Dear Banana Republic: I'm Breaking Up With You

This is so hard. I just don't know where to start. Please forgive me for putting this in writing. I know it's avoidant. I know you deserve better. I simply lack the courage to face you at this time. You've done so much for me. You helped me realize that the way I present myself matters. You introduced me to slim fit dress shirts. You gave me not only wrinkle-free shirts, but pants as well! There's been family deal after family deal. You've given yourself fully to me and never expected that much in return, often no more than 60% of retail, to be exact.

I remember the way things got started. My college years marked a time when I cared very little for how I looked. Most days, I would grab a pair of jeans, one of 35 Virginia Tech t-shirts and be on my way. My standards were so low. I had no idea I deserved better. I remember really noticing you for the first time as I graduated. I can't recall exactly where it was, perhaps in a local mall, or maybe one of your flyers hit my mailbox. Maybe it was you who made the first move. At first, I thought you were entirely out of my league. I'd shop your outlets just for the label, although the fit and finish of your outlet line was never what I saw in the magazines. I wanted to be with you, but I figured you were just out for the higher class guys. Still every now and then, I'd shop those outlets and find a great deal. It was on one of these outlet trips in Delaware that you really made yourself available to me. As I came to the check out counter, the sales associate offered me a BR credit card. At first I passed, wondering why I would get a card for a place I could barely afford. He assured me I would save 30% on that purchase. I couldn't pass it up. I applied and you accepted me. Despite my baggage, student loans and dependence on the graphic t as a fashion staple, you accepted me for all that I was. You were so graceful. Our relationship truly materialized on that day.

I had some very real needs at that time. I was no longer a college kid, I was a business professional. My wardrobe just didn't reflect this transition. Many of my collared shirts and ties had stains on them from years of waiting tables. What was presentable was still ill-fitting. So, I spent more time with you. I perused your aisles and websites. I'd day dream about the new season's arrivals. Sometimes I'd struggle to focus on work as I devoted myself to your website, learning every detail  of your clothing lines. As we often do in exciting, blossoming relationships, I completely leaned on you in my times of need. I solely looked to you to remedy my dirth of professional and classy casual attire. I lavished you with large percentages of my salary. You gave back. To simply take from me was never your way. As if clothing me wasn't enough, you made me feel special. In that first year, I hit a spending level that provided me with a BR Luxe Card. In return for my faithfulness to you, you gave me deep discounts, access to special events and free alterations. I was so taken with the tortoise shell finish on that card. In fact, I still am.

This marked the beginning of the Golden Age of our time together. You always provided whatever I needed. This was never more clear than during my argyle phase in the winter of 2006-2007. Rather than letting me commit a fashion faux pas with someone else, you gave me the most tasteful argyle you could, allowing me to indulge in several sweaters while keeping my dignity. Those sweaters still reside in my closet, memories of some maturation I still had left to wade through as you held my hand. Soon after, I discovered your slim-fit dress shirt line. The first one I purchased was for an interview with the FBI. I also bought a tasteful blue and red striped tie that day. It was plain but classy, just what I believed the FBI would want to see. That shirt helped me through that interview and since has been through two weddings. While it's a little dingy and has stains on the chest from a poorly affixed boutonniere, it still hangs among the others in my closet, my go to for an understated look in a suit. That shirt began a tradition. From then on, whenever I entered a round of interviews for a new job or had any other type of important meeting, I would visit you for a new shirt. You gifted me the confidence to know I could impress anyone who sat across the table from me. Additionally, until I met Ledbury, I never bought a dress shirt from any other maker. Your newer, tailored slim-fit hugs me so closely I always feel loved when wearing it.

And, oh, you're jeans! They fit me perfectly. It was like they had a deep knowledge of me. Every now and then, I could stack discounts and rewards and get a truly premium pair. My first $110 pair of jeans that I purchased for $45 were sublime. I wore them until they fell apart. It was no problem when they did fall apart, though. When it was time for a new pair, I would just order a new pair in the same size and cut. There was no need to try anything on. You were so consistent in the way you felt tailored to me. I even remember when I was strapped for cash at one time, you let me shop with my Luxe Card at your little brother, The Gap. I got my discounts and a near identical fit at a cheaper price point. You were so gracious.

