Ross

I've been avoiding this post. But I know I will never move on until it is written. It feels like the last few tears that have yet to be shed.

I miss you Ross. And I'd like to focus on who I miss rather than the missing itself.

When we met, I was largely untethered. I mean, I knew the basics about life, and I wanted to pursue a life in christian ministry, whatever that meant. But I couldn't tell you how or why, other than a  subjective feeling of duty and several emotional experiences that had led me down this path. I met you and heard those infamous questions for the first time.

What do you do?
How do you do that for the glory of God?

I told you I was called to mentor young men and help them become men.

Your response: That's the last thing we need! All methodology and no content.

I had never faced someone so frank, someone who could read me like a book and wasn't afraid to wager an educated guess as to my deepest weakness and then show me a better way. 

The car ride home was quiet for me.

A year later, Donna and I were asking you and Lynn to meet with us for pre-marital counseling. I never would have made it that far if your son Ryan hadn't radically flipped my mindset about marriage. I had started to see Donna as someone I could die for, rather than someone I could use for my own fulfillment. And I know that wisdom originated in you and Lynn and the legacy you passed on from several generations of faithful men and women before you.

Our first session together, I had expected a book chapter outline or a research assignment. Instead we got magazines and scissors. Our homework was to create a collage of photos that symbolized what Life meant to us. You were exemplifying creativity and joy, over and beyond duty or obedience.

You welcomed us into your family. We saw Stone Soup in action. We shared laughs and meals with the siblings and fellows who shared the joy and the vision. We drank deeply from a well that can only come from generations of joyful celebration of human life. There were stories of kids climbing refrigerators, kids digging their own swimming pools, kids learning to embrace their "bent" from an early age and being allowed to pursue it without shame.

There were hard stories too, but those stories were often used as private warnings. You never spoke ill of anyone. Even if they had wronged you. You taught me how to love unconditionally.

And we saw you say goodbye to Lynn. Your partner, friend, lover, and joyful companion in many efforts. It seemed like you were half a man from that point on.

The work continued on. Maison de la Vie. Totomundo gatherings. Family camp. And this year, an incredible leap forward in effort. Publishing the baby games. Forming new fellows groups. Recording the Precis material. It was an incredible final sprint at the end of a long rich marathon.

The finish line. That was the image in my mind as we stood in the hospital outside your room. You were running till the very end, arms in the air, even leaping for the joy that is inexpressible. Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Now you see the glory, and not through a glass dimly. Now you walk arm-in-arm with Lynn again, basking in a light much stronger than the sun. Now you see the fruit of your life's work. Now you have arrived into the arms of that unconditional love which you so faithfully channeled to others, even to me.

You are a forever friend. Thank you for teaching me what that means.

Soli Deo Gloria.