The 14th Annual Inspirations List: 2020

At least until this cataclysmic year we've tended to think of heroism in physical terms: muscular strength, courage in the face of physical harm. We think of soldiers, firefighters, police officers, athletes. Comic book heroes inevitably have physical attributes that enable them to fight, rescue, and achieve. But this year, we've adjusted our definition of heroes.  We've recognized heroism isn't only tied to athleticism.  Putting ones life on the line doesn't only mean fighting bad guys and heading in to burning buildings. It can mean heading into a hospital, a classroom, a warehouse or grocery store.  We've learned this year that heroes can fight invisible enemies and that a hero's weapons can be their mind, and years of expertise and training.  But what all heroes have in common, whether the traditional kind or the pandemic heroes we've recognized this year, is a willingness to put themselves on the line for others. It's the determination to do their duty, no matter the cost. The willingness to put themselves at risk so others can be safe. 

This year the people who have inspired me are a perfect fit for the type of pandemic heroism we've witnessed around the world this year.  It is their care, their compassion, their willingness to look outside themselves that make them heroes in my eyes. 

Any way you slice it this is the largest slate of heroes I've ever recognized. Thirteen recognitions, beating out the inaugural twelve in 2007 by one. Fifteen individuals--nine women and six men, and if you count every member of in the group of 22 I'm honoring (which you should), that's thirty seven people!  But this was a year sorely in need of heroes and many rose to the occasion. Some of them I've known for decades, one I just met this year, one I've only met once, and four I've never met at all. Three of these heroes are being honored for the second time. You can read their first tributes by clicking on their names in the link below.  Also worth noting: three of this year's heroes were previously honored thirteen years ago during my Most Influential People in My Life blog series for the formative influence their friendship had on my life. Check out that post here and find their profiles. This years heroes include teachers, students, public servants, and healthcare workers, but it's not what they do but who they are that inspire me. One just began his journey in life 8 short years ago and one's journey was shorter than any of us could have expected, ending without warning this year.  Every one of these heroes have cared: about people, about truth, about love.  There's nothing more heroic than that.

Here they are, my heroes and inspirations for the year 2020:

Janviere Lavender & Tamaria Kulemeka

Amy Acton & Mike DeWine

The CAA 8th Grade Class of 2020

Chris Cotta

Barbara Leen Maycock

Chimwemwe Kulemeka

Evelyn Fordham Goodman

Grant Graves & Dallas Jenkins

Chandra Maloney Rudisaile

Lisa Ortner McNeill

Elizabeth Sanders Towns

Ezra Maycock

Shameika Stepney

Janviere Lavender & Tamaria Kulemeka

I'm inspired by their excellence

These two women exemplify greatness in the classroom. They are the absolute gold standard in teaching. If you want to see the very best in action, slip in to the classrooms (or Zoom rooms) of Ms. Lavender and Mrs. Kulemeka and watch the magic happen. For greatness to manifest itself you must have more than talent (though they have that too). You must have a passion for the work, a love for the people you serve, and a willingness to work very hard. Both women have all of these qualities and the result is vibrant, rigorous, creative classrooms led by teachers who are unfailingly enthusiastic about learning and steadfastly committed to their students' academic, personal, and spiritual success. I've been watching both teachers for years now--Jan, from afar as she teaches her middle school students at Ramah Junior Academy, and Tamaria on a daily basis as we teach side by side. I like to think of myself as a pretty good teacher, but Ms. Lavendar and Mrs. Kulemeka keeping challenging me to be great.

Amy Acton & Mike DeWine

I'm inspired by their leadership

When so many others, hesitated they stepped up. In the earliest days of the coronavirus pandemic that has devastated the globe this year, our governor and his director of the Department of Health set a standard of calm, pragmatic, grown-up leadership that was a model for the rest of the country.  Governor Mike DeWine took swift, clear action in line with everything we knew about the virus at the time. The steps he took weren't always popular, but DeWine seemed to understand that pandering to the electorate wasn't the priority at that crucial moment. He'd been elected to govern, to look out for his state and that's what he intended to do. Meanwhile, he allowed Dr. Amy Acton to be a vital voice, speaking to our state daily (this New Yorker profile on Dr. Acton really gives you a sense of the person she is). The calm, professional, knowledgeable, and compassionate demeanor of both Dr. Acton and Governor DeWine were a reassuring presence in an uncertain time. I have no doubt that their actions delayed the worst of COVID's impact on our state by many months, buying our medical facilities and the people of Ohio precious time.  Since those early days, both Acton and DeWine have felt the consequences of doing the right thing, as many became impatient with the tough choices they made. Acton eventually stepped down from her role with the state and returned to the private sector, and even the stalwart DeWine could only hold out for so long before giving in to the demands of many in our state who were looking above DeWine for their cues on how to respond to COVID.  DeWine still feels like Ohio's favorite dad, but one who is now a bit more permissive, asking but not requiring us to do our part. Still, I'll never forget that Batman and Robin team of  DeWine and Acton when the pandemic wave first hit. And I'll always appreciate their mature leadership during that crucial moment.

The CAA 8th Grade Class of 2020

I'm inspired by their love

 I couldn't pick one. I couldn't pick two or three either. I had to pick them all. Every year, I've quietly chosen at least one student from my graduating eighth grade class that has inspired me in some special way. This year, with such a spectacular group of eighth graders, I figured the choice would be easy. Until it became hard. Because I couldn't pick just one. In the end, I knew the only thing to do was to choose them all.

In my commencement address I spoke about the class as a whole, as well as each student by name, describing what I admired about each of them. You can read that speech here. But if I had to sum up the thing about this group--this thing about them that was present in every single one of them, but was magnified in the whole--in one word, it would be love.  This class of 2020, a class that had their special final year at Columbus Adventist Academy brutally stolen from them by a global pandemic, exemplified love. They loved each other. They loved God. And I'm so honored to say to that they loved their teachers as well. I have felt appreciation from all of my students over the years, most especially after they have left my classroom.  But to feel that love and appreciation while I am still their teacher is a truly a special gift. Thank you, Larrysa, Athena, Ronald, Philip, Hadson, Chelsea, Robert, Alyssa, Yasmin, Tiffany, Kevin, Greer, Daysha, Dayshaun, Nasha, Djbril, Moise, Piya, Bernard, Stephen, Soulemane, Jasen, & Georgia for the love that you are putting out into a world that sorely needs it. Keep shining!

