Time - 19 years

Time belongs to death, or still more so, to the devil.
We must buy it from him and return it to God to whom it must really belong.

Maria von Wedemeyer, who was later engaged to marry Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote this after attending one of Bonhoeffer's sermons during WWII.  Both her brother and her father had recently been killed in war, and the sermon on Ephesians 5:15-21 begat these words from the grieving sister and daughter.

I've been listening Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas on Audible this summer, and I keep going back to these words.  They ring true.  Don't go challenging my theology (Bonhoeffer is doing enough of that via the story of his life).  It's not that kind of thing.  And yet...

If you believe in the Scriptural account, death came because of human sin in an otherwise perfect environment.  The devil, that vile serpent, tempted.  And then came death - the end - time that mattered.

Imagine if the only thing in life that was sure was taxes (imagine if not even taxes were sure!).  What if death wasn't sure?  What if death wasn't a thing?  Imagine how we would all live so differently.  An urgency would be gone, no doubt, but what would it matter?  Because time eternal would face us. 

The ache of permanent earthly separation; the deep, deep, deep waters of grief; the agony of days never experienced - none of it would exist. 

Instead, we have time.  The most beautiful and restricting of resources.  It encourages us to cherish the moment, to live fully each day, to accomplish much, to relate more, to choose well.  But it cheats us too, of opportunities, conversations, relationships, and so many good things, because there simply isn't enough of it to go around. 

Time.

I am so grateful time has passed.  19 years ago tonight, I sat with shocked family in agony over the unexpected death of my older brother.  He was 17, I was 14.  It was a fluke accident.  There was no reason it should've happened, and certainly no reason it should've happened in my world, to my family, to my brother.  Such things only happen in books, right?

19 years ago on September 20th, I watched my mother, my father, lay to rest their son, their eldest son.  Watching this was the only thing more cruel than the fact that that day I laid to rest my brother, my big brother.

There is no moment more crushing than that moment in a graveside service when parents must leave their child, finally, on this earth.  It makes bile rise in my throat.  I hate it.

I have no desire, not the least, to go back and relive those dark days.  God, they were hard.  There are not words in any language to describe it. 

And yet.  19 years ago, I had heard his voice only a night ago.  He'd watched my volleyball game, he'd been part of my normal only hours before.  I long for that.

Each day that passes, still, I believe, gets me closer to the day that I get to see him again. 

In those darkest days right after he died, I remember my mom saying once, as if it was her only lifeline at that moment, that she only had to make it another 40 years or so.  Just 40 years and she'd see him again.

If I live to what my grandparents are living, I have another 55 or 60 to go still, not counting the 19 now behind me.

Time.

They say time heals, and it does.  The ache isn't such deep agony, and the ache isn't always.  Now, it comes in much less frequent waves.  They still overtake me sometimes.  I still let myself get carried away just to experience that depth.  To somehow let the universe know that he's not forgotten, that he mattered, that his life made an impression that will never leave history. 

And I know I'm not the only one who does this.  Although we all experience grief in our own way, there are commonalities we can't escape.  The depth, the unending darkness of the abyss of grief, always ready for another revisit, is one of them. 

In this life, I'll never come to the end of grieving the death of Chet.  Until I make my final trade with the devil and exchange time on this earth for the eternity, I will ache. 

Time.

Death is inescapable, and tragic death comes with more frequency than I'd ever imagined.  And the reality I've come to see is that death is always tragic, no matter how much you see it coming or how many years one has behind them. 

To those who are grieving now in those darkest days, I hope my 19 years gives you hope.  You can take the next breath, make the next step, do the next right thing.  It won't always feel this way. 

But also, 19 years from now, you will still be grieving.  They will not be forgotten.  You will be forever changed both because of their life and because of their death.

Time.

The devil, that vile serpent, will try to cheat you out of your time.  Don't let him.  Return it to the Lord, to whom it ultimately belongs.   

______________________________________________________

Some pictures from my old scrapbook.