Soon, you were all I wore. People started noticing that I was with someone new. At first, they would ask, "Where are those jeans from? That's a really nice shirt, where did you get it?" Early on, I was occasionally wearing someone else. Quickly, it was always you. Underwear, socks, belt, suit, pants, shirt, it was only you. Eventually those who knew me learned not to ask. On the seldom occasion they would make such an inquiry, I'd look at them with disdain, my glare or dismissive sigh conveyed I would never be with anyone but you.

The honeymoon was wonderful. I believe it was longer than most, but it would not last. As The Second Law of Thermodynamics and Chinua Achebe tell us, things fall apart. And fall apart we did. Our end came as sleep comes: Slowly at first, then all at once. It began with your jeans. Your sizing became inconsistent. I couldn't count on your fit anymore. You'd always try to make it right, with streamlined returns and replacements, but we just couldn't find our groove like we used to. Then I started to notice those "Made in China" tags that you were always carrying on you. Why had you fallen in with such company? You never used to carry those tags. Finally, your sales just got too prolific. They were no longer just for me as a Luxe member. On many days, you'd offer 40% off to anyone who walked through your doors. It was like you didn't respect yourself or understand your value. You were just like the Jos. A. Banks of the world who present ridiculously high retail prices that one should never pay, only to have 45% off sales every other day. Honestly, I believe you're better than that, but maybe that's just wishful thinking, maybe you're not who you used to be. Your jeans sure indicate you aren't.

This isn't just about me, either. I really want you to be happy. I think I fooled us both into believing I was the type of guy for you. You fit me better than anyone had before, I thought we were tailor made for each other. The truth is, the more I explore you, the more I realize you're great, the best I've been with, but we're just not right for each other. When I get those mailers from you, you always feature rail thin men with thick heads of hair. That's just not me. Even when skinny, I'm broad shouldered. Barring some long overdue advances in the scientific community, my hairstyle of choice will be a buzzed head till I die. You're looking for a different kind of guy than me, and I think you deserve to find him.

BR, you've been good to me, but if we're honest with one another, we both know it's time to move on. I have a history of holding on to things too long, and I just don't want that to be the case here. We've already both made some memories that we'd rather forget. I want to focus on the good times. You gave me a lot. You got me through some hard times. You helped me to take pride in my appearance and form a better view of who I should be with. It's time for me to go find them. I hope they'll be much like you, but American made, full of a little more confidence, and better tailored for me. I hope you find that super lean guy with a dark, full head of hair you're always dreaming about. You might hear from me from time to time, but just know that this is the end, and I'm grateful for the time we had.

Much Love (Just not THAT kind, anymore),

Clint

On Resolve

Compared to some of the other athletic endeavors I’ve encountered, walking is fairly easy. It’s very rare that we find ourselves in a place where we can’t put one foot in front of the other. That’s why this moment was particularly disheartening. We were struggling up a well-worn trail, the Salkantay, in the Andes. It’s a little known fact that while Machu Picchu is on a mountain top, it’s actually in a depression relative to most of the surrounding areas. Most people who visit Peru make a pilgrimage terminating at Machu Picchu, meaning that while difficult, the weary travelers ultimately experience a loss in altitude during their journey. In other words, they’re going downhill more than uphill. My party decided to go the opposite way. This decision was mostly due to time constraints, but looking back I think it was also a result of ignorance to aforementioned geographic features.

It was the last day of our three day trek and I was struggling mightily under the weight of a mostly empty pack at about 13,000 feet. That morning, wild dogs had stolen our food for the day, so I was suffering a pretty serious caloric deficit. I dug my trekking poles into the ground and hoisted myself up with my arms and shoulders, my legs lacked the strength to carry my weight. Incapable of keeping any consistent pace, no matter how slow, I had to develop strategies to keep myself going. I settled on 45 seconds of walking followed by 15 seconds of rest. This pace even felt more than I could handle. Two others had gone ahead, concerned that we would miss the driver waiting for us at the terminus. Aaron and I served as each other’s carrots, each leading the other for a time, before changing positions. Oxygen depletion and exhaustion were playing tricks on my senses, I barely knew where I was. I stalled for a little while. Aaron came up from behind and took his place by my side.