Chris Cotta

I'm inspired by his thinking

Everybody thinks they are independent thinkers. Only a few really are, and Chris is one of those few.  He is quite possibly the smartest person I know. It's always a pleasure to exchange ideas with Chris because I know he'll always make me think hard and challenge me. But I'm also equally certain that he'll give me a fair hearing and that he's willing to change his position if what I say makes sense. Chris and I have been friends since high school, but we'd fallen out of touch over the years. We reconnected via Facebook Messenger near the start of the pandemic and started communicating more regularly after the death of George Floyd energized the movement for Black lives in this country.  The two of us are often on the opposite side of the political spectrum, though not always. You can't be an open-minded, clear-headed thinker like Chris and always toe the party line. Chris is too smart to be anything other than humble, fair, and honest. 

Barbara Leen Maycock

I'm inspired by her impact

After 23 years of marriage, I didn't think there was much left to know, about my lovely wife. I knew her compassion, her care, her kindness, her love.  What I didn't know is how much those attributes had impacted so many others besides me. Finding out at her fiftieth birthday party as the heartfelt accolades rolled in was a revelation. Babs touched so many lives, with her friendship, kindness, teaching, and leadership. I was amazed and inspired by the countless testimonies of people who have come across her path over the years. When the party was over, I was literally in awe of this remarkable woman I am married to and couldn't believe my good fortune in being able to share my life with her.   Seeing what a difference she's made has encouraged me to strive to be more like her. They say that when you've been married a long time, spouses start to resemble each other. I think if my character is looking more like hers, I should be looking pretty good!

Chimwemwe Kulemeka

I'm inspired by his caretaking

He is the engine of the Kulemeka household. The one who keeps things running. At least that's the way his bride describes Chim Kulemeka (it's not his style to describe himself that way). While working long hours and going to school, Chim also makes sure that everything in the Kulemeka household runs smoothly. I'm sure it's a lot, but from what I see he does it all without complaint or resentment. Listening to Mrs. Kulemeka sing the praises of her husband, I'm encouraged to bring my best to my own family just like he does. I am married to a great woman, just like Chim is, and you know what they say, behind every great woman is a great man. I want to be that man, just like Chim.

Evelyn Fordham Goodman

I'm inspired by her positive spirit

Within minutes of our first conversation I knew we'd struck gold. Mrs. Goodman is relentlessly positive and encouraging. I don't even know how to describe the affect she has on people, but every time you talk to her she leaves you feeling good. I get the sense that she makes a conscious effort to bring people in, to engage with them, and make them feel they belong. But I think it's more than that. Evelyn Goodman just exudes positive energy. It's not something she just merely makes an effort at, it's who she is.  So far the demands of leadership as our new school principal at Columbus Adventist Academy has not diminished her shine. She works hard, she learns quickly, and remains responsive and engaging.  Beyond that, she cares deeply about her staff and is invested in our well-being.  Like every good leader, Mrs. Goodman leads by example. And her example is that of a happy warrior, one I'll gladly follow into battle.

Grant Graves & Dallas Jenkins

I'm inspired by their picture of God

Fear not. This admonition appears more than three hundred times in the Bible, but the way God is so often presented by His well-meaning followers, it's often hard not to feel much afraid. God feels righteous, sure, but also harsh, demanding, and unrelenting. Grant, through his book Fearless: Finding Courage in the Character of God, and Dallas, through his multi-episode television drama The Chosen are committed to presenting a fresh, and I believe more accurate picture of God--a God who's defining characteristic is His life-changing love and absolute trustworthiness. Grant does it through his wonderful book that takes us on a journey through the Bible revealing through his fantastic storytelling and insightful theology a powerful portrait of a God who is not to be feared, but to be loved.  By the time Fearless concludes with a stunning breakdown of the three angels message in Revelation, you will understand the phrase "Fear God and give Him Glory" in a whole new wonderful way.  While Grant Graves gives us the big picture, Dallas Jenkins goes super-granular, drilling deep into the life of Christ, with a riveting portrait of the beginning of Jesus' ministry in what I hope will be the first of many seasons. I happen to know Grant personally, and he's been a personal hero and a very good friend of mine since we served together as missionaries on Saipan more than ten years ago. But you don't have to know Graves or Jenkins to be inspired by them. Read Graves's book and watch Jenkin's series and you will be inspired to fearlessly follow Jesus, drawn by His incomparable love.

Chandra Maloney Rudisaile

I'm inspired by her compassionate heart

A breaking heart was one of her gifts, one she gave to so many of us during her too-short time on the this earth. Chandra felt other people's pain. Her heart was broken by the struggles of others and as a result she was often a light of comfort to those in the crucible of darkness. It's a reoccurring theme I've heard in the month or so since we lost her:  "Chandra reached out to me when I was going through a rough time." From an elementary classmate who felt the sting of childhood cruelty, to a former high school friend going through a dark time, over and over I heard accounts of Chandra reaching out with a message of support and encouragement. She didn't seem to reserve her compassion for those closest to her the way many of us do. If she knew you, and she knew you were hurting that was reason enough for her to extend her care. Chandra had her own share of heartache, and for many that would have been reason enough not to bother with the hurts of others, but if anything her own challenges seemed to make her more tender-hearted.  There have been many beautiful tributes to Chandra since she passed, but it's these brief but powerful words--left by probably the toughest guy you will ever meet--that move me most each time I read them:

My high school friend whom could see the soul of someone regardless of the outer shell. I will never forget you didn't forsake your friend at 26, you gave me courage and prayed for me. I'm saddened beyond expression..... It was beyond an honor to call you friend. I hope to be a part of the Kingdom that awaits you....

Now that her light has gone out, it's up to me--to all of us knew and loved Chandra--to carry on her legacy of tenderhearted compassion.

