Bones Always Heal

Seminary was rough. But it was the good kind of rough. The kind where you come out on the other side knowing more about yourself. The kind where you experience God.

After seminary, I desired a time of healing. All I wanted to do was rest. To relax. To give my heart and my head time to process all that happened to me.

After a summer saying goodbye to the people and places that I loved. I moved to Texas.

I searched for what God had for me next. I was convinced I had landed a dream position. I hadn’t (I will talk more about that next time).

There are those who say that God causes everything that happens to us. There are those who say that God causes nothing that happens. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. God is not waiting on the other side. He is not waiting for us to succeed or fail. Nor is he waiting to give us comfort when we have finally overcome.

Rather I believe that God is present in the midst of our lives.

After losing the position, I went numb for a while. Sleep occupied my days. Well, sleep and Netflix. The fog began to lift in April. In May the skies were clear again. I felt confident that I knew what was needed. I felt confident that I could do what was needed.

On the twenty second of May, I tripped while in the front drive way. I accomplished this feat while stepping over some twigs that were roughly six inches high. As I stumbled face first, I reached out with the palms of my hands to catch myself. The impact of the fall traveled up my left arm and shattered the head of my radius (arm bone on the “outside” if your hands are by your side).

Shattered is not hyperbole.

There were shards of bone now floating in arm. Surgery was the only option. Surgery was a success. My elbow is healed and my arm is rehabbing nicely. But we need to back up.

After the initial break, my arm was in a sling for a week. Then surgery. After surgery, my arm was in a brace for a week. This was followed by three weeks of slow gradual improvement in my range of motion coupled with six weeks in a brace that prevented me from turning my arm so that my palm was facing up.

I felt helpless. I felt useless. I wondered where God could possibly be in this time.

However, I was forced to slow down, and in that slowing I found again how to rest in God’s strength.

The healing I experienced during my time at seminary was an active one. I was in engaged in learning. I was in engaged in stretching myself beyond my comfort and ease. I was engaged with friends who taught me more than words can describe.

The healing I received while in Texas was a passive one. I didn’t have the money for the surgery. I didn’t have the strength to serve. I didn’t have the faith to believe that God was present in my pain. I didn’t have the faith to believe what I was seeking was worth seeking.  I had to ask. I had to receive. I had no other option than to be passive. I had no other option than wait. I had no other option than to heal.

Dear reader, I am sure you have noticed that I have moved from speaking of the physical healing of my bones to speaking of the spiritual healing of learning to receive from others. Learning to be a piece of a whole. However, it was my broken bone that allowed this lesson to be received.



X-Ray 3 months after surgery

My injury provided not only the space to heal but the analogy of healing as well. Bones will always heal. No matter what happens bones will grow back together. The nature of my injury was such that without surgery the shards of bone in my elbow would have grown into a single mass severely limiting the use of my left elbow.

Things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let the bones do their work.

To receive the healing I sought, things had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let God to the work.

 

--Healing as a part of a whole, along side all of you,
Just from father away

--Jesse Letourneau

113 years ago today

Dr. Seuss was born a 113 years ago on this date.

Moana and Me

I have written before about how the themes of Pixar seem to be following my own personal journey. I wrote that initial blog tongue firmly planted in my cheek. I didn't truly believe my life was fodder for computer animated films.

That was until I went to see the Disney animated film Moana. 

The Chief Creative Officer for Pixar (Joh  Lasseter) holds the same title at Disney Animation. Under his watch Disney released the CGI animated film that seems to share very little with my life, yet echoes the latest piece of my personal hero's journey.

On the surface, Moana is the story of a Polynesian Island girl on the cusp of womanhood who must find her own strength, her own voice, and her own way of leading before she can blossom into adulthood and claim her role as chief of the island. Along the way, she is aided by her ailing grandmother who understands more than anyone gives her credit for, a demi-god with magical tattoos, and the very sea itself.

On the surface my story does not parallel that of Moana. But the core of her journey mirrors the core of my own. To explain how this I need to discuss the plot of this movie.

So if you haven’t seen it and don’t want to be spoiled stop reading now.

The plot of Moana is a straightforward hero’s quest. She must find a guy, get a thing, and put the thing back to save the day. As in all good hero quests her parents are against her taking on the task. Think Marlin and his fear of Nemo going beyond the reef. Here is where the similarities begin to come into focus.

