Life After the Conference Grounds

Isn't there a song or a phrase somewhere that says "You can't go home again"? This is the first summer of not living and working at the Conference Grounds after five years in a row of being there. I had to move on because I have school this summer and I wouldn't be able to work there full-time. I figured that visiting frequently would be enough, that it would fill me up with the added benefit of not having to work in the ice cream store under a baking hot sun. I knew that it would feel a little different to be there only every so often, but I didn't expect it to feel this different.

It's not that I feel left out of something great. Technically, I am left out because I don't work there anymore, but I made my peace with that at the end of last summer, so it that part doesn't bother me. I think what's so hard is knowing that I eventually have to go home each time. And home isn't the Conference Grounds. It will always be my heart home, but I don't live there anymore. No matter how much fun I have while I'm visiting my friends there, in the back of my mind, there's that niggling voice that says, "Don't get too happy, you know you'll just have to go home later."

Sometimes it's just too hard, ya know? Being in a place that used to be your place. That place where you fit perfectly, no questions asked. I can go back and visit all I want, but it's not the same. Today, before I left, it physically hurt to be there and know that I couldn't stay. I can't explain where it hurt or why it hurt. It hurt so much that it has made me wonder if it's even worth it to go out there again. Is it worth it to enjoy myself for a few hours and then feel so horribly lonely afterward? In the long run, would I be better off emotionally if I just stayed away? Do the good feelings outweigh the bad ones?

That's what I'm struggling with tonight. I'd have a good cry about it, but we both know that that ain't gonna happen. Sometimes I hold my breath until my heart starts beating really loud just to make sure that it's still going. But ya know what? It is what it is. Good night world, the sun'll come out tomorrow.

A Prayer For You On This Fathers' Day

Today is the day when everyone remembers their dad, sends cards and presents, and gives hugs, either in person or in long-distance.

But for those of you for whom Fathers' Day hurts, this post is for you.

For the kids who are far away from their dads, whether it's miles or continents, I pray that the distance won't seem so great and that there will be a way for you to connect with your dad.
For the kids whose fathers have died, I pray that your grief will not drown you and that your happy memories of Dad will hold you up.
For the kids who have never known their fathers, I pray that you would be able to forget the reasons that you don't know your dad and appreciate the chromosomes he passed along.
For the kids who don't get to see their dads very often, I pray that you will be able to celebrate your dad the next time you see him as fully as you would have celebrated him today.
For the kids whose fathers have hurt them, I pray that this day would not remind you of that pain.

For the fathers whose children have died, I pray that your grief will not overtake you and that you will remember that you will always be their dad.
For the stepfathers, I pray that you will appreciate your stepchildren for who they are, forgive them when they treat you badly, and be the strong role model they need.
For the fathers who don't get to see their kids very often, I pray that the time you do spend with your kids can be as special as it would have been today and that being away won't hurt too much.

For all of you whose Fathers' Day is less than ideal...I'm praying for you.

Spotlight

 W

e
l
l,
b
a
c
k
to
the
spot-
light.
I bet you
can't believe
that you're here
again. It's like it all comes rushing back, as
if four years ago was yesterday. I bet you never in a million
years thought you'd have to go through all of this again. Everyone is hurt.
Everyone is upset. Everyone feels lost. People you have never met are following this story
on the edge of their seats. "Gortsema" has become a household name, whispered speculations and whispered prayers. Even people who have never met Riley know her story, know what she's been through, know what you've been through. And the question remains: Why? Why her? Why now? Why you? Why, God? Why did this happen? Why? The questions will drive you crazy. They say that, in this kind of situation, all you can do is pray. But they never tell you how to pray when you can't find the words. It's easy to say, "She's in Heaven," but that doesn't really help you, does it? She's not here. "She's not suffering anymore," they'll say. But such small comfort that is. It's okay to want her back. It's okay to want both of them back. "God bears your pain," but it's pretty hard to understand that when
it feels like God disappeared. And in the end,
together with your pain and confusion, you're
back in this hellish spotlight.

It's Okay.

This is a list of things you don't hear in our culture.

