|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| His name was Harold, and he liked to chat. A lot. It was my senior year of college, and my three roommates and I were having a celebratory dinner over our successful day of transforming our house into a nest we could call our own. Not knowing the neighbors yet, we were a little startled to see a middle-aged man knocking on our door late that night.
“Hi, I’m Harold, and I just wanted to meet my new neighbors!” We all introduced ourselves and spent a few minutes chatting about where we were from, what we were studying and other basic formalities. We learned that Harold had been in the army in his younger years. He later got married and had four children, infant to teenager, all of whom lived with him next door. It was immediately obvious that Harold was an interesting man. But after about 15 minutes, my roommates and I became anxious to get back to our meal. After a while, he got the hint.
Over the course of the year, Harold showed up every now and then. We were always polite, but rarely had time for the extended chats that he loved. Embarrassingly, I would sometimes duck behind the window if I saw him, not having the time that I knew he would want to take.
Months passed. Days flew. Graduation came and went, and by August, Harold was just a distant memory. All but one of us roommates moved away from Norman, but the one that stayed in the house called me this past December.
“Do you remember Harold?” she asked. I thought, how could I forget? “Well, I just found out that he died a few months ago. Apparently, he had been fighting some sort of cancer.”
It’s hard to describe everything that rushed through my head. But mostly, I felt just awful for his wife, for his children, and for the fact that I was just too darn busy to stop and get to know him better. I would have never guessed that he was sick, which I’m guessing is the way Harold would have wanted it. Suddenly, everything made sense—his outreach to us, his consistently cheerful attitude and his abundant love for life.
I’ve always heard the phrase, “live every day like it’s your last.” But this experience helped me look at this in another light: Live every day like it’s their last. Take the time to make connections with those around you, and embrace every opportunity you have to build those relationships. Looking back, you’ll see how those moments matter more than anything else.
| | |
| well. it's been a while. but a good while. i've mostly resorted to the folds of my mind and the pages of my journal, but here's small summary of this life since my last xanga exhale: the beginning of this past summer left me with huge questions of what to do with myself come august. i knew God wanted me to work with youth. and i knew that i wanted to stay in the okc metro area. i also knew that i needed to make an adequate living (for future use). but i couldn't forget that i was 22 with no experience in full-time youth ministry. so. these were the things that weighed on my brain, but i was through with them. after a semester of worry and anxiety, i released the fear with the kickoff of another NLR summer (see last entry). and over the next three months, amazing things happened. the crazy part of it all was the fact that i never even looked for it--i was just trying to focus on the moment. but here i am, working full-time like a real grown-up as the youth director in the fastest growing methodist church in oklahoma. it's smack in the middle of downtown. it's a good job. i'm in charge, but i'm not alone (thank God). i couldn't have asked for anything more. the real story of everything is truly amazing, but since this is just a blog and i can narrate the details much more effectively in person, i'll spare the typing. everything down to the last detail of how i ended up where i am is one hundred percent testament to the Lord's perfect will and His unfailing timimg. and it still doesn't stop! i'm learning so much, i'm seeing so many things and i'm having the most fun doing it! this world is a different one, and i still have the occasional longing for a roommate night or a meachum movie. but then i think it would be odd not being where i am now. next post coming sooner than the last, hopefully. shoutout to you, if you're still there! (i'm not sure if people are still in xangaland or not...) | | |
| these past couple of weeks have been a complete blur. we get our first set of campers tomorrow, and it's surreal that the summer is about to begin. please pray for the openess of the groups that come through the ranch this summer, and for the health and growth of the kids and staff. i can already feel the Lord moving in big ways, and i know the next three months are going to be huge!
ps-if you leave me a comment, i probably won't get it until i leave camp next b/c xanga is firewalled at the ranch (for what limited internet time we get anyway...). i hope you're having an awesome one! | | |
| well, i've graduated.
that aside, i've had time to do some things this week that i want to do, like shop for a new car, hang out at the pool and browse for some summer reading. in doing so, i've decided that i tend to select books simply based on what the cover looks like. a catchy title, an outrageous color or a cleverly designed jacket all play a huge role in my interest. that saying "never judge a book..." definitely has no weight with me. in borders last night, browsing through the summer reading selection, i took in each cover, picked it up if it caught my eye, read the first sentence, and then i either wrote down the title for later purchase or decided it was not for me based on the cover and intro.
hmmmm. i'd always hoped i was deeper than that. | | |
| four years ago i came with ambitions, goals and dreams. shiny things that i could polish regularly and store on a high shelf in my mind. i wanted to be the best, i knew i could do well, and i was determined to make these years the best of my life.
four years ago i thought i had it all figured out. all my conversations would be deep and meaningful, my friends would be vivacious, and i would be able to live on freedom alone.
four years ago i hoped i would find the love i saw in movies, read about in poems or talked over with my mom.
four years ago i knew i would know it all very soon. life's lessons, which would arrive in a neat and alphabetical file, would season me one at a time, giving me ample time to sort them out gracefully.
four years ago i never pictured these years could end. the memories, the adventures and the sarcastic comments would all exist forever in a time vacuum where nothing else could exist.
and now it's over.
i am leaving with goals, but they don't shine with the same sheen that hold my reflection.
i am leaving with memories of some crazy times, ridiculous moments and addresses of the best friends i have ever known.
i am leaving without finding movie love or poem love, but what i found is better because it's real.
i am leaving with the realization that hard times definitely don't come with an agenda. but neither do solutions, shoulders to cry on or threapeutic ice cream cones.
i am leaving with a new sense of myself. and it's ok.
| | |
|
