, but otherwise, I know there's several people who have never been out to see her, and I usually just drop by on my way back to school. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn through this process was that everyone grieves differently - and for us, 'different' meant 'not together.'
The trickiest concept to grasp, I think, is that loss is the tough part - not death. It is days when you would be celebrating (like their 21st birthday) that hit you like a ton of bricks. It is getting used to the fact that they are not there - and sometimes, that takes a lot longer than you 'think' it should - and the world is still spinning. It is seeing the articles that catch you off guard on Facebook, like the ones I saw today, written by people so very far away who never heard her positive and yet demanding requests to take a picture, or heard her contagious laugh, write about their thoughts on the death penalty.
Over time, it gets easier though - her birthday tends to resurface all the old pictures that I forgot about - some memories that have even left my mind. That night at the lake, the time we went on a scavenger hunt and managed to fit six people in a porta potty, and even pictures at events that had no reason for photos - but knowing her, the camera was always there. I've never been so thankful for a friend who required so many pictures at so many annoying times. My favorite picture of Brenna and I was taken seconds before I walked on the basketball court for a half time routine during a Hayden game. I was thinking, 'uh, Bren, I kinda gotta be somewhere?' and she kept saying 'no, it'll just be a quick second!' And I'm so glad she was so insistent.
My favorite memories of Brenna may be that time that someone unintentionally called her fat in eighth grade English (it seriously was unintentional) and she promptly slapped him in the face with a binder. Brenna got a high five from our teacher and the boy got sent out in the hall for insulting a girl. Later in eighth grade, she was over for New Year's, and my mom offered her some Sparkling Cider, to which Brenna told my mom that she didn't drink, not realizing it wasn't real. (The girl knew how to stick to her values and I always admired her for that) I think our whole class of 150 knew when she got a discipline sheet and did it in the bathroom so her parents wouldn't find out (we all knew those weren't fair or a good form of punishment anyway, right?) She also tagged my car junior year (when some other friends found out she had never been tagging) ... in the rain... to wish me luck on the ACT. She was a true friend - through thick and thin. :)
This weekend I went home for Easter and on Sunday night went up to the high school to run the track - a place I hadn't been in several months. There was a long time after Brenna died when I didn't like going to the high school. The familiarity of it used to make me sad - knowing that for future reunions or really anytime we get together, there would always be a hole, and not just because she already had earthly plans. I would think of our desks pushed together in seminar to 'do math homework' - or mostly just laugh and giggle and get ourselves in trouble. I thought of her familiar face always sitting front row of the band section at the basketball games and it made her easy to pick out while I danced at half time - the comfort of knowing that even if I messed up, she would still think I was great just because I could spin in circles without falling over.
If I could ask her anything today - just have a five minute conversation with her - it would be How? How did you do it? The positive attitude, the consistent shining of the light of Christ, the constant happiness, that huge smile. How can I be like you? When we went in the Monday after she died to work on the yearbook and begin putting together a memorial page/article for her, that how question sat in my heart like a huge weight. How were we supposed to contain her in one page? Most of the school knew her, so how were we supposed to portray the person she was to each of them? And for those who didn't - what could we possibly say in one page? Pastor Cogswell made the gentle suggestion at her funeral that the letters on our cars should not be What Would Brenna Do, but instead, What Would Brenna Want?
Perhaps I should work so hard to live a life like that - where I could not be fit on a page, not because I am important, or well known, but because the investment in others stretches far beyond what I can see.
Happy 21st, Brenna - you are loved more than you could have ever known.
This day usually falls each year right around the first thunderstorm, when the trees are changing, and as the weather is finally starting to warm up. (emphasis on finally) The first year, I remember thinking a lot of "Will this ever go away? Will it stop being the first thing on my mind in the morning? Will I stop being reminded of it every time I see the Lion King or Tangled, or hear any words associated with loss, or drive anywhere in Topeka, or see a K-State rowing shirt on campus? - everything seemed to remind me of her.
There was a time in life when I wondered if we would attempt to do something in her honor for her birthday, but it hasn't happened. We've now all moved on to college and her day falls in the middle of the most challenging part of the semester. I made it to the cemetery once over Memorial Weekend the year after she died with a few friends, but otherwise, I know there's several people who have never been out to see her, and I usually just drop by on my way back to school. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn through this process was that everyone grieves differently - and for us, 'different' meant 'not together.'
