Unsung Thank You's

Last week, much to my amazement and surprise (and hers as well, I believe!), I ran into a college professor.  Perhaps this wouldn’t have been such a surprising interaction if our run-in hadn’t taken place at the camp where I happen to be currently employed and where she happens to have been coming with a church for the last 25 years.  The surprise, for me, was met with delight.  Though a professor outside of my “field of study”, and my professor for a very specific “class” (namely the class which led into and included a three week stay in Uganda), my memories attest to a fondness.  Not just a fondness built out of an admiration, although such is most definitely present as she was and is a remarkable lady, but a fondness rooted in appreciation. 

I wondered, after connecting for a few minutes, if I had ever expressed as a student, or if there was a good way to express now, such appreciation.  Had I thanked her for meeting with me prior to the class to confide in her the reality of my life and ensure the trip would be plausible?  Did I thank her for the intentionality before she really knew me; insisting my soon to be “team” prayed for me as I returned from a second surgery?  Does she know how much it meant to me that she checked in with me pretty specifically about a couple key things during our trip… that while I couldn’t find a way to confide in her about everything, the fact she noticed meant the world? 

Not unrelated, almost a month ago, I was able to reconnect with the “older” couple who “hosted” me in their home the summer after my freshman year of college.  Shy and awkward and introverted as a way of life and not a personality trait, I’m sure I was an odd addition to their basement that summer.  As I strove to work with their church’s office and children’s ministry and servant evangelism programs as an intern, I learned a great deal about leadership and initiative and impact.  My summer internship was catalyst in changing my entire educational and life trajectory.  While I wouldn’t say we “bonded”, I do still hold them both dear and am terribly grateful for their willingness to invest in me.  To, as a result, invest in who I was and who I was becoming.  I know I thanked them then.  But do they really know?  Do they really have any idea?

Appreciation. Gratitude.  Thanks. 

I grew up instilled with the power of the words “please” and “thank you”.  I know them to be magic words.  And I know that while “please” can often be the magic word to getting what you want; “thank you” is often the set of magic words which give meaning to what was given.  As a “grown up”, I’ve come to see that the most powerful “thank you’s” are in return for gifts the giver didn’t always know he or she had bestowed. 

My life has been full of these gifts.  My unique experiences have given opportunity for people to be in and give into my life in ways, some for but a moment, for which I have attempted to communicate gratitude and yet I know I’ve fallen short.  For some I didn’t always see the gift for what it was until it was too late to thank effectively.  Or I was afraid of it being awkward.  Or, I don’t know.  How do you thank some one for giving you something which had an impact they had no idea about?  I hope I tried, awkward though it may have been.  And yet, I feel the weight of a dozen unsung thank you’s.  So while I can’t possibly cover them all, know that if I don’t cover “our story” specifically, this thank you is for you…

This thank you is for you…for the individual who came out of the woodwork as an intentional connection for but mere moments.  Several scattered throughout a given year over the course of several.  Someone who affirmed postscript the work I had done with camping and who invited me to share in new ways…both publicly in ministry and privately as an individual.  Who, in a very unimportant manner of ways, pointed to “tools with the tags still on” in my toolbox of gifts and graces and handed me some projects with which to use them.  For encouraging me as an individual and as one called to be active in ministry…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the friend to whom my deepest secrets became known.  Who held my confessions carefully as the broken offering they were.  Who listened without judgment.  Who supported without question.  Who bore the weight of my secrecy so I could be strong enough to fight the things which haunted me.  For holding things and me when there was little I could give back, for time and for friendship…thank you. 

This thank you is for you…for the trip leader who stayed intentional in the short weeks post the return from Puerto Rico.  The one who heard me nonchalantly explain my weekend plans and who asked me what I was going to do for Anika; if I had time to take care of me in the midst of the insanity before me.  The one who caught me off-guard by being the first to call out the attempt I made to be superhero and to do it all and be it all and challenged it (on the missions trip and after).  For beginning to see past a mask to the core of who I was before I was at a spot in life to let that mask down…thank you.