Me, my younger brother, and Chet.

Merry Christmas, 1988

At this wedding he always tried to "lean out" of the pictures.

I thought he was the coolest.

Mostly, he was.

I don't think he thought I was the coolest, mostly.

Sweet 16

Happy Easter, 1999.

One of the few pictures with me and ALL of
my siblings.
Chet - 17, me - 14, Tony - 10, Kim - 4.

Remembering Jay

So many people knew and loved Jay.  He made friends quickly and easily and kept them well.  He traveled extensively, and I had the privilege of seeing him regularly only for a year, back in 2009-2010.  But that year, and Jay, changed me.  And I'm forever grateful.  I write this to work through my own grief.  But I know so many of you knew him so much better than I did.  These are merely my experiences and perceptions, and intended to honor Jay's memory and the legacy he leaves.  I'm proud to count him a friend.

I'm sitting in my recliner tonight, wishing I wasn't here.

I wish I was packing my bags.  Packing my bags for a flight I wish I could catch tomorrow.  Not that I really want to do that either - catch a flight to go to the memorial service of a friend I didn't spend enough time with, didn't learn enough from, didn't invest enough in.

The documentary he was in - the one I discovered a year ago on Netflix and was pleasantly surprised when I heard his voice come through the TV's speakers - is playing in the background. The tab for airline tickets too expensive to fit my budget is open just behind this post.  I keep checking again, hoping for a miracle - a cheap ticket in a time table that works for me to fly across the country to revisit what feels like a past lifetime.

***

Jay Austin and I went to graduate school together at Georgetown along with 14 other incredible people.  People all so very different from me.  Looking back, I needed that experience so badly.  I needed to see and watch and learn from and be challenged by intelligent, capable, wonderful people incredibly different from me.

Just about everything about Jay and me was different.  Different religion, different age, different family situation, different gender, different political affiliations, different socioeconomic status when we grew up, different diet, different marital status, different everything.  And yet.

Jay was the kind of guy who didn't let differences get in the way of relationship.  He was naturally warm and friendly, charming and funny, clever and intelligent.  He was fun to have at a party, ready to rise to the challenge of a good debate....

...And there he is.  Alive and wonderful in the documentary on my TV screen.  But not in this world anymore... 

Jay Austin isn't with us anymore.  That's hard to type.

It may seem strange that I'm hit so hard by the death of a classmate I haven't seen since he visited 5 years ago, haven't seen regularly in 8 years.  But I have seen him.  We've had conversations recently, regularly.  Kind of.

Last summer Jay sold most of his stuff, moved his tiny house into storage (he was a "minimalist" who lived in a 145 sq/ft house), and flew to South Africa with his girlfriend Lauren, and they took off on an adventure to bike around the world.  Some headlines say they used their "life savings" to bike around the world.  True as that may be, it wasn't like they were on a big budget.  At $4,000/year for the both of them together including food, lodging, medical expenses, and necessities, they were on a shoestring budget.  But that's beside the point.  They wanted to experience all that life and the world had to offer from the vantage point of 2 wheels.

Jay and Lauren, but mostly Jay, blogged about their adventures over the last year.  That's how we had our conversations.  Late at night, after middle-of-the-night feeding the baby, I would crawl back into bed and not be able to sleep.  So I'd pull down my phone and check simplycycling.org.

Thirty-nine times over the last year, Jay told me (and many others) about the time he got chased by a bull elephant, about not being able to find a place to camp, about how cold it feels when your water proof gloves aren't water proof and it's freezing rain, about how kind and generous and incredibly human people are the world over.

Until just after he posted blog post #39.

Jay and Lauren, along with 2 other cyclists, were killed in Tajikistan on July 29 in what ISIS has claimed as an act of terrorism.  It's just unbelievable.

On July 30 I received an email with the crushing news from a fellow classmate, and then the news stories started hitting...

CNN
BBC
ABC
The New York Times
CBS

I was contacted by a reporter from the Washington Post.  Incredibly distant from the whole situation, I directed him to continue his search for sources in the District, where Jay lived most recently.