“Clint, I haven’t known you for very long, but from what I’ve seen of your life, I know one thing about you. There is no quit in you.”

Empowered by his encouragement and my survival instinct, I continued up the mountain. We hit the final pass a brief period later, much to my relief. We snapped pictures and celebrated our victory. The descent down the back side of that final climb wasn’t easy, but at least it was downhill. We arrived to a Peruvian trail guide waving flags and screaming that he needed to meet the crazy mother******s (His words, not mine, although mine may not have been entirely dissimilar at that point) who completed a four day trip in three days, backwards. This was a few months after my mother passed, and I desperately needed a win. I remember looking back through the window of our van at that mountain, a symbol that I could still accomplish something wonderful.

I think Aaron misjudged me that day. I have a history of giving up on many things fairly easily. This is one of the qualities I find most disappointing in myself. However, Aaron’s words made me believe that I could change this part of me. I determined that if there was a single person in the world who saw me in that light, I could become a person with grit, determination and no quit. Although I saw Aaron’s words as totally off-base and lacking insight, I decided to make them prophetic. Those words have echoed in my head for nearly a year now.

“There is no quit in you.”

So, I’ve resolved to fight the challenges that are thrown in front of me. I get discouraged, and I sometimes cope in ways that I wish I wouldn’t, but I fight. I refuse to be brought down. I refuse to be broken. There are just a few problems with this resolution.

It’s exhausting. Not long ago, I ended up in conflict with a close friend. I couldn’t figure out why we had come to this place. Then I realized that I’ve been in a defensive, battle-ready posture for over two years. When I face harsh criticism or rejection I dig in my heels and anticipate or engage conflict. Not only is this hard on relationships, but it’s exhausting. Constantly preparing for the next battle drains a lot of emotional and physical resources. Next, I’ve begun to identify too closely with my toughness. Grace, love, acceptance, patience: These are characteristics to truly aspire toward. A stubborn refusal to be hurt? Not so much. Sometimes it’s the pain and hurt that make their way into our lives that do the best job of shaping us into who we should be. Another issue I have is stubborn loyalty or resolve to fix situations that just aren’t working. This is actually one place where my past actions directly contradict my perception that I give up easily. The hallmark of this shortcoming in my life has been in romantic relationships. I just don’t know when to quit. I know this has resulted in a tremendous amount of heartache both for me and a couple of women in my life.

There’s one last problem with always needing to hold things together: Sometimes we need to be broken. Greek mythology gives us two amazing examples of beings that are destroyed to make way for new beings. The first is the Phoenix, which bursts into flames and is rebirthed. The second is the story of Halcyon, a woman who loses her love and, heartbroken, throws herself from a cliff. She is raised and reborn as a beautiful kingfisher.

In the Christian faith, we are called to die to ourselves and be reborn in Christ. This isn’t a decision we make once, when we give our lives over to Christ. It’s a decision that we have to make every day. Just like I’ve found myself embattled with friends and family at times. I’ve embattled myself with God. I currently view being brought down or broken as the one thing I will not accept. This makes all problems mine to handle, rather than handing them over to God. I’m also starting to get the feeling at God is pretty set on breaking me. I think he wants to convince me that my life and my problems are not mine to handle. Rather than accepting his grace and love in such a time, my petty ego is insulted that he’s trying to make a point. In short, I think I may be in a battle of wills with God. I’ll let you know how that turns out.

