Archive for August, 2004
A Parting Thought; A Beginning Hope
At this moment I find myself distantly alone but refreshingly liberated, so far away yet so much available. The video screen in front of me indicates that we’re (we being the largest aircraft in United Airlines’ fleet) currently hovering (and by hovering I mean rocketing through the atmosphere at 540 mph) at 32,000 feet somewhere between Alaska and Russia. It’s been thirteen months since I’ve made an entry into this journal. Now, a new year, a new adventure, and what seems in some ways to be a new life, have compelled me to again attempt the discipline of recording life in keystrokes.
As you and I speak through this static alphabet, I find that I’m confronting what I consciously feared but secretly hoped for so many, many months: I know absolutely nothing of the future. I haven’t even touched Asia, but I’m already brutally aware that I can’t comprehend a single syllable of the language that has lived in this land for millennia. A look out the window reveals a massive ocean, one that I’ve left some incredible friends and remarkable parents on the other side of. I’ve stuffed my Earthly existence into two suitcases–two suitcases that are now at the mercy of the airline, and one owner that is now at the mercy of destiny…
[Hold on… something has come up]
A toddler Asian boy just hopped out of the row in front of me and visited me at my coveted aisle seat.
We’ve never met before, but a mutual smile seems to solve that. And, as I try to solve the question of my purpose here, he seeks to understand what this crazy device is sitting on my lap and why I keep rhythmically tapping it with my fingers. His pudgy hands–no bigger than my trackpad–carefully examine this keyboard and screen. Together, we explore the illuminated seat armrest. Perhaps unable to understand, but at least satisfied to touch, his curiosity is now contented. Another smile, another wave, and he returns to command his kingdom of the previous row.
For him, perhaps I was a few moments of distraction on this thirteen hour vacuum of play. For me, perhaps he was a walking reminder that I’m not alone in exploring–and in not fully understanding–the world around me. He also forces me to remember that we’ve both got strong arms to hold us through this adventure¬, his being two proud parents and mine being an awesome Creator.
I’d be insincere if I said that this hasn’t been a tough week. In many ways, it seems that I’ve learned to appreciate the sacrifice of the American soldier: I’ve buried a great friend, I’ve said goodbye to all that I love on this Earth, I’ve deployed to a new home, and now I’ve got a job to do, like it or not. I’m thankful for those men and women that have protected me faithfully for nineteen years, and will no doubt continue to protect my new two-and-a-half-foot toddler friend. Their sacrifice makes this journey seem quite a bit more doable.
So, here’s to doing what we can, where we are, with what we have. Here’s to going big or going home.
Mark Heinmets. And why I loved him.
Mark Heinmets–a great friend, a true bro, a fellow member of the Class of ‘03, and an awesome guy to hug–passed from this life to the next on the morning of August 24th due to a climbing accident. Details of the accident are available at: Gazette.com
Mark surprised me with an e-mail four days ago in which he indicated some of his plans had been recently rearranged which had opened up some scheduling availability for him to come visit me while I studied abroad in Hong Kong. I was really excited by the message—thinking Mark might come visit a few weeks into the process made the entire prospect of spending a semester across an ocean seem much more palatable.My response back to him started with the words, “First things first: do know that I would totally love to see this happen, but I can completely understand that with the time/financial commitment involved you decide at any point in the process that it’s not going to work out.” Now, sitting in an airport waiting to board the plane that will bring me home to say goodbye to my friend one last time, I realize that not only will Mark be unable to join me on a trip to Hong Kong, but he’s been reassigned to a new journey and won’t be around to accompany me on this adventure through this rest of this life. But, the investment Mark made in my life will surely only appreciate with distance and time, though the investor will be watching from the other side of eternity.
Every time I talked to Mark, he rekindled a flame within me to love life. He was an incredibly positive guy. He meant it when he said, “Oh, I’m great, John!” whenever he answered his phone and when he reminded us that “life is awesome” when we asked for prayer requests. His optimism was profoundly authentic–not created by a forced smile or a refusal to confront difficulty, but instead fueled by a tremendous awareness of the larger picture and what really mattered. He shared that joy with those around him through smiles and laughter, through encouragement and servanthood, through a willingness to make his time and his life available to us all.
His hopefulness was not limited to the present but also a hallmark of his approach to the future. In a recent conversation when I confessed my anxiety over the daunting responsibility of growing up, I remember his bright words of confidence as he described the thrills that family, careers, and fatherhood would bring. And, now, I realize that those are some thrills Mark will not experience in this life. But, I find solace in knowing that Mark did so much for so many people, that while the future appears cut short, the life he led was more full than any of us will ever know.
Mark also showed me how to dream large and wager big. He was a man of responsible risk; someone who cared for himself and others, but who would not be stopped by challenges or discouragement while pursuing his passions. He found fulfillment in protecting the defenseless, so he learned to fight fires. He felt called to combine his snowsport passions with his faith, so he planned to move to the slopes and launch a ministry through his daily activities. He was eager to do the extraordinary–whether it was climbing mountains, canoeing rivers, traversing new continents, thrashing the helpless in foosball, delivering pizzas to customers who hadn’t ordered them, or putting a car on top of a high school.
Mark impacted my life in countless more ways–influences that will certainly be evident as I continue this Earthly journey and confront persistent reminders of all that is bright and positive, strong and kind, giving and extraordinary. Mark’s testimony of faith was a continual reminder that we don’t have it all figured out, but we serve a God who does. Mark’s departure has broken my heart, but I ask daily for the faith to know that Earth has no sorrow Heaven cannot heal.
So, Mark, I thank you for not only the remarkable job you did in twenty years, but the incredible man you became. I thank you for your hope and confidence. I’ll never forget your humor and adventuresome spirit. You’ve impacted us all through your faith and love. You leave a great void in our hearts, but also an unforgettable example for our futures.
I thank you for being a six-foot-four Swedish angel, in this life and the next. Thank you for doing what you could, where you were, with what you had. Thank you for changing my world.