1. It's okay to not go to college after you finish high school. 
2. It's okay to stop going to college if it's not the thing for you. 
3. It's okay to take a year off from school if you're not sure what you're doing there in the first place. And if that year turns into several years or not going back at all, that's okay too. 
4. It's okay to go to community college. They are just as academically rigorous as 4-year state colleges. Their quality is just as high. And hello, they cost a fraction of the price of other colleges! 
5. It's okay to not know what you want to do when you graduate from high school.
6. It's okay to not know what you want to do when you graduate from college.
7. It's okay to not get perfect grades. Your grades don't define you. 
8. It's okay to fail. It doesn't make you a failure. 
9. It's okay to not like kids. 
10. It's okay to not want to have kids. 
11. It's okay to work a job that doesn't give you lots of money, especially if you love that job. 
12. It's okay to not be happy all the time. 
13. It's okay to live with your parents (though you should probably check with them as to how long their welcome will last). 
14. It's okay to not fulfill everyone else's expectations all the time. 
15. It's okay to not fulfill your own expectations all the time. 
16. It's okay to feel far away from God from time to time. 
17. It's okay to wonder if God even cares about what happens to you. 
18. It's okay to cry, even for guys. It's not a sign of weakness.
19. It's okay to not be perfect. 
20. It's okay to not be doing great things all the time. 
21. It's okay to be you. 

Doing Great Things All The Time

If there is one thing that I have learned from this season of my life, it is this:

"Andrea, you can't always be doing great things all the time."

My therapist said that to me a couple of weeks ago after listening to my umpteenth complaint about how bored and frustrated and sad I felt with my life. I'm not in school for the first spring in 18 years, I don't work during the day, and I simply don't have much to DO. I watch a lot of TV. I read a lot of books. I check my email obsessively so that I won't miss any important WMU news or deadlines. I spend a lot of time next door playing with the kids because they are so much more interesting than my own house. I even started exercising.

Yes. EXERCISING.

About two weeks after moving back home, I began to feel extremely depressed about doing so little with my life. I was looking for a daytime job that wouldn't interfere with my afternoon and night jobs, but with very little luck. It was cold and snowy and gray and lifeless outside, which mirrored perfectly the way I felt inside. Hearing that I had been accepted to my master's program helped to ease my anxiety about the future, but it changed into a different kind of waiting that was only slightly easier to tolerate. My future was safely on track, it just hadn't started moving forward yet.

I've felt that motionlessness very deeply. My minecart of life is at a standstill on the tracks between the junctions of college and grad school. It has coasted to a stop and I'm very afraid that my little minecart has lost all of the momentum it had gained through all those years of school. I'm afraid that it will be hard to push my minecart into motion and keep it moving. So much of my life during the past few months has felt slow, monotonous, and unexciting. I never ever ever thought that I would say this, but I miss having schoolwork. I miss being occupied. I miss moving at the speed of light.

"You can't always be doing great things all the time."

If you are not familiar with Calvin College and its culture, that idea might seem like a no-brainer. Duh. You can't do great things all the time because then you'd be exhausted and always trying to out-do yourself and you'd never be satisfied. Somehow, though, when you're inside the Calvin bubble, you can delude yourself. People at Calvin and from Calvin seem to always be doing great things all the time. There are posters everywhere urging you to join this club, attend this seminar, participate in this awareness event, get involved with this ministry, on and on and on. The school's website has an entire News and Stories division devoted to showing the great things that their graduates are doing all the time. This person is single-handedly building wells in this remote village in Africa. This person is mapping this mysterious portion of the brain and discovering what it does. This person is teaching entire immigrant communities how to read English. This person just became an ambassador to the United Nations. On and on and on.

If they did a News and Stories story about me, it would be embarrassingly disappointing. "This person wakes up at 10:00 every morning but usually stays in bed til 11 because she can't think of any reason to get out of bed. She has watched the entire series of Law and Order: SVU beginning to end (that's thirteen seasons). Sometimes she eats lunch; sometimes she doesn't have an appetite. She leaves for work around 3:00 during the week, and curses the snow up and down for wreaking havoc with her little car. Here's something exciting! She got stuck in her employer's driveway on afternoon and slid backward into a tree, destroying a taillight and part of her rear bumper. The tree is fine, though, so don't worry."

