Sometimes life makes no sense – this week was no exception

It was the summer of 1985. I was serving as a Baptist Student Union summer missionary in Reedsport, Oregon. I was there to lead youth and children's activities at Highlands Baptist Church. 

It was a great summer. We had a really good group of kids of all ages. There was one kid, however, that stood out to me. His name was Jay Newport, and he was 11 years old. 

I moved each Saturday, after staying with a host family from the church for the week. And each Saturday, Jay would ride his bike over to the house where I'd been staying to help me load my suitcase in the car. I know he also came to just talk. He was full of questions, and full of wonder about the world he was growing up in. I loved talking with him. It tickled me to see his blonde hair bobbing up and down as he would ride his bike to each house. I loved the twinkle in his big, blue eyes as he talked. And he always hugged me before he left. Even if he was just leaving the room. Such a sweet kid.

One of the group's favorite pastimes was to go to the Umpqua River to swim. There was an area on the river called Buzzard's Bay, and it was kind of like a lagoon. Shooting off of that area, the river had some gentle rapids that the kids would ride on inner tubes. That's where we went one sunny afternoon. 

And it's where we lost Jay.

Jay and some of his friends were taking turns riding the rapids, since there weren't enough inner tubes for everyone. Many of them had on lifejackets. Jay was wearing a bright orange one. I was over by the lagoon, watching the kids who were there, while another adult, Russ, watched Jay and his friends.

Suddenly, we heard one of the boys yell that Jay had gone under the water and hadn't come back up. Russ immediately jumped in and began looking for him.

I ran up the bank of the river, and grabbed a cane pole we'd been using. You see, once you went down the rapids, the current, if you could catch it, would gently float you back to where the rapids began. But if you missed that turn, you'd wind up way downstream. We'd already pulled several kids back into the current using that pole. I thought maybe Jay had missed it, and I'd find him laughing somewhere downstream.

But, I didn't see him as I hurried along that bank. The water was so clear you could see to the bottom, and as I looked, I spotted a bright orange lifejacket, caught on something. I was horrified to realize that it was Jay's body. I yelled for Russ, and jumped in to get Jay. Some nearby fishermen saw what was going on, and came to help me. One of them called for help on his CB radio – this was way before cell phones.

We got Jay out of the water, and Russ and I began to perform CPR. He had a big knot on his forehead, and had obviously struck his head. We worked on him for at least 10 minutes, hoping that he would sit up and cough up the water in his body. 

But that didn't happen. 

I will never forget the sound his body made each time after Russ blew air into his mouth and I started compressions again. It was the most empty sound I've ever heard in my life. 

The ambulance came and took Jay to the hospital in Roseburg. The pastor and I talked to Jay's parents there. I'd say it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do – telling them that their son was gone – but that wasn't the most difficult part of that conversation. The hardest part was hearing them say again and again that it wasn't my fault. I just couldn't believe that at the time.

The next few days were a blur. I spent time counseling the kids. I helped in any way I could at Jay's funeral. It was days later before it all hit me, and I took the time to deal with my own feelings. 

That was the last time I was in Roseburg. This week, all of this came rushing back after I heard of the shootings at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg. I can't imagine the horror those students felt, running from a gunman. But I do know what grief feels like. I also understand what it's like to throw your hands up and ask why. Those left behind after these shootings are doing just that.

The young people slain this week will never grow old. They won't finish college. They won't become doctors, lawyers, teachers or whatever else. They won't get married, have children and then grandchildren. Same as Jay.

It's unfair. It's cruel. And it's insane. 

We aren't promised tomorrow – all we have is today. So on this day, hold your kids close and hug them a little harder. Do it for an blonde, bright-eyed boy who lived his 11 years with gusto. 

Even if you're just leaving the room.

Where you cast makes all the difference...

