So in the wee hours of the morning last night we were awakened by the phone. Never good. A beloved church family member passed away of cardiac arrest and my husband was called to the hospital to be with the family (for those of you who don't know, he is a pastor). After making him some coffee, turning off the lights, and locking the door behind him, I went back upstairs and laid awake in bed for about an hour, praying for this man's family, for my husband as he ministered to them, and whatever else came into my mind.
I fell asleep sometime in the five o'clock hour then woke again briefly when Zach came back from the hospital. In my morning dreams after I fell asleep one more, I dreamt I was running in a race. The end point was hazy. There were lots of people, but we weren't ever all in the same place at the same time. The race ran through cities, over rivers, past construction projects and outdoor theatre productions, through a prison, into a church, and many other places. There were pauses here and there during which I was frustrated that the others might be getting ahead of me. I was awakened by my little son before the race ended, but I imagine if I had stayed asleep, it would have continued indefinitely, the end point moving further away or the dream transforming into something else as dreams tend to do.
And here I sit in the family room with Calvin, him watching a movie as I contemplate and listen to the thunder and rain outside. My muscles are sore from much weeding and gardening yesterday. My coffee this morning turned out to be hot chocolate. (Doesn't Cafe Mocha say chocolatey coffee to you? Oh, well.) My house is awaiting cleaning as we prepare for dinner guests. And my mind is muddled with thoughts of grieving friends, laundry that must be sorted, a toilet that's flushing too slowly, a Sunday school lesson to prepare, and a husband who is undoubtedly weary after a week of fighting his recurring insomnia.
Life goes on like my dream race, frantic, then pausing for some while others rush on. The family of our friend who died last night is in a pause. Others move on, but they will remain where they are for some time. At some point they will rejoin the race. But the endpoint for each of us is different. It is always the same in its essentials—we will all one day reach the end—but we will reach it at different times and in different manners. And we never know when the finish line will come into view. Sometimes we reach it suddenly through cardiac arrest or a terrible accident. Sometimes we have the finish line in view for a long time as we suffer from cancer. But we will all reach it.
But just as after a race there is more, either the thrill of victory with a cheering crowd or the disappointment of loss, death is not truly the end. There is existence afterward. And the way we run the race is what determines what happens to us after we cross the finish line. I'm not talking about the things we do during life. It's not about good works outweighing the bad in our lives. It's about which team we run for.
May the death of a loved one or friend always remind us of our own eventual end and make us ask the question—what will happen to me when I cross the finish line?
Folks, I just found out today that if the refugee family I tutor in English cannot pay almost $1,400 in rent owed to their landlord they will be evicted in ten days. It is a family of six, including two school-age boys and a toddler. You might remember this family from this post. Here they are, along with a few other friends and relatives.
In our age of email and social networks, many of us can claim to have hundreds of friends. But it's likely that only a few of those people actually know us completely or truly as friends. I can count on one hand those people in my life to whom there are no locked doors, no places in my heart and mind that are off limits. One of these is my childhood best friend with whom, though we have lived apart for 16 years (more than half our lives), I am lucky to still share a special bond.
For the past several years Tina has lived in Colorado and I have seen her infrequently. We don't really talk on the phone or email much. But, as it is with all true friends, when we do have a chance to get together, it is easy to pick up where we left off. And when we part I feel that same sweet ache as I did when we were fifteen and I said goodbye to her that August when she left for boarding school and I remained.
Last summer I had the great privilege of attending Tina's wedding to a wonderful man named Ben. It made me so happy to see my dear nomadic friend settled with a man she loves, in a job she is passionate about. Tina and Ben were visiting Tina's family in Michigan for the past week and I was thrilled that they were able to squeeze in a little detour to my house last night. We chatted, ate pad thai and sushi, laughed, and did a little reminiscing before they had to head back to her parents' house.
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The calendar may say Monday is Valentine's Day, but tonight we had a traditional American Thanksgiving meal with the family of Chin refugees I have been tutoring in English. I would refer to them by their family name, but they don't really have those! Each Chin person I have met has a first, middle, and last name (and they tell you their full name every time if you ask their name, rather than just using their first name, but they say it so fast that it sounds like just one name). But the last names are not the same within a family. I really can't tell if there is any naming convention at all, or if perhaps names are simply chosen randomly or built upon the names of ancestors. So I just call them my Chin family.
Here's a bit of evidence from the little soiree last night of my attempts to get a little better at portraits. Thanks to Zach for taking a few pictures of me; since I'm always taking photos it seems I'm not in many.
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| The woman of honor - Kristin Kluck |
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| Kristin's husband Ted smoking Djarums with the boys in the garage. |
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| A photo taken by Zach and doctored in Photoshop by me. Hard to get good focus without a flash in mood lighting, so applying a couple effects can make the blurriness seem almost purposeful. |
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| Zach, unaware that he's modeling for me. I like that this altered photo reminds me a bit of the coloring of early 1960s ads. |
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| Ted & Zach - Budding Media Moguls |
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| Our new friend Brad, looking very much like a Greek sculpture in this portrait (at least to me). |
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| I have to tell you, I have never been involved in any occasion that included more toasting than this shindig. |
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| Strictly speaking, this is not a portrait. However, how could I not take a picture of Kristin's saucy stockings? |
I had every intention to blog yesterday on the first day of November, talking about goals for the rest of the year. Weight loss, walking the dog more, writing for NaNoWriMo, enjoying the outdoors as much as possible as the days get shorter and colder, getting the house ready for winter (storm windows, covering the patio furniture, cleaning out the garage, and such), developing a Christmas brunch menu . . . . All of these things have been bouncing around in my mind while I rake leaves, sew my very first lined jacket (it's almost done so you'll see pictures soon!), and continue with the everyday concerns of work, home, and family. I meant to blog on these things, but a busy day combined with a lower than normal supply of brain power sapped me of the will and time to blog.