A few months ago, I was out on a company retreat and we were racing around a ranch in off-road go-carts. On straightaways, I had the pedal set against the floor, the speedometer pegged at its max. I slid in and out of turns wildly, exhilarated by the speed and tiptoeing along the line between control and recklessness. My passenger and I switched positions. Although his driving was markedly similar to my own, I was in a complete panic. He never would have known, but I was miserable. The same experience that was invigorating to me moments ago was now terrifying, merely because I did not have control. As we skidded around a corner, my friend oversteered slightly. Our front, passenger side wheel dug into the soft grass just on the inside of the turn and our forward momentum became sideways momentum. It felt like an eternity from when I saw what was happening in my mind to when the roll became a reality. I felt my shoulder and face slam into the ground harshly and the strange unweighting of doing a full flip. We landed with the wheels on the ground, stunned but okay. Our worst case scenario was pretty much realized. There was some damage to the vehicle, which we were regretful to report, but we were alright, albeit sore for a couple of days. I let go, we crashed, but we learned some lessons.

This may be where I am in life right now. I may need to let go and let someone else drive for a spell. Life may get still harder for a moment, but may be better in the long run. Have you ever battled God, or simply life’s circumstances for control? Are you doing it now? How do you think you can let go? What do you think would happen if you did?

Foundation of Faith

When I was working in short-term missions in Mexico, I was able to assist in building a lot of homes. The homes that we built had a concrete slab for flooring and the walls were stick frames, covered on the outside with stucco. During those two years, I learned a lot about building those homes. I first had the conceptual, textbook lessons, then I was able to take a lot through experience. One lesson I learned was the following: You want concrete and stucco (if you're not familiar with the material, stucco is concrete-based) to cure as slowly as possible. They both firm up rather quickly, but while they seem hard on the outside, there is a curing process going on inside that lends the materials their full strength. If the curing process happens too quickly, the materials can cure more weakly or even crack in the process. I learned that if you keep the materials more damp as they cure, it slows down the process, generally making them more stronger. I remember mornings returning to the worksites after some rest to see families sprinkling their walls and floors with water. We always knew these houses would be especially strong and well-cared for.

About 18 months ago, I was in India, speaking with some HOPE International savings group members. In this particular area, we only offer savings programs. Our savings group members do not have access to loans. At that time, there was a large demand for loans. Loans are generally viewed as an opportunity to improve one's economic circumstance more quickly than with savings. With a very, very poor population, loans are also more risky. For the poorest people in the world, getting started with savings programs is the more prudent, helpful tact. I walked into a room of about 80-100 people to tell them something they didn't want to hear - HOPE would not be offering them loans. As I took my steps toward the front of the room, my lessons from Mexico came to mind. I used what I learned about concrete to frame the discussion on savings, loans and financial rehabilitation. I agreed with the group that, yes, it is possible that loan programs could help their businesses grow faster. I also explained that maybe their brand new businesses were not ready to grow that fast. They needed to grow slowly to firm up their skills and make sure they were successful in the long-term. For this group of people, savings programs were the right tool. The programs would allow them to grow at a slow, steady pace into dependable well-run businesses. I cared for the people I was speaking to, and I didn't want them to have cracks in their foundations as they pursued a more secure financial life.

I'm not going to lie, I was pretty proud and thought I was pretty freaking smart when I pulled that out last minute. That is partially why it was even more humbling when a new application for this concept struck me while talking to a pastor in San Francisco who is interested in a partnership with HOPE.

I love to tell people my story. For those of you who haven't heard it, here is an abridged version: I grew up in a Christian home and I felt I became a Christian in elementary school. However, I really didn't care that much for the faith. I "gave my life to Christ" in a fit of panic. In the following years, I called myself a Christian but didn't behave much like one. By that I don't mean that I smoked, drank, dabbled with recreational drugs, got in situations with young ladies I shouldn't have, lied and cheated. Don't get me wrong, I did those things. So did some of the men who are closest to God's heart in scripture. What I mean is that I didn't love God and I didn't love the people around me the way he calls us to. In college, my mom duped me into going on some missions trips. They changed the way I saw faith. I realized that faith wasn't abstaining from the above list. It was loving God and loving others and bearing fruit of those loves. Abstaining from the above list is a series of disciplines that better equip us to love God and others. Just under four years ago, I really gave my life to Christ when I literally gave up my life as I knew it and moved across the country to build homes for the poor as a part of His ministry. For about two years, I grew in my faith and loved life as I never had before. Although I had really practiced my faith only briefly, I felt like a person who was mature in the faith, someone who had certainly ascended to a height of faith from which I could not be knocked down.