I still check Jay's blog, still hoping against hope, but knowing that blog post #40 won't come.  I still check his Instagram feed randomly, wondering if maybe one more post was saved in his phone, waiting to be posted until he had better service.  I check my email to see if maybe, just maybe he DID respond to the email I sent on July 20, but it got hung up somewhere in the digital stratosphere and will arrive even now.

***

I sit here, today, on the first anniversary of my cousin's death, wishing I could attend Jay's memorial in person, hating death.

How many must death take?  How cruel the theft of years and dreams and time and relationships.

Every time I encounter death, I buck against its unnatural nature.  We were not made to die.  We were made, created, designed, born to live.

No matter how many moments we have, no matter how many experiences we enjoy, no matter how many relationships we have, they're never quite enough.  Death always snatches us just a bit too soon.

We're approaching 19 years since my brother's death.  What I wouldn't give for just one more hug, one more smile, one more laugh, one more hour, even just a few minutes to introduce him to my kids, to tell him how much he has impacted my life both through his life and through his death.  He mattered.

I think maybe that's something Jay always saw - that people matter.  He wasn't a Christian.  At least, he wasn't when we were in grad school, and he never told me if he did "find God."  But something he did better than me and my "Christian" self was he helped people feel that they matter.

I tend to get all inside my head, categorizing people.  Deciding how I want to interact with them, how they fit into my world, what influence I might be able to have with them.  And it feels to people like they don't really matter to me.  At least, that's something I've learned over time, and have tried to change. Because people don't want that - to be a project, a number, a category.  People want to know that they matter.  Because they do.

At least, if I'm being honest, that's what I want.

Jay and I had a few email exchanges and comments back and forth over the years about each other's blog posts.  And now that I re-read them, they show why I miss him so already, what was similar about us, though in almost every other way we were different.

Jay wrote this comment in response to one of my posts, Am I Enough?

Thanks for sharing this. As someone who has also chosen to prioritize non-career-oriented passions over career-oriented goals, I know it can be really difficult to see those around you continuing in one direction as you head on your own (often under-respected) journey. That said, it takes tremendous strength to do so. I've found, back here in DC, that those same people getting fancy titles and big promotions are grappling with those same insecurities of never being enough, of finding themselves newly surrounded by folks with even fancier titles and even bigger promotions to covet, to envy, and to stir discontent within. 

For what it's worth, I'm super-proud of you for going your own way, and for creating something(s) that you love and care about and that will continue to bring light into the world after you're gone, and for doing it all DESPITE the temptation of a shiny new thing you're more than capable of attaining if you so chose. That's more than "just enough"—it's something really, really wonderful.

We had a mutual respect for each other's pursuits for things so different from what we ourselves wanted.  I will never take off on a bike journey around the world.  He would never have bought a 2,500 square foot home on almost an acre of land and planned to stay there forever.

But I could see the world through his eyes as I followed his blog.  I experienced Africa, Europe, Asia in a way I never would have, but for his writing.  And I fancy that he got a taste of family life deeply rooted in a small town in the Midwest by following mine.  He mattered to me, and he made me feel like I mattered to him.

***

Jay was an innovator with some crazy ideas.  As aforementioned, he lived in a tiny house, on a rogue property in the District of Columbia.

I remember this conversation he had when he visited us.  He was vegan (meaning he ate no meat, nor animal by products like eggs, milk, etc.), and I'd gone shopping for tofu and vegan-friendly marinade in an attempt to make something tasty for him.  (Here he was,  right in the heart of corn-fed beef territory, but no meat for him!)  We were discussing his convictions about food, and I asked if there would ever be a situation in which he would be morally ok eating something non-vegan.  To which he replied that he supposed he would eat an egg if he happened to be walking through a field and saw a chicken (or bird) lay an unfertilized egg in the field and then walk away from it, there being no chance for life in said egg, and it being abandoned by the bird.  I laughed and took another bite of my burger.

