I spent the last 9 days in Barcelona, Girona, Madrid, Toledo and Segovia. It was a marathon whirlwind of delicious food, charming cityscapes and extremely hospitable people. Yesterday morning (which in Madrid was more like 30 hours ago), I said goodbye to my friend Michelle who would be returning to Bangkok for at least another 2 1/2 years. I may see her if she visits the states in between, but her address will remain on the other side of the world for now.
At the end of this week, my friend Lisa will be moving up north to live with her family and work for at least a year. Lisa and I have become much closer in the last several months, and I've been so grateful for the wholehearted way she has welcomed me into her life. I will miss her much, and hope for frequent visiting.
On route home from Spain, I regained connection to my world here and the first thing I learned was that my friend Hideo had passed away 2 days before - on Saturday, April 24. In less than a month he would have turned 43.
I have known Hideo has had cancer since the doctors discovered it last February. Though it was an advanced stage 4, there was some hope at the time that he might overcome the disease, as he had a lot going for him - his youth and his infectiously hopeful spirit. Just a couple of weeks ago, he texted me that he didn't plan on leaving this life anytime soon, he just needed to get his energy back. I think I let myself believe it because the alternative was too painful.
But as time went by, I knew deep down that it was likely he wouldn't last through this calendar year. His cancer was continually growing, and the different chemotherapy treatments ineffective. Perhaps he knew as well, as his expressions of gratefulness and love to his friends grew more frequent with each visit.
Words can't express the effect Hideo had on my life. He was one of the most unselfish, humble and caring people I've known, only the more remarkable for his being a well-known, highly skilled and experienced DJ. He never considered himself above anyone else, and was all about giving and enjoying life. As the disbelief melts away, I find my heart breaking at the loss of my good friend.
Still, knowing that the physical pain of the last few months of Hideo's life is gone is something I do feel glad for. Though Hideo didn't know Jesus, I do believe I'll see him in the Holy City one day again, and that even now he is in a much better place than this world. God, remember me for Hideo.
I miss you, my friend. And it will be very hard for us to learn to live life here without you.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Why I Need God
So why did I run the half-marathon?
About a year ago, my friend Candice ran her first marathon. She wrote about the experience afterwards and described something that felt so familiar to me: the arduous, seemingly never-ending road of hard work, tiredness and physical pain that can only be gotten through by enduring it. But her story ended with a finish line.
The last few years have been sprinkled with tragedy and disappointment, either for myself or those I love. I began this blog 5 years ago, with an unspoken hope at the time that by now I might not need it. Loved ones have passed away, jobs lost, hearts broken. What I desperately wanted was a finish line. I believe that's what brought tears to my eyes in reading Candice's race recap, and I'm pretty sure that sums up what made me do such a thing as enter a 13.1-mile race. I had to taste that joy of the finish.
Today I spoke to my friend Hideo for what very well may be the last time. A year ago, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. He is now bedridden, with barely the energy to have a conversation on the phone. After crying my eyes out, I did the only thing I knew would bring me any kind of solace. I called my best friend and asked her to pray for me to remind me who was in control when I wasn't, who had a better plan designed for us all than the broken life that we must all labor through, who would remember me for my friend and for the things that break my heart.
These last few years, I've had to ask myself why I follow Jesus each step of the way -- whether consciously or not. There is something about suffering that forces you to decide what really matters to you in the end. I'm beyond the point where I ask why bad things happen. But I've had to ask what I would do without the hope of God, which I have felt so desperate for in the face of grief. It's not a blind hope, or a band-aid hope to deny what's really happening. It's a hope that has to be bigger than all of the mess I see around me.
My reason for running that half was the same reason I need God. Like a long-distance run ridden with hills, life is pretty hard. But God has promised that it's all going somewhere amazing -- that there is actually a finish line that awaits. So whatever happens today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, the best is yet to come. And I keep going for that day.
Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what he already sees?
- Romans 8:24
About a year ago, my friend Candice ran her first marathon. She wrote about the experience afterwards and described something that felt so familiar to me: the arduous, seemingly never-ending road of hard work, tiredness and physical pain that can only be gotten through by enduring it. But her story ended with a finish line.
The last few years have been sprinkled with tragedy and disappointment, either for myself or those I love. I began this blog 5 years ago, with an unspoken hope at the time that by now I might not need it. Loved ones have passed away, jobs lost, hearts broken. What I desperately wanted was a finish line. I believe that's what brought tears to my eyes in reading Candice's race recap, and I'm pretty sure that sums up what made me do such a thing as enter a 13.1-mile race. I had to taste that joy of the finish.
Today I spoke to my friend Hideo for what very well may be the last time. A year ago, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. He is now bedridden, with barely the energy to have a conversation on the phone. After crying my eyes out, I did the only thing I knew would bring me any kind of solace. I called my best friend and asked her to pray for me to remind me who was in control when I wasn't, who had a better plan designed for us all than the broken life that we must all labor through, who would remember me for my friend and for the things that break my heart.
These last few years, I've had to ask myself why I follow Jesus each step of the way -- whether consciously or not. There is something about suffering that forces you to decide what really matters to you in the end. I'm beyond the point where I ask why bad things happen. But I've had to ask what I would do without the hope of God, which I have felt so desperate for in the face of grief. It's not a blind hope, or a band-aid hope to deny what's really happening. It's a hope that has to be bigger than all of the mess I see around me.
My reason for running that half was the same reason I need God. Like a long-distance run ridden with hills, life is pretty hard. But God has promised that it's all going somewhere amazing -- that there is actually a finish line that awaits. So whatever happens today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, the best is yet to come. And I keep going for that day.
Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what he already sees?
- Romans 8:24
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)