out of darkness

About a month ago, I saw a kid at Walmart I remembered from high school.  I saw him in passing, and the recognition startled me.  He was still small, but had more of a man's build.  He'd grown his hair out.  Still looked rather sullen, but perhaps more alive than I remembered him.  He looked capable of having fun, at least, even if that "fun" probably wasn't healthy fun.  If I could've remembered his name just then, I would've unashamedly said right to him, "Hey, are you so-and-so?"  But I couldn't remember, so I walked on.  A minute later I remembered the name with a flash, and said it a couple times to my friend with me.  I told her that this kid was one I had chosen for my group of freshmen.  I was an upper-classman leader of a "frontline" group.  And for some reason, I chose this kid.  I didn't know him, but I talked to my younger sister about him.  She didn't like him, as I recall, or at least agreed with general sentiment that he was strange and not very friendly, or whatnot.  So what, I picked him.  I wanted to be an affirmative force in his life, even if he didn't admit that my affirmation meant anything.  He was one of those people that just tore at my heart as someone who desperately needed to know unconditional love.  So, come fall, he was in my group.  For all he knew it was a random assignment.

I was not successful that year in my dream of reaching out to him. I was not settled enough in who I was to have any authority over that group of kids, and the other kids didn't like him.  I wanted too much for them to like me.  And he was inward enough that he wasn't anywhere close to trusting me.  Very little eye contact.  Once or twice I got him talking, and when he talked it was angry and dark.

Seeing the kid at Walmart, then, brought up a curious stream of emotions.  If I could do it over, would I treat the kids, especially him, any differently? Would I be more aggressive at interacting with him? Would I be more aggressive at showing him that, for no good reason, I really, deeply, cared what happened to him?

So I say, I was relieved to see him alive and well and reasonably sure of himself there at Walmart, although I didn't get a chance to talk to him.

***

Yesterday I was at a lunch cookout.  Seated under a canopy on a hot, breezy day, sipping sweet tea, pulling apart deliciously burnt chicken with my fingers, I asked a neighbor who some people at the cookout were.  Girls  said a last name--and I said, "Oh, any relation to so-and-so?"  (Ready to say that by-the-way-I'd-seen-him-at-Walmart).

"No," they said.  A younger sister of mine said the names were spelled differently, and then she said, "anyway, that so-and-so committed suicide a couple of years ago."

My heart plummeted.  "He-did?  I was just going to tell E that I saw him at Walmart the other day.  He did? Are you sure?"

It was generally verified by descriptions of who he was, that yes, we were talking about the same guy.

***

In the evening, everyone at the cookout got together to sing praise to God for a while, and then three young adults shared their testimonies of how they came to know Christ.  

At some point during the singing, I got to thinking about the kid who committed suicide, and grief rose up in me.  I hung my head and let myself feel it, regardless of whether people around me hoped I was reaching some kind of spiritual milemarker.  No, in fact, I was grieving a death that happened two years ago to a very troubled, lonely kid.  I grieve it as I write this.

The reason I was even at this meeting was because one of the young men had messaged me on facebook to specifically invite me--if I wasn't already planning on it--because he was going to be sharing his story.  I was touched--I didn't even know he was an unashamed Christian. But he's always been special to me; it was like a hug that he wanted me there.

So after the singing, the pastor gave a short encouraging sermon to young people in general.  Then, one by one, the young people shared their hearts.  My friend went last--describing first how he was as a kid.  I'd seen him as a kid, and it was interesting to hear him remembering it from his angle.  I'd seen his insecurities, his annoyingness, his desperation to be accepted, and his violent temper.  I'd seen him grow up, too, and start showing care to other people.  I was--relieved--to see him coming safely out the other side of his teenage years, and able to talk about it, to look back and face who he was.

He talked about being a very hypocritical, self-reliant guy.  This, I had turned sort of a blind eye to, because in a strange way, I prefer to look people in the eye and trust them--dare them to hurt me--and take them seriously.  I assume everyone's a bit tangled inside, anyway!  Everyone's got mess to deal with!   Few people, if any, are capable of 100% genuine behavior; neither are they capable of 100% false behavior.   

What everyone is capable of is 100% human behavior--curiously painful, beautiful behavior--the living, writhing mass of goodness, and evil, and personality, and external environments.  God loves every one of us, and enables us to love every other.  And He opens our eyes so we can be more lucid in our struggles.  And when we realize that awareness isn't enough to fix us, we chase after Him-- He redeems us, changes us: slow but surely.

****

My friend shared how a couple of people specifically impacted him.  The reminder of people's impact on others struck my emotions deeply.  The contrast between his direction and the kid who resorted to suicide, again brought tears to my eyes.  Was the high school kid's home environment just too miry for him to pull through? Was he tormented by spiritual evil?  Did he ever feel a tug from God and just chose against it? 

It's not for me to know.   I grieve untimely death, and I celebrate redemption.  I trust my Father in heaven, even when I don't see where life is going.