A little under two years ago, things started getting much harder. I moved back to the east coast and had a front row seat as my mother's health declined. I had a woman I loved ask me for a ring, then reverse her decision a month after the purchase was made. My mother passed away. My father and I were in a home together, two grown men trying to grieve the same thing and having no idea how to. Then there have been the smaller things, most recently being in a new place without a home for three weeks and having some of my most valued possessions stolen within two weeks of arriving in California.

My faith has simply not held up. Massive questions about God and his love for me have surfaced. I've responded in ways that have not glorified Him and not kept the interest of others at the forefront of my mind. At 31, I've spent two years living in the truth of God's love for me and then spent two more years questioning it. I was concrete that dried too fast. I neglected small things that took discipline, unlike the homeowner who dutifully sprayed his house down with a hose or sponge. I appeared strong and set on the outside, but I was still very much a child in my faith.

As I sat across from my new friend, this realization was unloaded on me. I believe that God is the creator of the universe and that Jesus died for me. I know how transformative this knowledge can be. It's transformed me. However, I haven't been embracing a lot of other truths about God, who He is and what He wants for me. My foundation is pretty much shot. The good news is, I have the two main ingredients to begin my new foundation. Now I just have to put in a lot of hard work and take my time this time around. Fortunately, I've already got a vibrant, growing group of friend in my new home to help me go about this rebuilding process.

I would love to know if there's anyone else out there who has had to rebuild their faith from the ground up after a tragedy or series of tragedies. What did you do? How did you do it? Where did you start? 

Thank You

Wow, you guys came out in full force. I remember as a child and even as a young adult, walking around begging for people's attention. "Look at me! Give me affirmation! Tell me I'm good!" This often wore really thin on those around me, so I never dreamed it would have worked on the blog!

Your encouragement has my head swirling with ideas, and I think I know what I'm going to write on, but this has been a crazy busy week. So busy, in fact, I haven't had time to write. Unfortunately, my weekly post is due now. However, I'm currently prepping for a 7:30 flight down to SoCal and a very full day tomorrow.

The good news is that my inability to write is the result of some really great things going on. I'm making friends, having adventures and finding my groove at work.

Tell you what, my goal is to have something up on Friday. Check back then. And thanks again for the encouragement.

The Curse of Good Enough

I was a ridiculously talented kid. I made every travel soccer team. I made every travel baseball team. I made all but one travel basketball team. In travel sports I was always a contributor. In regular club leagues I was typically the leading scorer/best goalkeeper. When I played seeker, I snatched up that snitch like a dang boss. I was in one of those janky elementary school systems with a grading scale with E for Excellent, G for Good, S for Satisfactory, and NI for Needs Improvement. I have this great anecdote about when my parents came back from a student teacher conference and had me in tears because I had all Excellents and, without showing me the report card, they briefly convinced that E was just above F, rather than standing for Excellent, and I had straight E's. Actually, that's it. That's the whole story. I hope you got a good laugh. I was scarred for roughly two months.

After what I refer to as "The Golden Age of Clint," the other kids started catching up. By middle school, I wasn't quite as successful in sports or academics. High school came and I was rocking barely a 3.0 GPA while taking those notoriously grade boosting AP classes (This means I was closer to a C student than a B student. I really just did that math and came to that realization. I'm disappointed in you, High School Clint). By senior year, I got cut from the basketball team, representing utter failure in my favorite sport. The only sport I lettered in was lacrosse, and that was only because we were an underachieving club team that took anyone who would suit up. Picture the bad news bears slightly older with substance abuse and anger issues and prolific use of profanity.