Lisa Ortner McNeill

I'm inspired by her thoughtfulness

Lisa always got there first. I'd like to think it's not just because she's a faster typist/texter! I think it's because Lisa's thoughtfulness is innate and intuitive. In those devastating first days, when the wound of Chandra's sudden loss was fresh, I friended Lisa on Facebook. I'd only ever spoken to her once in my life, briefly after church 26 years ago, when I was visiting Chandra at Southwestern Adventist University in Texas. But I knew she was one of Chandra's closest friends and I knew I wanted to reach out to those who loved her best. But, within minutes of me sending the request and as I was getting ready to write to her, a beautiful heartfelt message from Lisa appeared in my inbox. She'd beaten me to it. And in the days and weeks that followed, she'd keep beating me to it--text messages popping up while I was still typing, invitations to call if I felt like talking just as I was getting ready to ask if it would be okay if I called. Thoughtfulness is anticipating a need before it is expressed and moving to meet that need. That's what Lisa has done for me. I'm sure it's what she did for Chandra too. I feel blessed to have a found a new friendship, forged in great grief and bound by our shared love for a friend gone too soon. I keep trying, but I think when it comes to a kind word and a thoughtful gesture, Lisa will always be quicker on the draw.

Elizabeth Sanders Towns

I'm inspired by her sharing

Sharing on social media is a fine art, one that most strive but fail to master. There are those who are funny. There are those who are righteously angry. There are great storytellers. There are those who share their hearts. No-one puts all those ingredients together quite like Elizabeth. Her Facebook posts are always a joy, whether she is sharing a tender but hilarious story about her mother, known to us as The Mary or expressing her heartfelt anguish at the state of the nation in these troubled times. Her sense of humor, wisdom, compassion, and love shine in every post. I've known Elizabeth for about ten years; I was her children's teacher, but I feel I know her on a whole other level due to her deft leverage of Facebook to share her stories, her heart and her truth. I think what sets Elizabeth apart is the love that motivates her sharing.

Ezra Maycock

I'm inspired by his empathy

Words can be empty. Sometimes even the most eloquent expressions are not enough. Sometimes the best we can do is offer a hug and silent solidarity. This has always been hard for me, someone who always wants use my way with words to "fix things" even when some things can't be fixed. But my younger son Ezra seems to intuitively understand what I often miss. For a while now, whenever he sees his mother upset, he'll put down his tablet where he's been engrossed in his Minecraft game, walk over without a word and give her a hug. In the past month or so, from time to time he'd come up to me out of nowhere and just hug me. As far as I could tell I wasn't even visibly upset, but somehow Ezra seemed to intuit that Daddy could use a hug. It used to startle me at first, and I'd have to stop myself from reprimanding him for "hanging on me" but I quickly realized that this was his way of expressing comfort and empathy, and I've welcomed those hugs. Just lately, I've started making a conscious effort when I see someone in my family upset to do just like Ezra does. Walk over, and without saying anything (for once!) simply give the struggling person a warm hug.

Shameika Stepney

I'm inspired by her life-giving words

Then again, a few words can change a persons life forever. Shameika Stepney was a third grader when she saw a classmate named Fiona being mocked for daring to try to sit with the so-called popular girls in the cafeteria. Shameika stood up for Fiona, telling her: "Don't worry about those bullies. You have potential." Shameika went on her way, the brief interaction soon forgotten. Forgotten by Shameika. Fiona, on the other hand never forgot those words. They became something that she held on to, a mantra that kept her going for years to come. So much so that one day Fiona, the now-world famous musician Fiona Apple decided to write a song about it. "Shameika" was one of the most well received songs off Apple's latest album Fetch the Bolt Cutters and soon enough Shameika discovered the full life-giving impact of those few words she spoken some thirty years earlier.  Stepney, a working musician herself, says that's just who she is. Speaking life is a way of life for her. (Check out her collab with her former fellow-third grader, "Shameika Said." I confess I like it better than the original!)  Thanks to Shameika I'm inspired to consider carefully what I say, knowing that just a few of the right words at the right time could change someone's life.

 Like apples of gold in settings of silver,

Is a word spoken at the proper time

                                --Proverbs 25:11

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

A sampling of letters I received about 26 years ago (and one I sent; I made a photocopy of the letter for myself, thinking I'd like keep my documentation of my experiences as a new student missionary. I'm glad I did)

 I wrote a letter today.  A real, old-school letter, handwritten on college-ruled notebook paper. This was not one of those "letters" that you write to someone who will never read them. This was a letter that's actually going to be delivered, and even now is making its way through the U.S. postal system to its intended recipient.

It wasn't easy, that's for sure. For one thing my handwriting is atrocious and seems to be only getting worse as I get older. I have to really concentrate and slow down or my handwriting won't be legible at all. But I just felt somehow that it was important that that I write in my own hand. Typing an email or DM wouldn't do. Even typing out a letter and printing off wasn't acceptable to me. There's something that about touching pen to paper that just felt right.

When I was finished, I read the letter over, put it in an envelope, addressed it and put a stamp on it and stuck it in my mailbox. I felt so good. I wanted to do it again!  Letter-writing has become almost a novelty. I remember in the old days, when writing letters felt like such a huge task. There were literally dozens of people it seemed that I needed to write to. And I received so many letters, especially while I was a student missionary in Chuuk. There were letters from my mom and siblings, and close friends like Chandra, Greg, and Chris (J would have written but we were both in Chuuk together), college pals like Stacey and Kim, but also letters from a myriad of other people that I wasn't super-close with. I was touched by how many people took the time to pen me a letter while I was out in the mission field. I probably got more letters from this girl I was kind of interested in than anybody else. We'd met in Hawaii on our way out to Micronesia. She was teaching in Pohnpei and I was in Chuuk. I was quite surprised by how much she wrote, especially when in the end she ended up deciding to pursue a relationship with another student missionary teaching on the island of Palau (she ended up marrying him and they are still married today).

Like the tactile experience of paper and pen, the inability to edit is an aspect of letter writing that is both challenging but also rewarding. There's something about composing a message that you can't go back and edit (at least not easily). You choose your words carefully, that's for sure, and there's just a different quality about it. And of course it takes time--hand writing is much slower than typing, especially for me. It took me about an two hour and fifteen minutes from "Dear. . ." to postage stamp to compose the letter I wrote today.

In this age of instant messaging, there's something very vulnerable about taking that labor of love, sticking it in a flimsy envelope and trusting that somehow these pieces of paper will make it all the way to their distant destination, days from now, to be opened and read by someone I care about. And then not to know when or if they'll write back (I'm not really expecting a reply in this case).  Nonetheless, writing a letter today made me feel really good. I wouldn't mind making it a habit once again.