This thank you is for you...for the college classmate who became an unlikely friend.  The one with whom I had nothing in common (or so I thought). The one with whom I had no thought of our paths ever crossing in any meaningful way outside of a major or a Kono class...but they did.  The one with whom very little life was ever "done with" but who much life was once or twice discussed with... The one with whom false pretenses could be dropped and each of us could be allowed the ability and freedom to be real.  For long chats and personal affirmation and an unlikely friendship...thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the RD who was sort-of-my-boss-but-not my senior year of college.  The one who listened to me talk about where God had been showing up in the midst of the life that hurt.  For asking intentional questions and giving intentional responses.  For allowing me to pour out my soul on the sidewalk between Apartments A and B.  For affirmation and genuineness…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the classmates who picked me up at my apartment and forcefully demanded I get in their car and drove me to the ER when they thought I had appendicitis (but I was "too busy" to get it checked out).  The ones who were willing to put their own commitments aside on the chance I might need some convincing. For making someone outside of your normal circle of friends a priority…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the male classmate who, upon awkwardly hearing my afore-mentioned “appendicitis scare” was actually an ovarian cyst the size of a tennis ball, took it upon himself to check in daily.  For asking sincerely if there was anything he could do to make it better and who, when finding out it simply needed to burst, would greet me across the plaza by mock shooting his own side and aiming his finger gun at mine.  For making me laugh and for caring genuinely about something you couldn’t possibly understand…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the college professor whose 9am class I fell asleep in religiously during my first semester of cancer treatment.  The one to whom I attempted to apologize to but who instead apologized to me for not meeting me to pray over me sooner.  Who told me quick naps or not I was still rightfully earning the “A” I was receiving in his challenging class.  For grace and understanding…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the friend who stopped what he was doing with his core group of friends to check in on me when I first got sick (but I didn’t know what was wrong yet).  The one who lost the race to ask if I had heard anything new and if there was anything he could do.  The one who prayed for me there in the middle of campus.  The one who came to visit me in the hospital while I was still hopped up on pain killers and looking like a champion in bloody bandages and my hospital gown.  For epitomizing “friend” (though our friendship had been an odd one) when I needed friends the most…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the pastor who deaned the camp I volunteered at.  The one who called me a leader when, looking back, I doubt I had displayed much worth noting.  The one who knew I would strive to live up to such a meaningful identity.  The one who gave me tasks I knew nothing of and told me I was capable…in such a way that I would see that I did have what it took.  The one who gave me the spring board for curriculum development and fundamental leadership.  The one who, by example, helped confirm a passion in myself to be about intentional ministry.  For perhaps unknowingly and unintentionally being a coach from the sidelines and as a result empowering me to play in this game called life…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the high school teacher who highlighted my ability to be creative with my writing.  The one who knew I was quiet but saw almost instantly that I used words as an outlet for thoughts louder than I was.  The one who encouraged me to continue to allow words to flow.  For unknowingly giving me the tool I would need to cope and for fanning a spark so it wouldn’t go out before I had a chance to allow it to catch fire…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the mom of the girls I babysat so many times during my high school years.  The one who found unique ways to value me and my personhood far outside the fact she and her husband employed me as an occasional caregiver for her children.  The one who engaged me in conversation about classes and homework and college applications as she drove me home and who gave me a luggage carrier to help tote around my monstrosity of a backpack.  The one whom I was tempted to believe (and wished I would have somehow taken advantage of…), though older and wiser, was also my friend.  For being willing to invest…thank you.   

This thank you is for you…for the counselor at Wesley Woods.  The one every girl camper at camp wished was their counselor.  True when I was but 11 and a camper for the first time and true when I was 16 and counselor in training for the first time.  The one who was bubbly and passionate and fantastic…the person (and eventually counselor) I so desperately wished to be.  The one who quite unknowingly showed me what it looked like to live and serve in such a way that others would see Christ.  The one who listened to me shakily share my story at a firebowl and then came to tell me that through me Christ was shown to you (what a table turner in my brain!).  For being Jesus was skin on and an example this young girl desperately needed…thank you.

This thank you is to you…for the 8^th grade teacher at my new school who noticed.  Who saw that life for me somehow wasn’t what it could be.  Who saw I didn’t fit in and was struggling to be a student…let alone the student of excellence I wished to be. Who assigned me work outside of the curriculum for the rest of the class...to challenge me and to keep me engaged.  Who wrote me a letter of recommendation to get into an accelerated academic program in high school which would empower me outside of the school I was in.  For seeing what I was capable of and for freeing me…thank you.

This thank you is for you…for the only true youth leader I ever had.  The one who invested herself as well as her time into the straggly teens in her care.  The one who is the first I recall affirming me in such a way as to say “Anika is strange but Anika is okay”.  The one who opened my eyes to the idea that there was more than one way to do life and one of them might be without nylons… For loving me for me – including all the awkwardness a 12 year old could possibly hold in her body – in such a way that I still feel the reverberations of such an impact today…thank you.

