The Final Au Revoir

In the month of October, I traveled to NYC for a birth parent visit, to Michigan to surprise my mom for Halloween, did four speaking engagements and 31 days of kindness. During all of that, we were also privately waiting while our friend Karolin finished her battle with leukemia. You may remember Karolin from Day 4, where I described her as a brave warrior. Well, she was. And while her body lost that battle yesterday, her soul won, as she is now safely home with her Heavenly Father.

When I told Jay that our sweet friend (his "ice cream buddy") wasn't going to get better, he paused for a moment as if looking for a solution then said "Jesus can hold her!" That was my goodbye to Karolin on Wednesday... kisses, hugs, lots of tears, just enough complimenting her to get an exaggerated, slow-motion eye roll, and a few reminders. Namely, that Jesus is waiting to hold her.

I told her that she did so well. She did well at life, and she did well at approaching death. She did it all with incredible faith and grace. I told her that she still looked smokin' hot (insert that 60 second eye roll here). I told her that she is loved. And I told her that Jesus could hold her.

And then he did. Yesterday evening, after four years of battling this thief of a disease, and after being tenderly held and cared for around the clock by Carrie. Jesus allowed these two to be parted so that he could take over the holding. Never in my life have I seen someone care so diligently for another. While Carrie was not Karolin's "mom" in the traditional sense, she was the only mom Karolin had on this earth. As a mother to both biological children and children who belonged to a different mama first, I have it on pretty good authority to say that a mother can come in a variety of different forms, and Carrie was Karolin's in every conceivable way. This could not have been more evident in these past four years.

When I met Karolin 10 years ago, she was best friends with Lexi (who has become one of my best friends) and I only ever knew her as an extension of Carrie. I have never been to a place that Karolin lived that wasn't in or attached to Carrie's house. I have never walked into one of Karolin's countless hospital rooms without signs of Carrie (or Carrie herself) all over the place. She loved and cared for Karolin just as any mother would, maybe a little better even. Watching she and Lexi relentlessly care for, advocate for, and love on such a precious girl was truly a gift to see. A nightmarish, devastating, heart-wrenching and beautifully inspiring gift.

And today I am sad. Just so unbelievably sad. But despite the overwhelming desire to stay in bed with the covers over my head, and cry about my friend, and cry for my friends who are crying about their friend... I will be boarding a plane to Paris. It is the stupidest thing to write about these two starkly different things happening today, but I do primary content. And this is my primary content. My friend just died of leukemia and I am going to Paris. This trip was a gift given to me back in June for my birthday, from Tom and my friend Melissa. They surprised me with a ticket for Melissa and I to take another "bestiemoon." But as it turns out, the flights were so reasonable at the time that Melissa and I decided to surprise Tom on Father's Day with his own ticket and permission to crash our bestiemoon. So, the three of us are heading to France.

I feel all the things. I feel torn about leaving while my friends and family are grieving this enormous loss. I feel exhausted and sick and beyond sad. I feel crushed. But Karolin, Carrie and Lexi all told me to go. And while I am under no assumption that any of them actually need me here, I feel terrible about going right now. Their enthusiastic permission has allowed me to come out from under the covers and get out of bed and pack up my stuff to go. And much like I spent October running all over the place, doing all sorts of crazy things in honor of a kindhearted young life that I so adored... I will spend November doing much of the same.

Only I will do it France.

For these three.

Day 31: Circles Over Rows

My church has this saying they use when talking about what church should really be like, they say "circles are better than rows." What we mean by this, is that as a church, we believe that life (or life change) doesn't happen when people are sitting in pews or rows at church. Rather, we believe that life happens, community happens, when we are sitting around in a circle. This is why our church has Community Groups - where we sit together, eat together, talk and share life together, every week. Not on a Sunday, and not in a row, and not at a church... but we meet throughout the week too, in our homes, and we circle around with each other in a way that is more intimate, and more authentic than it could ever possibly be on a Sunday morning in a church building. It's how Jesus did church and it's what works for real life change and growth in faith.

Circles. They are better than rows.

There are some species of animals that only survive because of circles. The matriarch of a herd of African elephants, for example, will - when sensing danger - form a protective circle with other mature elephants to surround the youngest and most vulnerable elephants in the herd. The circle, which can sometimes be severel layers deep, serves as a barrier that protects their young from harm. 

Circles. They are safer than rows.

I have always been a circle kind of a girl. I love doing life with people. I love hearing and learning from others' stories of loss and love and redemption. I love to open my life and let people look inside of it, to correct wrong thinking, to steady me, to challenge me to grow, to comfort me. You can't do any of that in a row. It can only happen in a circle. 

Circles, are more effective than rows.

Time is more like a row. Time is linear. Grief, not so much. Grief is more like a circle. It has a natural rythm, it is cyclical, and fluid and it never ends. Sure, it may seem to pass for a while, only to circle back around again. The return of grief is the most certain part of it.

Circles. They are harder than rows. 

I have felt a lot like the little elephant inside the protective circle this month. So many of you have surrounded me and my family with love and support and encouragement. This great circle of grief might always orbit around me, but ouside of that, is another, much greater, circle. It is made up of friends, and neighbors, and former teachers and coaches. This circle around me is several layers deep, and it is comprised of perfect strangers and friends of friends, and people who knew my brother and people who did not. Just like grief, this protective community of people around me has no end. 

For Day 31, I was able to connect with some of these people. I went home to Michigan to surprise my family. Although, on this side of heaven, my mom will never have the gift of having all four of her children in one place, it was healing for her to have all her living children and grandchildren together on the night that she lost her son. We were her circle. 

I surprise visited a few family members and old friends, none of whom expected to see me, and I hope considered it a pleasant surprise. And I had the opportunity to visit my alma mater, Grand Haven High School, and had a Q&A with staff and students.

It was a great time of discussion and visiting and felt way more like a kindness to myself than to any of them. It was strange to see my old school, and Adam's old friends who are now the coaches and teachers. It was surreal, but it was good to see yet another layer to that great protective circle.

Circles. They are greater, more impactful, more powerful, more meaningful than rows.

So, Day 31 was no grand gesture of kindness. I simply gave the gift of reconnection. It was a gift to myself as much as anyone on the receiving end, I'm certain. Still, I think that connection is powerful and life-changing and as I think about the immense and powerful hold that grief can have on someone who is facing forward, alone, in a row... I am so thankful that I am in a great circle, and that I am covered. When I feel the pull of grief, tugging my soul into a place that is too dark to face alone, I am covered in prayer. When I feel the shame of suriving, or feeling stuck in this long process of healing, I am covered in grace. When I am grasping for an anchor to ground me, I am covered in love. When I fall short, evey minute of the day in some way or another, I am covered in mercy. And when I am not sure how to bring something beautiful out of something so sinister, I am covered in your kindness.

And when I am missing my brother, and I withdraw and sit alone, defiantly facing foward in what feels very much like a row, God (in his infinite wisdom and relentless pursiut of my affections) begins to sweetly bend that row around me until I am right back in a circle. And the circle is made of layer upon layer of new brothers and more sisters and the whole body of Christ working to protect our weakest and most vulerable. And we shift and take turns recieving cover and protection as we all cycle through our times of grief, and we move and we make room for new members of the herd.

Because circles, are more lasting, more transformative, and more life-giving than rows.