Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Exactly a Month.

Well, a day over.
But I haven't blogged since September 11.
I have felt strong emotions since that day, but I've been using other outlets for them. Outlets that include people, instead of a faceless internet.
These emotions, however, warrant a blog post.

I'm having a rather... Interesting patch in my life right now. I'm paying my way through school, working, and sometimes struggling to find God in my every day. I don't feel like I'm supposed to be in a corporate church, and yet all of the teaching that I've ever had and a lot of the advice I'm receiving includes going to church. Half the time I want to cry... And half the time I want to shove it in the face of everyone who has ever doubted me and say, "LOOK! I said I could do this, and I am. So there."

I told Kanz the other night that I just want to be out of this phase of my life. I accept the necessity for it, and I know I will eventually be grateful for the lessons it brings about... But I'm tired of being a single student, in a house full of roommates. I want to be married, with a house of my own, and graduated, with a career. Not like, tomorrow... I just want to fast forward these next several years.

The day after I had that conversation with Kanz... One of my regular customers died. James was a man who had come into the well house at least once a week for the entire year that I've worked there. He always ordered a chicken salad pita and a sweet tea. He always had a movie review, a joke, and a question- about my life, about how classes were, about what music I was listening to. James' visit to the Well House was a highlight of my week.

I met James soon after he stopped having chemo for his cancer. His doctors told him he had 6 months to live if he continued with the chemo... And he chose to die sooner, but feeling well, than later, nauseous and miserable. And yet he surpassed the odds. His "prescribed death day", as he called it, came and went- and he ate a chicken salad pita to celebrate. But we watched as he slowly deteriorated- his demeanor changed from cheery and bright to a little miserable and often, downright cranky. His stomach become unable to handle the potato chips that come with our sandwiches, and eventually even the carrot chips we offer as a substitute- and so we started making him "cuke bites", special. Slowly, just as his hair and eyelashes grew back after the chemo, he began to wither before our eyes. And as his visits became less and less frequent, we knew the time was coming.

But when I got the message yesterday morning that he was dead, it hit me like a ton of bricks. He was never going to come through the front door and insist that I see the Help again (he did that 3 times). He was never going to begrudgingly pay for his son-in-law's lunch. He was never going to tease me about forgetting his side of ranch.

And I was miserable about wanting to rush through a few years of living.

I've been beating myself up and was explaining to Kanz why as we pulled up in the drive after Bible study this evening.

Feeling unimportant, basically.

And then I saw the porch.

Our porch is nothing spectacular. There's some wood sloppily stacked on one end, a few benches, and hannaHRose was sitting there talking on the phone.

But there was also a foreign object.

A heater. A brand new one. A very nice one, with a remote and everything. With a card on it. That had my name.

And the card basically said, "You've blessed me, and I wanted to bless you back. So here's a heater, because I heard you need one."

And I have no idea who did it.

Supposedly, none of the roommates do, either.

I'm dying to know who did it.

But also, I know that if I knew who had done it, I would have a much harder time accepting it.

So, to my "friend" (that's how the card was signed), whoever you are... Thank you. I will pay it forward someday.

For now... I will be warm this winter. And every time I turn it on, I will remember "if you're loved by someone, you're never rejected" (thanks, Avett Bros).

1 comment:

  1. This made me cry. We never knew just exactly how hard you had it down there. You should write more often....