Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Properly Equipped

Today, my son is spending his last full night in Texas. He's been there with my uncle and other family members for almost a month. I've been seeing the pictures my mom is posting, and we've kept up with all the ceremony of the event through text messages. This is the longest time he's been away from home and despite the hugs, kisses and photos, this will not be the last time he sees his Texas family. Goodbyes are sometimes like that. They carry more resonance because we want to preserve the moment. We know that the feeling of having our loved ones near us wanes after time, despite the phone calls, text messages and pictures. The smell of them around, the sound of their voice, the sound of their laughter--it all fades in time. And when it returns, it's the greatest sound we've heard. It's like picking up your favorite book, rereading a chapter and capturing that feeling of nostalgia within the pages. Every time my family visits Houston, it's much like this. It hurts to leave, and we make a mini-ceremony of the last day. But when I see my mom again after months away, it's just as sweet as when I was living there.

Some goodbyes feel like forever. On the various mission trips and work camps I've been a part of, saying goodbye is exhausting. We take huge group pictures and we hug the people who have changed our lives--all the while thinking we were changing theirs--because the distance between us feels so far. I have a friend that says he cannot wait to spend time with them in eternity. Human life is hard when you cannot keep all the people you love in one room. The families and friends I met in Oklahoma, Arkansas, Illinois and just recently in southern Ohio, have a special place in my heart and by knowing Jesus, my heart continues to grow. I think it grows to fit these special people in our lives, our loved ones.

I spent another week away from home on a smaller mission trip this last week in Wheelersburg, OH. The trip had its typical beats--the nights spent in a church classroom, aching mornings and dirty shoes--but the emotions and people you meet are anything buy typical. We were minutes away from a swollen Ohio River--thanks to almost a month of continuous rains here in Ohio--and surrounded by steep hills and tree-lined mountains.

We had a wheelchair ramp to build, and I began the week in worried anticipation. I have always felt that I am not prepared for work camp. I shy away from any kind of labor that demands the use of a tool. The thought of building a ramp with a group of junior high students had me second guessing myself. We did run into our share of obstacles--circular saws that skipped, running out of supplies, the rain that made the yard a soupy mess--but the main one was my attitude.

I had made the decision to leave the volunteer youth staff a few days heading into the trip. It was a difficult decision that I had been wrestling with for several months. My wife and I have been serving the youth in our church in some capacity for several years. Ultimately, it wasn't the forced conversations I sometimes had with the junior high kids on Sunday mornings, or the sense of frustrations I had when the same boys would rather play with bottle caps and Styrofoam cups than to actually open their Bibles that had me step away. These last few months have been spiritually dead for me. As I distanced myself away from my Lord and savior, it became increasingly difficult to serve the students, to serve anyone, without feeling the need to clean up my own self. Each Sunday, without the proper equipment of prayer or humility, I found it harder and harder to serve them.

On the last day, it became increasingly harder for us to finish. Our saw conked out, and the energy one has on Monday is all but gone on Thursday. The kids become more listless, as I did too. We found ourselves waiting for supplies, tools, wood, more water. Finally, it became time for us to make a decision on the crew as we were nearing the time for showers and dinner. At one point, my friend tells me, "I know you want to see this through," and I honestly wanted to just leave. Like literally drive off. That wasn't the goodbye God had in store.

There were 3 of us that finished it out. A good friend with a helpful knowledge of carpentry work, a high school kid who was our student leader and myself. We lopped off and edged up the corners, cleaned up the site and rounded off the edges. It was the best work I've been a part of in most of my adult life. With the attention we paid--we finished just before 8pm--we didn't get to take many pictures. My phone died and the camera was back at the church. Even the homeowners, who had been witness to the last day from the porch swing, left prematurely (her sister was having her 70th birthday party celebration). I find it ironic that on the day of goodbye, when we line up for the grand group picture, we were unable to solidify the memory in media form. We simply swept up the deck and made our way home. The satisfaction of goodbye would be for another crew that day.

The last Sunday I spent as a youth volunteer went much the same. My friend offered some very kind words, heartfelt, and there was clapping, lots of clapping. But in the end, I left the youth room like I do on most Sundays--down the grass onto the parking lot and back to the church to get the kids.

Perhaps that's why it doesn't feel like one of the goodbyes I mentioned above. This one feels more like a hyphen, a pause before the grand finale. I know that in mending my heart to serve my family, God will provide a path back into youth ministry. So I'm not going to share any pictures of fond farewells, dear reader. I will not quote my favorite book or end this blog on a philosophical question. My next mission is just ahead and it's nearer to me that a trip to somewhere else. It's home, my wife, my kids, my heart. God owns all the proper equipment. And I can't wait to get started.

Monday, July 6, 2015

The Metaphor of Geese

I'm admitting it now, I was obsessed with a goose. A momma goose to be precise.

Each spring the area from my home and my daughter's elementary school sees a spike in the geese population. We have a series of small, intimate open fields and retention ponds. We used to have ducks when we first moved in the area. They were brazen. They would fly into my pool in the early spring before I began cleaning it and adding chlorine. But the geese have moved in and kicked the ducks out.