The trickiest concept to grasp, I think, is that loss is the tough part - not death. It is days when you would be celebrating (like their 21st birthday) that hit you like a ton of bricks. It is getting used to the fact that they are not there - and sometimes, that takes a lot longer than you 'think' it should - and the world is still spinning. It is seeing the articles that catch you off guard on Facebook, like the ones I saw today, written by people so very far away who never heard her positive and yet demanding requests to take a picture, or heard her contagious laugh, write about their thoughts on the death penalty.
Over time, it gets easier though - her birthday tends to resurface all the old pictures that I forgot about - some memories that have even left my mind. That night at the lake, the time we went on a scavenger hunt and managed to fit six people in a porta potty, and even pictures at events that had no reason for photos - but knowing her, the camera was always there. I've never been so thankful for a friend who required so many pictures at so many annoying times. My favorite picture of Brenna and I was taken seconds before I walked on the basketball court for a half time routine during a Hayden game. I was thinking, 'uh, Bren, I kinda gotta be somewhere?' and she kept saying 'no, it'll just be a quick second!' And I'm so glad she was so insistent.
My favorite memories of Brenna may be that time that someone unintentionally called her fat in eighth grade English (it seriously was unintentional) and she promptly slapped him in the face with a binder. Brenna got a high five from our teacher and the boy got sent out in the hall for insulting a girl. Later in eighth grade, she was over for New Year's, and my mom offered her some Sparkling Cider, to which Brenna told my mom that she didn't drink, not realizing it wasn't real. (The girl knew how to stick to her values and I always admired her for that) I think our whole class of 150 knew when she got a discipline sheet and did it in the bathroom so her parents wouldn't find out (we all knew those weren't fair or a good form of punishment anyway, right?) She also tagged my car junior year (when some other friends found out she had never been tagging) ... in the rain... to wish me luck on the ACT. She was a true friend - through thick and thin. :)
This weekend I went home for Easter and on Sunday night went up to the high school to run the track - a place I hadn't been in several months. There was a long time after Brenna died when I didn't like going to the high school. The familiarity of it used to make me sad - knowing that for future reunions or really anytime we get together, there would always be a hole, and not just because she already had earthly plans. I would think of our desks pushed together in seminar to 'do math homework' - or mostly just laugh and giggle and get ourselves in trouble. I thought of her familiar face always sitting front row of the band section at the basketball games and it made her easy to pick out while I danced at half time - the comfort of knowing that even if I messed up, she would still think I was great just because I could spin in circles without falling over.
If I could ask her anything today - just have a five minute conversation with her - it would be How? How did you do it? The positive attitude, the consistent shining of the light of Christ, the constant happiness, that huge smile. How can I be like you? When we went in the Monday after she died to work on the yearbook and begin putting together a memorial page/article for her, that how question sat in my heart like a huge weight. How were we supposed to contain her in one page? Most of the school knew her, so how were we supposed to portray the person she was to each of them? And for those who didn't - what could we possibly say in one page? Pastor Cogswell made the gentle suggestion at her funeral that the letters on our cars should not be What Would Brenna Do, but instead, What Would Brenna Want?
Perhaps I should work so hard to live a life like that - where I could not be fit on a page, not because I am important, or well known, but because the investment in others stretches far beyond what I can see.
Happy 21st, Brenna - you are loved more than you could have ever known.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
A true re[treat] - To my Christian Challenge family
This week, I had the privilege of taking a true 'week off' in Buena Vista, Colorado to go to a retreat with my ministry from K-State. Although I think I could sleep for the next ten weeks and not be rested from that, and my duffel bag smells like a combination of sweat and farm animals, the reflection that has come from the last week has made me feel very, very blessed to find the family that I did.
We started our week with three of our four cars leaving Manhattan mid afternoon on Friday.. and making less than an hour before Emma blew a tire. We stopped in Salina for a new one, and thankfully, were back on the road after relatively short wait at the tire center at Wal-Mart. I sincerely could not have been more thankful for Isaac, Ben, and Ryan's knowledge and ability to get us back on the road quickly. Soon, we were back on the road, stopping for dinner in Hays, and arriving at our hotel in Denver around 11 to unpack and send the boys to their dwelling for the weekend at Jeremy's sister's apartment.
