There are till more entries to come in the "Series of Goodbyes" series, but those will have to wait. Tiffany and I will be traveling to Dallas from Thursday, February 25 through Tuesday, March 2. Please pray for us during this time, as we will be meeting with a number of individuals and groups, catching up on life, sharing our ministry, and inviting people to join our team.
And we are super excited to see all of our friends down there, too.
24 February 2010
22 February 2010
A Series of Goodbyes, Part 2 - The Forgotten Friend
It's been more than two years, but I never got to say goodbye. Come to think of it, I never even got that dance that I promised her.
Blythe O'Sullivan and I met in college. She was a little on the crazy side, and I was struggling with finding myself. Though I had spent my whole life believing in Christ as my Savior, I didn't always live a life that reflected this belief. By the end of my freshman year of college, I had wandered away from the fold, and in doing so I had lost many who I thought to be my friends. When I turned away from following God, I felt alone and abandoned by the ones who I thought would always be there for me - the church. It was in this loneliness that Blythe and I became friends. She loved me regardless of what I was dealing with. Our friendship was strong, and getting to know her helped me through some tough times in my life.
Two things needed to be said here. One, we never dated, nor were there any romantic ties between us. We simply enjoyed each other's company and spent many, many hours hanging out together. Two, though her friendship was a great encouragement to me, as she loved me when I felt that nobody else did, this friendship was not necessarily a healthy one. We partied hard, and we partied often. She encouraged me to do things I never thought I would do, things that I knew did not honor the God I claimed to serve. Though I understood that she loved me, I grew increasingly more depressed during this time. Something was missing.
As my sophomore year of college was wrapping up, I heard the voice of God calling me back into His loving arms. When I thought that I was too far out of reach, God pulled me close. I renewed my commitment to Him, and He has brought me to where I am today. As I recommitted my life to Him, I had to make some very difficult decisions. One of these decisions was to cut myself off from all those who were drawing me back into the sinful lifestyle that I was recently pulled out of. This meant that I had to end my friendship with Blythe. I always hoped this would be a temporary end, and that someday, when I was stronger in my faith and more secure in myself, we could rebuild this friendship... that maybe she would come to know that Savior that I love so dearly.
Four years passed. I had gotten married, and Tiffany and I were living in Dallas. I had neither seen nor heard from Blythe during this time. It was only at a wedding in Peoria that we were able to briefly reconnect. We hugged for what seemed like forever, talking about where we were and what we were doing. She was serving with the Peace Corps in Suriname, South America. She had come back specifically for the wedding, and she was preparing to leave again after the weekend. She asked if I would dance with her when the music started later. I said I would.
Then, my ride decided it was time to leave.
We never got that dance.
Blythe died a few months later. She was working on the farm in Suriname when she triggered a gun trap that shot her through the leg. She severed her femoral artery and bled out. It was early December, 2007, and I still wonder why I didn't insist on staying to get that dance. I pray that somebody was able to share the Gospel with her before she died, as I failed in this opportunity. And it still hurts, because I never even got to say goodbye.
So goodbye, Blythe. You meant more to me than I ever let you know, and I am sorry for the way I let you down. I'm sorry for never telling you about what Christ did for me, and for what He did for you. I'm sorry for hurting you and for never talking to you for all those years. I'm sorry for leaving without dancing with you. And I'm sorry for never getting to say goodbye.
Two things needed to be said here. One, we never dated, nor were there any romantic ties between us. We simply enjoyed each other's company and spent many, many hours hanging out together. Two, though her friendship was a great encouragement to me, as she loved me when I felt that nobody else did, this friendship was not necessarily a healthy one. We partied hard, and we partied often. She encouraged me to do things I never thought I would do, things that I knew did not honor the God I claimed to serve. Though I understood that she loved me, I grew increasingly more depressed during this time. Something was missing.
As my sophomore year of college was wrapping up, I heard the voice of God calling me back into His loving arms. When I thought that I was too far out of reach, God pulled me close. I renewed my commitment to Him, and He has brought me to where I am today. As I recommitted my life to Him, I had to make some very difficult decisions. One of these decisions was to cut myself off from all those who were drawing me back into the sinful lifestyle that I was recently pulled out of. This meant that I had to end my friendship with Blythe. I always hoped this would be a temporary end, and that someday, when I was stronger in my faith and more secure in myself, we could rebuild this friendship... that maybe she would come to know that Savior that I love so dearly.
Four years passed. I had gotten married, and Tiffany and I were living in Dallas. I had neither seen nor heard from Blythe during this time. It was only at a wedding in Peoria that we were able to briefly reconnect. We hugged for what seemed like forever, talking about where we were and what we were doing. She was serving with the Peace Corps in Suriname, South America. She had come back specifically for the wedding, and she was preparing to leave again after the weekend. She asked if I would dance with her when the music started later. I said I would.