How Long?

I want to run on greener pastures
I want to dance on higher hills
I want to drink from sweeter waters
In the misty morning chill
And my soul is getting restless
For the place where I belong
I can't wait to join the angels and sing my heaven song.

                                                   --Phil Wickham "Heaven Song"

As a Seventh-day Adventist Christian the belief in the soon coming of Jesus has been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember.  When I was a kid, I was really worried that Jesus might show up with His band of angels a little too soon. There was stuff I wanted to do, things I wanted to experience. I wanted to get married (because some said there would be no marriage in heaven, I wanted to make sure I got that in under the wire, and of course everything that goes along with marriage--well, not everything so much as one thing).  

When I got a little older, I tended towards skepticism over the soon coming of Jesus.  Our particular faith tradition has been preaching "soon" since 1844.  At what point does "soon" lose any real meaning? For me, any definition of soon that extends longer than a typical lifespan is practically irrelevant. And to be honest when I read the Bible I don't see a strong message of "soon"--instead I see a message of "uncertainty" (more on that in minute). 

And now in recent years, as the losses begin to hit home, I've begun to long for Jesus to return. When life is good here on earth, it's good, but heaven will still be better.  And when life takes a dark turn, as it certainly will, heaven is what gives me hope.

Our beliefs, whatever they are, inform how we process loss. For me, my faith tradition relies heavily on hope. Hope of the resurrection. Hope that death is not the end. I hold on to that hope like a lifeline in times like these. These days I want Jesus to come ASAP. There's nothing left for me in life that I need to experience "first" and I'm a whole lot less okay with the idea that His return might not be soon.

How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song?

                       --U2, "40"

So how long? How long will we run this gauntlet of pain and death. I don't know. I'm not willing to insist on "soon."  Maybe I'm a heretic for saying so, but I just don't see a strong Biblical argument for it, nor do I see a theology of "soon-ness" having any practical spiritual value. To be clear I'm not insisting on the certainty of delay either. That's equally foolish, with perhaps even less Biblical support. I think the best case can be made for uncertainty.  That one thing we know for sure is that we don't know for sure. So, Jesus counsels us, "Be ready all the time, because you don't know the day or the hour.  And not only do you not know when, but I will show up when you least expect Me. So be ready."

And what does it mean to be ready? Perhaps you've heard the quote attributed to Oliver Wendell Holmes: "Some people are so heavenly minded they're no earthly good"?  Is that what it means to be "ready?" To get your life "in order", maybe move out of the cities in anticipation of troubled times ahead? Does it mean trying to be extra spiritual?  I tend to think an emphasis on "soon-ness" leads to that kind of mentality.  But Jesus lays out in Matthew 25 exactly what it means to be ready for His return. In the story of the ten virgins, he makes it clear that being ready means being prepared for the possibility of delay. In the parable of the talents, He makes it clear that being ready means making the most of the talents God has given you, rather than living in fear of an exacting God. And in the parable of the sheep and the goats He defines readiness by how we treat the people around us, especially the ones the rest of the world neglects. In Jesus' vision of readiness, being heavenly-minded means doing a whole lot of earthly good.  

When I was in high school I went through a period of depression. A turning point in that time in my life was a conversation I had with my best friend J. He made a point that wasn't exactly groundbreaking yet for some reason gave me a sense of perspective that helped me push through that low point in my life: "The only thing that matters," he said, "is to get to heaven." Strangely enough, it was that belief that heaven was all that mattered that got me feeling like life on this earth mattered too. I know of others too who have, at the darkest moments, found the strength to keep living on this earth because of their conviction that they wanted and needed to be in heaven. They had somewhere they had to be and somehow they knew that the key to getting there was to stay the course, to hold on.

My lungs and I were born to fight
Sometimes I'm not sure what I'm fighting for
But death ain't the only end in sight
'Cause this ain't a battle, it's a lifelong war

My heartbeat, my oxygen
My banner, my home
My freedom, my song
Your hope is the anthem of my soul

                                     --Switchfoot, "Hope is the Anthem"

I'm really preaching to the choir here. I know my friends who don't share my faith don't see much value in the hope of heaven, especially as a "motivation" to do good. But even they would agree, I think, that each of us seeking to live our lives well and to be agents of love and grace in the world is a good thing.

When I was in middle school my absolute favorite song in the world was "Heaven is Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle. They never played that song on the radio enough for me. When I listened to it, I knew exactly where that heaven was--in the arms of my 7th grade unrequited crush! I still have "Heaven is a Place on Earth" on my running playlist--I just heard it today, in fact. Of course Ms. Carlisle's optimism notwithstanding, heaven can never truly be a place on earth, not where death can swoop in unbidden at any moment and ruin the party.  But I do think there's something to be said for living in the spirit of the Kingdom of Heaven right now. Heaven is the place where love reigns. Eternity would kind of suck under anything else but the purest love. So, if we would be ready, let us love one another.  

How long until Jesus returns? I don't know the answer to this question. But I do know, that I've got somewhere to be.  So I'm going to keep doing what I can, by His grace, to bring a little heaven to earth while we wait.

Cause everyday
The world is made
A chance to change
But I feel the same
And I wonder why
Would I wait till I die
To come alive?
I'm ready now
I'm not waiting for the afterlife

I still believe we can live forever
You and I we begin forever now
Forever now, forever

                            --Switchfoot, "The Afterlife"

The Corona Chronicles: Not Just a Number

The world may look the same is it did a month ago but when someone you love is gone, it is completely different.

For me November has been the 2020 of the months of this year. It's been awful. There's not much else to say than that. But not just for me, personally.  Thousands of families are bereft, struggling to keep going in the face of devastating loss. Thousand suffer sleepless nights and numb days. Whether because of cancer, heart disease, chronic illnesses or sudden collapse, COVID-19, tragic accidents, overdoses, suicides, or foul play thousands of people have been lost in this month. And one of those thousands was one of my dearest friends. All it takes is one for the awful gravity of death to be fully felt.

