The Aches of a Heart.

Today is Sunday, February 2nd, 2014.

Five years ago today was Monday, February 2nd, 2009. The day after the Steelers beat the Cardinals in the Super Bowl. That was the day my father died.

It was a day like any other. I went to school, with plenty going on. Scarlet & Gold, the choir I was in, was busy practicing for the val-o-gram fundraiser that we were putting on in a couple of weeks. In physics we were building roller coasters, which was a pretty sweet alternative to homework. Everything was normal.

When I got home from school I took a nap, did some homework, and before I knew it it was dinnertime. Mom had made sloppy joe's for dinner. We hadn't heard from Dad for a while, but I figured he had been out all day working. It wasn't usual for him to be gone until late running errands or doing things for work. Mom mentioned how she hadn't heard from him since lunch, which she seemed slightly concerned about.

A little later Grandpa Gary showed up. Said he also hadn't heard from Dad in a while. Don't worry about it, I told myself. He'll come home. He always does.

Eight o'clock rolls around and I'm on the phone with a close friend from school. We were talking about all the amazing things that God was doing on campus. I was walking around the house as I was talking to her, and I happened to come to the front windows that overlooked the street. And that's when I saw it.

A cop car, with two policemen, was parked across the street. They were getting out of the car. And that's when my heart sank: the worst had happened. There was no doubt about it. I rushed to the front door, hung up on my friend, and answered the door.

"Is your mom here?" the policeman asked. Before I could even turn around to call for her, my mom came flying down the steps. She was in her bedroom, talking on the phone, but she must've been looking out her window as well. She went out onto the front porch to talk with the officers and I recall going to the kitchen. Franticly pacing because I was getting really worried. A few seconds later I heard it.

It was the wail of a woman who had just lost her husband. The wail of a woman whose world came crashing down. The wail of a woman who was incredibly strong. The wail of a woman whose strength was taken from under her. My strength went too, and my world also came crashing down.

Tears. Lots of tears. I called anyone I could think of, anyone who would care. Most people didn't answer their phones. Go figure, I thought. One of my best friends from childhood did answer, but he couldn't understand me through the emotional wreck that I was and told me to call him back later.

My first prayer: "God, I love You. God, I love You. God, I LOVE You." All I could pray, not just on that night, but for weeks. I don't take any credit for this. I can't take any credit for it. I can't take any credit for it because on my own I'm not great. I'm not some amazing superhuman who can handle anything. I'm not some righteous, better-than-anyone human being. I am just like the rest of you. I have fears, doubts, desires, needs, and everything else typical to humanity. All of this to say I can only attribute those initial prayers to the amazing grace of an incredible God.

Everything from that point on was a blur. Dana, my brother's best friend's mom, came over. Told my brother and I to stay home. All I wanted was to leave. I had to see him. I had to see the dead body of my father to believe that he was actually gone. I was sure I was being lied to. I was sure that it was all a joke. This isn't my life, I thought. This can't be my life.

Eventually my Grandpa Gary and Aunt Christine were over. All I remember is embracing them, along with my brother, and weeping. All of us. Exclamations of grief, questions asking where my dad was, hugs trying to make sense of it all. Hugs that seemed to be our only glimpse of hope.

More family came in that night. Grandma Kathy, Papa Steve, aunts, uncles, more grandparents... more and more people came. At one point our house had 30 people sleeping in it. Floors, beds, couches, and anything else one could sleep on were all taken. I barely slept that first night. Maybe five hours.

That first morning I didn't want to eat. In fact, I wanted to starve myself. I already felt so close to the edge of my humanity and life itself; what was a little more pain? Aunt Misty made me eat. I was reluctant, but did so anyways. Figured it was probably good for me. I'm thankful for people like Aunt Misty to have helped me in the little things at that time, such as eating. She blessed me in more ways than she will ever know.

My friend Lydia called me that morning. Stepped out of class after reading the newspaper. It wouldn't have been hard for her to miss. "Kennewick man dies in fatal crash," read the front-page headlines. Seeing the name "Gary S. Conachan, Jr." didn't help either for I also carry my father's name. Answering her call assured her that it was in fact my father who had passed away and not me. Not that it made it any easier.

Grandpa Ron and one of my uncles (I think?--really, it's all a blur) took me to the store with them. We picked up a few newspapers. I read the words on the page, but I wasn't reading about my own life. I was reading about the life of another 15-year-old boy named Gary. A boy who had lost his father in a terrible car accident. I felt terrible for him. What a loss that must've been. Oh, wait. That's me. Numb. I felt numb.

I didn't go to school for two weeks. I missed classes, val-o-grams, projects, homework assignments--I missed it all. But I didn't care. Nothing else mattered at that point. Friends visited and people brought food--SO MUCH FOOD--and consolations. Pastors came with the same. I've never felt more loved or supported than I did in those two weeks. It was truly amazing.