Five o'clock came incredibly early the next morning as we met at the apartment where the boys were staying to eat breakfast and pack the cars to go to Loveland to ski. Breakfast sandwiches flew across the room as they came out of the microwave, hitting someone in the head occasionally to wake them up. Orange Juice was passed around, and we soon packed the car and headed for Loveland - only stopping once when the cooler in Jared's truck tipped over and gave a miniature Niagara Falls affect out of the bed. I had never been skiing before and could feel myself getting more nervous as the traffic got heavier and more and more cars had skis or boards on top of them.
As I got my boots and skis on, and sort of waddled and slid towards the lift on the bunny slopes. Snow, coats, and bundling up are not my forte and I felt beyond out of place. To put it lightly, skiing was not my thing, and I didn't do much of it that afternoon. My friends were more than patient with me during that morning as I learned how to move, and mostly learned by falling. They helped me up each time and never mentioned (at least in front of me) that I was clearly the rookie of the team - but made sure that I was never somewhere where I shouldn't be by myself. That night we went back to the hotel, all got through the shower, and drove to the apartment where the boys were staying and had already put lasagna in the oven ready for dinner. We all crammed into the living room, decorated with Christmas lights and not made for more than five people, trying to find a position comfortable to sit in after a day of skiing. The room soon filled with the smell of warm food from the kitchen (I felt like my body was never going to fully warm up) and one of the guys stopped pray and two pans of lasagna, a salad, a a bowl of corn were gone in a matter of minutes.
When we arrived at Frontier Ranch in the late afternoon on Sunday night, I was flooded with memories from my first time there. As Kaley and I unpacked and waited for the rest of our group, I thought about all the things I learned last year - I have over ten pages of notes in my journal, but I learned a lot about community too, and how lucky I was to find Christian Challenge.
When I came to K-State, I first started at a different ministry ... that I'm really not sure I would call a ministry, if I had to define it now. I definitely was not accepted for who I was and who I wanted to be, and they questioned my life and priorities - the few things in my life that I felt like made sense at that time. Looking back, I feel like I got out just in time, but then still felt like I was one person roaming around a campus of 25,000. I was working through the loss of one friend to murder and a family friend to sickness, and I consistently wondered, who would take me and all this baggage? In January, a friend invited me to Christian Challenge, and the first time I went I knew I found my answer.
Between January of my freshman year and March of my sophomore year, I found friends in Challenge and even got up the nerve to join a bible study. Somehow, I found that I had the desire to go to Colorado for their annual retreat over spring break, something way out of my comfort zone, and I ended up going only knowing my life group leader and was blessed to get to know Hannah, another girl in my life group, as she became one of my best friends over the next few months. After Summit, I applied to lead a life group (looking back I'm really not sure what my thought process other than that it was God directing my feet each day to find the application, fill it out, and turn it in - I certainly lacked the desire and confidence) - and now, I find myself completely at home with Christian Challenge.
While at Summit and with my Challenge family, I find few places on this earth where I'm more comfortable. At Summit one of my favorite things is watching people dance into the dining hall and having to scream to introduce myself at whoever happens to be sitting at my table, which is okay, because they're family anyway. I love that no matter what outfit you're wearing, regardless of how hideous it is by society's standards, if it involves chacos or flannel, it's okay. I love worshipping with 300 of my closest friends, and then turning around and playing the most violent and bruise worthy game of volleyball I've ever played in my life. I love the way that this family is so eager to help, encourage, and love one another in any way possible.
I really can't thank my Challenge family enough for their love over the past two years - I already know that when I graduate in a year, Challenge will be what I miss the most. I've loved getting to know people on such a true and deep level. This year when I started leading a bible study and I was put onto a ministry team (a group of other leaders who meet with a staff member once a week to have an opportunity to connect, share, and work together to discuss how leading is going.) I felt incredibly undeserved of the company I found myself in. By mid-year, we were in the midst of sharing our 'stories' with each other and I found myself telling my 'story' of the first time about losing a friend to murder, a close family friend five months later, and moving to college and trying to pick up the pieces of my life. My friends sat patiently around the room, some with tears in their eyes, as they waited for me to finish - and then they began to ask questions that I realized I had been needing to answer for months.