The central question of Moana is that of calling. Who is Moana meant to be and how is she to become that person? Is she to be the chief like her father before her? Is she to become a great explorer as her grandmother wishes for her? Moana must decide who she is and what she will become.

The choices laid before her seem to be at odds. 

Stay home or leave. 

Become the chief of island dwellers or become a great explorer?

Moana’s island home provides all anyone could ever need. There is even a song about how great the island is. Her people have been farmers and fishers as far back as memory holds. There is no need for Moana to leave home.

Until of course there is a need. The island begins to die. Quite literally the island begins to decompose as if the Nothing from The Never Ending Story has found this realm as well. (And in my head cannon that is the case.) But there is still a fear of the sea, and Moana’s Father tries to stop her from sailing off on her quest.

Moana learns that her people have not always been island dwellers. She learns they were once great and proud explorers. Moana finds an abandoned ship. And her quest begins.

Moana has chosen to leave home. 

She has chosen to become a sea farer and not an island dweller.

Moana’s quest includes finding her requisite Disney princess animal side kick, matching wits with the Rock, an encounter with a very sparkly crab, and the final battle where she uses wit and empathy to literally bring life back to her world.

But the story doesn’t end with Moana learning she had the power inside her the whole time. The story ends with Moana returning home to become the new chief. Moana had to leave in order to return. Moana was called to be a chief, but could only become that if she first left home.

If Moana had stayed home she would have lacked the ability to fulfill her calling. For it was only in the questing that she found the source of life not only for herself but for her people as well.

If Moana had become a sea faring adventurer finding her own way in the world but never returning home she would not have fulfilled her calling.

I grew up in Northern California.

I left home and explored my own seas. 

I was convinced I wouldn’t ever return home. There was no need. That is of course until there was one. 

God has called me back to California. If I had stayed home I would not be who I am today. I would not be who am I am called to be. If I had not come home, I would not be where I am today. I would not be where I am called to be.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week God uses healing to teach me about healing.

The Changing Seasons

When I wrote "WAVES" (see previous entry) I had already been interviewed and was soon to go visit a church in northern California that was considering me for Children and Youth Ministry Pastor. As confident as I was in the position I was no longer the kind of person who counted chickens that were not yet hatched.

As of this writing I have been the Children and Youth Pastor at Copper Canyon Baptist church for three weeks. I will write more about that in the weeks to come. For now I wish to reflect on what it meant for me to leave Houston.

I was an active member at two churches. CANVAS and Kindred. This week I reflect on my time with Kindred. Next week we will look at my time with CANVAS.

I first arrived at Kindred in the summer of 2016. I was promised there would be food. I was told I would be fed. Instead, Pastor Ashley explained that this evening we would be doing something called worskship. For the next hour or so I helped sort clothing donations for an outreach named Grace Place. The evening ended with Communion. “All are welcome. Sinner and Saint, Child and Skeptic” These words intrigued me.

I returned to Kindred a few weeks later. I attended services on a semi-regular basis. That summer Kindred alternated between workship (mostly sorting donations for various groups) and meals. (Kindred is a dinner church). Pastor Ashley often spoke of building Kindred together; stating that Kindred is made up of all who are present.”

I have been a part of Church life since I was born. From nursery to high school group, young adult to not so young adult, my life has centered on the gathering of God’s people. What Kindred offers, what Kindred is, is unique to each of these experiences.

Summer turned to Fall and weekly meals resumed as the steady rhythm of Kindred. Soon I found myself attending weekly, as gathering around the Table became a steady rhythm of my own. I had become a part of building Kindred each week. Fall became Advent and I was asked to lead Kindred in the sacred story of the Magi, the Shepherds and all the rest. The story of Advent is the story of Emmanuel. Kindred had become for me a place where Emmanuel was experienced each week.

Kindred became for me a place that is “made up of all who are present.” It is place where God is felt not merely in songs and sermons but in the presence of each member gathered around the table that evening.

I have experienced God at Kindred. I have experienced God in Kindred.

I have experienced God in the smiles of those who greet me each week, in hugs and in prayers, and in good food shared with good people.

The Advent season soon became the Christmas season. Next the Church calendar entered into the Great Green Growing Season. In this time of transition, I find myself in transition as well. My time with Kindred has come to a close. God has called me to serve a church in California. A new personal weekly rhythm will emerge. A rhythm I have no doubt where I will still find Emmanuel. But it will no longer be in the physical company of Kindred.