I love Calvin dearly, but sometimes their idealism spins out of control. Its entire mission is to redeem the WORLD, aka do great things. Math class is not just math class, it is "changing the world through math." Spanish class is not just Spanish class, it is "ministering to Spanish-speaking people who don't know Jesus and changing the world." Education classes are not just education classes, they are "being the best teacher the world has ever seen and bringing God's light to every student and, of course, changing the world." The people of Calvin can usually make a joke out of this idealism and optimism and redeem-it-all-ism, but at the end of the day, it gets stuck in your head like the reviled, overplayed song on the radio that everyone is sick of.

You can imagine my surprise after spending a few weeks at home, living life in a much lower gear, and feeling horribly inadequate. Here I was, a bilingual college graduate with a teaching certificate, for crying out loud, but feeling like I amounted to very little. I really do have a lot going for me: not pregnant, not a teenage mother, not a drug addict, not an alcoholic, college-educated, literate, fed and sheltered, and loved. In no way am I need of "getting my life back on track." But why can't I make myself remember that?! 

I guess it all boils down to this: you can't always be doing great things all the time. Sometimes, all you can do is exist. Live your day-to-day life. Make it through the week. Do your homework. Take care of your kids. Go to work and put up with the people you don't like. Get up in the morning. Eat at least some healthy food. Get in bed and fall asleep at night.

We can't all be digging wells in Africa. We can't all be studying the human brain and finding cures for cancer. We can't all be teaching English to immigrants. We can't all be legislators and ambassadors on the front lines, crusading for freedoms and rights. Most of all, we can't always hold ourselves to the impossible standard of doing big, noteworthy, sparkling, attention-getting things every moment of every day. It's a good thing to strive for, but we've got to stay realistic. Life itself is a big thing. Making lunch for your 4-year-old isn't very sparkly or glamorous, but if you didn't do it, your kid would starve. Keeping your head above the flood that is your schoolwork is not fancy or exciting, but if you blew it all off, you wouldn't get where you want to go. If you didn't have these stretches of time that seem interminable and deadly tedious, you wouldn't appreciate the opportunities that arise for doing great things, things that make life seem worthwhile, things that make you feel alive.

"We can do no great things, just small things with great love. It is not how much you do, but how much love you put into doing it." - Mother Theresa

Preach.

My Father the Cancer Patient

What you are about to read has not been approved by my dad. So please don't talk to him about it. You can talk to me and my family, but he would rather not discuss it. If it comes up in conversation, do not mention that you read it here. Say someone else told you. In short, do not treat him any differently. He doesn't want that.

When you throw out the word "cancer," a funny thing happens. People's eyebrows go up, their heads tilt to the side, and everyone is on high alert. There's a very specific feeling that goes along with that word; a feeling of apprehension, anxiety, and fear. It's everywhere - everyone has been affected somehow by this malicious disease. As for me, it has come closer than I ever imagined it would.

Over the course of my twenty-three years, my perception of my dad's identity has been constantly developing. I have a whole list of words that fit the sentence "My father the __________." Things like...

Dad. First and foremost, he's my dad. Always has been, always will be. Sometimes he wouldn't let us do things we really wanted, but overall, I'd say he's done a pretty good job filling this role.

Professor. My dad is an instructor at Grand Rapids CC in the dental hygiene program. He's been there as long as I can remember. He uses me and my brothers as examples in his lectures and his students could probably pick us out of a lineup. Or, at least, they could have when we were younger.

Occasional Dog Lover. We never had a dog growing up because my mom and I are allergic to them. I wouldn't say that my dad is an animal person. He tolerates them and doesn't go out of his way to touch them. But when the dogs next door are outside, he'll walk to the property line and they'll run to him and he'll scratch their heads and talk to them in a baby voice. It's pretty cute.

Rescuer. About two weeks ago, I was trying to get out of the driveway at the house where I work. My little 2-wheel drive car couldn't get up the incline to the road and started sliding backward down the driveway toward their house. It was ice and slush everywhere, so my brakes were useless. I collided slo-mo with a tree, effectively destroying one of my taillights. I had no idea what to do, and whenever that happens, I call my dad. He was already on his way home, but he turned around and drove out to where I work to help me get my car out. He always keeps his cool when one of us calls him in such circumstances. And he comes to the rescue.

