Life and Good Friends

I've been suffering from a serious case of Writer's Block over the past 5 or 6 weeks.  Even now I'm wondering exactly what to say and how to say it.  What I'm realizing ever so slowly is that I'm actually not much of a writer.  In fact, I'm the Matt Holliday of writing.  Matt, for the non-baseball fan, is an ox of a man who plays left field for the Cardinals and swings the bat hard enough to knock over a wall.  He's averaged about 25 home runs a year throughout his career...nothing to smirk at, especially given the fact that he's actually not a home run hitter at all.  Matt is a line drive hitter who happens to hit the ball so hard that it occasionally clears that fences.  It's actually rare to see him hit a traditional, fly-ball home run.  Most of his homers never go more than 25 feet off the ground and the usually make it over the fence in about 3 seconds.  So, he's a great hitter who occasionally "runs into one" and hits it out of the park.  That's me, in a writing sense.  I'm a good thinker - constantly processing, formulating, analyzing, and debating in my mind.  Occasionally I'll sit down to write and something decent will come out.  More often than not, I sit down and stare at the screen for some time, thinking and overthinking situations and circumstances and often struggling to find the best way to word them so that others might understand.  I don't read enough to have much of a vocabulary beyond what it takes me to communicate with four kids and a bunch of docs.  I always admire those who expand their utilization of the English language beyond traditional reach, but in general that's just not me.  Here's to pragmatism!

The original purpose of this blog was to talk about the things that happen on a routine basis in life that might otherwise go unnoticed but that illustrate the Hand of God and His goodness and mercy.  Looking back now, I'm not sure how I even made it 2 or 3 posts without covering today's topic.  As I type now, I'm sitting on a plane, traveling across the country to spend a few days with Mike.  Mike and I have known each other for about 14 years now, having met while we were serving our missions in Germany.  Interestingly, we weren't necessarily close friends while we were there, having not served together or near each other until near the ends of our missions.  Even when we were paired together, it was always about the work.  We actually worked very well together and gained great respect for each other, but most of our time and effort was spent on the work and our responsibilities as opposed to on developing our friendship.  Mike went home from his mission in March of 1999 and I followed a couple months later in May.  From there, I don't even think we communicated until we found each other in Provo later that fall.  Actually, that's really where the story begins.  It's actually amazing and somewhat scary to think of all that happened in the 18 months following my return from Germany, and most of that is a topic for a different day.  Suffice it to say that not many have fallen harder or faster than I did.  The months immediately following my mission were some of the hardest I've ever gone through.  I didn't know it at the time, and although some around me might have noticed or realized it, I wouldn't have admitted it even if they told me.  I don't remember much about that time, especially about what I felt or was thinking - I think I've been blessed to be able to forget about much of that period of my life - but I do vividly remember coming home from my mission and feeling very empty and alone.  Life was so full and busy in Germany.  My schedule was packed, everything I was doing was meaningful and impactful, and I was surrounded by people I cared about who also cared for me.  I was fulfilled and happy.

I've written and spoken before about my trip home from Germany.  Mom and Dad picked me up and we traveled around for a few days before venturing back home through Philadelphia.  As the plane began to descend into the Philly area, I was hit with the worst pressure headache I've ever experienced, one that literally brought me to tears.  What hit me even harder than the pain, though, was the realization that I had spent the last two years of my life as a set apart representative of the Lord, on His errand, and that He had protected and watched over me every step of the way.  I had never been sick in spite of the ever-changing weather.  I never struggled to wake up at 6:30 regardless of the long days of walking, biking, and knocking doors.  I never lacked for something to do, something meaningful and worthwhile, even though I was a 20-year-old kid in a foreign country who spoke to my family 2 times a year.  I was constantly surrounded by friends who shared the same values, hopes, aspirations, and dreams that I had, though we came from different backgrounds and locations.  It's not to say that there weren't hard days, both emotionally and physically; there certainly were.  But I was constantly watched over and protected, and now that I was at the end of my full-time service and preparing to touch down on US soil for the first time in two years, the realization was clear to me that those days were over.  I should have known I wasn't alone, but it didn't feel that way.  I had changed so much during those two years and I came home to the reality that not much around me had changed at all.  And I struggled mightily.  When I finally made it to Provo in early September, I wasn't in a good place, and the decisions that followed the next few months were some I would pay dearly for over the coming years.

The first time I remember spending much time with Mike after my mission was our mission reunion in October of 1999.  He was dating Lindsey at the time and the four of us went to the reunion together.  It's actually amazing to think about what's happened since that evening in our lives, and I can't help but to feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the friendship we've formed.  The circumstances of our lives lead us to choices that invite us to decide where we stand and what we will stand for, but they don't dictate our fates.  Similarly, our lives are touched by thousands of people but we choose whom we call friends.  For whatever reason, I've been blessed in my life to call a few truly amazing people my friends, and my life is as full and sweet as it is now in great part because of the impact they have had on me.  These relationships haven't been perfect because the people in them are far from perfect.  We go too long without connecting.  We miss birthdays, life events, and celebrations.  We get caught up in our busy lives and miss a phone call that we should have made.  But real friendship isn't about wishing Happy Birthday on Facebook or sending a holiday card every year when the calendar reminder shows up.  My friends are the guys I can call even after missing them for months or even years at a time and it's like we never stopped talking.  My friends are the ones who, behind their imperfections and flaws, share a deep desire to do the right thing, to treat people well, to be good husbands and fathers, and to balance their lives according to their priorities.  Interestingly, they're not necessarily guys who share a bunch of interests and hobbies with me.  Just common beliefs and principles.  And they care about me in spite of my shortcomings and mistakes because they see the person I'm trying to become.  There is no need to list them here because the list is short and they know who they are.

My trip to Washington DC is now complete and I've safely returned to my family.  I just spent my Saturday going to my kids' soccer games, preparing a lesson for Elders Quorum on Sacrifice and Submission (thanks Elder Maxwell!), and reflecting on the few days I spent with Mike.  I'm more grateful than ever for our friendship and the chance we had to spend a few days wandering the streets of DC.  Here's to life and good friends.