I first arrived at Kindred expecting to be fed. Seeking out physical food.

Kindred has been a place where I have been fed and have been fed well. However, I was fed not only with the meals that were served, but with the presence of God experienced through all who were present.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week: I take out a restraining order on John Lasseter

WAVES

In what seems like a life time ago, I worked at Alliance Redwoods Conference Grounds as an Outdoor Educator for 5th and 6th grade science. One of the highlights of that job was taking students to the beach. Some had never been to ocean despite living mere hours away.

The majesty of the ocean is such that countless wordsmiths and song writers have attempted to encapsulate it within the confines of language. I don't fancy myself either of those things, yet I will note that the rhythm of the ocean is the thing that draws me to it.

The waves come in. The waves go out. The tide comes in. The tide goes out. Over and over. Consistent, steady, solid, reliable. While I have only been to the ocean a handful of times, regardless of what piece of shoreline I stand upon the same sound, the same rhythm greets me each time I visit. 

As far back as I can conceive the waves come in; the waves go out. As far forward as I can imagine, the waves come in; the waves go out.

When you look out on the ocean, you can see each distinct wave as it builds, crests, and falls. And then suddenly that distinct wave is once more simply a part of the vast expanse of blue. Behind it builds another wave, distinct for a moment then melded into the whole.

As I look back on my life, I can see distinct moments: high school, college, camp. As I reflect I can see individual lessons: learning of grace, risk, and calling. And yet as I try and figure out where one begins and the other ends, rather than distinct moments I simply see a melded whole that I call life.

Goat Rock Beach, Sonoma Coast State Beach, CA

However, this simple rhythm of waves is not guaranteed. 

When we took the students to the ocean, Safety was priority number one. Amidst the "respect the ocean" and "no you can't take your shoes off and run out into the surf" was a lecture on sleeper waves. The shore where we took the students was notorious for such waves. Huge signs warning of their danger were prominently features along the stairs leading form parking lot to shore. Sleeper waves, simply put, are waves that come out of rhythm. These are waves that come as a surprise and can ruin your day pretty quickly.

This last year my life seems more like the rocky cliffs of Sonoma (above) than the smooth surf of Seal Beach.

The year started out just fine.  

Working at Trader Joe's. 

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Learning again what it means to live with family.

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Begin to find deeper community at church.

The waves come in.

The waves go out. 

Returning to Chicago for a working vacation.

The waves come in. 

Board Games with friends.

The waves go out.

Finding a place to stay at the convention in town.

The waves come in.

Hours long interview, conversation, and spiritual direction.

The waves go out.

Sharing with friends the joy and relief I felt at finding this position at this church.

The waves come in.

Returning home and packing my car with all of my earthly possessions for the second time in four months.

The waves come in. 

Waiting for the official vote.

The waves go out. 

Being told I wasn't given the job.

SLEEPER WAVE 

Though this wave was more than crashing surf that dowsed my shoes and splashed the legs of my pants. This wave took me under. 

When my head returned to the surface, I was short of breath and had been carried down the shore. I wasn't sure where I started. I wasn't sure which direction was forward.

Slowly life returned to normal.

Rhythm was restored. 

Then in May, while out in the front driveway I tripped over a pile of branches my brother and I were bundling for pick up. Falling face first I placed my hands in front of me to catch myself. There was immediate pain my left bicep. I assumed it was a simple muscle spasm or maybe a tear. The pain did not subside.

My left palm hit the ground with enough force that the radial bone (wrist to elbow on the "outside" of the arm) was driven forward. The head of the bone shattered.

SLEEPER WAVE.

X-Rays. CT Scans. Surgery. Recovery. Rehab.

I reached out to those I love. Those who were able gave. Those who were willing prayed. All reminded me that I am loved in return.

A new reality became my rhythm.

I rested my arm so that it could heal correctly.

I rested my mind to better understand how to raise the financial support needed.

I rested my soul in the God who had brought me this far.

and

I rested knowing that I am loved and supported by all of you.

The arm is now healed.

And now I sit on the shore.  

Waiting. 

Listening. 

Wondering what may be next.

--Serving Him alongside you, just from farther away

--Jesse Letourneau