Birth and death. The beginning and the end. We all came into the world the same way and we will all leave at some point. Yet, for both when they happen it feels like this is the only birth or death there's ever been in the world. It feels so unique, so separate, and in the case of death, so lonely. The rest of the world marches on as if nothing has happened. We hear about the deaths of people we don't know well, we read the numbers that appear just below in this blog, and we feel, at most, a twinge of sadness. We shake our heads and think, "What a shame." But when death circles close it's something else entirely. And the closer it gets the worse it is. It is a ravenous beast that hollows us out. How can something so horrible be so mundane?

I think we should be less caviler about death when it doesn't affect us. Some people like to dismiss the number of COVID deaths or explain them away (the old canard about "inflated death counts" is still making the rounds, theories stoked by isolated incidents such as the man in Florida who died in a motorcycle accident but was listed as a COVID death).  Yes, death comes for us all, and yes, sometimes a hard-nosed calculus is needed in order to ensure that those who survive can still...well, live. But that calculus should not be made flippantly. It should be a solemn exercise with a compassionate understanding of the tremendous individual cost for the greater good.  But for some, there's a somewhat childish view of what a truly terrible death toll should look like. If it's not a cataclysm, an apocalyptic nightmare with the mortality rate of the general population in the double digits and bodies piling up in the streets, then it's nothing to be concerned about.  People imply that many of those who died of COVID "would have died anyway." Which to me, is a heartless thing to say. Ask anyone who has lost someone they love, and most would gladly welcome more time with their loved one, even if only a little. When it comes to time with the people we care for there's no such thing as "enough."  

It seems clear that deaths are higher than average this year, a sign that no matter which way you slice it, COVID has had a brutal impact on the hearts and homes of too many. This article articulates why the argument that the overall death rate has not increased is incorrect.  And, while there's lot of context missing, I can't help but wonder if these numbers, gleaned from the CDC  aren't higher than usual: In April of this year, 86,000 more people died of all causes than did in April 2019. In May, 42,000 more people died than in May 2019, and in June, 24,000 more people died than did in June 2019.  Also more people died in the months of January, March, April, and May of 2020 than any month in 2019. The CDC doesn't have data past June 2020, but the picture seems unlikely to have improved.

No matter how you look at it, there were 55,801 people were alive at the start of this month. And, now because of COVID, every one of them is gone. That's a lot of empty chairs and broken hearts.

I long for the day when death will lose it's power once and for all. And in the mean time I'm determined not to allow myself to become too numb to the lives lost behind those numbers.

As of today there have been 16,477,271 total cases of COVID-19 in the United States. A staggering 5,658,660 new cases were added since November 14. Among them there are a number of people I know personally, including my best friend and his wife, a former student, and a good friend living here in Columbus. This is a 52% increase, not quite double the number of new cases from October to November, and about 1.3 million more than I predicted.  There have 300,051 deaths altogether from COVID-19, with 55,801 of those occuring in the past month. This is a 23% increase, 25, 427 more deaths than from COVID than we had the previous month, and 21,606 more deaths than I predicted.

If this rate of increase stops growing exponentially and instead maintain its current pace, I  would expect 25,045,451 total cases by  January 14 and a total of 369,063 dead from the virus. 

On to the states: It's Ohio's turn to take center stage in case numbers.  Illinois and Nebraska are finally trending downward, and Florida and Ohio are trending up. But the Buckeye state currently leads our group in new and total cases. Hawaii continues to be not just a tropical paradise, but a largely disease free one as well with average weekly new cases remaining essentially flat with about 629 new cases each week.

Total Cases:

Florida: 1,125,923 total cases, 255,379 new cases, an increase of 29%. This is almost 90,000 more cases than I predicted.  Prediction: Florida will reach 1,452,441 total cases by January 14, 2021.

Ohio: 570,602 total cases, 288,074 new cases, an increase of 102%. This is just over 90,000 more cases than I predicted. Prediction: Ohio joins the Million Case Club with 1,152,616 total cases by January 14, 2021.

Nebraska: 149,044 total cases, 54,122 new cases, an increase of 36%. This is 29,409 fewer cases than I predicted: Prediction: 202,699 total cases by January 14, 2021. 

Hawaii: 19,302 total cases, 2,788 new cases, an increase of 17%. This is 679 fewer cases than I predicted. Prediction: 22,583 total cases by January 14, 2021

Illinois: 857,431 total cases, 304,348 new cases, an increase of  55%. This is 99,403 fewer cases than I predicted. Prediction: Illinois also joins the Million Case Club with 1,329,018 total cases by January 14, 2021

Deaths in all five states increased this past month.  Yes even in Hawaii, deaths were up this month, though again the numbers were miniscule, with an average of 11.5 deaths over the past four weeks.

Total Deaths

Florida: 19,865 total deaths, 2,421 new deaths, an increase of 14%. This is just shy of 200 fewer deaths than I forecast, but statistically close enough to say my prediction was correct. Prediction: 22,646 total deaths by January 14, 2021.

Ohio: 7,551 total deaths, 1,851 new deaths, an increase of 32%. This is over 1000 deaths more than I predicted. Prediction: 9,967 deaths by January 14, 2021.

Nebraska: 1,389 total deaths, 600 new deaths, an increase of 76%. This is 198 more deaths than I predicted. This is the fourth month in a row that Nebraska's death toll has exceeded my forecast. Prediction: 2,445 total deaths by January 14, 2021. 

Hawaii: 272 total deaths, 51 new deaths, an increase of 23%. This is about 24 fewer deaths than I forecast.  Prediction: 335 total deaths by January 14, 2021.

Illinois: 15,455 total deaths, 4,548 new deaths, an increase of 42%. This 2,585 more deaths than I predicted. Prediction: 21,946 total deaths by  January 14, 2021.

My prediction that deaths in all states except Hawaii would outstrip my predictions was foiled by Florida. But I'm totally okaying with there being less death. My hopeful prediction is that there will be fewer deaths in all states by January than I predicted. I don't know if I have a reason for that--I don't think the vaccine will have had enough time to make a difference. I guess I just want to believe it.

The Hard Part of a Hard Passage

 

Now comes the hard part (as if it hasn't been hard enough already).

