THE ACCIDENT

Whammy.

The best word I can think of (and use too much) to describe August 31, 2013.

Most of you know about the crash I was in that day, but I don't know how many folks know the "ins and outs" of it. And I know that pretty much everyone wants to know what happened and what it's like from the perspective of one who was crashed into. So in this post I hope that I can explain what happened in a clear way and also communicate that, besides a broken leg, I'm doing really well.

On to the day in question.

I had a Saturday off, those of you who work in the food industry know what a gift that is. I woke up early (eight) because I was supposed to meet Phillip at his house to change the oil on my motorcycle at one o'clock, and I wanted to be productive. I went to Crema to read (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) for a couple of hours, and then headed into Hillsboro Village to check out the used bookstore and eat some lunch. After a pretty solid brat at The Dog of Nashville I hopped on the bike and headed down Wedgewood to go home and change my jeans, so as to not get my I+W's dirty.

Coming up to 12th I noticed that there was a car readying itself to turn left, but it looked like it was waiting. I hit the white stripe which indicates the beginning of the intersection and immediately saw that the car was indeed turning, directly into my path. I tried to swerve to my right and the next thing I remember is being hit, being upside down, my head hitting the pavement, my body smashing into the ground, my leg flying in front of my, my ankle and foot moving in ways that God never intended. I finally came to rest laying in the middle of 12th and Wedgewood with the car that broke me resting on my right side.

While laying there I saw that blood was dripping from my right leg (the wonky one) so I ripped off my belt and started to wrap it around my right thigh. A man ran into my field of vision and grabbed it from my, telling me "oh buddy! You're gonna be ok!" I retrieved my phone from my pocket, pressed the home button, and siri chimed in.

"CALL 911!" I said, as calm as you'd expect.

"Calling Abigail Higgins," she responded obviously not understanding the pickle we were in.

Some words went thru my head, and now I had to not only deal with a broken leg but a cell phone that was calling one my my former campers. I turned it off and threw it down, deciding instead to focus on other things with my life.

The lady who ran into me got out of her car, ran over, and started to be as encouraging as possible given the situation she had put us both in. I don't know what my tone is suggesting in this post, but I couldn't possibly be more grateful for the hand to hold and the words to take my mind off of reality.

All this seemed to happen almost instantaneously. The ambulance came five minutes later and checked me out, hauled me up, and took me away. The entire process of riding, crashing, and riding again took forty-five minutes.

As far as pain goes, I can't say much about that. Remember "indian rug burns" in elementary school? That's what it felt like...as if someone grabbed my leg and was twisting and twisting and twisting. It hurt, yeah, but there was so much more to think about that I couldn't focus on the pain. And who would want to?

So there you have it. Five or six weeks ago I was in a crash. I now have a rod in my leg, some badass scars (and some not-so-badass road rash), and the newfound ability to walk around on crutches. I'm more blessed that I could have possibly thought with the people in my life, but I'm sure I'll have more to say on that later.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to ask any questions or say anything in response.

Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com

the real world

The past week and a half I've been here in New Hampshire, working at Camp Brookwoods. I'm one in the Otter cabin, which means that twelve sets of parents have trusted me with their thirteen year old sons. They have no clue who I am, and yet because I'm associated with Brookwoods they believe that I will not only take care of their kids, but that I'll help those kids grow in Christ (and maybe teach them something like mountainboarding).

During worship this morning Pastor Mark said something about having a half a week left until we go back to "the real world." This is something I've been thinking about for some time now, mostly because of something Cody said to me last year (or in 2009, they all run together). He said that out there isn't the real world. That this place, this amazing place, is more real than anything we'll find back there. At the time I really didn't buy into what he was saying, but now I couldn't agree more.

This period the kids who are in Narnia (an activity where they listen to and learn about Narnia) are working through The Last Battle. In the end of the book, the kids realize that the Narnia they are in looks just like the Narnia they came from. Doctor Kirke says that the "new" Narnia is the true one and that they one they grew up knowing is merely a reflection of this true place. "This," Digory says, "is the Aslan's country."

I feel that camp is a lot like that. It's a place where you can be honest about who you are, you can trust people with who you are, and they can do the same. It's a place where, to put it simply and not mince words, the Kingdom of God is coming. And what is more real than the kingdom coming? What is more real than a place where you can sense God's presence.

This place is real life. It's as real as it gets. It's hard, it hurts sometimes, and it's real.

I hope that sometime you get the chance to get up here. And if you have been up here before, real life misses you.

pray/bless

How do you open a post where you're asking for help? The word "help" would probably be a good start, but it just doesn't seem to do it.