Jay didn't believe in keeping animals penned in or in cruelty in any way to any animal.  So I naturally asked him what he thought of us keeping our indoor cocker spaniel (Frazier).  His response was that while he, personally, wouldn't keep a dog, it seemed to him that Frazier was happy with us, and we took good care of the dog, so he didn't see it as a bad arrangement.

Jay visited the summer before Lily turned 2, and since then I've always told him we'd have a place waiting for him any time he was nearby for a visit.  When he left on his biking around the world adventure, I really believed that he would someday make it back here, to the Midwest, with Lauren, and they would fill our guest room for a few nights.  I was so looking forward to hearing in-person accounts of their adventures.  Somehow I think the guest room will always feel like it is waiting for them.

Jay was an amazing storyteller, in large part because of how much he wrote and read.  He knew how to turn a phrase, and that is part of what made his blogging so compelling.  I will miss his storytelling.

***

I've checked again, and the flights are still double what I can afford.

I hate death.

***

We've all met them - the people that teach us something we just didn't get before.  They probably don't even know that they're teaching it, and maybe you don't know you're learning.  At least, that's how it is for me.

Jay Austin and I, along with 14 other classmates, once got Master's degrees.  What I learned from this amazing group of individuals is that we all come from different places, and those different places help shape who we are and how we think.  Despite how different we might be, despite how at odds our political views might be, we are all still people.  And because we are still people, we each owe one another common the common courtesy of civility.

Even better is to put forth the effort to understand where the other person is coming from, and thus move from civility to friendship, despite differences.  And that is what Jay did so well.

As I work to instill virtue and goodness into my children, this lesson - that people matter, that it's worth the effort even if you hold drastically different views, that civility and friendship aren't dependent upon similarities - is one I hope they learn from me as I learned it from him.

Now, 8 years after Georgetown, my religious beliefs and political positions haven't changed significantly at all.  But what HAS changed, or what I hope has changed, what I've tried to change, is how I view people who hold opinions different than my own.  And Jay was a big part of helping me get there.

In 2013, Jay visited us and we toured the popcorn
plant nearby.  Gowned with hair nets and beard
nets and all manner of safety gear, it's a tour and
a time I cherish.

The 4th of July IS Politics

It doesn't get any more American than the 4th of July.  We all love it!

Despite the heat (my car's thermometer read 102 degrees this afternoon), we're outside eating celebratory meals, going to parades, shooting off fireworks, letting kids stay up faaaaaarrrr too late, and celebrating as a whole country.  It's one of the great highlights of summer! 

And well it should be. 

But lately I've been feeling like the foundation of what we celebrate is being denigrated.  That the very bedrock that allows us, indeed enjoins us, to celebrate is being laid waste.

Politics.  The 4th of July IS politics!

People say it like it's a dirty word.  "Ugh, politics."  You may hate Trump, or you may hate Hillary, but either way, you hate politics.  There are office politics, family politics, local politics, state politics, federal politics, and politics in general, and they're all loathed.  If it's unpleasant, label it "politics" and roll your eyes as you say the word, and everyone around you will smile and nod in sympathetic understanding.

I've heard John J. Miller, (author, speaker, and professor at Hillsdale College) tell the joke numerous times, "You know the definition of politics, right?  POLY - meaning many. TICS - meaning blood sucking parasites."  He says it in jest, but it's funny, because most people agree.

But you know, I love politics.  I mean, I LOVE politics! I've spent years studying them, reading about them, observing, discussing, and thinking about them.  They are the art by which governance happens.  Done well, they are the art by which all other things thrive, or done poorly they are the art by which all other things fail to thrive.

The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker of the poem - their government (i.e. politics) provides the framework within which their businesses may thrive or wither.  The employee, the self-employed, the homemaker - all affected by the government (i.e. politics) under which they live.

Think of the government of Germany during the Second World War - government done poorly - a despotic dictator.  Businesses wilted, individual freedom removed, resources rationed and still massively lacking.  No one was happy.  Politics.