This year as I went back to Summit, completely comfortable with being away from home, I loved being surrounded by 'my people'. The people who fully consider bananagrams and Nertz olympic games, who wear Chacos in the snow, who 'dance' for things to get them back from the lost and found. - The people who I know will love me and accept me for whatever life brings - but challenge me to continue to be better every day, and who would no less than expect me to do the same for them.
We started our week with three of our four cars leaving Manhattan mid afternoon on Friday.. and making less than an hour before Emma blew a tire. We stopped in Salina for a new one, and thankfully, were back on the road after relatively short wait at the tire center at Wal-Mart. I sincerely could not have been more thankful for Isaac, Ben, and Ryan's knowledge and ability to get us back on the road quickly. Soon, we were back on the road, stopping for dinner in Hays, and arriving at our hotel in Denver around 11 to unpack and send the boys to their dwelling for the weekend at Jeremy's sister's apartment.
Five o'clock came incredibly early the next morning as we met at the apartment where the boys were staying to eat breakfast and pack the cars to go to Loveland to ski. Breakfast sandwiches flew across the room as they came out of the microwave, hitting someone in the head occasionally to wake them up. Orange Juice was passed around, and we soon packed the car and headed for Loveland - only stopping once when the cooler in Jared's truck tipped over and gave a miniature Niagara Falls affect out of the bed. I had never been skiing before and could feel myself getting more nervous as the traffic got heavier and more and more cars had skis or boards on top of them.
As I got my boots and skis on, and sort of waddled and slid towards the lift on the bunny slopes. Snow, coats, and bundling up are not my forte and I felt beyond out of place. To put it lightly, skiing was not my thing, and I didn't do much of it that afternoon. My friends were more than patient with me during that morning as I learned how to move, and mostly learned by falling. They helped me up each time and never mentioned (at least in front of me) that I was clearly the rookie of the team - but made sure that I was never somewhere where I shouldn't be by myself. That night we went back to the hotel, all got through the shower, and drove to the apartment where the boys were staying and had already put lasagna in the oven ready for dinner. We all crammed into the living room, decorated with Christmas lights and not made for more than five people, trying to find a position comfortable to sit in after a day of skiing. The room soon filled with the smell of warm food from the kitchen (I felt like my body was never going to fully warm up) and one of the guys stopped pray and two pans of lasagna, a salad, a a bowl of corn were gone in a matter of minutes.
When we arrived at Frontier Ranch in the late afternoon on Sunday night, I was flooded with memories from my first time there. As Kaley and I unpacked and waited for the rest of our group, I thought about all the things I learned last year - I have over ten pages of notes in my journal, but I learned a lot about community too, and how lucky I was to find Christian Challenge.
When I came to K-State, I first started at a different ministry ... that I'm really not sure I would call a ministry, if I had to define it now. I definitely was not accepted for who I was and who I wanted to be, and they questioned my life and priorities - the few things in my life that I felt like made sense at that time. Looking back, I feel like I got out just in time, but then still felt like I was one person roaming around a campus of 25,000. I was working through the loss of one friend to murder and a family friend to sickness, and I consistently wondered, who would take me and all this baggage? In January, a friend invited me to Christian Challenge, and the first time I went I knew I found my answer.
Between January of my freshman year and March of my sophomore year, I found friends in Challenge and even got up the nerve to join a bible study. Somehow, I found that I had the desire to go to Colorado for their annual retreat over spring break, something way out of my comfort zone, and I ended up going only knowing my life group leader and was blessed to get to know Hannah, another girl in my life group, as she became one of my best friends over the next few months. After Summit, I applied to lead a life group (looking back I'm really not sure what my thought process other than that it was God directing my feet each day to find the application, fill it out, and turn it in - I certainly lacked the desire and confidence) - and now, I find myself completely at home with Christian Challenge.
While at Summit and with my Challenge family, I find few places on this earth where I'm more comfortable. At Summit one of my favorite things is watching people dance into the dining hall and having to scream to introduce myself at whoever happens to be sitting at my table, which is okay, because they're family anyway. I love that no matter what outfit you're wearing, regardless of how hideous it is by society's standards, if it involves chacos or flannel, it's okay. I love worshipping with 300 of my closest friends, and then turning around and playing the most violent and bruise worthy game of volleyball I've ever played in my life. I love the way that this family is so eager to help, encourage, and love one another in any way possible.
