Believe

Dear Rory,

It's been a year. A year since my last letter to you. I heard someone say "the days are long but the years go by so fast." It is so true. You would have been 36 on Saturday. You committed suicide 5 years ago today. At this moment 5 years ago, Brian and I were comforting our friends in our home. I didn't cry. I kept busy. I talked and held the kleenex while others sobbed with broken hearts. I didn't cry.

Brian and I took the next day off and went to your apartment. I didn't cry. There were the stickers from the envelopes you sealed all over your little room. Your bed was cleared of everything. Your clothes were scattered everywhere. You stopped caring about caring for yourself. We worked our way through your stuff. CD's, clothes, trash, mail...everything. I was on a mission. I was determined at that moment to clean up your space because you were worth it. It gave my brain and my hands something to do. I think we stayed for a couple of hours. I would have stayed all day but Brian couldn't handle it anymore, and rightfully so. It was too much. I took a sweatshirt. Your white and orange Texas sweatshirt. It still smelled like you. I have it in a bin downstairs. One day, I promise to wear it.

I got through the next couple of days until your funeral. I sat with the other women whose husbands were giving speeches during the service. I sat with those women and held their hands as our husbands said goodbye to their friend. Brian went last. He was paying tribute to the guy who ALWAYS had to go last. I didn't cry. I wanted Brian to be able to look at someone who wasn't crying so he could say what he wanted to say and be strong. Then the service was over and I couldn't move. I remember not being able to move my legs very well. They were dead weight. Then, all of a sudden, my heart was ripped open and I cried. I cried so hard, I couldn't breathe. Brian moved me outside of the worship space and set me on a bench. I don't remember much  after that besides people sitting next to me, taking turns holding me up. At least, I think that's what happened.

So many pieces of those couple of days are clear to me. I remember your hair as I hugged you after you gave your speech at our house the night of the party...the last time we saw you.  I remember that hug and how I wanted to hold on to you longer, but then feeling you pull away before I was ready to be done holding you. (If that's not a metaphor for this whole situation, I don't know what is.) I remember the call from your employer saying you hadn't showed up for work and how both Brian and I talked to her and told her that you were ok. We just saw you the Saturday before and you seemed really good; not to worry. I remember Brian's face when he walked into my classroom  the next day to tell me you were dead. I remember holding him and how he had to tell me what you had done. I remember our friends faces as they walked into our house overwhelmed with grief. I remember your room and the things in it.

And everyday I remember how much I love you. How you helped Brian become the person he is because of who you were. I am grateful for that relationship. And for ours.

I still have anger. Not as much as I used to have, but it's there. I know it is because it is heavy. And, I carry it around knowing that if I forgave you, I would feel lighter. I'm just not there yet. Maybe one day. Maybe that day, I will put on that sweatshirt and cry happy tears, not sad ones.

I love you.
I miss you.
I hate that you are not here.
Gina

My Church...Light of the World

On Wednesday, December 5th, our congregation found out that our Pastor would be leaving Light of the World. God was calling her to Minneapolis to help other "start up" churches. It is a great job for her and she will be wonderful at it. In turn we, as a church, will be dealing with this change. I decided to get up and speak to the congregation on Sunday.  This is what I said. However, imagine me blubbering throughout the whole thing.

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Good morning. I am not going to pretend I know how all of you are feeling since you got the two letters about Pastor Deb’s new job. Since I started to process it, thoughts and words about this church repeated over and over again in my head so I decided to write them down. I then asked both Pastor Deb and my husband Brian if it would be ok to come up here and talk to you for a minute…or three about what all of you mean to me.

We have not been here from the very beginning. We didn’t get to experience the golf course days. We started in March of 2008. After we attended our first service, it was because of Pastor Deb that we came back. My guess is that you have felt it too…the feeling that what she is preaching about that week is meant for you, and only you. It’s like she knew what you were going through that week and wants to tell you about how she knows things are going to be ok because we have God on our side. Not only in her words but when she greets you on Sunday mornings with her big smile and open arms, it’s like she got up that day specifically to see YOU. Knowing her these 4 years, I see why she was called to be a pastor. God’s love flows from her heart. Her mind. Her soul.

It is because of these qualities that I have felt that Light of the World was not going to be the last stop on her journey. God has other plans for her. Great plans. I am thankful He has put her in my life. I wouldn't be the same person without her.

Now I would like to talk about all of you. I would like to tell you that, as the weeks and years have passed, Pastor Deb was not the only one we were coming to see on Sundays. Because of you, I have learned what a church really is. I have learned that it is more than just one person, and I want to remind you of that. Pastor Deb’s vision of what she wanted Light of the World to be has brought it together, but it is YOU who makes it stick.

It is you that brings me back every week. You who fills my cup and helps me get through the next six days until I can see you again. Look at the person to your right. I love that person. Look to your left. I love that person too. Whether you are one of the babies I grab for my baby fix, a young child for me to chat and laugh with, a confirmation student who is teaching me something new about life seen through your eyes or an adult that my extroverted self needs a hug from. You are my church. Wherever this journey takes us, I want to be with you. That is what matters to me. The person who leads and preaches is a piece of the puzzle, but that person can’t do a whole lot without us.

I wanted to come up here today to tell you that it’s all of you who have taught me about God’s love. And I thank Him every day for you. You are an amazing group of people.