What it SHOULD be

Yesterday was the "Out of the Darkness" walk. Since Abbie took her own life a little more than seven years ago, it's been a real process of healing. I feel like for the most part, I'm good and healed now. Really. It's not that I miss her less or I'm not bothered by what she did and, quite frankly, what was done to her. It's just that I'm able to walk with less of a limp because of it now. Time. Christ. The stream of healing. I say that because instead of blaming myself and everything else, I've decided to turn the corner and do whatever I can to help the cause of suicide prevention. As I told a reporter yesterday (yeah I work in radio but it's still cool to be interviewed!), it's the most dangerous cause that no one wants to talk about. There's a stigma, "well, they chose". There's all kinds of misunderstanding and bluntly a lack of compassion with suicide when compared to things like cancer and heart disease. Cancer and heart disease deserve compassion, the efforts to end them deserve attention and support. But so does this. We raised a lot of money, more than we had in the previous two years of its existence. That was great. That was fantastic. That will be tremendously helpful. But it wasn't the best part. The best part was the turnout. People just kept showing up. It was beautiful. It was powerful to see the shirts with victims names, faces, and dates. To know that there were all these different stories, but this common, unspoken understanding.
But you want to know what my favorite part was? There was this guy, I'm not going to give his name because I don't how public he wants his story to be. He knows who he is. But he came to the walk. It's personal for him, and his family. Another member of his family chose the same ending that Abbie did. He and the rest of his family had apparently never discussed it. Ever. It had been several years, this wasn't last month. But they never talked what their family member did, how it affected them, what they must've been going through. So this person hears about the walk, and calls two of his family members (sorry about being vague, it's for his confidence) to join him at the walk. They do. They register, they walk. The "central" area was underneath this picnic shelter. After the walk is over they go to the back of this shelter, find a table all to themselves, kind of cast away from the other people. They wanted to be alone. From the other end of the shelter, I see this book. I'm assuming some sort of scrapbook. Pictures, newspaper clippings, that kind of stuff. And I'm told that they were talking about what happened. For the very first time. I watched a couple of them wipe tears from their faces. There was no real sobbing, but you could tell, a wound was being lanced. I watched the guy take off his glasses, I can only imagine so he could reach his tears that he just recently learned he could still cry (that in itself, thrills my heart more than I can tell you). I went to say goodbye to them when I had to leave, and I felt bad for interrupting such a beautiful fellowship. I just hugged him, introduced Lindsay to the other family members, and left. There was nothing that really needed to be said. Small talk seemed insulting.
That will be my image of this (so far) most successful walk. A family, who had avoided acknowledging this devastating wound, now diving in head first. Using this occasion to heal, to allow healing to be done.
We raised over $14,000. Fantastic. That money will help a lot. And I hope that everyone was helped in some way. But I know for sure, I saw it, three siblings coming together for the first time ever to love each other. Love each other closer to wholeness. I am so freaking proud of this guy. So proud. And I bet that the "board" of the walk would agree without hesitation, you can have every nickel of that $14,000 back, if we could have had every person at that walk, share in a moment like these three people did. Community, healing, helping, and love. It was more of a living example of the true intention of Christianity than any conference or church service I'd ever been to.