I really can't thank my Challenge family enough for their love over the past two years - I already know that when I graduate in a year, Challenge will be what I miss the most. I've loved getting to know people on such a true and deep level. This year when I started leading a bible study and I was put onto a ministry team (a group of other leaders who meet with a staff member once a week to have an opportunity to connect, share, and work together to discuss how leading is going.) I felt incredibly undeserved of the company I found myself in. By mid-year, we were in the midst of sharing our 'stories' with each other and I found myself telling my 'story' of the first time about losing a friend to murder, a close family friend five months later, and moving to college and trying to pick up the pieces of my life. My friends sat patiently around the room, some with tears in their eyes, as they waited for me to finish - and then they began to ask questions that I realized I had been needing to answer for months.
This year as I went back to Summit, completely comfortable with being away from home, I loved being surrounded by 'my people'. The people who fully consider bananagrams and Nertz olympic games, who wear Chacos in the snow, who 'dance' for things to get them back from the lost and found. - The people who I know will love me and accept me for whatever life brings - but challenge me to continue to be better every day, and who would no less than expect me to do the same for them.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Joy in Waiting
Those of you who know me know how much I struggle with winter. Every year, too, it seems like we get a tease in January - several days that almost hit 70 degrees, and every year, I get my hopes up. It usually doesn't even start snowing until after Christmas, and it is around this time every year that I have to say "God, you are testing my patience. I cannot handle one more snowflake, one more patch of ice, one more day of carrying kleenexes to class because this weather makes my nose run. I. Am. Sick. Of. Waiting."
This winter, or at least the first few months of 2015, have been a rather difficult one for my family. We lost my uncle just a few days into January and took an unplanned trip halfway across the country to see our family. It seemed like we had only just gotten home and semi-adjusted to the real world again when we lost our treasured family pet of 16 years, meaning there was no more warm laps in the evening, hearing the subtle sharpening of claws at 5 a.m. when he was ready to go outside in the morning, or him following my sister and I aimlessly around the house begging for our attention. Finally, last week, a dear friend of my mom's went home after battling cancer for over a decade. I came home on Thursday night for the funeral on Friday, trying to squeeze in homework when I could, but also wanting nothing more than to just be with my own family.
Friday morning we sat down in the church, the only noises to be heard were the shuffling of coats and scarves being removed and the occasional, louder, blowing of a nose. Although I know there's not much you can do about it, I've always hated that part about funerals. A few minutes after we got there, a man walked up to the people sitting in front of us. He got a big smile on his face as he said "Hey! Mind if I join you here?" The man and his wife willingly scooted their coats and belongings over to make room - and I thought 'this guy has it right - shouldn't we all have such a joyful attitude for our sister in Christ?'
My friend Natalie said it the best when she described how difficult it is to be in your twenties. I really only just got here, but for the first time, my decisions and responsibilities hold actual weight. I enroll for my senior year of college this week, and as post-graduation plans creep up on me, I can't help but think about how for the first time in my life, my those ideas, goals, and dreams and are truly on ME to be carried out. If I don't get into graduate school, it is on me to find a plan B and no one else. But so much of my life right now also feels like it's out of my control. After this winter, I often wonder, do I have control over anything?
Our message at church over the last three weeks has been about service - what we are called to do, do often and do well. I often find myself slipping into the mindset of "once I graduate from K-State..." or "Once I have a job..." but I know that's exactly the opposite of what God wants - He wants me serving in my waiting - whether I feel 'in control' or not. He wants me to be like the man I heard at the funeral - alongside my brothers and sisters in Christ in the good, the bad, and the waiting. Although I often think of it as waiting for that 'next thing', He wants me serving while I wait for that eternal "something better."
One piece from our message in church this morning that stuck with me was that "we are called to serve competently" - the idea that yes, we are called to serve, but we are called to do it well using the gifts we already have. That can both be scary and comforting - scary because I know that God knows what I do well, and there's no hiding from Him - but comforting knowing that things I'm good at are usually things I enjoy, and, quite frankly, I would rather serve doing something I'm good at than doing something in an area in which I have no skillset whatsoever.
