I love you, John

My husband was a flawed man. There were many things that he did that I didn’t want to do that same way. There were a few relationships in his life that could have been better mended, kept in closer contact. There were even moments when I wished he would spend more time with his daughters instead of being out and about. But, for the most part, he was an incredible man. I feel like I need to put this first part in because if I don’t, some of you may think I idolize him, I think of him as a super hero, or I have looked past all his issues and promoted him to sainthood after his death. I assure you that is not the case.

                I met John when he was 21 and in college, so naturally he was a reckless kid. He seemed to have no fear, and his plan for the future was a little unclear. But the very first thing that anyone who met him had to notice was his passion for God. He was always playing guitar, hanging out and having theological discussions with his Christian (and atheist) friends, or going somewhere that other people would be. And for so long, I have misunderstood him.

                I had no idea you could learn more about who a person was after they died. But here I am, reeling from a discovery that I should have understood so long ago. You see, John understood Luke 5:31 more clearly than I. It says, “Jesus answered them, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.’” Another verse John absolutely loved was 1 John 2:6, “Anyone who claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did.” The words in Luke come from Jesus, and are a testament to how he lived his life. Jesus walked from city to city speaking to groups of people, eating with the hated members of society, and letting the sick touch him. He didn’t go to church every Sunday, or at least that’s not recorded, and he didn’t hang out with only the people who were “good enough”. In fact, he corrected so many of the religious elite and told them that their religion was worthless because their hearts weren’t focused on God, but on their own glory. He let them know in no uncertain terms that their attendance record at the local synagogue meant diddly squat when it came to knowing God’s heart and doing his will.

                How will we meet the needs of the poor and the orphans if we spend no time where they are? How will we show light and life to the lost and broken if we avoid them? How will the man who offends us with his speech ever be inspired to hold his tongue if we simply stay away and never speak to him? Change doesn’t happen without inspiration. Inspiration comes from a life well-lived and a witness spoken with fewer words. Hanging out with your unbelieving friends doesn’t mean that every time you see them you go through the steps to salvation and speak in scriptures. It means that you spend time with them on their level, without participating in activities that are ungodly. You hang out at their house that smells like cigarette smoke and Indian food and you let them cook for you because you want to be their friend and find out what makes them tick. Because you want to accept their hospitality and show them the same. Because a Bible track that sits on a restaurant table for the server to read doesn’t have a face and a name that makes it real and personal. There’s an overused expression that fits my sentiment.

No one will care what you know until they know that you care.

How does this relate to John? Let me explain. The day he died, August 28, 2011, he was on a motorcycle ride. It was a simple route that he’d taken many times before to get from the base where we were stationed to an Air Force base about 20 minutes away. It was a Sunday, and the reason we weren’t at the house church we attended was because the girls and I were sick. The first thing John thought of when I suggested the girls and I stay home and not spread the cold we had, was that he could call up his two buddies and go for the ride they’d been meaning to do. He wanted to help his friend find a motorcycle jacket. So he arranged the time and place to meet, and since neither of his friends went to church, they were up for it. They met and left, and that ride was one that neither of his 2 friends will ever forget. John didn’t come home to me that day, but he did go home.

                Those 2 men were friends John had made since he first arrived in Korea, 10 months earlier. They were people he hung out with on a regular basis, people who knew what he stood for, but also knew that he loved to ride, loved to eat, and loved to talk. He had spent the months before I arrived in Korea eating and talking with these guys on a weekly basis, if not more. They were friendships he had invested in from day 1. John always had the talent for making friends with strange people. And I’ll tell you, Kahn was a strange guy. He was Indian by descent and loved to cook. He also drank like a fish and has a life story that includes a lot of mistakes, self-sufficiency, and darkness. His job is as a military investigator and he sees the worst of those he encounters. In fact, the day of the accident was not the first time he was present at the scene of an accident and fatality. That is his job.

                In the days after the accident, Leo Kahn came to talk to me, along with Shawn who had also been present. Kahn told me how much respect he had for John, how he knew that John believed in what he said and that his faith was genuine and certain. Somehow, John had lived in such a way that displayed his passionate faith, and his love for people. Faith and obedience to God cannot mean turning your back on faithless people. It cannot mean ignoring, mistreating, or judging them. God will judge them. Our job is to love them. To live our lives in truth and not to hide our faith, but to make time for people.

                The revelation that happened to me today was that John had been balancing so much in his life so well. When I met him in college, I thought he was just a guy who liked to talk, to argue, and to be around people. In our first few years of marriage I thought that he was insensitive to me because he constantly wanted to go out and didn’t understand why I wanted to stay home. I chalked that up to him loving a good time and making friends. At the time I didn’t understand the passion he had for people. He wanted to go out because that’s where the people are. He wanted to hang out with people I didn’t like so well because he was more comfortable in his own skin than I was. He knew his time was short.

He knew his time was short.

                He didn’t have to know his time on earth would only be 27 years, because we all have a short time on earth, we just don’t live like we understand that. 80 years or 18 years, it’s still short in the scheme of things. Compared to eternity, it’s a blink of an eye.

