by hana eades
opinion editor
Becoming an ‘adult’ sucks. During childhood, all I wanted to do was grow up so that I could be a logger (like my dad) during the week and a ballerina on the weekends — or maybe a mermaid. To say the least, being a ‘grown up’ isn’t as exciting as it was cracked up to be when I was in grammar school.
This past semester, I’ve experienced my fair share of grow-up-able moments; I’ve had several job interviews, tried to apply for local housing, opened a new bank account and, above all, I’ve helped a friend through the toughest time in both our lives thus far.
Today, my best friend is burying his father. I want nothing more than to be there with him, but, since we are ‘adults’ and our lives have veered different directions, I am unable to take the time out of my schedule and travel to see him and his family.
When my mom phoned last Friday, telling me she had bad news, my first thought was my dog died. When she said it was worse, my second assumption was my elderly neighbor died. It’s worse, she told me. Your best friend’s dad died last weekend. I fell to the floor and sobbed, only to have mom tell me it gets worse. Mom had waited for me to be done with my busy week of interviews, exams and driving around to tell me the news of my friend’s dad dying.
I consider him family. We grew up together; I look at his younger sister and think of her as my own little sis — although she’s not so small anymore. High school does that to people. However, now she has to grow up even faster than her peers.
My friend and I have been the best of buds since he moved to my hometown in the eighth grade, nearly 10 years ago. His dad was like an uncle to me.
A couple summers back, I was contracting and building a fence for one of my employers. I needed some tools but my dad’s old post-hole diggers were busted. I went to this friend’s dad and asked to borrow his. Every day after work, I would bring his tools back to his house and hang them back up in the garage area. He said I’m the only one of the ‘kids’ who brings back his tools — a gesture he appreciated. Not that his sick body would allow him to use the tools himself or anything.
His deteriorating health eventually drove him to live on disability. This led to much stress and pressure for my friend to step up as the man of the family. Many summer nights were spent star gazing together on the roof of the garage and praying for healing for his father. We would sit up there and play guitar, laugh and cry together.
Praying for hope eventually turned into pretending to hope, I think.
This past weekend has been somewhat of a blur, and I recognized my need for some time alone.
Yesterday after church, I wandered into the prayer chapel. After several long quiet minutes, I broke the deafening silence with God: “I need you. I need to want you and I want to need you.” Silence.
I felt urged to look up at someone’s prayer he had written down.
I stood to read the index card posted to the cork board covered with stale prayers. It read: “God, I don’t feel you. But nothing is wrong with me. You don’t exist. Sorry. And Jesus isn’t your son, and he isn’t you…It’s time to grow up. I am realizing my despair. We are Alone…”
Directly next to that note was a response that read: “You are not alone. Just ask me to save you from the darkness and I will! You will have a new outlook on your life and see the many blessings I have for you!”
It is in the moments of my brokenness that I cry to Abba Father.
Abba Father, I need you in these moments of my despair. I need you during these mourning days. Abba Father, I need you when my best friend’s dad did not die of natural causes, nor was the fired shot an accident while cleaning the barrel. Abba Father! I need you when all I feel is brokenness and evil.
Now is when I take a deep breath and say: Abba Father. Exhale: This situation belongs to you.
I do not desire to understand why this type of death occurs; I know evil is in this world. What I need to know is how to react to it and how to be supportive to my friend who needs Love.
Every Sunday, I have been attending an adult Sunday school class. One thing I’ve learned from that room full of young and old wisdom is that the restorative, creative, recreating and renewing power of forgiveness makes it so we don’t have to live in a perpetual pattern of regret.
Abba Father, I can do all things through You who gives me strength. Please give me, and others in my situation, the courage and strength it takes to let our friends know that You are Lord. That You are Love. That You are Healer and Restorer. Abba Father! Be with my best friend as he goes through this valley of the shadow of death and bring comfort to his heart; remind him of your presence and that what happened to his father is not his fault, though the world may tell him so.
Abba Father, I need you when the false narratives of this world overwhelm me with discouragement.
Amen.