Think of America - it's not perfect here certainly.  To quote James Madison in Federalist 51, "If men were angels, no government would be necessary."  We're not perfect - you and me - thus we need laws and we need a government to make and enforce those laws so that we can get along together.  We're not perfect.  And neither are those involved in our government.  They yell at their kids when they don't mean to, they forget their keys in their locked car, they misspeak, and they see the world a little or a lot differently than you or I because of the life they have lived.  In short, they are human.

Consequently, our government, made up of imperfect people to govern imperfect people, is itself imperfect.  It's ugly.  It's horrible.  To quote Winston Churchill, "Democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time..." (Nov. 11, 1947)  Isn't that the truth?!?

But there's a phrase Churchill uses leading into the above quote that I don't think is true anymore.  Here's the quote including his preceding phrase:  "No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time..."

From what I can tell, EVERYONE today assumes that democracy should be perfect and all-wise, and the reason it's not is because we have the wrong candidate in the White House or on the Hill.  And if it's a mid-term election then it's the other political party's fault.  Entirely.  Or the Nazis.  Because if you disagree with an individual politically, likely you can accuse them of being a Nazi and immediately "win" the argument. 

But as I've been reading memiors of Holocaust survivors, I've wondered, do we KNOW what Nazism is anymore?  Can you articulate why Trump is preferable to Hitler (because he IS, no matter how much you dislike him)?  What is the beauty of the American system that has for nearly 250 years permitted the peaceful transfer of massive amounts of power from one individual to another, from one political party to another? 

I should clarify, I don't love local politics generally.  I don't love modern politics.  It's hard today to tell what's true, who's actually doing what, or why they're doing what they're doing in the first place.  It's just plain messy and confusing. 

What I love to do is consider modern politics in light of what I really love: political philosophy.  Thinking about modern politics within the framework of things like the rule of law (which, by the way, is the primary reason we enjoy the peaceful transition of power), gives perspective.  It helps boil inflammatory headlines ("[insert political party here] Want Children Separated From Parents at the Border") to the root issues: what does the law say? Why does it say that?  Should it say that?  If so, how do we enforce it?  If not, how do we change it? 

And the most important question for you and me: what can we, as citizens, do about any of it?

We can talk about it.  Let's talk about the law.  What does it say?  Why does it say it?  Is it good?  If it's not good, what are options to fix it?  Talking seems like doing nothing, perhaps, but we're becoming afraid to do it these days.  Governance takes deliberation.  Self-governance, especially, takes deliberation.  And our society relies on citizens exercising self-governance.  So let's talk, deliberate, about how to self-govern well.  And within those discussions we may land on something worth sharing with an elected official.  Or maybe we'll just gain a better understanding of each other or ourselves.  These are all worthy outcomes!

And we should reasonably exercise the right to vote when those opportunities present themselves.  Don't vote if you don't know the candidates, but do make an effort to know them.  Our system of government is predicated on an educated (and self-governed) citizenry voting imperfect individuals into a wide variety of offices.  What a gift that we're not reliant on birth or fortune alone to determine our representatives!

Speaking of elected representatives, their families, and the individuals who work on their staffs... when was the last time you thanked them? 

Whenever I see servicemen, servicewomen or veterans, they are thanked.  Their sacrifice, their service, what they have all done has made it possible for me to do what I do here and now.  My freedom is not free - it has been bought at a price.

But please remember this Independence Day the sacrifices made by all those who do politics.  Some of them have families, just like yours and mine.  And instead of celebrating the 4th with their families, they're stuck in a former swamp, now metro-plex where the humidity is 110%, the temp is 110 degrees, and they pay outrageous rent for tiny spaces that they can't afford to buy.  They raise their children in small apartments, not houses with yards, and commute over an hour to work each way.  They work absurd (80+) hours each week to try to make a positive difference and get lambasted in the media no matter what they do. Their jobs aren't assured past the next election, and their pay is in no way commiserate with what they could make in the private sector. 