I remember being bemused, but rather arrogantly proud as I sat across the table from an acceptance official at a university. The university official was calmly explaining to me that it didn't make sense for them to take a chance on accepting me. My SAT score was proportionately so much higher than my GPA that it was clear I just didn't try or care. I learned a light lesson from that experience. I put far more work in in college and graduated with one of those cum laude-type designations.

I learned enough of a lesson to improve my college performance, but I didn't learn the bigger lesson about life. I always believed that I just developed earlier than most and everyone caught up with and then passed me. I think there may be some truth to that. I was a great test taker and was a little taller than most of the others for a time. However, I don't think this is the whole story. I think I got comfortable with my slight advantage. I didn't strive for more. I think the others that I was a little ahead of definitely caught me, but most of them didn't pass me. A lot of people passed me because they learned how to work hard earlier than I did.

I was having a conversation with a new friend a week ago who had the same experience. We both believe we're talented enough to do most things proficiently. However, we both have strong doubts that we can truly excel at much of anything. We both have patterns of picking things up and being a star briefly, then falling to the middle, and often the back, of the pack. We hit some hard challenges and assume we're just not gifted in whatever field we're competing.

Early life typically only requires brief commitment, so those of us with a quick early learning curve shine. It's the marathons of life where we start to fall short. We're sprinters. We burn ourselves out, we become despondent as the others pass after our brief lead. We get beaten and embarrassed by those with endurance and discipline. The most discouraging part of this is that the marathons of life are all that matter. We're asked to go the distance. Unless we're Usain Bolt. Keep doing what your doing, brah.

A little under a year ago, I did some track training with my buddy Dan, who did some running in college. I remember him saying to me, "You're plenty strong, you just don't have the discipline to pace yourself."

You're plenty strong, you just don't have the discipline to pace yourself.

Although it's now mid-March, I've finally settled on my theme for this year: Discipline. Discipline is more valuable than any talent. It's something you work for rather than something you're given. It's also something you can apply to any of your preexisting talents. This is going to be one of the few things that's ever come slowly to me in the early goings. Discipline is a struggle for me from the moment I encounter it. My expectation is that it will help me discover a lot more about myself. I think it may help me discover where I'm truly gifted in life so that I can stop believing I'm mediocre at everything now that I've become an adult.

It's hard to go these lessons alone. In deciding to discipline myself this year, I've already contacted one of my best friends to help hold me accountable in some of my pursuits. He's going to help me stay accountable on when I go to bed and wake up, so that I don't exhaust myself and Netflix binge. He's going to help me stay on task in a couple of areas of life as well.

This is where you come in. This blog started as an opportunity to share about my missions work in Mexico. Then it became a little self obsessed. Then it became a place for me to share some of the harder things about life, in the hopes that my writing touches and wakes other people up. I like to throw some jokes and entertainment in there, too. As anyone who knows me can attest, I love to make myself and other people laugh. What this blog has never been is disciplined. I write when I want. Sometimes I literally have a dozen ideas backed up in my head. Sometimes I go through a desert of bloggie thoughts. Either way, I write when I feel like it.

Here's the thing: I think that writing might actually be one of the things for which I actually possess a true talent. One that I won't just dominate early on, like the Monstars in the first half against the Looney Toons. For once, I'd like to be Jordan stretching out for that game-winning dunk (Spoiler alert! Also, so many good things here. Bill Murray, for one. Why didn't Jordan ever do this when Karl Malone was mugging him in those series against the Utah Jazz? I digress). So, I've got a request for you. If you read this, dig it and think I should keep writing, drop me one comment. If one person drops one comment per post, that will motivate me and hold me accountable to make sure I get something up next week. The only requirement is that it can't be the same person over and over again. I know there are one or two of you out there (That's all, mind you.) So that's it. One comment from one unique reader per week, help me stay motivated to keep doing something I love. If we can keep this going for a bit and I can find room in my schedule, maybe we can up the stakes. More comments! More posts!

Even as I type this, part of me hopes you won't do me this favor so I can escape this very pedestrian level of discipline and commitment. The thing is, I know if you've made it through this novel of a post, you can probably handle typing a few words about what you think of it.