And each spring the traffic slows when the geese cross the roads, and my kids and I gawk at the little geese babies waddling in the front of the school. By summer, most of the geese are gone and life returns to normal.

Typically we don't get close enough to see any of the geese hatchlings (let me stop now and remind you, dear reader, that I did not search geese.com to get all the pertinent and factual information or terminology regarding the Canadian geese population. All geese naturalist can send me an email) or their nesting places. Except this year. Our babysitter had relocated to an apartment right down the road, transitioning from her home until the house in South Carolina is finalized. In early May, we noticed one particular momma geese. She never moved from her location at the end of the curb. She looked like she was sitting on a treasure there among the mulch. Sure enough, our babysitting friend, Danielle, let us know that momma geese was indeed sitting on a few eggs.

But there was a caveat. Momma goose had been sitting on those eggs for some time. Perhaps the eggs were duds. Knowing that the momma goose was hell bent on staying there with her babies gave me some room for thought on an otherwise busy end of the year. School was nearing its end. Both kids were in their respective sports--my son was starting baseball and finishing lacrosse while my daughter was halfway through her soccer season--and both my wife and I were barely above water. But that momma goose. She got to me.

Everyday we came to get our daughter, it was a chance for us to stop by momma goose and evaluate her progress. She didn't move from her perch, and one of the reasons why we thought her situation was desperate was because there were other goose families in the area prancing around and flaunting their Darwinian prowess. Baby geese everywhere. Stumbling over curbs, stopping traffic, being cute. And then there's momma goose, all alone.

The one detail we noticed when we snapped the picture was that there were feathers. I wanted to lift up momma goose just to see what was there. What would I see? Eggs waiting to hatch? Hollow eggs? Eggs cracked open to reveal some grisly feat of nature?

I had this complete blog ready for you, dear reader, of how this momma goose and her relentless pursuit for a family. Somehow this was a metaphor of my own life, my own stubbornness to leave old habits die. Each day I came home, exhausted, and I'd open this here computer I'm typing with now and begin. And each time I stopped. Too many distractions. We had practice almost every night. Dinner, homework, lesson plans. In some ways, that momma goose was like my life too. And other lives. We've all found ourselves unwilling to give up even though everything around us is moving on. What about my past was I unwilling to let go? Momma goose wasn't forthcoming with any answers.

Weeks went by and rain or wind or cloudy skies, momma goose was there. We noticed the other baby geese in the vicinity were getting older. Baby geese were now becoming awkward teens. Their stubby legs weren't as cute as they dangled from their fur like twigs. Their yellow feathers were becoming less bushy. No one likes a teenager, not even nature.

My wife had looked into our goose problem. Apparently there was still hope. The period of time between laying and hatching could span up to 3 weeks or more. By the end of May, the subject of my blog changed. What if momma goose was right all along? She's sticking it out to the very end. The daddy goose was no where to be found (typical, right?) but she was holding down the fort. She would prevail. What a great blog that would have been for the end of the school year. Oh how it would have aligned with how I was feeling in school. A teacher ready to give up to a renewed sense of purpose. I could hear Arsenio Hall in the background, "Praise the lawd!" 

At one point, momma goose stood up, spread her wings and allowed us to see the gifts she was preparing. How magnificent they were. God's creation, just awaiting their lives. Who was I to say the eggs were duds. Hope reigned.

Sure enough, a week or so later, we saw momma goose had left the nest. We grew alarmed but she had left the area covered in feathers and leaves. That's one smart momma goose. The one variable that allows the geese to thrive here, especially in the Ohio suburbs, is the lack of predators. Dogs are leashed and categorized. If the geese had populated the area before, perhaps there would have been snakes and wolves and all sorts of nefarious Disney creatures looking to eat. Suburban sprawl has all but eliminated the predators. Most ecosystems in Ohio have no threats to scavengers like possum and squirrel and offer no deterrent to geese.

And the day finally came. The baby geese had arrived. We didn't care if we were late to work so we snapped a few pictures of the celebratory event. Sure enough, daddy goose had come back to the fray. There they were, five baby geese looking cute, stumbling up a curb, following their destinies.

Our family did survive May. My daughter's soccer team turned on their winning ways and won our bracket tourney. My son's lacrosse season ended without much fanfare and baseball was up and down but overall fun. Our school years ended with hugs and smiles, like they always do. Despite testing and the rigor of an everyday job, teaching students always ends on the relationships you forge.

What of momma goose? Her nest was quickly mulched over and gone. Most of the geese population have moved on. It's quiet in the suburbs again. Cars speed through intersections and our pool is full of chlorine. Summer has already transitioned into July. June for me was fairly lazy. It was part feeling sorry for myself and part vindictive relaxation. July has come. It's time for me to start stumbling over curbs, following the lead of my God once more. You see how this blog turned out? It's all a metaphor. Even a momma goose's story.