They do things I don't want to do right now so that I CAN do what I want to do right now!  Because they and their families make sacrifices to be part of civil service to our country, we get to NOT be civil servants and pursue life, liberty and happiness in ways other than the dreaded politics.  (Did you ever think of that?  If they didn't do what they do, you wouldn't be able to do what you do?)

Not everyone who does politics makes all or any of these specific sacrifices.  I don't agree with how many people do politics.  But.  As one of my grad school profs pointed out, there are literally tens of thousands of people who are really smart working toward solutions to really complex problems (immigration anyone?).  But the problems are complex, and usually old, and typically come with lots of baggage.  If answers are easy, they have been tried. 

I'm not saying American politics is perfect.  It's horrible.  It's the worst ever!  Except for all the other things that have been tried.  We are privileged to live here, to work here, to be able to influence our government, perhaps most of all by our own self-government. 

This 4th of July, please don't disparage politics.  We get to celebrate Independence Day because of politics.  Let's be grateful not only to those who have made and are making incredible sacrifices to fight for our freedoms, but let's also be grateful to those who have made and are making huge sacrifices to govern for our freedoms.

Politics.  Happy 4th of July.

A bad day

I wrote this post a while back on a day that I was reeeeally struggling.  I don’t often have days like that, blessedly.  But that day... ugh.  If you find yourself in a similar place, I don’t know what to tell you to do to snap yourself out of it.  I guess just carry on doing the next right thing, even and especially if you don’t feel like it.

I find myself daydreaming about working full time.

I looked good in business clothes and heels.  I was good at my job.

That time I drove ________________ to the airport - might seem like a small thing, but if I filled in the blank you’d immediately recognize the name and understand why it was a big deal.  That project I got pushed through, on deadline (mostly) - it was awesome.  I was organized, efficient, capable.

Why am I daydreaming about working again? I wonder to myself.  And then I realize...

It’s because I feel incapable today as a mom, a wife, a human being.

It’s not even 9am and I’ve already had a stupid spat with my husband over something entirely my fault, cleaned up 2 blowouts, yelled at my kids for fighting, and sent them each back to their beds because I simply can’t deal.  How did the kitchen get this trashed in less than 90 minutes?!? And where in the world is the dog?!?

I soldier on in my uniform: stained sweatshirt, yoga pants, fuzzy socks, yesterday’s pony tail.  Man, if _________ could see me now...  A far cry from that person I was back then when I drove them around for a day.

Why is TV time so bad for kids? I wonder.  Which do you suppose is worse: tv time or time with an inexplicably crabby and currently incapable mom?

I opt to let them take baths which both entertains and cleans them.

Oh, did I mention they’re sick?  All four of them in various stages of illness.  Not sick enough to just sweetly cuddle. But sick enough that we can’t go anywhere and that they whine. Constantly.

I wanted these children.  I love them.  I KNOW that I do, but today, mostly, I love me.  I want to veg out in front of the TV.  I want to work on my home improvement projects and cleaning and play on my phone and write blog posts and read and do those things that feed ME.

____________

It’s afternoon now.  My attitude hasn’t changed much.  Nor has the kitchen’s disaster, nor the children’s health.  But there’s no vacation from this gig.

I know the answer.  I’m selfish, base, vile.  I only get today once with these dear souls I’m privileged to stay home and raise, but man.  Today is hard.

I don’t know what to do to turn it around.  I can’t seem to get my attitude in order.  If my kids were this way, I’d send them to their rooms till they straightened up.  I wish I could do that to myself.

God, redeem this day.  Because I can’t.  I sit in my privilege, luxury, and blessing and I want more.  I KNOW that it’s wrong, but I can’t stop FEELING the selfish urges.  So, Lord, thanks that I’m not a slave to my emotion.  That I know the truth about my situation even if I don’t FEEL it.  Help me emotions and my mind come in line with You. Amen.