Remember Who You Are

Random Thoughts on Friendship and Living Here and Now

I’m continually amazed at the places writing has taken me. I’ve had projects in Istanbul, Kurdistan, Jordan, and Sri Lanka. I’ve been thousands of feet underground. I’ve been all over the United States, from New York City to Los Angeles to the Upper Peninsula in Michigan to the heartland of Missouri to the beautiful deserts of the southwest. And just about everywhere I’ve been, I’ve sat with people eager to share their stories.

This week I’m in Florida, which might not seem all that exotic, except when I left home early Sunday morning it was 17 degrees and I had to break up the ice on the car, and now here I sit looking out over a small canal at night, the palm trees profiled against the sky which is lit up by a distant city, the wind billowing the palm fronds in all directions. It’s a warm breeze, the kind that’s nice to sit in. The lights from neighboring houses reflect off the water. The yachts sit still and serene.

I love to travel. I hate leaving home. Both are true.

“We have to keep asking ourselves: 'What does it all mean? What is God trying to tell us? How are we called to live in the midst of all this?'
Without such questions our lives become numb and flat.”

Henri Nouwen, Here and Now

Our two oldest kids went back to college a few weeks ago after a wonderful four-week Christmas break at home. It was strange, having them with us, because in some ways it felt like our family was whole again, and in some ways it felt like, Wait, who are these two strange adults and how are we supposed to function now as a family with four adults and four children? Watching my kids grow up has been the most joyful, humbling, exhilarating, gut-wrenching, and rewarding experience in my life.

After a few days we caught up with them, these two who are finding their own way in the world. Our daughter told us that she was hanging out in a dorm room with three of her friends one of their first nights back at college, and they all received the same text at once from another friend: the image of a battery that’s nearly dead. You know the one.

All four of them jumped up and ran for the stairwell, because their friend group had made a pact that if anyone was feeling low and needed a hug, if anyone was overwhelmed by school or life, all you have to do is send that image of a low battery to the rest of the group, and everyone will drop whatever they’re doing and meet you in the stairwell and give you a hug.

When they arrived, the friend who sent out the message got teary-eyed and said, “You all came!” and they said, “Of course we came!” because a low-battery pact is a low-battery pact, not one that should be lightly disregarded.

These are the most beautiful friendships, I think, the ones that don’t need to know all the reasons, the ones that drop whatever they’re doing, even when it’s late, and come running.

“One of the tragedies of our life is that we keep forgetting who we are.”

Henri Nouwen

In about three weeks, Maile and I will drive the long trek to Kentucky for the fifth or sixth time, meeting up with other writers who have become dear friends through the years. Last year I read the first chapter of a work-in-progress to them, and their gentle, honest feedback motivated me to scrap the 30,000 words I’d already written and start from scratch.

This is something only certain people have the ability do while still remaining your friends—help you see the promise in a piece of writing while simultaneously and lovingly communicating to you that it’s not working, or at least it’s not nearly as good as it could be.

Also, we ate a lot of good food and laughed and I took numerous naps. It’s a time of year I look forward to.

They are the friends who would come running if a low-battery text would be sent. They help me remember who I am.

“While optimism makes us live as if someday soon things will go better for us, hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present, with the deep trust that God will never leave us alone but will fulfill the deepest desires of our heart...”

Henri Nouwen, Here and Now

So many things to think about. So many stories to tell. So many places to be.

And yet.

I can’t wait to be back home. I can’t wait to sit with the Littles in their room and read while they fall asleep or stand in the kitchen with the Middles hearing about their day. I can’t wait to curl up with Maile, hearing our dog Winnie turning in her little bed beside ours, or running in her sleep.

Home is where I recharge my hope.

But I can’t be everywhere at once, and there’s no point in wishing the next few days away. “Impatience is arguing with reality.” So tonight I’ll sit here by myself, quietly watching the palm trees in the wind, the light glancing off the water, amazed that this specific place and time is where life has brought me, enjoying this present moment.

Life can be hard. What about this present moment do you love?