Life had to go on. If we didn't let it, we'd debilitate ourselves and die of hopelessness. So we got up. We chose to fight, to push on. With whatever fragment of strength and will we had left, we moved forward. It felt awkward. It didn't feel right. But what choice did we have? Time pushed us along; we didn't have any say in the matter.

Losing my dad wrecked me. I lost one of my best friends, the one man who understood me more than anyone. I lost a man who loved me unconditionally, no matter what I did or said. We laughed and joked around, sometimes making him seem like the "third child." We did so much together growing up. He truly was a man with a big heart. He was extremely loving, had a gentle spirit about him, and had one of the greatest smiles--if only he'd smiled with his teeth more. Anyone that knew him knows he hated to do so; but he smiled a lot anyways. The funny, quirky things about my dad that I miss deeply.

Over the next five years I went through a lot. I overcame condemnation, a self-hatred rooted so deeply that it debilitated me. Not only did I not match up to others but I felt like I was far beyond saving. I felt like no one cared. My self-esteem was incredibly low. I was a mess.

I doubted my identity. I doubted my manhood, for if my father was the only sense of manhood I'd had to hold onto, what else did I have? Thus began the search for the thing that was within me all along. The search driven by a perceived lack, telling me that I wasn't enough and that I would only be "enough" via things external to me. Thus began a long and painful struggle. Somehow God was present through it all. Somehow God held onto me. I didn't understand it, but God knew what God was doing. God was in control and that was all that mattered; it's all that's ever mattered.

I stand here today, five years after my dad passed away and I'm a little more pieced together. I'm still broken. I've still got many struggles and things I deal with on a daily basis. But things are getting better. Little by little, things are improving. It doesn't mean that I have to fake it--though it's tempting and I have succumbed to it often--or be perfect. I never will be perfect. But I do have the power to be real. I can be authentic to everyone around me. And so I strive to be.

I also strive to find all my security and affirmation in Christ alone. My identity doesn't depend on the affirmation of others nor the amount of Facebook or Instagram likes I receive. (You laugh, but how many of us subconsciously think that?! I know I have!) Encouragement from others is edifying and taken seriously, but it's not the lifeblood from which I live. I say this more out of faith than anything. I want it to be true in my life. I so desperately want it to be true in my life.

God loves each and every one of you.

We don't understand tragedy and we probably never will.

The One we can always trust in is God.

God is always faithful and always in control.

Whatever happens in life, we can always move forward. We can always pick ourselves back up and choose to live for a purpose so much greater than our own. It's not a life of faking it or having to be strong all the time, no; in fact, it's a life that requires being real and honest, both in the good and the bad, admitting your strengths and your struggles, and depending on God and others. God comes first and is our everything. But we're also called to live with each other. We're to carry each other, sharpen each other, and support each other. If there's anything you get from this post I hope you know that there is hope. Trust and believe that there is hope. You are loved and valued more than you may ever know. Live for God's purposes and God's Kingdom and everything else will fall into place. Again, it doesn't mean life will be easy or perfect--in fact, it most likely will be the opposite--but Christ is the Solid Rock on which we stand.

And it is on that Rock that I share my story.

To GOD be all glory.

Good Friday

I just watched "The Passion of the Christ" for the second time this month.

The first time I watched it, it moved me in a way I could never describe. Not only did I realize that I give myself a hard time when I don't deserve it as Christ died so that I wouldn't have to be condemned or shamed, but I also realized how real our God is. Jesus is real. God is real. Real human beings really put Jesus Christ of Nazareth to death. He really died and really rose again. Need I say more? I'm convicted by the fact that I seldom understand this. I hardly ever get it. Most of the time, when I talk about Christ or Christianity, it's as if it's some abstract thing. I had to ask myself, why does it become this way? Maybe it's the fact that we tell the story over and over again. Maybe it's the fact that we've thought about it so many times that we feel like we can't get anything new out of it. Maybe it's because we're far removed from it. I know why in my own life it becomes this way; it's up to you to figure it out for yourself.

After watching "The Passion" tonight, all I can think of is the conviction that I'm not doing the Gospel justice. I'm not living the way I should be. I will never measure up to all of the things that God has called me to. Perfection? Nope. A sinless life? Nope. These things are impossible... without God. What a humbling statement this is! Not only are we nothing without God, but He has to be a part of the equation! With Him I can live righteously. I can live a holy life pleasing to Him. I can be sanctified. I may never attain all of the things He has for me and become the man He sees me to be on this side of Heaven, but the good news is that that is okay. All I can do is seek Him with all I have. I can only give Him my best, picking myself up when I fall and striving towards the Kingdom.

We are called to live selflessly. We are called to love others and not expect anything back. We called to deny ourselves, to pick up our cross, and to follow Him. I will be the first to admit that I am consistently falling short of these things. I do the opposite of them on a daily basis.

