OK, I finally decided to write a response to Sis. Rebekah Horne, before I go to bed. I'm really tired, but I didn't want to put you off any longer, because I know that you're on pins and needles, wondering if I'm going to respond.
For anyone reading this who doesn't know, Sis. Becki left a comment on my recent, "From Brother Jacob, With Love" post. Yeah, she went a bit postal on me, so I'm glad that there were a couple of states between us at the time. Otherwise, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to sleep unless I knew that the door was dead bolted, and I might have considered installing bars on the windows.
Seriously, though, my Rebekah and I both laughed when we read it. It was so Becki that it really brought back some memories. No one else could have written such a comment with as much personality-driven sarcasm. It was classic a Beckism, and I have copied it down for a keepsake.
Becki, not only wouldn't I kick you out of my house, I'd even let you stay for a couple of nights. I might even let you bring James. I'd even give up my bedroom. I might even let James stay.
When I first came to the Springs, you wasted no time in befriending me. I remember going to the Gothard seminar in Denver the first week that I was there and thinking that you were really a caring person. The others were fun to be around, but I really felt that in you I had found a friend.
As my years in Colorado Springs passed, I knew that I could count on you to cheer me up if I was down, offer some advice if I was perplexed, and to know when something was bothering me and say just what I needed to hear without being too critical of me (even when, at times, it would not have been out of line). I have always valued your friendship, because you have never pushed me. You said what needed to be said and let God do the rest, and I always took what you said to heart.
When I moved out to Springs, I was a pretty mixed up and about ten years behind the level of maturity I should have attained by that time--I'm still about ten years behind, but the gap isn't as noticeable anymore. I know that all the others knew how out of touch I was, and sometimes it was kind of a joke, but you never made me feel like I was a total loser. Instead, you made me feel like a friend. I suspect that you even stood up for me from time to time, although I'm not entirely sure why you would have.
All I know is that, in spite of the fact that we've had very little contact since you left Springs, I still count you among the best of my friends.
I'm sorry if this is the first time that I have ever told you so. There are a lot of things that I have always felt and never said, to a lot of people that I should have said things to. Ever since Dad died, right before Christmas, I've been a lot more forthcoming with such things, because I don't know if it may be the last chance I ever get to say them.
As a matter of fact, I look at a lot of things differently, now. A lot of things ARE different, now. In some ways, nothing will ever be the same again. Every day, it feels like I'm in a different world than the one I used to know. Nothing feels the same. I feel very old--like I haven't just lost my dad but like I'm also mourning the passing of a whole part of my life.
I don't know if that makes any sense at all, but even my relationship with God is changing. We've been through some rough stuff together, He and I. He's been there through it all, even when I struggled just to know what to say when I prayed. When I couldn't make sense of my own feelings enough to pray, His still small voice would say, "I understand," and I knew that He did. I've never questioned more why He tolerates my failures, but I've never been more sure of His presence.
I have always thought highly of your friendship, Becki, because you treated me a lot like He did, when I first came to Him. Thank you for that. I hope that you'll also be as tolerant of my failures as a friend.
In spite of your sarcasm and a cynisisim that often reminds me of your brother, I still know the side of you that lies beneath it all, and I doubt that it has changed much over time. You're too set in your ways for that.
Well, I'm off for now. Just wanted to reply and let you know that I still have good memories of our friendship, and I do remember a time when you were just as confused as me--that almost felt reassuring, in a wierd sort of way. ...but, I'll say no more.
--Jacob
Grateful for the life message of Charlie Kirk
2 months ago
8 comments:
You made me cry. You made me think. I wasn't the kind of older friend that you needed while we were in the Springs together. I didn't understand you or where you were coming from and that made me impatient with you. Please forgive me for that.
Also know, that in spite of my impatience with you, you touched a deep spot within my heart and my family's heart and you have always been a part of us and always will be.
You have matured so much and you've become an incredible man of God. You are a wonderful husband and father. Your writing amazes me and you are an awesome photographer.
Yes, like you, I have lost my own father, and I am made to know on a daily basis that I may not have the opportunity to say what is overflowing from my heart ever again, so I'm taking this opportunity to let you know, that I am proud to call you friend.
Thank you, Sis. Tammi,
That means a lot. When I went to Springs, I was mess for sure. I had a lot to learn, but then that's why I went. My heart's desire was to know everything I could about the One I had committed my heart to trust and obey.
The Colorado Springs people helped me a lot--not always in the ways I would have liked, but they helped me none the less. When a river pushes sand and gravel over a stone, it smooths off all the rough edges. I feel like the people from Springs were those stones and gravel, who removed a lot of my rough edges and made me a better rounded person.
I am honored to have you as a friend, as well.