Please do it. Please help me. Save me from becoming a lifelong monstar.

Defiant Peace

A couple of months ago, I was doing my final sweep of my dad's house, making sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. A big move makes you forget the conveniences of email, Fedex and UPS (I don't think I need to speak on why I'm leaving USPS out of this list). In those moments, we feel a deep stress and need to identify and claim everything we need to take with us. My frenetic quest to claim all things Clint took me to the basket on the top of the refrigerator. In my family's home, the basket has two layers. On top are the prescriptions. For many years now, my little brother has consumed a potpourri of pills regulating his seizures and his behavior. If we had this basket at our old home, surely this is where my mother's sometimes potent cocktails of drugs designed to fight her leukemia would have resided. The second layer in this basket is comprised of various oddities and items we no longer think about or need. It was here that I found something that made me slow down and reduced the insignificance of being sure that I had gathered all of my things.

I very nearly dismissed it. The girly handwriting bordered on portraying the writer as juvenile at first glance, but as it came into better focus, it communicated more of an innocence. As I looked for another moment, it's contents engulfed me. It was a list of recommended natural supplements to aid in dealing with cancer and chemotherapy. The contrast between the handwriting and the contents was disquieting. It felt incredibly unjust that a young woman who possessed this handwriting also possessed such a deep knowledge of an insidious, destructive disease.

Allie Frymoyer was an intern with HOPE two summers ago. I remember the day standing in HOPE's kitchen, a common meeting place, discussing my mother's sickness. Right now, I can't recall the exact circumstances, I think I have willfully forced bits and pieces of my mother's physical degradation out of my heart and mind. We talked about how my mother was going through treatment. Allie asked pointed questions about my mother's process and condition. She spoke with the kind of care that only a deeply compassionate person who had experienced the same level of suffering could communicate. I remember her smiling sweetly during some of the difficult conversation. Her facial expressions showed the same sort of defiance toward the subject matter that her handwriting did in the note I found on my desk the next day, accompanied by her favorite vitamin fortified juice which helped her through her chemo. I was taken by her thoughtfulness and also by the fact that an unpaid college intern would find room in her budget to give a $6 bottle of juice away.

Another day, Allie and I were talking over lunch. The subject was engagement. I had recently bought a ring and was preparing to propose, she had just gotten engaged. I wanted as brief an engagement as possible, I was ready to be married. Conversely, Allie was looking toward a year long engagement. I really don't know much about the intricacies of Allie's life at the time, but I do know that she was still sick. She would miss days at HOPE from time to time and I think was even admitted to the hospital at one point during the summer. The idea that she would want to take her time and have a normal if not extended engagement was odd to me. Although her sickness loomed, she was in no rush to claim what was hers in this earthly life. Again, she had a peace about her that completely betrayed her circumstance.

Allie was at peace with her sickness. It was through her acceptance of it's physical existence that she was able to reject much of it's emotional and psychological impact. Allie remained fresh when she could have been jaded. She lived in and made the most of the moments she was given rather than rushing to or hoping for better ones. She cared for my mother, whom she never met. Allie's presence and actions communicated a deep, abiding peace.

I woke up this morning, rolled over and grabbed my phone to do the typical email/text check. Mixed in with a number of other messages, was a brief email informing HOPE staff of Allie's passing. Since my mother passed last year, I don't cry much. My theory is that my emotions just got overloaded and kind of stopped responding. When I read this message, I immediately felt the old but familiar sensation of warm tears running down my face. When I weep for people like my mother and Allie passing, I don't cry for them. I cry because it feels a travesty that this world should be denied the presence of people like Allie Frymoyer and Sandy Barnes.

Allie, thank you for pulling these tears out of me. Thank you for a smile and a handwritten note that stood in stark but quiet and humble defiance of the worst this world has to offer. Thank you for showing what Hope in God truly looks like. It's my prayer that in the wake of losing you, your defiant peace will resonate in our hearts and bring us to a similar place.