Where do you stand? When you look into the eyes of the Savior, what do you see?

Are you being stagnant, or are you being sanctified?

Salvation. Sanctification. They're what Christ died for on this very day over two-thousand years ago.

This day that we call, "Good Friday".

Like Warm Waves Crashing on a Sandy Shore

I look around me and see the waves crashing on the shore. They're bigger than a lot of waves I have seen before; or maybe they just seem bigger because I'm in an unfamiliar place. Two flags mark off a 50-foot section of the shore, between which swimmers have to stay between (shark nets were in place not too far off the shore to keep sharks away). Because the oceans of South Africa, the Indian on the eastern shore and the Atlantic on the western shore, are home to the Great White Shark, swimmers have to be careful. Every few minutes the lifeguard blows his whistle for several minutes to get everyone back in between the flags. This section of shore is between two piers, one of which is closed and the other used by surfers. With surfboards in hand, they jump off the pier and head into the waves. Back on shore, although many are wearing traditional swimsuits, many are wearing normal articles of clothing.

The ocean is warm. It feels cool when I first get into it, but after a while it begins to feel too warm. With the ozone-free, South African sun beating down on me I'd almost rather be in waters as cold as the Pacific. But maybe not--playing in the ocean is a lot easier when the water is warmer. I look behind me and there are buildings everywhere. The beach is located in downtown Durban, an eastern port city in South Africa. I look around and take in the sun, the waves, the people, and everything else that surrounds me. I can't help but feel especially grateful for I do not deserve to be in a place like this. It's a wonder that God can bring someone so far in life. His power is endless and there is no limit to the things He can do. The beach reminds me of this.

Before we went to the beach we went to an indoor market, which was a sense overload. The smell of various spices filled the entire building. If you slow down even slightly as you walked through the market, merchants would be on you in an instant. "Would you like to try this on?" "This costs forty rand." "Where are you from?" Millions of questions are thrown at you. Being alone is out of the question; you're either with friends or merchants; or both.

The market we went to was the cheapest place to purchase souvenirs at in all of South Africa; what a buy! I won't say what I purchased for I don't want to ruin the surprise for those I got something for, but I got a lot for what I spent!

Today, February 2nd, marks four years since my dad passed away. And doing what I did today was the best thing I could have done. Being surrounded by 52 people who have shown so much love and support towards me as well as each other is a tremendous blessing. We did an activity last night called Cross the Line which told us a lot about each other. We want nothing but to support each other and seek God together--it truly is an amazing group! Needless to say today has been incredible and my cup has overflowed with joy and peace. God is too great to not be happy today! My dad is in Heaven and free from all pain and struggles; I could not be more grateful for it, considering that he is not on earth anymore. This is not to downplay grief or to say that it is not okay to be sad (because it is!) but rather to share how I have been feeling today. God's grace is more than enough.

We're venturing into our third week of classes next week, which means we are one-third of the way done with intensive classes (aside from our history class, which continues for a while longer).

I have felt a freedom here that is irrefutable; God has spoken some deep truths and as I said before our group has gotten tremendously closer over the last couple days. I am so grateful for them!

It is crazy to think that we are only two and a half weeks into our semester here--it feels like it has been over a month, at least! It is strange how quickly relationships happen here; we are also doing a lot every day so it makes one day seem like several. I like to say that college is like Narnia; time in college does not work the same as it does in the real world. Six months in the real world is like years in college. Or something like that.

And that concludes week two.

TIA

Do You Know the Way You Move Me?

Have you ever dwelt on the notion of the love of God? And how deep, and how wide, and how long it is? It's huge. And even that is an understatement.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand--when I wake, I am still with you" (Psalm 139.13-18; NIV).

"But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5.8; ESV).

So let me get this straight. God formed me, saw me from the beginning, and loved me. He formed you, saw you from the beginning, and loved you. Crazy.

And then we fast forward a bit. We'd lived life a little. Heck, we screwed it all up. Yet "while we were still sinners, Christ died for us". In this God has shown us His love. So He loved us from the beginning. He loved us during. And He will always love us. Nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:38-39).

I'm preaching to myself as much as I am preaching to you. This is something that I often forget and wrestle with often. I don't want His love. Sometimes I am so frustrated with myself, I dislike myself to such an intense degree that I don't want Him to love me. Cause I don't deserve it. And guess what? I don't! None of us do! But God loves us anyway.

Let His love change you. Let it transform you. Think about those around you who make you think about the love of God. Those around you who are beaming with His love. The shine of His glory that radiates off of someone reflects the time spent seeking the face of God.

He is love and we are made in His image. With Him, we too, can be love. Love to ourselves (for some of us do not love ourselves), love to others, and love to the broken world around us.