Puddles of freedom.

I love puddles. Ever since I started being a little boy 22 years ago, I've loved them. Mostly, they are fun to splash in, sometimes they are really big, sometimes they have cool reflections and sometimes they are the nastiest things ever. Maybe literally. At work, there are a lot of puddles because the building does not yet have a roof and water collects on the concrete. There are a lot of puddles outside too, but I don't really like those ones because they are really deep and super muddy. However, this is not about those puddles, this is about the ones inside.

I went through a couple week streak where I really didn't like my job. Not that it was really all that bad or that I didn't feel fortunate; that was not the case at all. My mind was simply elsewhere. I would walk through the building to deliver materials to the electricians who needed them and splash through the puddles on my way. Except, for tiny moments, I was alive in another world. I would imagine stepping into the puddle and falling into an alternate reality.

You know the feeling when you step off of a dock into deep water? The cold envelops your entire body and for a second you think about gasping for air, but you don't because you're underwater and that would be stupid. That is the feeling I would imagine each time I stepped in a puddle. Actually, who am I kidding? I secretly hope to fall into an underwater world each time I step in a puddle. I imagine the cold surrounding my entire body. I long for the feeling of being almost out of air and finally coming to the surface. I wish... I wish I was on a dock with screaming (joyful) all around and the sun beating down on me. Children chanting for me to go in the lake. I suppose each time I step in a puddle, its like reliving those moments when my body entered the cool lake on hot summer days. That was camp. It is in these simple moments of reclaimed reverie that I find freedom.

Perfect music.

Sometimes, every song seems like the same song. The same album, the same track, stuck on repeat. It's torturous. Always longing for, but never finding, the song that will absolve this feeling of uneasiness. Then, finally, by chance a song more perfect than you expected falls on your ears and everything, at least for that moment is okay; not because things are actually okay, but because the music of that moment is. My favorite times are when there is no audible music, and that same feeling washes over. It might be the wind or rain or the way light catches you for a split second but for a moment, things are perfect.

Fire.

For the past several years, I have been involved with the Muscular Dystrophy Association. It's one of those things where, if you allow yourself to be truly alive in the moments you are at their summer camp, you can't help but return the next year. It's often hard and frustrating, but there is something about it. Most of my time throughout the week was spent simply 'hanging out' with my camper and others in our cabin group. There is always a fire burning, and one camper is always encouraging somebody to throw more wood on the fire... to "make it bigger".

Muscular dystrophy in one sense is a very sad disease. No cure. Often, a shortened life expectancy. Limited mobility. A constant dependence on others. Though these negatives are stinging reality in the lives of most of the campers, there is much to be learned from them. Many learn more about love, the beauty of interdependence, and the joy of true community than many of us ever will. For this week of camp, all bets are off, the field is leveled, and everyone is somebody.

Many of the campers are loud and boisterous, while others remain practically silent. Yet to each of them, camp is like a little morsel of heaven. Unfortunately, this heaven isn't eternal and has been cut short. MDA just announced that the age limit for their summer camps would be dropping from 21 to 17. 4 years of this magical place stolen from many of them. Apparently, those making the decisions haven't spent time at one of their summer camps, or this decision would have happened only after much more deliberation. For these kids, this is what they live the other 51 weeks of the year for. It is the highlight of their years, and for many and their shortened lives, it is a yearly source of strength, love, and joy.

When a camper has reached an age where they will no longer be able to return to camp, their counselor is asked to say a few things to everyone about their camper. This year, I was up, as Ben is now 21. Typically, there are about 6-10 "graduates" as they are lovingly referenced. This time, there were 37. Not just 37 campers, but 37 of about 90 campers who will no longer be invited back to camp; not another week of joy and camaraderie, and no partaking of a small morsel of heaven.

Yet, there is still a fire burning. A passion for life and for living; for loving each other and relishing in the joy that comes simply from 'hanging out' with one another. That is a fire which can never be put out.

Usual Monday, hold the tact.

I've said before that people who lay in the negative space make life more beautiful. Just keep that in the back of your mind.

I love Mondays that feel so normal you hardly know another has come. Sometimes they get lost in the business and others, well, they are as normal as they seem.

This morning, I tried to get up early and got up on time, as usual. I made some delicious tea and headed out the door with food in my bag to eat, as usual. I drove to school a few minutes early and parked in my usual row of the parking lot. Then I did something unusual. I read the a chapter of the Bible. Don't get me wrong, I'm not tauting this in a 'look at me' sort of way, just that it was something unusual about today.

The Who have a song called "Behind Blue Eyes". Limp Bizkit actually remade it and I'm little embarassed to admit that I like it better. This song was stuck in my head. I'm not sure now why this is important, but I'll move along nonetheless. (This is a post I've added a sentence or two whenever I've had the chance. I'm still not sure how to say all I think about this though)

Anyway, this was a day that my chapel band was playing, so I headed in through the back doors of Bauman Auditorium as usual on these days. I did my usual dinking around under the guise of "tuning" and, surprise, everything was usual. Thats when things became very unusual, awkward, and emotions from every part of the spectrum flooded me; except good ones. I was informed with very little tact, that a former student had passed away the previous night in a car accident. What a shock. I guess its the same feeling as finding out that anyone has passed away because of some freak thing. Simply shock. He was actually one of the first people who got me to play bass guitar at George Fox, and I would see him from time to time at Chapters, one of my favorite places in the whole world. For a couple weeks, we seemed to bump into each other everywhere; Fred Meyer, Chapters, the gym, among others. But now he was gone. It wasn't even the sadness that I first felt, it was the fact that we had been told with such haste it was almost as if it had been said in passing. Sort of like when you see someone you kind of know and to greet you they say, "Hey, what's up?" but keep on walking. It so... unsatisfying.

To make things worse, I later found out more details about the death. The disturbing part was that it was more than a car accident. It was sort of like one of my worst nightmares had been manifested for someone else. From my understanding, he and his wife were driving and slipped off the road. They were fine, but their car got stuck so he walked up to the road. Then another car came over the same hill and struck him. He died instantly, but the worst part is that the driver of the other car was also a former student, and they were friends. How terrible. I have no idea what to do with things like this. He was such a nice guy, always friendly and inviting- always smiling. That's all I suppose.

GirI in the corner.

She has this austere look about her. I can tell she is deep in thought, the way she looks around and then back at her book or computer. She's actually leaving right now. Carefully putting on her socks, she still thoughtfully looks about while paying careful attention to how she ties her shoes. I wonder what she's thinking. Does she know she is beautiful? Does she want to 'grow up' and be a wife, a mother, a teacher, a great friend, a politician, a musician, a writer? She's gone now, but I could see her walk past the window I have found suitable to study next to. She looks at the ground while she walks. Is she insecure or is she admiring something on the ground or is she still deep in thought as before? Maybe she needs somebody. Maybe she doesn't need anybody.