"Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect."
On February 5th, my friend Ethan*, who had been a good friend during some of the years I'd lived in Corvallis passed away tragically in a car wreck. A little over two years ago, he married Charlotte*, who was my roommate for 2 years, also a very good friend during many of the years I lived in Corvallis.
Of course, upon hearing the news I was shocked and sad. Sad because I will not ever see him again in this life, and also nearly unbearably sad imagining Charlotte's sudden life-altering loss. I think the fact that my own wedding is so recent and fresh in my mind makes it hit home even more for me; it is not terribly difficult to imagine how this event would not only mean the death of my partner, but the death of the dreams we had for our future together. It's so much loss, all at once.
I hadn't spent a lot of time with Charlotte and Ethan over the past few years; though I considered them lovely people with whom I had fond memories, I hadn't been particularly close to them in some time. Almost to the point that I wondered if it was truly my place to show up at the funeral. (Because of course it was good that I went, but I worry about these things, ok??)
My brother Steven ended up staying with Zach and I the night before the funeral, so he carpooled with me down to Corvallis. We pulled up and parked in front of our old college parish, over half an hour early, so we sat in the car for a moment before going inside, and actually watched Charlotte walk in. My heart just dropped and I wondered just how I could come up with the right words to say to her.
Of course, we couldn't stay in the car forever, so we eventually walked in. Charlotte was pretty much the first person I made eye contact with and for a moment that seemed like forever, I just froze. I didn't know whether to leave her alone and let her be with her family, or to go and say something.
Then the most amazing thing happened.
Upon seeing me, she gave me a huge, genuine smile.
We walked to each other and embraced for the longest time, shaking and crying a little, exchanged "I love you"s (because seriously, what the heck do you say??), and then spent a couple of minutes connecting like it was 2006 again. We laughed at a mutual friend's goofiness. We had a brief but meaningful conversation about what it had been like for her to both be taken care of and the importance of her kind of mutually leaning on people who were also badly hurting.
And during that time, I marveled in her strength. Don't get me wrong, the woman has a long and difficult journey ahead of her. And no doubt, the adrenaline of finally getting some closure (the funeral was postponed several days due to inclement weather) and being around so many loving people was propping her up a bit, but I've known Charlotte a long time and I know something about her character. There was a rawness to her, this cloud of "what next?" about her, but at her core, she was strong. She had something to hope in.
I also think of a woman I know from high school who lost her 9 month old son about a month ago due to an unidentified illness the child had since his premature birth. She and her husband are grieving and figuring out how to move forward, but maintaining a positive attitude through it all, one that seems genuine, and one I don't know how I'd be able to carry out.
Right now, if I was in Charlotte's shoes, I would not have her core of strength. I don't know how I would move forward, but I'm not ruling out losing my job, burning through my savings, and becoming homeless. So how does she do it? And how is the mother of the 9 month old doing it? The common thread is their faith, their walk with God.
Now, I'm Catholic. I believe, I go to mass every weekend, and the prayer of St. Francis is tacked up in my cubicle at work. I rely on many principles of Christianity when it comes to making decisions about how to conduct myself personally and professionally. But these events have made me realize that I am not where I need to be in my spiritual life.
I don't even like typing this out because it sounds so cliche "Christianese" to me, and that bothers me and I can't really explain why. But something is missing from my spiritual life, and that something is something I've known for a long time and practiced in the past: Being a Christian, being a Catholic, is about friendship, relationship with God more than it is about ethical principles.
When we as Christians have that friendship, He becomes our strength. It doesn't mean that those big life losses don't hurt as much in the short term, but it means that long term we are able to derive meaning from them, and that we are plugged in to the ultimate source of strength.
It's kind of a fine distinction. For instance, if something were to happen to my husband, I would believe that he would go to Heaven and that I would see him once I got there, but I would get so lost in the concept of losing our dreams for our life together. Currently my core of faith is weak, and I would not be able to see a path for my life. But the thing about being a Christian is that faith, that God can make something of nothing, that he can make beauty from tragedy, and we can miss out on all that if we are attached to others more than Him.
With lent just around the corner, this is my lenten journey: How do I get back to that place, where God is truly the center of my life, and where I trust Him fully to guide my life, no matter what happens?
*I changed the names of my friend who passed on and my friend his wife, because she is kind of a private person and I am sharing this all without her permission. You very well may know who this is, and that's fine, but I don't necessarily know all of my blog readers in person.