I haven't written in quite some time. Haven't had the time – nor the inclination. Because, well, reasons. Topping the list is the fact that I write for a living, and when I have free time, well, not so much.
But that doesn't mean I don't have things to say or that life doesn't go on.
During the past couple of years, I've struggled with the day to day of living in the town that's currently home. There are a handful of very loud, very mean-spirited people who have made it clear that I'm not wanted or welcome here. That's been tough to deal with.
I should also say that there are a lot of really good people here who have made me feel quite welcome and at home.
But during the past few months, I've come to terms with the mean stuff. I've realized that I've been backed into a corner by these rude loudmouths, and I've let them keep me there. That's not normally how I'd behave. I'd usually come out swinging. But this time...well...this time has been different. Not sure why. Just. Different.
But in these recent months, I've been spending more time in the word, and my prayers have progressed something like this...
"Lord, get me out of here!"
"God, please get me out of here!"
"Father, I hate this place. Please rescue me."
"Are you listening?"
"Are you hearing me at all? Is this thing on??!!"
"Lord, if you want me to stay here, then you're going to have to work a miracle."
"Father, teach me to love these people like you do."
"Please God, change my heart."
"Lord, if you want me to stay, close all other doors."
"Lord, help me to love them like you do."
"OK, Lord. I'll stay."
And I am actually OK with it now. Fancy that. I'm OK with it.
For the longest time now, I haven't been sure what to do. I was unhappy here, and wanted to be rescued. When the rescue boat sailed right on by, I had no idea how to proceed.
I think Peter was like that. He always knew what to do – he went fishing. He knew fishing. When you go fishing, you get your nets, you get in the boat, and you catch stuff. Boom. Done.
But in John 21, Peter didn't know what to do. Peter and the boys fished all night. Cast and pull the net back in. Over and over. And...nothing.
Then Jesus showed up. And his solution was simple: "Cast your net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some."
Now, I'd have probably been annoyed. "We've been here all night," I'd think. "There's nothing there," I'd think.
But Peter and the boys did what Jesus said. And the haul was unbelievable. Huge, ginormous fish – and in abundance.
Here's the thing: They didn't have abundance until they cast on the RIGHT side of the boat. I've been casting my net on the wrong side of the boat.
So now, I'm casting on the right side, and I'm waiting for the abundance.
Because I know it's coming. Huge and ginormous.

Doesn't have to be at midnight...

Been a little down lately. I admit it. 

I'm not in a great place. I'm not happy about the lemons that life has chucked my way, and I refuse to make lemonade. 

I'm getting sick of that stuff.

I have been searching for ways to get past this…to get back up. I googled "what to do when life gets you down" and that's what I got – "get back up."

Smack my head. 

When life hands me lemons, I usually avoid the urge to chuck them right back, and instead, grab my Bible. I did this the other day. And this verse reached up and slapped me on the noggin:

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. -- Jeremiah 29:11

When I've read that verse before, I have focused on the fact that these plans exist. Hey, knowing that God has plans for me gives me a certain amount of comfort. Same as everyone else. 

And just like everyone else, I tend to begin throwing questions out there…What are these plans? When the heck to they kick in? How long do I gotta wait?

But when I read it the other morning, I read "I KNOW" the plans I have for you. He knows. I don't need to.

Okay. So I get that. But it doesn't make the waiting any easier. I sometimes feel like I've spent my entire life waiting.

I've waited for a husband to show up. Still waiting.

I've waited for that fabulous, life-changing novel I'm supposed to write to just flow out of me. Still waiting.

I've waiting for that wonderful, fulfilling and fabulous job that will give credence to the old adage, "Love what you do, do what you love." Still waiting.

I've waited for the perfect number to appear on the scale. Still waiting.

I've waited for the heavens to part, angels to sing, rainbows to appear and trumpets to sound as God tells me what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Still waiting.

I don't do waiting very well. I want things to move and to shake.

I suppose that's how Paul and Silas felt (See Acts 16). They were arrested and thrown in jail after being attacked by a crowd and beaten. They were in chains. Waiting. 

They used their time in a way I admit, I probably wouldn't. They sang hymns and praised God. I'd have been whining and complaining. Pretty sure of that.

God showed up at midnight. Suddenly. There was an earthquake and their chains fell off and the doors flew open. And it wasn't just Paul's and Silas' chains that fell off – the other prisoners were freed as well. That's moving and shaking.

I am incapable of waiting patiently. But I can wait expectantly. 

I want my chains off. I want the doors to fly open. I want the chains of those around me to fall off. Don't even care if it doesn't happen at midnight. 

I just want it to happen.

While I wait, I guess I can just search Pinterest for recipes.

Gotta do something with all these stupid lemons.