During the past weeks since my friend Chandra's passing much of my time and emotional energy has been consumed with preparing for the events of yesterday: Her graveside service and the Zoom memorial we planned for that afternoon. I remember that same sense of purpose after my father-in-law died six years ago. In some ways I almost felt like Chandra wasn't quite gone. I was constantly in touch with people who knew and loved her--Lisa, Amy, Daren, Chandra's mom (mostly via Lisa). I was thinking about her, looking at pictures, checking in on her remembrance page multiple times a day, planning and preparing. It was sad, but it also felt as if there was still a bit of a connection.

But now all that is finished and what looms ahead is "normal life." Certainly, for those closest to Chandra, her husband, her daughters, her parents and siblings and others in the close family circle this is true. Unfortunately, I think those that are further removed--who find it easier to "move on"--forget that for those who loved her best, the hardest part is yet to come. That first time going back to work, going back to school, that first Christmas without her only weeks away, that's the hardest part. As painful as it is, it's nice to be able to focus your entire day around the person you've lost, and we are able to do that in that period between their death and the memorial services. But the return to life without them? It's unthinkable.  So I encourage you to keep the Maloney-Rudisaile family at the top of your prayer list in the weeks and months to come. They'll need your prayers, support and love more than ever.

I've also been reflecting on what we say about the ways people grieve. While it's true that everyone grieves differently, we tend to say when a person's struggle with loss shows--whether through weeping, numbness, or generally lack of keeping together that "they are not doing well." I've said it myself.  But I think we have it backwards. But maybe those that aren't keeping it together are doing just fine. Fully feeling and expressing our grief is a healthy thing, I think.  Maybe it's the folks who are"staying strong" who aren't doing well. Or maybe it's better not to draw conclusions about how a person is doing in the first place.  We all grieve differently.

That's what on my mind this Sunday evening, and it was little too long for a Facebook post.

Oh, I'm swimming in the grief
And there's no anchor that could hold me down
I don't want any relief
'Cause I don't wanna let you go right now

                            --NeedtoBreathe "Be Here Long"

Forever: A Journey of Friendship

 The Beginning of Forever

I've been trying to identify exactly when and how Chandra and I came to be friends. I've been poring over old Journal entries, paging through my high school yearbooks trying to pin it down and so far I've been unsuccessful. I'll probably have to read every entry between the fall of 1988 and the spring of 1990 to figure it out, and even then I'm not sure I'll have an answer.  All I know is that Chandra Maloney and I met our freshman year of high school, and somewhere between then and the end of our sophomore year we became the best of friends. It's been 32 years.

A Stick in Time

In my memory, it was camp meeting 1990, the end of tenth grade. We were sitting in the grass by the ball field watching a softball game. But then it could just as easily have been an intramural game at "rec" during the school year, because Chandra referenced this moment in the page-long entry she left in my school annual that year. So either she signed my yearbook late, after school was out, or this happened different than I remember. But what I remember was that it was camp-meeting. Veggie dogs and snow cones were being sold from the pathfinder trailer, all of Adventist Florida was gathered in one place, and it was a sticky summer night.  From somewhere we scrabbled together two sticks, carved in each stick our initials, CM and SM,  and the words "Friends Forever" and exchanged the sticks. We promised to keep those sticks always as a reminder of our solemn vow.  I don't know where that stick is now, and that bothers me. I know I would never have knowingly thrown it away, so I can only assume it is stored away somewhere, awaiting resurrection, just as my dear friend now is. As for the promise, that has never been lost, through all the ups and downs that would follow. 

Two Fish Out of Water

Chandra was kind. She was genuine. She was unpretentious. She felt things very deeply and had a compassionate heart. She was fiercely loyal. She was a good listener and could provide insightful advice. In short she was everything you could ask for in a friend.  I felt through much of high school like a fish out of water. I never felt sure that I belonged. The one black kid, surrounded by white people, I often felt like an imposter. Surely, people looked at me and thought "What is he doing here?" I don't know if that feeling has ever fully gone away. But Chandra never made me feel like that. As I've gotten older I've realized that sense of "not belonging", of being somehow not a part of things is more widespread than I realized. That even the most glamorous lives harbor the same doubts, the same fears of being exposed as an interloper, the same anxieties about rejection and loss. I think Chandra felt those same things too, and I think in each other we found someone who provided a safe harbor, a place where we could be ourselves and be accepted and loved for who we truly were. As recently as this summer when I embarked on a journey to speak in honest anger about what it meant to be black like me, Chandra reached out to let me know that she stood with me, that she loved me, and most importantly that she saw me and heard me. That meant so much.

School Days & Friend Zones

There are so many memories of Chandra that I treasure. We took Chemistry together at Lake Brantley High School the summer after our sophomore year. We took Biology I together, went on that epic disaster of a Biology II marine biology field trip the Florida Keys, and sat next to each other in Dr. Viar's Anatomy & Physiology class our senior year.  Chandra sat in front of me during Captain Coolidge's 11th grade American History class and we'd whisper quietly, or trade notes everyday all through class, while Captain read from the history textbook from his desk at the front. We commiserated together over our various unrequited loves. Each of us carried torches for someone who kept us resolutely in the "friend zone" (I will not mention their names here though anyone who knew us during those mid-high school years will know exactly who they were!)  We supported each other in heartache for our unreturned love, counseled and encouraged each other. And when the miracle of miracles happened, and Chandra's longtime love suddenly found he too had feelings for her, swept into town (he no longer attended our school) and swept her off her feet, just like in a movie, I rejoiced with her.  The fantasy romance come to life was short-lived, and I was also there for her when the long-hoped for relationship petered out.

"I'll Be There for You"

Chandra and I shared a lot of mutual friends. Some of my closest friends were also some of hers. Especially through much of our junior year we ran with the same crowd--a clique so tight, it even had a name: The Group. The Group parked our cars next to each other in the school parking lot. The Group studied at each others houses virtually every night, with Geri Haupt's house the most popular rendezvous. I can still remember "(Can't Live Without Your) Love and Affection" playing on the radio as I pulled my blue 86 Corolla into the line of cars on Geri's front lawn: Jeff's white Nissan, Chandra's gray Honda Accord, Greg's Civic hatchback, Chris's bright red Mustang, Pamela's Plymouth, and Anita's sporty black Honda. I'd rush to towards the welcoming warmth of the Haupt house, books in hand, ready for an evening of studying and friendship. It was like being in a TV show about friends.  And like a TV show, there was drama with the Group. Lots of drama. There were crushes and frenemies (sometimes they were the same people), there were misunderstandings and arguments--a few days where people stopped talking. And then started talking again. And like a TV show, eventually The Group got cancelled. And for a few months it seemed that maybe our friendship had been cancelled too.  But Forever was the deal, and our friendship renewed and continued even as our circle of friends broadened and matured.