                John didn’t expect to get married. He thought he’d be single forever and be able to just focus on serving God completely with his life. His ministry might have been even greater had I not come along. But I did. He met me and married me. He now had so many things to balance: being the provider of his family, leading us spiritually, continuing outside ministry, and being an active member of a church body. Eventually we had children and he added fatherhood into that. When he joined the military he had to spend more time and effort in his job, more dedication to his skill. I remember us having less time to spend outside of the house and meeting fewer people outside of the church at this point. I think God was building us up and showing us how to invest in friendships in a safe environment before we ventured back into a more mixed environment. We both needed the encouragement. So when John moved to Korea, he had a chance to continue providing for his family, but to use his spare time to “do life” with new people. And those friendships were important to him.

That’s why, August 28, 2011, he got on his motorcycle and never came back. Because he loved those men like Jesus did and used the time he had to spend with them.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good at that as John was, as outgoing and talkative or brave. But I do know that he left a legacy for me, he invested in me and loved me more than I thought I deserved at the time. And his marriage to me was a great challenge for him. It was an opportunity for him to know what it means to love someone like Christ loved the church and gave his life up for it. I know I was good for him and that I helped him to grow and to change. Neither of us would have been the same without the other. But right now what I’m working on understanding is how John looked at people, and more so how Jesus looked at people. Are they too broken to invest my time in? Or just sick enough to need a doctor?

 

I love you, John.

One Year in the Making

Today yoga class almost made me cry.

True, my muscles were burning, tingling, and shaking, but that is not why tears came springing to my eyes during the last 5 minutes of class.

During yoga, there is a lot of time for the participants to concentrate solely on their bodies, their breath, A time where your mind is at peace and able to focus on the class alone. And then at the end, everything slows down and your body is relaxed and your mind has room to wander. Usually I let myself take those few moments and simply relax, enjoy the release of all the tension built during the hour-long yoga practice. But today was different. Even before we’d released and come into that time of quiet, rest, and relaxation, my mind started to wander. I thought about when I first started coming to this class, only a few weeks earlier. I thought about a conversation I’d had with one of the instructors about my past, why I am where I am, and how losing John had been the beginning of an extremely challenging year where God has pulled me in closer to himself. And then I thought about how that year is about to draw to a close, and while there will be no fanfare, no stopping of time to signify what has passed, and virtually no one outside of John’s immediate family will even understand the transition that is taking place, it will mean a change in my life.

And suddenly I began to panic.

After August 28^th, my identity will be changing. You see, all the grief counselors and all the books by the most knowledgeable people in the world agree that the grieving process takes about one year. I wouldn’t say I’ve experienced grief by their standards or traveled all the “steps” involved.  And despite the way I still feel closely drawn in to that pain, the awareness of what I’ve lost, the way I deeply and completely miss my husband, I’ll be expected to no longer be “that woman who lost her husband.” This isn’t me railing against the expectations of society, because I don’t blame them for me feeling that pressure. I feel like time itself is putting pressure on me. My own understanding of the passage of time and the changes it brings puts pressure on me. My desire to be healed and whole again puts pressure on me. And nobody wants to be defined as a widow, right?

So why is this so hard? Why do I panic at the thought of no longer being the widow? Of just being a girl? Mom to Airalynn and Elenie. Girlfriend of Jeremy.

I miss John.

I miss being his wife, I miss seeing him every day, hearing his voice, holding his hand. I don’t want to move any further away from the day I lost him, because that was the last time I saw him. That was the last time I kissed him goodbye. That was the last time my family felt whole, perfect. That was the last time I saw my first love. And the more days pass between now and then, the more real it has to become that I’ll never see him again on this earth. That my old life that I loved so much will never be mine again.

I have to let go. I don’t want to let go.

The things that have characterized the last year of my life have been strength, passion, love, joy, maturity…I’ve spent this time pushing my own limits and letting people into my life when I wasn’t emotionally ready to handle so many people wanting my love and attention. Maybe it was rebellion in me against the expectations some have for a widow. Maybe it was God strengthening me and surrounding me with people who love me and want to help me by asking me to look beyond myself for a while. All I know is that now that year is over. The patience I received from people around me will diminish, not because they are insensitive, but because we all have internal clocks that urge us to act a certain way for a certain time, and at the end of that time, we are no longer required to act in that way. We expect other people to pick themselves up and become fully functioning members of society again.

What if I’m not fully functioning yet?

What if my head works perfectly, but my heart still hiccups and stutters? How do I ask Jeremy, my parents, John’s parents to be understanding? What do I say when suddenly I change my mind because fear and longing for the past replace my excitement for the future? How do I explain these mood swings that even I can’t anticipate?

Some people won’t expect me to. Some people will keep their distance out of caution because they can see that I am still not back to “normal”. Some people may try to pry my emotions out of me in an attempt to “help” me move on. The problem is that no one, not even me, knows what to expect, day in and day out. I feel so confused, dizzy from the way my heart swings back and forth. And the year mark that is creeping closer and closer and threatening to strangle me feels like the dip you anticipate after climbing for several minutes on a tall roller coaster.

So do I throw my hands up and wait for my stomach to flip?

Or do I scream “I want to get off!” and claw my way out of my restraints? Do I even get a choice?