Life's better when you have an old friend

My oldest friend in the world is John.  And by oldest, I don't mean literally he's the oldest, because he's only 34, but oldest in that our friendship is going on 27 years now.  He lives in Hawaii so I don't see him a lot but his brother, who I have also known for 27 years, lives in CO Springs and once or twice a year, John finds himself in the Springs and so I find myself there too.

It's great to have a friend who has known you at every stage of your life and yet still enjoys spending time with you.  John is like the best pair of jeans I've ever owned and he makes me laugh like nobody else, partly because we have decades of material to work from.  I hate that I only get 8 or 10 hours with him once or twice a year but I'll take what I can get.  He's always been there when I've needed a friend, whether I was 7 or 16 or 32.  He gives great advice and always directs me back to God.

Here's a look at me and John through the years. 

This is my 7th birthday party.  Note how John is stuffing his face with ice cream instead of watching me open my presents.  Not much has changed since then, except that I get fewer presents these days and John eats more ice cream.

In the early years, John and I would play 1 of 2 games.  Either we would play "Land of the Lost", which involved running around my backyard and screaming loudly while throwing sticks, or we would play "Spy", which involved sneaking into my neighbor's house and belly crawling around trying to not be seen.  This game was sadly put to an end when my neighbor told my mom what we were doing.  Apparently it's not polite to just sneak into other people's houses and hide from them.  Whatever.

This is me around age 9.  While I don't have a picture of John from this time period, suffice to say he was as awesome, if not more so, than I was.  This was the year we went to summer camp together, where apparently his cabin spent the whole week spraying bug spray in each other's eyes to see who was toughest.  I spent the week learning Bible verses and singing songs.

My family, and subsequently life, fell apart between ages 10-11 for me, and I didn't see John again until my freshman year in high school, but it was pure magic when we were reunited again.

Now that you've seen this photo, we have to kill you.

High school was officially the spy era.  Mostly, John would spy and then call me the next day to tell me about it because I was too scared I would get in trouble if I joined in any of his shenanagins.  We even gave each other spy names.  Mine was 003 and his was Secret Agent John.  We still call each other by these names today.

This was my version of an artistic head shot when I was 15.

We rafted the Jemez river in a pool raft, considered frosted animal crackers a worthy meal option, and played water poker in his front yard.  When I got grounded, John organized a sit-in with my friends in my driveway.  He also liked curling my hair, so we did that a lot too. 

But all good things must end.

John graduated a year before I did and left me alone at LAHS for my senior year. Jerk. But we both look really good in this picture.

John was a year older than me and went off to college.  Luckily, the internet was invented around this time, so we stayed in touch via this new-fangled thing called "email."  And there were adventures to be had at Christmas and summer breaks.

We may have lived in a town full of rocket scientists, but that didn't mean we knew how to work the photo booth at the mall.

I almost followed John to college but chickened out at the last minute.  I had a scholarship to Luther and everything.  It's complicated why I didn't go, but it's the biggest regret I have, not so much the not following John part but that I stayed close to home for those 4 years instead of going out into the world.  Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like today if I had chosen the other way.  But I believe in a God who works all things out for good, and me not going to Luther didn't throw the world off kilter.

John used to wear Old Spice deodorant.  Best smell in the world. As you can see, I'm about armpit height. He would shove my face into his armpit on a regular basis to make me smell how good he smelled. That's what friends are for.

Life happened.  His mom moved away so he stopped coming to New Mexico after awhile and eventually moved to Hawaii.  I moved to Colorado and figured I would never see him again.  But one day on a whim, I put my spy skills to use and found an email address for his sister, who was working at Luther at the time, and she put me back in touch with him.  Then we discovered facebook, and the rest is history.

My semi-annual day in the Springs with John and his nieces is a highlight now for me.  Sometimes we go to Chuck E. Cheese's, where we can be kids too, but yesterday we just played driveway volleyball and Monopoly Deal and bored everyone with stories of our youth.  After 27 years, he's still one of my favorite people to play with, and I'm counting down the days until Christmas break.

003 and Secret Agent John.  Undisclosed location.  This picture will self-destruct in 10 seconds.  So will your face.

Who's your oldest friend?

Sinners and Saints

I got to know a couple of very different people not all that long ago.  If you were to use the classic Christian definitions of the words, one was by all accounts a sinner and the other was a saint.

I'll be honest - I liked the sinner a lot more.

The sinner shared an unbelievable story with us late one night over drinks (it's so like sinners to be up late at night drinking).  He told his story with courage, humility, and all kinds of grace, both for himself and for others.  His willingness to share opened the door for me to then share some of the pain and hurt I have wrestled with over the last couple of years.  While we never openly said it, I think everyone around the table that night sensed Jesus sitting there with us.