Fount of Common Sense. Here are some of my favorite phrases that he would shout whenever we did something dumb:
 - "Close the door! You weren't born in a barn!"
 - "Turn off the water! I have to pay for that!"
 - "Don't touch that end of the hook."
 - "Stop looking straight at the sun. Unless you want to go blind."
 - "If you don't brush your teeth, they will fall out and I will not buy you new ones."

Red Wings Fanatic. If the Red Wings are playing on TV, you can expect to find my dad on the couch downstairs in front of the big screen. The only sounds he makes are when someone scores. If it's the other team, he grits his teeth and lets out a sort of frustrated groan. If it's the Red Wings, he shouts "SCOOOOOORES!" You can literally hear it anywhere in the house. It has scared my mom and I on more than one occasion. I jump right out of my skin. Other than those two things, he doesn't make a single other sound.

Italian chef and baker. My dad loves to cook and bake. Anyone who has sampled his goods will tell you that his homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, bread sticks, and homemade pizza are the best they've ever had. He also specializes in pasta dishes, grilling, and s'mores. For catering information, call us.

Face-melting bass guitarist. When I was in high school, my dad decided that he wanted to pick up the bass. He hadn't learned to play any musical instruments when he was younger, but he was in choir and knew how to read music. One afternoon, he told my mom that he was going down to Rainbow Music to look at some guitar models, get some information, and "just see what's out there." He came home with a blue bass guitar, amp, and starter pack.  He started taking lessons from my biology teacher and playing at church, and he's been at it ever since.

Airplane enthusiast. Dad loves planes. Not flying on them, necessarily, but the planes themselves. For a while, he built and flew remote control model airplanes whose wingspans are as tall as I am. They're all hanging from the ceiling of our storeroom. He has these big books of full-page photos of planes from wars past and present. I'm pretty sure that the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum was one of his favorite stops when we went to Washington D.C. The man loves planes.

Man who thinks of fruit as a dessert. As far back as I can remember, my dad has saved his fruit for last when we eat dinner. He was always the last to finish eating, usually after my mom had started reading the devotional, savoring his fruit.

There are many other identities that my dad has. Two months ago, a new one was added.

Cancer patient.

My dad was diagnosed with a slow-growing non-aggressive form of cancer shortly before Christmas. He didn't tell me and my brothers until after the new year had started. At first I was mad about that, but then I realized that that was a smart decision, since it probably would have ruined Christmas. He told us not to tell people, that it wasn't a big deal, that he would have surgery to remove it and then we'd be done with it.

But it was a big deal. Cancer is always a big deal.

It didn't matter that they caught his cancer early, or that it was easily removable, or that he probably wouldn't  need chemo or radiation. As soon as I heard him say "I have cancer," it was all over. I remember feeling like I was in a wind tunnel, with a loud rushing sound in my ears and an inability to remain standing upright. It was just like in a movie: his mouth was moving, but I wasn't hearing his words because my own thoughts were drowning them out.

Yesterday was the day of his surgery, which went well and with no complications. He stayed the night at the hospital and came home early this afternoon. No fanfare, no carepage, no bulletin announcement. Since the beginning, my dad has wanted this whole thing kept on the down-low. He didn't want people bringing meals, or coming to pray over him, or any sort of "cancer attention." That decision was very hard for me to accept because I needed to form a support system and learn to cope with this new dimension of my dad. He was acting as if this was no big deal - the whole family was - but I couldn't handle that. I would find myself thinking, Am I blowing this out of proportion? If they're not worried about it, shouldn't I just calm down? WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING SO WEIRD?

I did end up telling a few people simply because I couldn't help it. My close friends could tell that something was wrong as soon as they asked about how my parents were. I'm sure my face gave it away every time. I'm not such a great actress sometimes. Once the "secret" was out, I always felt so much better. These were people that I could trust with my emotions and could share my burden. I knew I could count on their prayers and support and phone calls and love. I had a hard time accepting that my parents apparently didn't want this. I had an ever harder time reconciling the fact that telling was something that I needed to do, but that my parents forbade me to do.