Does it Almost Feel Like You've Been Here Before?

It's the New Year once again. It seems the experience is always the same, granted with different circumstances. We look back and dub the last 365 days the best or the worst ever (and occasionally somewhere in between). Bloggers blog, hack writers who occasionally write make sure to write on this day (See: This post), we all promise the next 365 days will be better than the last. Sometimes we're right. I like to try to eschew the norm, but inevitably end up doing the same as everyone else. Last year, I decided on January 1 that I would commit myself to the gym and change the way my body looked and felt, but refused to call it a resolution. It may be the first resolution I've ever kept. I remember writing the 12/13 version of this post last year. I thought I was reviewing the roughest year I had ever had. I was right. However, what I didn't know was that 2012 would be quickly and definitively supplanted as the most challenging year I've had.

I was left to my own devices

Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls came tumbling down

In the city that we loved

Grey clouds roll over the hills

Bringing darkness from above

January began with me emotionally distraught. For one of the first times in my life, I was taking sick days as "mental health days." When I stay moving, it facilitates distraction and growth for me typically. I was thankful that by the middle of the month I was headed down to Haiti to spend time with friends and colleagues. At some point during my trip, I got word from my dad that my mother had been rushed out to Ohio State by some friends in the middle of the night. She had been coping with extreme abdominal pains and they had finally grown unbearable. At this point in time, it was pretty standard affair for my mother to head to Ohio State for unexpected treatment. This time felt simultaneously the same and very, very different. I pulled a good friend and colleague aside and we prayed together. I remember him asking if there was any reason to be particularly concerned this time around. My response is seared in my memory. I told him there was no evidence that we should be more concerned than usual, but it was simply the law of averages that dictated in my mind that each time she went, there was an increasing likelihood that she would not come home. Within days of my return home from Haiti, I headed out to Ohio State. The stated reason I stayed in Columbus with my mom was because I would rent a car and bring her home when her treatment was over. There was also a big part of me that was worried something terrible would happen and I didn't want my mother to be left alone when it did. 12 days after I arrived in Columbus, my mother passed away. The following days and weeks felt like I was living someone else's life. It's not really possible to understand that a loved one is gone in a brief period of time. We were scrambling to put together a service and get a handle on how we felt. We were surrounded by friends and family. My three best west coast friends flew out to see and support me. Soon after, I was filling up my life with adventure and stuff. I bought new suits, shoes, a jacket and tent and numerous other toys and made trips to Peru, Africa, Germany and a few spots in the US. I took a new position at HOPE. I still felt like myself. I was just a really sad version of me. I felt deeply disappointed and like my family and I were getting kicked around, but my constitution and convictions remained. This time wasn't the worst this year would have to offer.

Time went on. I felt very much on my own. Living at home served as a constant reminder of my new reality. One I didn't really care for. I felt I had spent the preceding 2-3 years building myself into the man I wanted to be and building my life into the one I wanted. I had based that man and life on my faith and constitution and yet they seemed to be crumbling away. I found myself living a different life than the one I wanted. One that I had lived before and fought to make different.

The year's gotten harder. As I get ready for a big, exciting move I've been prone to isolate myself from my loved ones. I was supposed to leave tomorrow, but in the past two weeks, my car has been in the shop twice, I've broken my phone, fallen off my motorcycle (at a very slow speed, Carla took the worst of it) and been very sick for about a week. 

I think part of the reason my non-resolution worked so well last year is because I only made one. It took priority over nearly everything. Whenever it was a question of the the gym vs. something, the gym always won out, unless the other something was a something of extreme importance. This year, my singular goal is to be a finisher. I've been the kind of guy who can get things started, get stoked and get others excited with me. But I'm a sprinter. I have a hard time sticking with things for the long haul. I hope to change that. I've got a lot to rebuild and some new projects on the horizon (I've been kicking around trying my hand at a novel!?) and my hope is that I won't quit till the job is done, no matter what it is.

Oh were do we begin?

The rubble or our sins?

Happy New Year.