The Maloney Home

Some of my favorite memories of Chandra in our growing-up years were the times I spent at her house. Chandra lived less than a mile from me: Turn left coming out of Sue Drive, where I lived, go up Bear Lake Road to the traffic light on Lake Brantley Road, and then continue straight until the pavement gives way to the gravel drive that winds through the Maloney's wooded property and ends at their wonderful lakeside home. We'd sprawl out doing homework on the floor of their big living room or watch a movie there.  We'd swim in their pool, and on holiday weekends and birthday parties, Dr. Maloney would bring out the boat, and we'd water ski or ride the inner tube around the lake. Mrs. Maloney, was the picture of hospitality and motherly warmth, providing us hungry teenagers with a seemingly endless spread of food and drink. Chandra's parents always made us feel so welcome. They made their home feel like ours. Chandra's brothers were always around, Jim always chilled out and cool, Mark, fun and mischievous. I remember stopping by the Maloney house some years ago perhaps when we were back from Saipan, in the States for the summer. I stopped by-because that's what you could do with the Maloneys--on the fourth of July, I believe it was. And when I walked into that familiar living room, I was stunned to find little Mark sitting on the couch, looking the same as he had  in 1992. It took me a moment realize I was looking at his son. But for a few fleeting seconds I expected to find a teenaged Chandra and Geri hanging out by the pool. It seemed that in the home of my friend forever, time itself could stand still. Oh, how I wish that were true. Oh, how I long for the day when it will be. 

The Dark Ages

Senior year was one of the best times in Chandra and I's friendship. We were very close that year. Both of us were battling our own demons then and we often leaned on each other for support. I began a slide into a dark depression that would last throughout the second half of my senior year and into the summer after graduation. Through much of that time, Chandra was my rock, a source of encouragement and hope when I needed it most. Particularly meaningful was our date to the annual Junior-Senior Banquet. We went "as friends", rather than romantic partners, and I remember clearly how momentarily free she made me feel that night, laughing and joking with me on the bus to Medieval Times. To be with someone without complications, to be with a true friend, was just the medicine I needed to keep going.

College Days 

Our freshman year of college, Chandra and I finally parted ways. I set off to reinvent myself at Andrews University, a personal odyssey that was absolutely necessary for me. Chandra, like most of our friends went to Southern Adventist University (then Southern College). But even though we were no longer a minutes drive away, separated by hundreds of miles, Chandra and I grew closer than ever. She'd write me every week, sometimes more than once a week, and I did the same. We supported each other through the stormy adjustment of college life. Chandra became increasingly disenchanted with Southern, and after her freshman year switched to Southwestern Adventist University. We continued to be close throughout our sophomore year of college, so much so that I decided to visit her at Southwestern on my spring break from Andrews that year. After the end of that school year, in the summer of 1994, I headed off to the islands of Chuuk for a life-changing year as a student missionary. I carried with me from Chandra, a favorite picture to pin on my bulletin board in my room, a card with words full of friendship and affection, and a gift of $200 cash to help me cover any initial expenses I'd encounter in my missionary journey. 

Oceans Apart

It was here that it seemed oceans, time, the call of adulthood might have finally caused our friendship to become a memory. We stopped writing, stopped calling. We began to live separate lives. I met and married Barbara. She met and married Daren. We did not attend each other's weddings. I moved to Saipan for more than a decade. Chandra eventually ended up in southern California. I saw Chandra and Daren once, when Barbara and I were on our way out to Saipan. We met them for dinner at a Thai restaurant in Loma Linda, and it was lovely evening full of fond memories. But we didn't really keep in touch. Yet even in those years, I knew somehow that we were still friends. I talked about it in my 2007 blog series on the Most Influential People in My Life. Chandra was on that list, and in my tribute to her I expressed my belief that that our friendship, like that little stick she gave me was still there, waiting to be rediscovered.

Grown-ups

And beginning in 2009, it was. Chandra reached out to me on Facebook early in that year. She complimented me on the cute baby boy she'd seen in my Facebook posts and shared stories of her newly-born Kendal as well. Over the next 11 years, we'd stay in regular contact, exchanging warm messages at least a couple times each year, tracking the ups and downs of each other's lives. In 2014 I had meetings in California for a week and was able to spend two evenings with Chandra and Daren and their daughters. It felt good to reconnect, to keep that eternal flame of friendship burning. Life wasn't always easy for Chandra--she seemed to face challenge after challenge, and I know at times it must have been hard to hold on. But Chandra was a fighter, stronger and more courageous than she gave herself credit for. I admired so much her fierce will, her open heart, her deep determination. And I was honored to be able stand with her in those tough times, even if only through a PM, text message or phone call. It brought me joy to see her making her way, overcoming the challenges she faced. She hoped great things for the future, I believe. She was undaunted. She persisted.

And then she was gone.

The Silence

As our perfect as our friendship must sound, I assure you we had our share of hard times. On a few occasions we had big fights and Chandra simply stopped talking to me for awhile. I think of those times as The Silences. And they hurt. I can think of one particular time, the summer after our senior year of high school.  We had been extremely close throughout the year, and that very closeness caused a sense of guilt to start gnawing at me. I had been keeping something from Chandra all year. I had been lying to her and the more I came to realize the value of her friendship the worse I felt about the lie.  So finally, I came clean. And Chandra, was rightly furious. She stopped talking to me and the Silence began. She wouldn't take my calls, wouldn't read my letters.  She refused to see me. And I was devastated. It seemed our friendship truly was at an end this time. In my desperation, I concocted a plan to at least see her. I called up Mrs. Maloney and told her I wanted to practice my swimming and would it be okay if I came by to practice in their pool a couple of times a week. Mrs. Maloney gladly agreed, and I started showing up every other day to swim in the pool. The gambit didn't work. Chandra studiously avoided me and I rarely saw her as I doggedly worked on my laps. Mrs. Maloney would smile sympathetically at me, as if to encourage me to be patient, that with time Chandra would come around. And Mrs. Maloney knew her daughter well, because come around she did. By the time we left for our separate colleges, our friendship was fully restored and stronger than ever. The Silence had ended. (And as a bonus, I was now a very strong swimmer, who could swim laps for thirty or more minutes without a break!).