Then, my ride decided it was time to leave.
We never got that dance.
Blythe died a few months later. She was working on the farm in Suriname when she triggered a gun trap that shot her through the leg. She severed her femoral artery and bled out. It was early December, 2007, and I still wonder why I didn't insist on staying to get that dance. I pray that somebody was able to share the Gospel with her before she died, as I failed in this opportunity. And it still hurts, because I never even got to say goodbye.
So goodbye, Blythe. You meant more to me than I ever let you know, and I am sorry for the way I let you down. I'm sorry for never telling you about what Christ did for me, and for what He did for you. I'm sorry for hurting you and for never talking to you for all those years. I'm sorry for leaving without dancing with you. And I'm sorry for never getting to say goodbye.
21 February 2010
February 2010 Prayer Letter
Here's our most recent letter. If you didn't get it via e-mail or snail mail, we don't have your contact info...
20 February 2010
A Series of Goodbyes, Part 1 - The Missed Opportunity
A good person died just a couple months ago - Christmas eve, actually. I could have written this then, but the at the time I didn't know what to say. Little would I know that this would be the first in a series of goodbyes that have affected me more than I realized they ever would.
David Myers was home from school to celebrate Christmas with his family. It was early in the morning, around 2, and the wet weather and freezing temperatures had made the roads slick. I don't know many of the details, but I do know that he was in his own neighborhood when his car left the road and struck a tree. He was wearing his seatbelt, but the impact was too much and he died. He was 21.
When I found out, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know David that well, but I had gotten to know him over the course of a few months when I was helping him get back into diving after he had taken some time off due to some serious injuries. The fall of his senior year of high school I coached him off and on for a month or two, encouraging him to stick with it and make the most of his senior year. He had so much talent, but had severely injured his back, making diving painful for him. Yet he loved what he did, so he fought through it.
At the time I worked with him David was already taking college level science courses, as he was preparing to go to college to study Pre-Med, I assume to someday be a doctor. I had heard that he did at one point have a wilder side to him, but he had calmed down and was beginning to take life more seriously. I didn't pry into his business, but rather tried to remain a positive example for him as I encouraged him to improve as an athlete. In all this, however, I never sought the opportunity to share my faith with him. He and the rest of his family were aware of my goal of getting into the mission field, and, being Catholic, they understood. Yet I never talked with David about his faith, about what he believed.
I missed the opportunity to share with him what really matters. And now I will never have that chance.
For several weeks I beat myself up about this as I continued to wrap my head around the fact that he was gone. I pray that he heard the Gospel from somebody else, as he had not heard it from me. In this grief, however, I am reminded of the urgency to share the Good News of Christ with anybody and everybody I can, for we never know when it may be over.
So goodbye, David. I'm sorry I let you down. I pray that lives may be changed forever by your life and death, and by the revived sense of urgency for sharing the Gospel that I now have. You were a good person, David, and there were many who cared about you, including some of us who never told you, and it was only in your death that we realized we missed that chance.
David Myers was home from school to celebrate Christmas with his family. It was early in the morning, around 2, and the wet weather and freezing temperatures had made the roads slick. I don't know many of the details, but I do know that he was in his own neighborhood when his car left the road and struck a tree. He was wearing his seatbelt, but the impact was too much and he died. He was 21.
When I found out, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know David that well, but I had gotten to know him over the course of a few months when I was helping him get back into diving after he had taken some time off due to some serious injuries. The fall of his senior year of high school I coached him off and on for a month or two, encouraging him to stick with it and make the most of his senior year. He had so much talent, but had severely injured his back, making diving painful for him. Yet he loved what he did, so he fought through it.
At the time I worked with him David was already taking college level science courses, as he was preparing to go to college to study Pre-Med, I assume to someday be a doctor. I had heard that he did at one point have a wilder side to him, but he had calmed down and was beginning to take life more seriously. I didn't pry into his business, but rather tried to remain a positive example for him as I encouraged him to improve as an athlete. In all this, however, I never sought the opportunity to share my faith with him. He and the rest of his family were aware of my goal of getting into the mission field, and, being Catholic, they understood. Yet I never talked with David about his faith, about what he believed.
I missed the opportunity to share with him what really matters. And now I will never have that chance.
For several weeks I beat myself up about this as I continued to wrap my head around the fact that he was gone. I pray that he heard the Gospel from somebody else, as he had not heard it from me. In this grief, however, I am reminded of the urgency to share the Good News of Christ with anybody and everybody I can, for we never know when it may be over.
So goodbye, David. I'm sorry I let you down. I pray that lives may be changed forever by your life and death, and by the revived sense of urgency for sharing the Gospel that I now have. You were a good person, David, and there were many who cared about you, including some of us who never told you, and it was only in your death that we realized we missed that chance.
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