God Bless you, Sis. Tammi.
--Jacob
You made me cry again. I can relate to the stones and gravel while in Springs, however, mine was more of a very rough sandpaper. I am grateful for it though. It set me to growing spiritually, but I was so immature when we were all there together. So many things that I would do differently, but then hindsight is 20/20. We can't change the past, but we can learn from it and not repeat it. I am truly thankful for the growth that I see in most everyone who was a part of the Springs congregation at that time.
Hug your family for us. We do miss you guys. Have Bekah give you a hug too.
No. We can't change the past. We can learn from it.
Looking back on my life, I've learned so much about the constancy of God's love, which comes to us without conditions. He never loves us because we measure up to a certain standard. He loves us first of all because it is His nature to love. He loves us secondly because we are His, and His ownership of us is compareble to no earthly love that we could ever possibly relate it to--not even our love for our own children or spouses, which as deep as that love may be often falls sadly short.
We are His, no if ands or buts about it, unless we out right decide that we do not WANT to be His. He takes ownership of our lives that transcends any earthly relationship. What's more, He is not ashamed to say that we are His, even when we sometimes fail to reflect Him like we know we should and when our immaturity embarasses those around us.
What I have learned from my past, more than anything else, is that I want to show others the same unconditional love and acceptance that He has show to me. I don't think that I could ever hope to do so, if I hadn't first received that kind of love and acceptance (and patience) from Him. The love chapter, in I Corinthians just describes the character of God's love for us.
In the words of Rich Mullins, "We didn't know what love was, til He came. He gave love a face and He gave love a name, and He gave love away like the sky gives the rain and sun. We were looking for heros. He came looking for the lost. We were searching for glory and He showed us the cross. Now, we know what love is, because He loves us."
I can't look at my past without seeing three things: 1) my own inadequacy 2) the love described in I Corinithians chapter 13 and 3) His sufficiency, which Paul describes in II Corinthians 12:9 and Philippians 4:12-13. That is what has made me what I am today and what continues to make me what I want to be.
Hugs accepted, and we miss you too.
--Bro. Jacob
Amen! I guess we were learning the same lessons all these years, just in different ways.
Have a wonderful anniversary!
Wow, looks like your Becki post generated quite a conversation even without a response from me! But I figure I owe you one, so here it goes:
IS MY FACE RED? I really didn't think things through very well when I responded to your first "with love" post. If I had, I would have realized that I'm really much more comfortable with "I wouldn't kick you out of my house" than with something sweet and sentimental. And, Jay!!! In front of all these people?!?!? (However, it appears this is just a three-way conversation, so that makes it not quite so disarming.) But now I have to try to be serious and genuine in return! You have NO IDEA how hard that is for me. But I'll try.
First of all, I'm glad that you've clarified yourself and I now know I'd be able to spend a couple of nights at your house -- and I MIGHT be able to bring my husband along. Big improvement. (I'm not doing so good with the serious thing, am I?)
I, too, remember that Gothard seminar and one particular conversation with you, although I can't recall it's content. I just remember how excited I was to have a new young person join us! We were so happy to have you. That happiness soon turned to hesitation, as I began to feel that you were a bit strange. (This is a time of opening up and sharing, right?!) I came to a point of thinking, "Wow. That guy is WEIRD." But I liked you nonetheless. And I remember at a certain point in time being surprised at how MUCH I had grown to like you, considering how WEIRD I thought you were in the beginning. Your original freaky weirdness had changed into an enjoyable and amusing kind of weirdness that I now appreciated.
I have ALWAYS admired your heart for God; your sincere desire to please Him and root anything out of your life that might be a hinderance in your quest to be found righteous before Him. (That was a long, disjointed sentence -- I hope you get the point!)
I remember being confused along side of you nearly seven years ago, and one particular conversation on the porch at the Shuler's house. I was on my way to being engaged to James and you had high hopes for Rebekah, and we both had some concerns about the way the other was handling things! I remember how upset you were upon hearing of my engagement and although James didn't appreciate it (ha!), I recall being touched that you cared enough about me to have such a strong opinion on the issue. Only a FRIEND would have been affected the way you were. I appreciated your concern.
Just so you know, I thought about you a LOT this past December. The previous year I talked to you on the phone while frosting my Christmas cookies and each time I made them this year I thought of calling you and Bekah. Maybe some day we'll all be able to get together and make some new memories. If you ever make it down this way, I don't think James would kick you out of our house. ;-) I love you, Jay. Always have, always will.
Now don't get sappy on me anymore. Let's stick to the sarcasm. It's really much more comfortable!
Your Friend,
~Becki~
At what point did you cease to be comfortable being nice?
I don't know how to answer that question. Uummm...
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