Category Archives: family

Nick's Hallelujah

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I have only known Nick for three months, but in three months he had become a part of our family. It was normal to have him randomly stop by our house, by the cafe I might be studying in, or to call at any hour of the day to talk. Come midnight we would always kick Nick out of our house so we could go to bed, but that would always translate into an extended conversation at our front door. Those nights (and there were many) were filled with conversations about theology, about Al Gore (whom he loved), about politics, family, faith, church planting, Bagby hotsprings, and everything in between.

It was right about midnight, the day before he died, that we stood at the door and he told us about a time where he almost killed himself driving around a corner on highway 14. We laughed, as usual, at his ridiculous stories that surprisingly always turned out to be true. Earlier on that same Sunday night we grilled Nick about how fast he was driving his new bike. We told him to slow down. My friend said to him “don’t make me go to your funeral”, and he responded by saying that the saddest thing about crashing would be the thought of his bike getting beat up. That’s just how Nick was.

I loved Nick because he was so raw, so authentic, and so passionately in love with Jesus. Don’t get me wrong, at times he could be a complete ass, but he was always the first to laughingly admit it in a proud fashion. It was in that spirit that he smiled as he showed us his shirt he wore that Sunday night at our churches worship gathering (it included the f* bomb) He always left us shaking our heads and smiling because he would say the most off the wall things, like when he said he thought Mother Teresa was in hell…umm…I hope he’s being proved wrong right now. He was passionate about being a missionary. As a recovering addict he saw himself as a missionary to his people, to addicts and homeless and broken people. You rarely saw Nick by himself, he was always inviting others, always bringing people along with him, he really was a missionary. In our short three months with him he went from wanting to be a missionary somewhere overseas, thinking that he had to go somewhere to make a difference, to passionately embracing the reality that God was using him here and now to change peoples lives. Because of that he was eager to plant a downtown church plant with us, a church that was focused on relationships, on loving every person because they’re loved by God. As a matter of fact, it was in our last moments with him that he kept pushing us to get moving with this church plant. He kept saying over and over again how he was ready to live in Christian community, how he wanted to start doing meals together a few times a week where we could invite neighbors and friends (ironically we talked about tonight being the first), and how we should start taking bums out for lunch together.

I love that for most of the Renovatus community the last words they heard from Nick was him yelling “Hallelujah” as he walked into our worship gathering late. It was loud and obnoxious, and genuine…it was totally Nick. The word “hallelujah” can be defined as an exclamation of “praise the Lord”, or more fully as what happens when you are so in love that you cannot help but burst in adoration toward your lover. This word might be the best description for Nick.

The best word to describe my house yesterday would be numb. We all just sat around, some of us crying on and off. We unloaded the dishwasher that was filled with the dishes from the dinner Nick made for us that Sunday night. On our house-mate’s desk sat a dvd that Nick was supposed to pick up on Monday, the day he died. The house seemed to linger with his absence.

I only knew Nick for three months, but in three months he became a dear friend. God’s people who are trying to live his kingdom within our messy world will miss Nicks presence terribly. I am not sad for Nick. I am sad for us, for the three churches he was involved in, for his friends who were in recovery with him, and for the ways God could have used him to be an agent of hope to the world.

Thank you God for giving my family three months of Nick. We feel blessed because of it.

Hallelujah!

Jones' -on the fly- Poetry Slam

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Wish the sound were better. I’ve included the transcript below. Enjoy my son’s poetry…

“I knew who a kid who had a rope and he tied it to his bed and he gave that note to his mom and said ‘I’m plummeting to the ground’ and the rope slipped and he plummeted to the ground from the top of the hotel…I mean from a cliff.”

Singing and Dancing Children

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Please get to know my son through these poorly produced videos. I think you’ll like them.

Jones' Dream

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My son Jones had a hard time going to sleep last night. He said that he kept having bad dreams about ghosts. When Jessica suggested that he tried to dream about something funny or fun, here is how he responded:

“My dreams…my brain doesn’t get to choose them, the pictures. (all of a sudden he ‘gets a dream’) Now I’m seeing a table. The table has a tiny door that goes inward. I’m going through the door and it takes me to the ocean…”

Good times

My Friend is Dying

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I had a strange conversation with a regular at work tonight. He’s been coming in since the restaurant opened. He used to come in with his partner and they ordered the same drinks every time (a brandy manhattan and a gin martini) and generally the same food. Since his partner died two years ago he stopped drinking and started coming in for the community instead of the food. I know this because he only ever eats two bites before he’s finished. He is 77 years old and alone. I’m not trying to play this up more than it is. He has a sister in Arizona who cannot afford to fly here (he says even for his funeral) and he occasionally has a friend or two join him at the restaurant. But he was going to be alone on Christmas until an employee at the restaurant invited him to their house.

Anyway, tonight I asked him why he didn’t order his regular dessert and he said it was because he was feeling sick. “I’m loosing weight you know” he said. When I asked him about it he said that he was dying. “It’s a losing battle. My body is done and my time is short. I won’t be around much longer.” Fighting against awkwardness and finding it easy to ignore my duties as the manager that night I asked him what it felt like to know or think that your life is nearly done. “I”m OK with it, you can’t grow old and be a sissy! I’m ready to go because I have lived a full life and I’ve been everywhere I want to go. My only fear is that I will outlive my body. Nothing terrifies me more than losing my independence.” “Do you have someone to take care of you if that happens?” He said that he didn’t, that his sister lives far away and can barely afford her own life let alone his.

Somehow the conversation turned to Winston Churchill at this point. He recommended his favorite Churchill biography and I wrote down the title. He told me a story or two about Churchill and FDR, how for a longtime Churchill was the leader of the free world. I told him that I was taking an extended leave of absence from the restaurant and he said he’d miss me. I got his address and phone number and suggested that we find a way to talk when I’m done working.

He has ridden his motorcycle across the United States, he’s worked as a newspaper reporter, owned a publishing company in Hollywood, seen the death of his parter of 37 years, travled around the world multiple times, and now he prefers to watch TV and read books.

I think that I would fear losing my independence too if I was without community. I think that when you live in community you’ve already experienced what it’s like to lose your independence and it no longer seems quite as terrifying. I want my friend to live with my family, to not die alone. I probably should have said something about hope in the resurrection or something like that (I mean, I am a church planter) but I just listened instead.