3.6 Miles

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. --John 12:24

This week, I went on my first good run since the half-marathon in March, since I went to Spain and most notably since Hideo passed away.  I strongly believe that distance running is 90% mental, 10% physical.  Anyone with two functioning legs can run. Whether you want to or for how long depends entirely on state of mind.

For 3 months, my state of mind has been stuck.  Reeling from the shock of losing a good friend much sooner than I was prepared to sent me into a tailspin. 

But as I move through my grieving process, I have mysteriously been met by God.  It became clear that the loss of Hideo was the final straw in a series of emotional losses over the past couple of years.  I had managed to put those others away on a shelf.  But when Hideo died, there was no putting it away.  Even still, there's not a day that goes by without him crossing my mind multiple times.  All of my deepest fears about life, the people I love, my future, and God came flooding to the surface.  Was there really life after death?  What hope is there for my friends who have chosen different life paths?  What hope is there for me, either here or beyond?  What's the point of it all?

I always applied that scripture from John in the context of people in ministry who are suffering for the sake of loving other people.  But Hideo never knew Jesus in his life here, and yet somehow his death has born a harvest of gratefulness and love in those that knew him and resulted in what may be the most significant breakthrough in my own relationship with God.  Through the course of digging up those emotions I had put away for so long, and truly being honest with God about it all, I have let him talk to me for the first time in a long time.  And for the first time in a long time, I listened.

I wish Hideo knew what a significant impact he's had on my life, both during and after he lived.  If he was here, I'd tell him what a joy it has been getting to know his sister and other close friends.  I'd want him to know how much he's grown my hope in the kingdom of God, and my understanding that no matter what or who I lose, my true home will always be with Jesus.  I'd thank him, and I'd tell him I miss him.

3.6 miles is not a long distance compared to what I could do just a few months ago. But after many recent attempts to get through short distances and still feeling utterly wiped at the end, I finally got my runner's high back. I'm turning a corner, I hope...


At the Beat Swap Meet, selling items from the personal collection of DJ Hideo.

Remember the Time

Corinne Bailey Rae released an album this year - her first since her successful debut in 2006 and since her husband suddenly passed away from an accidental overdose three years ago. In the first song, she says: "Are you here? 'Cause my heart recalls that it all seems the same, it all feels the same."

It is strange to me that though a person may be gone, we can so clearly remember things about them -- so much that it can seem for a moment they are still with us.  I'll never forget the sound of Midi's voice or her laugh, or Hideo's huge smile and his way of finishing sentences with "ya know'I mean?" 

As I am putting together a memory book of Hideo for his daughter, I am reminded of the many things about him that blessed other people. And I'm glad to remember, as much as it pains me to be reminded of his absence. I've felt a sense of urgency to remember and not forget -- to not lose the only things I have left of him: memories.

I love that in scripture, to remember is such a big deal to God. He remembers a prayer and answers it, or saves a loved one, or blesses a nation. He says over and again, "I will remember..." and calls us to remember what he's done as well. He knows that our memory is a powerful thing.  It can sometimes paralyze us in some traumatic experience, or it can give perspective to our present and give us the strength to keep going into our future.

In the meantime, it's hard not to think about where those loved ones are now. Are they in a state of sleep? Have they entered another realm? Are they able to interact with others who have passed on, or are they confronting only Jesus, face to face? Have Hideo and Midi met and bonded over their Japanese last names, then discovered they both grew up in Torrance and both knew me? Have they met Grandma, or Sam's sister, or Debbie's father, or 2Pac?

There is no answering of these questions until I get there myself. Perhaps someday we'll look back and remember this distant time here on earth -- the lessons learned, the things we had no idea about, the experiences of joy and heartbreak and grieving and longing. I think for some of those memories, I'll be okay to let go.