On Friday when I made my visit to my daycare kids and I heard the voice from the bathroom "Emmy, will you please come wipe me?" followed by the requests for help because she couldn't reach the soap, or the faucet, and we were out of paper towels. I hadn't felt that competent in months. Although recently I have doubted (more than once) my abilities to comfort those around me who grieve, and my post-graduation plans are sneaking up on me with an entirely new set of fears, I am content with knowing that for the time being, if God wants me to do nothing more than help my three year olds reach the sink, I would be more than happy to do so.
This winter, or at least the first few months of 2015, have been a rather difficult one for my family. We lost my uncle just a few days into January and took an unplanned trip halfway across the country to see our family. It seemed like we had only just gotten home and semi-adjusted to the real world again when we lost our treasured family pet of 16 years, meaning there was no more warm laps in the evening, hearing the subtle sharpening of claws at 5 a.m. when he was ready to go outside in the morning, or him following my sister and I aimlessly around the house begging for our attention. Finally, last week, a dear friend of my mom's went home after battling cancer for over a decade. I came home on Thursday night for the funeral on Friday, trying to squeeze in homework when I could, but also wanting nothing more than to just be with my own family.
Friday morning we sat down in the church, the only noises to be heard were the shuffling of coats and scarves being removed and the occasional, louder, blowing of a nose. Although I know there's not much you can do about it, I've always hated that part about funerals. A few minutes after we got there, a man walked up to the people sitting in front of us. He got a big smile on his face as he said "Hey! Mind if I join you here?" The man and his wife willingly scooted their coats and belongings over to make room - and I thought 'this guy has it right - shouldn't we all have such a joyful attitude for our sister in Christ?'
My friend Natalie said it the best when she described how difficult it is to be in your twenties. I really only just got here, but for the first time, my decisions and responsibilities hold actual weight. I enroll for my senior year of college this week, and as post-graduation plans creep up on me, I can't help but think about how for the first time in my life, my those ideas, goals, and dreams and are truly on ME to be carried out. If I don't get into graduate school, it is on me to find a plan B and no one else. But so much of my life right now also feels like it's out of my control. After this winter, I often wonder, do I have control over anything?
Our message at church over the last three weeks has been about service - what we are called to do, do often and do well. I often find myself slipping into the mindset of "once I graduate from K-State..." or "Once I have a job..." but I know that's exactly the opposite of what God wants - He wants me serving in my waiting - whether I feel 'in control' or not. He wants me to be like the man I heard at the funeral - alongside my brothers and sisters in Christ in the good, the bad, and the waiting. Although I often think of it as waiting for that 'next thing', He wants me serving while I wait for that eternal "something better."
One piece from our message in church this morning that stuck with me was that "we are called to serve competently" - the idea that yes, we are called to serve, but we are called to do it well using the gifts we already have. That can both be scary and comforting - scary because I know that God knows what I do well, and there's no hiding from Him - but comforting knowing that things I'm good at are usually things I enjoy, and, quite frankly, I would rather serve doing something I'm good at than doing something in an area in which I have no skillset whatsoever.
On Friday when I made my visit to my daycare kids and I heard the voice from the bathroom "Emmy, will you please come wipe me?" followed by the requests for help because she couldn't reach the soap, or the faucet, and we were out of paper towels. I hadn't felt that competent in months. Although recently I have doubted (more than once) my abilities to comfort those around me who grieve, and my post-graduation plans are sneaking up on me with an entirely new set of fears, I am content with knowing that for the time being, if God wants me to do nothing more than help my three year olds reach the sink, I would be more than happy to do so.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
How I Know There's Ice Cream In Heaven
This past week, I was reminded again how quickly life can change. I'm starting this post from Virginia, hundreds of miles away from my home, and a place I never expected to be this week. My plans for this week included working part time, lunch with a friend, and possibly driving up to Snow Creek to ski. Monday night, however, we got a phone call that made that all disappear.
My mom answered the phone last Monday night with the news that her uncle had collapsed and was without a pulse. We had been watching Full House and we sat with the TV on silent as we waited for another phone call to update us. Turning the TV up didn't seem right, but turning it off didn't either - almost like we were frozen in time.