Right now, feels like one of those Silences, except so much worse. This time it isn't a misunderstanding. It isn't a fight. It isn't hurt feelings. It is the cruelty of death, a life cut short far too soon that has brought about this most awful of Silences. She can't return my calls, or read my messages. She can't see me, or I her, again, in this life. And I am beyond devastated. It seems as if our friendship is truly at its end this time.  Mrs. Maloney cannot offer me comfort this time, because she has experienced every parent's worst fear. The Silence is deafening.  But in that silence God whispers to all of us who are brokenhearted, to all of us who love Chandra. He tells us to be patient, that in time He will bring Chandra around. She will be fully restored to us, stronger than ever.  This is the last and longest Silence, but just like all the others it will end. We will hear her voice and her laugh. We will see her bright smile, unshadowed by pain. And on that beautiful day, our friendship will resume, this time to continue on--as we promised way back on that Forest Lake Academy lawn--forever. 

Until then, I've got no choice but to keep swimming.

Friends Forever, Chandra. I can't wait to see you again.

We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill

As the day begs the night for mercy love
The sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars carved into stone
On the face of earth
The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes

You run like river, on like a sea
You run like a river runs to the sea. . .

I'll see you again
When the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red
Over One Tree Hill

We run like a river
Run to the sea
We run like a river to the sea
And when it's raining
Raining hard
That's when the rain will
Break my heart. . .

        --U2, "One Tree Hill"

"Therefore you too have grief now, but I will see you again; and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you." 

                       --John 16:22

 

November Pain: Meditations on Grief and Giving Thanks

 

It's common this time of year to encourage each other to think of the things we are thankful for. There's always a reason to be grateful, the thinking goes. And it's true. We can always count our blessings.  But sometimes there are losses so huge they make what's left behind hard to see. The blessings that remain seem washed out and hollow in the face of unimaginable grief. I'm finding it harder these days to announce praises for God's protection and provision. It's not because I don't believe that He does provide, protect, and heal. It just seems perhaps a little insensitive to loudly celebrate how the Lord has spared my family when others are wondering why theirs weren't so spared. If you have yet to struggle, like Job, with why God has allowed tragedy to touch you and the ones you love, well, that is something to be truly grateful for. But perhaps, you could rejoice a little more modestly out of respect for those who are in a much more painful place.  

One of the observations I've made about the difficult story of Job, is how God addressed Job and how God addressed Job's friends.  Job spent the bulk of thirty-seven chapters complaining about the injustice of what had happened to him. While God did remind Job that there was a bigger picture he couldn't hope to understand, God defended Job to his sanctimonious friends. He said to them "You have not spoken accurately about Me, as My servant Job has."  This should give pause to those of us who would consider coming to God's defense in the face of those who cry out in pain: "Why God? Why did you do this? I don't deserve this." God in essence said, Job's not wrong to protest, to rage at the cruelty life can mete.  Without any help from us, He Himself can deliver the message to his hurting followers that He is in control. God doesn't need defenders.  But His children often need our compassion, our gentleness, our love as they face the very worst life can bring.

November has proven to be a hell of a month in recent years. I lost one of my dearest friends, Chandra Maloney Rudisaile, just a few days ago. My grandmother Enid Thomson, died on November 5, 2014 and my father-in-law, William Leen, passed away unexpectedly three weeks later, exactly six years ago today, on Wednesday, November 26, 2014--the day before Thanksgiving. The family, was of course, already gathered, expecting to celebrate both the holiday and Ezra's birthday, but instead we found ourselves gathered for grieving. There was no party for Ezra and I can tell you that year we didn't have the heart for the usual Thanksgiving spread. No one had much of an appetite and we spent the day poring over picture albums and planning Dad's memorial. No doubt a similar scene has unfolded today for Chandra's parents and brothers, husband and daughters. Of course we are not alone.  My colleague Pat Fountain lost her baby grandson. My principal Evelyn Goodman lost her daughter's godmother a few weeks ago, a woman who had been like a mother to Mrs. Goodman.  My superintendent, Dr. Violet Cox, was devastated by the death of her sister. Another colleague, Larry Brooks, lost his cousin without warning near the beginning of the month (after losing both his father and uncle in the last weeks of October). And of course this is just the tip of death's iceberg as so many thousands have suffered losses from the virus and other causes this month. Death almost seems mundane, except for when it comes to knock on the door of the people we love. Then it feels like the world stops turning. The axis shifts and nothing is ever the same again. 

When I was a senior in high school, I went through a period of depression. At the time there was a popular song on the radio that really resonated with me. It's grand (some might say grandiose) musical ambitions and pensive lyrics were the perfect fit for my melancholy mood. Yet, despite it's somber, weepy vibe, there was hope hidden in those lyrics. "Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain," Axl Rose would sing in his signature whine. I held on to that theme, choosing to believe no matter how bleak things looked in the moment, nothing lasts ever. Eventually the rains would pass and the sun would shine again. And indeed, that proved to be the case. But as I've grown older, I've noticed Rose's rock opera promise that nothing lasts forever applies to the sunny days as well as the cold rains. And I've learned those rains might merely get your shoulders wet as you dash inside, but for others the same downpour may be a deluge that leaves them feeling about to drown, a storm that forever changes the contours of their lives. We live in a world where nothing lasts forever, both the evil and the good. And that leaves us hoping for a Home, where the very best of life does last forever.

On this holiday, if you can't muster Happy, that's okay. If you can't think of anything to be grateful for that is equal the gaping hole death has left in your life, I weep with you. I wish you peace, comfort, strength to keep going, joy that remains despite the pain. And most of all, I wish you a Hopeful Thanksgiving. Because after all, among the things that do not last forever is death. And there are things that will last through eternity--faith, hope, and most of all, love.

Who's to say where the wind will take you
Who's to say what it is will break you
I don't know which way the wind will blow
Who's to know when the time's come around
Don't want to see you cry
I know that this is not goodbye

                       --U2, "Kite"