For those of you who don't know, I'm currently working two jobs: running the summer camp for the teen(os) at Harvest Hands, and working the weekends at Barista Parlor. I'm glad to be doing both, but it's pretty tough to not have any days off. The summer is two and a half weeks from being done, so I only have sixteen more days of it (positive thinking, right?). But right now I'm tired. I know that this is mostly my own fault: working two jobs, going to sleep too late and not jumping out of bed in the morning, etc. But that doesn't take away from the one glaring fact of my existence right now:

I'm worn down.

This isn't a new feeling, nor is it unexpected. I knew this would eventually happen and still pursued this lifestyle because, mostly, I wanted to see if I could handle it. Over the past six months I've: moved away from home on a whim, crashed on a friends couch for a couple months, driven my car all around, and now am working two jobs. I enjoy pushing myself and seeing what I can do. But I feel like I've pushed myself to almost the edge, so now I'm here asking for help.

Here's what I need:

A prayer. Just a short one, for good rest and patience. I need to be able to focus on the reason why I'm at Harvest Hands this summer, and how I can do the best work I can do. It's really easy to lose perspective and get tired with what I'm doing, think that I'm not doing enough, or can't make an impact.

If you have the time I could really use a blessing. Whatever that looks like from you to me.

I know that it's not comfortable to ask for these things, especially when we're supposed to be "independent" and not need help. It's not hip to ask for help, it's not cool to admit that you can't do it. But right now I'm ok with that.

And here's the other thing: I'm sure that at some point you're gonna feel the same way. If we don't live in the same city there's no way for me to know that, so please tell me. I want to help, sometimes I just need to know when and how.

Thanks for reading, hope to hear from you either way.

Luke
Luketlancaster@gmail.com

play

For memorial day weekend I went home to visit with the family before my summer in Nashville started. I hopped in the car on Friday morning after a stop at Barista Parlor and was home by eight that night. One of the reasons why I went home was because of these two:

My nephews, Caden and Jacob (or Cade and Jake if you like). They're pretty cute, though I suppose I am a little biased. I really did want to see Mom and Dad before they left for their trip to San Fransisco, and I wanted to see Sam and Melissa and catch up about life. But there is something about hanging out with a two and (almost) one-year-old. And they're boys, which is easy for me. 

The most special moment of the trip happened on Sunday as Sam, Melissa, Jake, Cade and myself were on our way down to Springfield for the day. If you've never crammed in a VW Pissat with two other adults and two kiddos than you won't understand the experience. And if you have, I feel for you (At one point Melissa remarked that this was perfect birth control for me, and that I would go back to Nashville and write a blog about the loud car ride to and from Springfield). There was a lull in the conversation between Sam and me and so I did what every adult does in that situation: looked back at the kids (babies are great for this. I don't know how I got through life without a baby to look at when I didn't know what to say to someone). Jake was being like his dad, loud. He wasn't fussy (yet), he was just having a really good time hollering about something. I looked back, pursed my lips and pressed my finger to them, shut my eyes tight, and said "shhhhh!!!!" He giggled, probably (correctly) thinking that Uncle Luke was being silly. Cade looked over at Jake giggling and did the same. We went back and forth a couple of times: Uncle Luke "shhhhhh-ing," Jake giggling, Cade giggling.

Out of all the things that happened that weekend, all the conversations I had, this is the event that has stuck with me. The word I think of when I think about when I think about this time, about any time with my nephews is a simple, old one:

Play.

When I think about those two I think about playing, I think about throwing them up in the air, whirling them around, tickling and blowing raspberries on tummies. I think about Toy Story, Toy Story 2, and Toy Story 3. About big, goofy, Lancaster smiles at cameras. About play.

After thinking about that for a while I started asking myself another question:

Why don't I play anymore?

I don't call my friends up and say, "You wanna go out and play?" Because they'd probably think I was a little crazy. Or their response would be, "Play what?" And I wouldn't have much of a response to that. But is it a problem that they would respond that way? I don't think so. Deep within my heart I have a yearning to splash around creeks, tromp through the woods, bloody up knees and elbows, and come home as the sun is setting. I don't know if it needs to be planned out, or if there needs to be deep meaning attached to it. I simply want to play.

Part of me is thinking that this may just be me trying to avoid the trials of adulthood, but another part is telling me that I'm merely trying to simplify what I call adulthood. To let life be life, and to live it. 

Luke

luketlancaster@gmail.com

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