Two days later, early Wednesday morning, we were sitting in KCI waiting to board at 6:45 a.m. headed towards Dulles to get to a grieving family - a family we hadn't seen in over a year. After two plane rides, one layover, and eight long hours, we arrived at a household full of food and a teary eyed family. I have flown so many times in my life - at least once a year for various trips we had taken as a family, but I had never flown in the winter, and Mother Nature didn't hesitate to remind me that this trip was vastly different from those before it. Walking down a jetway in single digit temperatures, not seeing the sunshine in more than a week, and having to wait on them to 'de-ice the wings' (yeah, sounds really comforting, right) gave us consistent reminders of where we were going.
The two deaths that I had the best memory of were both under the age of 18 and people that I was close to - I remembered the seemingly unbearable pain that comes with dealing with each separate aspect of loss, and I knew I wasn't ready to watch my family go through it. I wasn't sure how to help, how to act, or how to be. Little did I know, it would mostly be them teaching me.
I'm now sitting back in Kansas finishing this post. 1100 miles away from the family I spent all week with, realizing that although I still have a week before going back to school, my family goes back to the 'real world' tomorrow morning. Although I knew that arriving in Virginia would be hard, and dealing with each of the things that came with the week would be hard, I guess I didn't think about the fact that we had to go home eventually. As I'm sitting here reflecting on the whirlwind of the last week, I don't think I've ever been more thankful for my family and all the things they've taught me.
I'm thankful for a family who made having 30 people in one house for an entire week enjoyable. I'm thankful for the friends and neighbors who dropped off plate after plate of food, (the little kids - and maybe Chris and Eric too - would put their two cents in for the plate of chicken nuggets that came that was roughly the size of my bed) so we never had to worry about how to feed such a number of people at such odd times of day. I'm thankful for my mom, my aunt, and their cousins, who work so well together, read each other, and kept the house running this week - a true example of servanthood. I'm thankful for my younger cousins, whose consistent [high] energy level, curious questions, and genuine giggles kept the house going. I'm thankful for Josh (pausing for the smiles of my family reading this), the staff member from the funeral home who was assigned to our family, and who's genuine heart really helped our family - when we needed him, he always seemed to be there, whether we were looking for our coats, a kleenex, or a TV for the younger kids to watch - but when we needed our space, he seemed to disappear into the woodwork. Phrases of "I just love Josh." would be heard through the house for days to come.
Although I was definitely not excited to go and endure such a tough week, (who would be?) coming home was definitely the hardest part. The freezing temperatures and blowing snow only made our tearful goodbyes worse last night while we were packing to head to the airport. However, I am so incredibly thankful for the relationships and values that have been instilled in my aunts, uncles, an cousins that make our time together so worthwhile and our relationships truly more than just 'extended family.' Coming home, and even going our separate ways once we hit Kansas, I know that because of my family's example I will be looking out for those around me, hugging a little tighter, and of course, eating just a little bit more ice cream - and maybe licking the bowl, too.
My mom answered the phone last Monday night with the news that her uncle had collapsed and was without a pulse. We had been watching Full House and we sat with the TV on silent as we waited for another phone call to update us. Turning the TV up didn't seem right, but turning it off didn't either - almost like we were frozen in time.
Two days later, early Wednesday morning, we were sitting in KCI waiting to board at 6:45 a.m. headed towards Dulles to get to a grieving family - a family we hadn't seen in over a year. After two plane rides, one layover, and eight long hours, we arrived at a household full of food and a teary eyed family. I have flown so many times in my life - at least once a year for various trips we had taken as a family, but I had never flown in the winter, and Mother Nature didn't hesitate to remind me that this trip was vastly different from those before it. Walking down a jetway in single digit temperatures, not seeing the sunshine in more than a week, and having to wait on them to 'de-ice the wings' (yeah, sounds really comforting, right) gave us consistent reminders of where we were going.
The two deaths that I had the best memory of were both under the age of 18 and people that I was close to - I remembered the seemingly unbearable pain that comes with dealing with each separate aspect of loss, and I knew I wasn't ready to watch my family go through it. I wasn't sure how to help, how to act, or how to be. Little did I know, it would mostly be them teaching me.
I'm now sitting back in Kansas finishing this post. 1100 miles away from the family I spent all week with, realizing that although I still have a week before going back to school, my family goes back to the 'real world' tomorrow morning. Although I knew that arriving in Virginia would be hard, and dealing with each of the things that came with the week would be hard, I guess I didn't think about the fact that we had to go home eventually. As I'm sitting here reflecting on the whirlwind of the last week, I don't think I've ever been more thankful for my family and all the things they've taught me.