The light above the lake

I've said several times that this is my favorite place on earth. It is, if you're tuning in late, Emerald Lake in the middle of Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. The top is a picture of me taken at the shores of the lake, looking up at Hallet Peak. The second is just a better look at the lake, as it's tough to get all of it in one shot. Even though I've said several times it's my favorite place on earth, and day dreamed about it, marveled at it when I've been lucky enough to be there, talked endlessly about it, had my Groom's cake modeled after it at our wedding, I never really understood why it was my favorite. Never, until that is, Lindsay and I went a short while back.
We get up to the lake Sunday afternoon. Maybe morning, I don't know. This was the one place I had been looking forward to since the last time I sat there with my brothers the summer before. Aside from its majestic and over powering - yet tranquil - beauty, what was it that captured me the way nothing else (short of my wife) ever has? I mean, devil's advocate, it's a lake. Sure it's pretty, but what's the big deal? Fair question. And I didn't know the answer, until this day.
We're sitting there, thankfully quietly, and Lindsay catches me. "Are you crying?" After a "uh oh I've been caught" giggle, I muster up a, "Yup." "Why?" "I really don't know." And we turn back to look at the mountain that surrounds the lake. I was really trying to figure out the answer to her question, I wasn't just avoiding it to return to silence, I wanted to know why I had teared up, and why this place meant so much more to me than any other on the planet. And I swear it's going to sound like I'm making this up for dramatic affect, but I hear God speak to me, "This is your 'Shack'". YES! EXACTLY! That's it!
For those of you who haven't read it, it's a story about a man (Mackenzie) who's daughter is kidnapped, taken to an abandoned shack in the middle of absolute nowhere and killed. Years later, the father is invited back to that shack by God. After wrestling with the thought, he goes. Without spoiling the book, what follows is a weekend in spent with the Trinity, putting his (the father of the kidnapped girl) heart back together. Mackenzie is healed of his wounds the only possible way you can ever truly be healed. Head on. Go directly into that wound and heal it from the inside out. Don't just put a band aid on and hope it goes away, you have to get your "hands dirty". Again, at the risk of spoiling the book, Mackenzie is sent back home after a weekend at the shack a man with his whole heart back. He's healed. He's excited, he's happy, he's finally able to remember his pain without reliving it, spiraling him out of control. He is refreshed, metaphorically dipped into the waters of forgiveness and hope, and he has emerged stronger and full of more love to share than he ever thought he could. Mackenzie's shack, is my Emerald Lake.
The first time I sat at that lake I had been meeting with Steve Lynam for almost eight months. Christ had been making real progress at putting my heart back together after the wounds of growing up in a broken world, after loosing deeply beloved grandparents, best friends, mentors, bosses (both), heroes, coworkers all to timely and "untimely" deaths. I had just met Lindsay a week earlier. The light was just starting to creep back into my heart. For months, years, it was dark. But now, there were little cracks starting to form. Those cracks were becoming bigger, and more light was seeping in by the time I made it Emerald Lake in September 2006. I sat at this lake, surrounded by a beauty that can ONLY be the work of God. I felt so safe, so protected. "If God could make this...and He also created me?? His hand is responsible for me and this!?!" Yes!! One of the lessons of "The Shack" is He just asfond of me and just asproud of His creation of me as He is of places like Emerald Lake. Probably more so. "I'm awfully fond of him". It's my favorite line from the entire "Shack".
That was the first time that beam of light broke through to me. (2 years before I would read that book) That was the first time I believed it. Ask anyone that was around, after I came back home from that first time at the lake, I was refreshed. Renewed. Relaxed and happy. For the first time in a long, long, long time, completely happy. It is absolutely no coincidence that shortly there after Lindsay and I take off. And everything else that has gone on. And sitting back at this lake two years later, the light was shown to me (pun very intended) why this is my favorite place on earth. It's where the healing was completed. And I was sent back into my "normal" life with a new, whole, healthy heart. Who wouldn't want to revisit a place like that? Whatever it looks like to you.

Daydreaming........

Cool Rock

Yep! Stay here all day!

I miss seeing these little guys so close

2-0 means never having to say "You're sorry"

First of all, yes, you're right. We got away with it. But I don't care. I don't care because we earned our way down the field, all day long. Should it have been their ball? Yes, but don't blame the Broncos, blame the ref. And what should Cutler have done? Said, "You know, I feel bad for San Diego, that's really a tough break. Here Mr. Turner, your team can have the ball." There were sixty minutes of brilliant offense and matador defense. It's not like without that call we only score 10 points. And as I told my dad, "With any other team, I'd feel a little bit worse." But after the Christmas Eve game last year against them, when they talked as much as they did anything else, this date was circled immediately. So bottom line, yes, San Deigo got ripped off. But I honestly don't care. They had two more plays to stop us. Yes, the ref blew the call. We capitalized. Show me the column in the standings for "Games should've won but got lucky on". Only "W's" or "L's".

Second, from Peter King's Monday Morning column: Mike Shanahan, "You don't make that kind of call unless you've got 100 percent confidence in your quarterback, which I do,'' he said. "In a case like that, you're prepared for what comes, and I knew I'd get killed if it didn't work. It goes with the territory. I knew it was the right call.''

"You'd say that even if it failed?' I asked.

"Oh yeah,'' Shanahan said.

There's a man who's not afraid to lose his job. I wouldn't have had the guts to do that, but then again he's a much better football coach than I am. I just hope there aren't 14 more of those. I don't have the arteries to support that.

How do you people deal with this humidity!?!?

She's right. We're back. Tons of pictures that I'm trying to get ready to share, video, none of which are better than the videos we have from our minds. It was a great trip, we can't wait to go back, and take you with us. We'll talk more about it soon, I just really wanted to get this picture up. By the way....

It's Time to go back, Right?

Did I mention that I would like to go back to this very spot? Yes I would. It would be much better than having to be on this computer and dealing with WORK! Blah! Anyways we are back and had a wonderful time. It was amazing to see all the wildlife and things that God has put here for us to enjoy. Being able to hear the bull elks bugeling and the cows mewwing was just amazing. We even saw a baby calf suckle up to it's mother! I was amazed. God was showing us everything about His Glory and reminding us that he created this beautiful place for all of His children. I thank Him for the opportunity to be a part of all of this beauty.