My dad has since changed his mind about our vow of silence, but I know that he still doesn't want a lot of attention about this. So here's the gist: he's home recovering from surgery for about three weeks, he'll be back to work after GRCC's spring break, his lab reports come back in about 10 days, and he'll have more blood work done in a month. Based on the location and type of his cancer, his doctor is fairly sure that it was isolated and he most likely won't have to have further treatment. They caught it really early and he'll be back to 100% pretty soon. For all intents and purposes, the most serious part of this leg of the cancer journey is behind us.

There is, of course, always the chance that cancer will pop up somewhere else in the future, but as my dad always says, "We'll jump over that bridge when we come to it." I've laid awake at night thinking about what would happen if it grows somewhere else. That's the funny thing about cancer - you can never be 100% sure that the doctors got all of it. There's always that chance that it will come back, even after many many years of remission. It keeps you off-balance that way. It's not over 'til it's over.

So here we are. My dad has cancer, but he's okay. My family and I ask for your prayers and encouragement, but nothing more. We don't want people to bring meals or to treat us like he's on his deathbed because he isn't. The best way for you to help us is to pray for us and let us know that you're thinking of us. I repeat: no meals, no fruit baskets, no gifts, etc. It would make him feel very uncomfortable.

Thank you for reading this novel, and thank you in advance for your prayers.

What Valentine's Day Used to Be About

I promise, this will not be a post about how it sucks to be single on Valentine's Day.

I actually hadn't given much thought to Valentine's Day this year, probably because I live in a place that is not wallpapered with advertisements for events and celebrations of V-Day. Add to that the fact that I'm no longer surrounded by couples my age, and I almost forgot about it completely.

Do you remember what Valentine's Day used to be all about? When we were kids, it was all about candy, little paper cards with movie and cartoon characters on them, and parties at school. I brought some homemade cupcakes next door to my neighbors and the twins were sifting through all of the candy they got from their preschool V-Day party today. I had forgotten about this aspect of Valentine's. For kids, it's second to Halloween in terms of candy haul. Those twins were in sugar rush mode and loving every minute of it. Lilly asked me if I had gotten any candy at school today. I told her that I don't go to school right now and therefore didn't get any candy. She looked up at me with her big green eyes and said, "Anjerah (Andrea), that is so sad. I am sad for you because you don't have any candy. Do you want my necklace?" For these two, V-Day meant lots of candy and hugs and smooches from the people they love. They have no idea what "single" means and why it can be so crippling at times. I had forgotten about this simplicity of mind in the flurry of mushy Facebook statuses about boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and "true love" (whatever that is).

Speaking of Facebook statuses, I saw a lot of statuses about letting Jesus be your Valentine. I had mixed feelings about these. While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, it seems hollow to me. Yes, Jesus is the only person we should ever need to fulfill us, but at the same time, we were created to be relational beings; to know someone else so fully and deeply that they become a part of us. It is a very physical longing that we experience. I'll be the first to admit that it is very, very hard to feel that an invisible and intangible Jesus is filling a hole that a flesh-and-blood human being is supposed to fill. And I think that's okay. Even Jesus experienced painful human loneliness in spite of his divinity. Regardless of what this day was meant to be back in the time of Saint Valentine, we live in a culture now that places value on having someone special to be your valentine. Living counter to that culture can be both rewarding and lonely.

One person in particular has been on my mind today: my third-grade teacher. If you read back a few months, you will remember that her husband died very unexpectedly. For the first time in more than two decades, she is without her valentine. As hard as it can be to be single sometimes, it is, without a doubt, utterly crippling to miss a person you had at your side for so long. She is very close to my heart tonight, as is anyone whose valentine has been ripped away from them, no matter how long ago it happened.

I'll leave you all with a moment of levity: as I was baking those cupcakes this morning, I was listening to the radio. 105.3 HOT-FM was my station of choice, and normally I think they do a pretty good job. However, this morning they were playing a pre-recorded happy message every so often. I think their intentions were good, but hearing "From all of us at 105.3 to you, have a happy VD" made me wonder who was in charge of that little campaign.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.