I'm thankful for a family who made having 30 people in one house for an entire week enjoyable. I'm thankful for the friends and neighbors who dropped off plate after plate of food, (the little kids - and maybe Chris and Eric too - would put their two cents in for the plate of chicken nuggets that came that was roughly the size of my bed) so we never had to worry about how to feed such a number of people at such odd times of day. I'm thankful for my mom, my aunt, and their cousins, who work so well together, read each other, and kept the house running this week - a true example of servanthood. I'm thankful for my younger cousins, whose consistent [high] energy level, curious questions, and genuine giggles kept the house going. I'm thankful for Josh (pausing for the smiles of my family reading this), the staff member from the funeral home who was assigned to our family, and who's genuine heart really helped our family - when we needed him, he always seemed to be there, whether we were looking for our coats, a kleenex, or a TV for the younger kids to watch - but when we needed our space, he seemed to disappear into the woodwork. Phrases of "I just love Josh." would be heard through the house for days to come.
Although I was definitely not excited to go and endure such a tough week, (who would be?) coming home was definitely the hardest part. The freezing temperatures and blowing snow only made our tearful goodbyes worse last night while we were packing to head to the airport. However, I am so incredibly thankful for the relationships and values that have been instilled in my aunts, uncles, an cousins that make our time together so worthwhile and our relationships truly more than just 'extended family.' Coming home, and even going our separate ways once we hit Kansas, I know that because of my family's example I will be looking out for those around me, hugging a little tighter, and of course, eating just a little bit more ice cream - and maybe licking the bowl, too.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Road Work Ahead
When I look back over the last few years, a great deal of my favorite memories are all kept during the last week of my senior year of high school. During that week, our senior class had a tailgate breakfast in the school parking lot before school on our last day, and we also had "alternative modes of transportation day" where I rode my bike to school with about 20 other kids from a friend's house. (Which was surprisingly more difficult than I predicted.) I have fond memories of police stopping traffic to get us across Topeka Blvd, knowing this would be the only time I would ever ride my bike for any such distance.
These are two of my favorite pictures I have from graduation week. They display perfectly the carefree attitudes, the excitement about new beginnings, and most importantly, the closeness that our class always had. Another photo taken that day was this one:
This photo would prove to mean more to me than I ever thought it would. Although that orange sign was probably one of thousands seen around Topeka during the summer (otherwise known as 'road work season'), that one now seems symbolic of the loss of a classmate and close friend we would face exactly a week and two days after this photo was taken.
Tonight I had dinner with one of my best friends from high school. After that loss, we didn't talk much - it seemed as though no one, including my close friends in my same situation, knew how to handle the situation, or even each other. We went almost a year and a half into college without truly 'catching up.' In high school, we bonded over similar dislike of a certain teacher, homework we could only figure out together, and our Friday night bonfires at the lake or pickup games of baseball. Now, she was playing college soccer and I was at a larger university and involved in entirely different things. It seemed like the only thing we had in common was our grief, and there wasn't much to talk about.
One night last summer she came over and we talked about all the things it seemed like we had missed out on over the last two years - the professors, dates, our favorite places to go out in our respective towns, new friends, living on our own, and a little bit of reminiscing here and there too. We talked, for the first time, about our own experiences with loss and how it affects us now.
Tonight at dinner, a passerby probably wouldn't have known whether we were juniors in college or juniors in high school - We ordered the same enchiladas with cheese sauce and split queso at the best Mexican restaurant in Topeka that neither of us had been to since senior year. After, we wandered around Wal-Mart just looking for trouble, and as usual, ended up playing with the toys instead. As usual, Mal drove and I manned the iPod. When we talk about school, Mal will always be better at math and science, but I'll probably always have to edit any paper she ever writes. As expected, she likes the math classes, and I'm going into the health field. As usual, both of us weren't bothered by the children running and screaming by our table in the restaurant but were ready to offer them some salsa instead.
At a time in my life when I feel like things are changing faster than I can blink, I'm thankful for nights with a friend where it seems like nothing's changed - especially the fact that she will always be there to eat queso with me, give me advice, and remind me that no road work lasts forever.
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