A Late Night Churchill

After some time on my back porch and a walk around Wolsley at 530 am I realized something... life is short.

I looked back on the past year and a bit of my life, what have I done? As my eyes watered I recalled funerals, faces lost, and friends who did not know how cherished they were... are.

I arrived one morning to class and an RCMP cruiser was in front of the school; that doesn't happen at Prov. As class went on we were told there would be a mandatory assembly at 11 in the chapel. I made my way to the student centre between the times and said to a friend "This isn't good." We learned of the suicide of a beloved member of our student body, a dorm-mate, a friend.

A few months later I arrived home from a long draw-out church meeting, it was my birthday, but had obligations and work to do. I opened my computer and check my e-mail; thats odd, he doesn't usually e-mail me. As I opened the e-mail I read that a close friend from highschool had passed away. A few phone calls and internet clicks later I had a flight to Toronto booked and still reeling from the last funeral.

As it turns out a year is still not enough to stop that reeling. Healing has transpired, acceptance has come, the pain isn't constant, but it is gone.

The hardest day of my life was October 8, 2008. As the parents of my friend sat down with a group of maybe 20 and read allowed the note that he had left before place has head on railroad tracks and awaited a train. Much is a blur but I recall sitting with tears running down my face, looking across the room and see a friend, alone, her face buried in her lap. I moved across the room sat down and simply rub her back with one hand, offering what little comfort it was worth as tears continued down my face and no words were needed, or perhaps no words had meaning.

Over a year later, I've completed school with marks that display my pain and loss of focus that year, served at a camp where I met great people and did my part to share the Gospel, sat unemployed for a few months and now offer shelter and rest to those who have no other beds to go to.

So why do I feel so lost?

I've tried to serve the God I say I love, but my actions fail to show it. I've tried to dig myself out of sin, but my hands continue in ways I tell them not to. I try to put Christ at the for front of my thoughts, to follow his call, to serve his will, to love as he has loved first; I try and I fail. Friends share their struggles and I try to help, try to listen, try to love, try to comfort, try to offer truth, try to direct towards God, but I fail. Sometimes I look like I've got things together, but I'm a mess, a pure, simple mess.