Years away from the storm

So yesterday the pastor at my church is teaching from the book of Ruth. I'll confess, I had never read a single verse from it. Didn't even know it was in there. But he starts into his sermon and he keeps mentioning being in the darkness. Being lost in the darkness, finding your way in the darkness. "Why do bad things happen to good people?" And I thought (apparently I thought out loud), "Oh great." When I thought that, Lindsay turns and looks at me which is what makes me think I thought it out loud. Really? He's going to do this sermon on this day? Are you freakin' kidding me? And so he preaches on. "Do you ever ask yourself, 'Why me?'" Making sure I kept it to myself, I think, "He really is." Bill told a story about a friend of his who made mistakes and said "Why would God do this to me?" And there it was, an echo. An echo in a different voice from the one I heard that question from so many times before. I could never, ever answer that question.
It was one of the biggest frustrations I'd had for six years. It was probably the second. First was, I should've stayed in touch with her. That was first on the list. Second was, I didn't work hard enough to answer that question. I didn't work hard enough to show God to her. I'd think, look up something in my study bible index, and just shake my head, "I don't know Abbie. I don't know why." And for six years, it was my fault. It was my fault that I didn't stay around her. It was my fault for not walking from Elon to Israel to find out the answer to her question. That's what I should've done. That's what a good friend would have done. That's what a real Christian would've done. I failed her. I failed Him.
Six years I heard that. Six years I agreed. Actually, it was 366 (this is a Leap Year) days ago that I broke that agreement. Funny, exact same day on the calendar. One year earlier I was with my band of brothers in my favorite place in the world at a John Eldridge boot camp. August 17th. I knew we'd be out there on that day. I was glad I was going to be surrounded by them. Side note, the year before, 8/17 fell on a Thursday. I had an appointment with Steve Lynam, and I meet with my brothers on Thursday. So I was well protected from the usual unspeakable storm that visits me annually on August 17th. This year I was with them out there. And then came the afternoon, "session". And John Eldridge himself starts talking about the wound. "Oh great. You can't be serious. Today?" Yes, today. John, Bill, Jesus, all three of them decided, "Yes, we're going into this...today." I knew exactly where the talk would go. Straight into the clip from "Good Will Hunting". Where Robin Williams' character finally breaks down the stubborn character of Matt Damon. Over and over, "It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault." I knew it was coming, I couldn't even pick up my head long enough to watch the clip. I didn't want to. It just came flowing out. Tears, anger, sorrow, guilt, shame, threatening sadness. All left on the carpet of this makeshift theatre in Frasor, Colorado.
Since that day, August 17th, 2007, it hasn't hurt as bad. Don't think I'm saying I don't miss her. Don't think I'm saying I don't hurt. But I decided to stop agreeing with that lie, and agree with Jesus. And in this case, Robin Williams. To you, you're saying, "Well, of course it wasn't." Six years my friend. Six years you were wrong. Because I knew better.
So when Bill starts in on this "Why do bad things happen to good people" sermon, I was so pissed off. "You're (God) going to have me sit here on the very day that she took her own life, the very damn day and have me listen to the sermon that I needed to hear seven years earlier? The one that might've saved her life?" The sermon ends and I'm hot. Not mad at Bill. He has no idea. Not mad at Abbie, the demons she was fighting were too strong for her, and she didn't believe in the One that could help her fight. Not even mad at God. I mean, she's the one who turned her back and refused His outreached hand. (a new revelation in my heart by the way) I was pissed at the fact that the enemy got a hold of her. I don't blame Bill for choosing to talk about that on August 17th. I don't blame Abbie for not waiting to hear that wonderful message. And I don't even blame God. And as I kept waiting for it to come, as it did every year on this day, it never did. I was totally prepared for the storm to come, like it did every single August 17th for six years. Instead, all I felt was the picture below. Beautiful isn't it? Peaceful, calm, I can't help but give a restful sigh when I look at it. It's Crooked Creek (where the boot camp was). It's the same pond I sat at exactly one year ago to the day. The next morning, I sat at that pond, and for the first morning in six years, I didn't carry the weight of Abbie's death. I didn't blame Bill, God, Abbie, or myself. That kind of peace is even better than this picture. There's a little place - you can't see it in this picture because it's next to where I was sitting when I took it - but the burden of Abbie's death is buried here. So when I was bracing yesterday for the storm, all I saw in my heart and my mind was this place. As far away as you can get from any furious storm. Glory to God for this place. Both this place on earth, and in my heart, in which He reigns.