The saint, on the other hand, never bothered to learn more about me beyond my first and last name but was very quick to point out the ways I fell short and how he could have done things much better than I was doing them.  I'm not completely ungrateful for my brief interaction with him, though, because he did teach me this important truth:

Self-righteousness sucks.

It doesn't attract people to God, it repels them.

It doesn't endear people to you, it alienates them.

It doesn't help heal what's hurting, it makes the wound worse.

I'll be honest again - until about two years ago, I was about as saintly as they come.  I cringe now to think about the judgment and the self-righteousness I wore like my favorite shirt and the damage I undoubtedly did to so many people.  I am so sorry.  Please forgive me if I ever treated you like you were scum and I was not.

But then my friend died, I lost my job, I wrecked my car, I got sick, and I lost my way.

There's something about brokenness and heartache and pain that transforms saints into sinners.

I want to live the rest of my life like a sinner (I hope all the saints out there read that and freak out.)

What I mean is I want to live the rest of my life aware of my own unending need for grace, kindness, and second chances.  I want to live a life that welcomes people to share their hurts and fears and wounds with me, and I with them, so that together we can seek healing in God's heart.

And somehow at the end of it all, God will make me His kind of saint because He is the friend of sinners.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love,

I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all His mysteries and making everything plain as day,

and if I have a faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps,

but I don't love, I'm nothing.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr,

but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.

Love cares more for others than for self.

Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.

Love doesn't strut,

doesn't have a swelled head,

doesn't force itself on others,

isn't always "me first,"

doesn't fly off the handle,

doesn't keep the score of the sins of others,

doesn't revel when others grovel,

takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

puts up with anything,

trusts God always,

always looks for the best,

never looks back,

but keeps going to the end.

Love never dies,

--from The Message, a paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 13:1-8



Handpicked

I don't think I've mentioned yet that Erika is getting married tomorrow (June 2), which also happens to be my birthday.  I'm a bridesmaid, and she has promised to throw her bouquet at me in honor of both her marriage and my birthday.

I was talking with a friend yesterday about how awkward and horrible weddings can be for any number of reasons, not so much thinking of Erika's wedding, because that one will be wonderful.  But as an introvert, weddings often fill me with great fear.  Fear of who I'm going to be assigned to sit with at a table for three hours, fear of being forced to get up and dance in front of people if I don't willingly want to, fear of having to talk to people who otherwise annoy the snot out of me, and usually those people end up being the people I've been assigned to sit with for three hours.  All very Christ-like approaches to celebrating the primary way God has chosen to illustrate His love relationship with us.

Erika let me pick my tablemates for her wedding, kind of like a birthday present.  So if you end up sitting at my table tomorrow, know that you were handpicked to sit there.  And if you are not sitting at my table, please still be my friend.  I couldn't pick everyone, although I tried.  Not really, because that's not an introvert's way, but I said it to make you feel better and not hate me.

So this friend I was talking to yesterday, who is sitting at my table, and I were talking about good strategies for how to deal with people you don't want to talk to at weddings who seek you out to talk to you.

I suggested that if that happens to us tomorrow, I will jump up from the table in my bridesmaid dress, grab a concealed weapon that's on someone else sitting at the table (knowing the people at my table, it's 99.9% certain that there will be at least one concealed weapon at the table.  I told you I handpicked who is sitting there...), do a backflip through the air and then shoot them, Jack Bauer style, in the kneecaps as they approach.  Sort of like a scene from Kill Bill, which is what every bride dreams her wedding reception will turn into.

It would make for an awesome blog post on June 3, that's for sure.  But I would have to change the name of my blog to BecauseErikahasbannedmefromeverspeakingtoheragainandnowI'minjail.blogspot.com

That's too much of a hassle for me, so I'll just play it cool tomorrow.

But being a bridesmaid on my birthday has solved my other introvert dilemma, which is how to deal with the perpetual question I get asked this time of year, "What do you want to do for your birthday?"  I hate this question.  HATE it.  I don't know what I want to do two hours from now, let alone on my birthday.  And when I do decide to do things on any other day, I voluntarily pick things I can do alone or with one or two other trusted friends.  I don't normally devise ways to spend as much time as possible with as many people as possible where I am the center of attention, so why would I all of a sudden think that doing that on June 2 is a good idea?

Here's what I think birthdays should be about.  It should be about letting the person know why you are grateful that God chose to give them life and then thanking God for creating them and asking Him to continue to use their life in your life and in the world until the day He chooses to not give them breath anymore.

God is the giver of life and the one who carefully knits together each life in the womb.  Every person who is on this earth today has been handpicked to be here by God.

So if you want to "do" something with me tomorrow for my birthday/Erika's wedding, that is what you can do.

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place,

when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me

were written in your book before one of them came to be.

Psalm 139:13-16

By the way, I am taking submissions now for next year's June 2 wedding that I can be a bridesmaid in.  Don't worry - I won't shoot anyone in the knee caps at your wedding either.