And on my list could and should go…

And so this thank you is for you…for the one reading this right now.  For the way(s) you have perhaps unintentionally, perhaps unknowingly, perhaps unwillingly impacted my life.  The ways in which I am shaped because of the experience I have had, even for the briefest moment, with you.  Thank you for the gift given by your presence and existence. Thank you for ordinary interactions which made for extraordinary moments.  I wish this “thank you” could some how be a repayment gift enough to give meaning to the touches you’ve placed into my world.  And though I know it still falls short, for 1000 unsung thank you’s…may this be one which finally is heard sung back to you…

This thank you is for you… 

Do That Again!

“Again! Again!”  He giggles with a huge toothy grin and thrusts his arms in the air.  I swoop down and clasp my “big hands” underneath of his arms, scoop him up, whirl him in circle with a “whooshing” noise and his precious and consistent giggles and then land him on the floor.

He staggers for a moment as he finds his center and balance.  Shoots me a mischievous grin and the process repeats itself. “Again! Again!  Do dat again!”

So we spin in circles until Anika is the one too dizzy to keep up the process. 

“Okay.  Last one buddy!”  He reluctantly agrees. He’s only two but seems to understand that adults have limits (and unfortunate centers of gravity!) even if little boys don’t.  I know, however, that if I didn’t tire…he wouldn’t either.

Such an occurrence isn’t uncommon for me these last few weeks (now several as I find myself finishing a before-started thought).  Life with my “small friends” is much of the same – regardless of the activity.  Spinning circles. Singing songs.  Dancing something (while spinning circles and singing songs…) When it comes to doing life, simple joys never get old.  And there is something incredibly precious about the delight of a child running back to you one more time… “Again! Again!  Do dat again!” 

Their giggles and their smiles make me consider Christ’s instructions – to come to Him like a child.  With innocence and trust. To simply be loved and to be known.  To delight in Him and Him in us. 

Children often have no trouble with faith.  It is adults, hardened by life and experience and intelligence, who want answers.  Faith, when rightfully considered, seems foolish.  Faith, when wholly considered, is the power of God…

It brought my mind immediately 1 Corinthians:  “Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block for Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.  For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength…But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak thinks of the world to shame the strong.  He chose the lowly things of this wold and the despise things - and the things that are not  to nullify things that are, so that no one may boast before him...” (1 Corinthians 1:22-29)

In part of all of us resides that child. The one who knows simple joys don’t get old.  For some of us its harder to find (so hard I dare say there are some I’ve met who will never “find it back”) and harder still to recognize.  But believers: ones who, like a child (the nobodies and weaklings of society), have grasped onto the foolishness of God and claimed it as power, can’t help but admit the truth.  There is something both incredibly intricate and undeniably important about realizing identity as a child of God…

And part of me believes we connect best to God when we come as a child because part of the heart of God is that of a child as well.  If for no other reason than because He never tires of doing the same things over and over and over again – He seems to delight in it!  He is a God of repetition!  A God who set the world in motion in that seasons come and go and come again; the tide rises and falls; day follows night and night follows day.  A God whose mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22)… Whose faithfulness has never run out.  Whose promises are still true.  Yes, a God who delights in “doing it again”. 

And so do we…

I pause to consider what twitch my body starts to convulse in after I’ve heard the same song on repeat for two hours and I wonder.  I think about how my eyes start to glaze over after working on data entry and copying into multiple files for multiple hours (and days) on the computer and I scoff.  Repetition?  Boring.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about finding meaning in the mundane but everyone has a limit!

And yet…

Very few people look at a night sky as the sun is beginning to set; the scene streaked with purples and pinks and reds and oranges; a hint of blue sky still behind billowy clouds with a golden sun shining as it falls; and think “Mmm.  Boring.  I already saw this one.”  Even if only for a moment, there is a pause to comment on its beauty or majesty; a smile of appreciation and a nod of agreement at nothing in particular noting it is indeed good.  Longer moments come with wide eyes and gaping mouths; a sharp intake of air because breath has been taken and replaced with awe.  And those who really pause to consider watch until the sun finally sets and as a dusky hue of coming night sky replaces the masterpiece they just took in and respond with “Again!  Again! Do it again!” 

Sunset after sunset and sunrise after sunrise.  With every imaginable piece of majesty and splendor in between.  Not just in creation where His presence and hand becomes so physically evident but in people and situations and moments… It baffles me sometimes how many things seem to exist in this world simply for our enjoyment.  Things which seem to serve no other purpose than to make our eyes widen and our smiles broaden.  How blessed we are that God does not grow tired or weary.  His arms don’t give out and His head doesn’t spin in dizzy circles.  God gives again and again that we might respond again and again with the same glee, the same praise, the same adoration.  He delights in us that we might delight in Him.  Almost as if He is at the end of something He has done a million times before...just waiting.  Just waiting with a goofy grin on His face to hear us say “Again! Again!  Do dat again!”