I haven't worn a shoe on my left foot in almost ten months. I went from splint, to metal splint, to aircast (boot), to not wearing anything for about two months, to metal splint, and back to the aircast (boot). On my right foot I've been wearing a Converse All-Star that's about five years old. I wear that because the EMT's threw away the right All-Star at the crash site, and I don't wanna wear out any of my good shoes. The sole is worn thru in the back, a rip has opened up on the left side, and another is working it's way across the right. The upper is pulling away from the sole, and no amount of washing could remove the stink of the past five years from it. It's just about time to retire the little guy. I haven't yet because, again, I don't want to wear out another shoe that has a match. But mostly because when I started going out after the wreck I think I made a decision to wear this shoe until I was done, until I was fixed.
Well, if you've read the previous two or three posts you know that "the day I was fixed" ended up being shoved down the road a bit, and so I'm here still in the shoe. I ditched the crutches last week (hopefully for good this time) and am relying on a cane to get around. The left leg hurts, but I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that that's just how it's going to be for a while. If you deal with anything long enough it just becomes normal though.
So why bring up shoes? Why go on and on about some rubber and canvas that is easily replaced?
Well, I was thinking about walking the other day. Or, more accurately, I walked down my hallway with my cane and it didn't hurt as much as it previously had. And that got me excited about walking again. About bounding up and down stairs, heading out the door and confidently placing one foot in front of the other. About, maybe, someday not limping from one place to the next.
After the trauma I went through the main things I miss are the normal things: walking, working with my friends, not parking in a handicap spot (though the spot in front of Crema will forever be mine), sleeping without four pillows propping up my leg, driving my own car. The things that get taken for granted over the course of life, because we get so bogged up in worrying about other things, bigger things. I'm not trying to say that those things aren't important, just that they are more complicated, involve more moving parts. They are a couple of steps removed from what we experience as normal life.
I'm writing this primarily because I like writing, but also because I want you to know what it's like to be me at this point in time. When someone gets hit by a car it's only natural to think, "I wonder what that felt like." When they stay in the hospital for three weeks and some change the thought might be, "I wonder what normal life is like for him now?" So I want to communicate that to you, I want you to have just a taste of what's banging around in my head.
But I also want to encourage you to put some shoes on (or even take them off) and go for a walk. Get out of your house, walk down the street, and walk back. Go alone, or go with someone else. Drive to the woods and wonder, or find a path and stick to it. But just walk. Be outside, smell the air, and take a minute away from life.
I don't want this to come off like I'm bitter about my situation. I am sometimes, but not right now. I just want to encourage you to think about the small things you might miss if you couldn't walk for ten months. Think about them, and then maybe do one of those things. Sometimes we just need reminders to take a step back and be normal.
Thanks for reading. Time for dinner, maybe I'll get a burger? That beats walking anyway.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
P.S. Turns out Nordstrom's sells single shoes for $26.00, so I'll soon have a replacement for the soon-to-be-retired Chuck.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
getting out
My last post was all about getting sick, the doctors and nurses at Vanderbilt trying to make me better, and the consequences of both that and the illness itself. I was in the hospital for a little over three weeks before I got the all clear to go home.
I should preface this by explaining my mental state throughout the hospital stay and the subsequent six weeks at home. The easiest thing to say is that I was foggy. There's a feeling you have right when you wake up from a long night's sleep: your brain can't keep up with the world, you feel almost as if you are swimming thru time instead of flowing with it, and memories have a hard time sticking. This is how I felt all the time, right up until just after mom left on March 18th.
They let me go home. But not before suggesting I spend another week in a rehab facility. They thought it would do me good to have around the clock care from medical professionals. I couldn't imagine something I would have rather done less. When the lady who brought this up to mom and me left I broke down. All I wanted to do was to be home, to not be in a hospital bed anymore. Not use a bedpan, not have to eat hospital food, not have people coming in every four hours taking my blood sugar, blood pressure, and the blood itself. So we decided that I was OK to go home, and they let me go home.
The next portion of my journey is split into the first six weeks of being home, and everything after that. During the first portion my mom took care of me, staying in my old bedroom. She changed my dressings every day, she helped me in and out of the wheelchair I had to use in order to keep my leg elevated 24/7, took me to the hospital for multiple doctor appointments, took care of my medication, fed me, cleaned up the bedside commode after use, and pretty much just waited around for me to need something. Because the infection (MRSA) was what it was I was prescribed Vancomycin. "Vanc," as the health-care folks, call it, is great and terrible all at the same time. It isn't effective as a pill, so has to be administered intravenously. The upside is that it gets right to work, the downside being that I had to have a PICC line put in my right arm. Three times a day mom would have to flush the line, hook up the medicine, wait for ninety minutes, unhook the IV, and flush it again. We did this for those first six weeks.
As I mentioned earlier, this whole time I was in a fog, like I had just woken up. Because of that I don't remember many of the details. Lots of folks visited and talked to me. My voice slowly got stronger and recovered from the surgeries. But I was surprised when Mom asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday: I thought there were still a couple of weeks to go. This wasn't the case, it was just a few days away. I started piecing together the time missed and figured that I had "lost" about two weeks of time at home. Thinking back I can't figure out if I was just unable to make new memories or if my life had become so monotonous, so much the same day after day, that time just blended together.
During those weeks that I'd forgotten I watched a lot of netflix and slept even more. I wasn't fun to be around, was unable to access my emotions, and was totally dependent on others to stay alive: for news from the world, for normality, for life itself.
But right around my birthday I started coming out of it. I remember Jess giving me a very nice wallet, I remember going to Barista Parlor and the piles of friends who showed up to make number 27 a good one. Hannah, Phillip, and Linus came over and brought me cupcakes. And that night we watched Back to the Future (I think? I'm pretty sure that was around the right time).
A couple of days later they took the PICC line out (simply by me having my arm straight and pulling: it came out quite easy for something that was a direct line to my heart), prescribed me a new antibiotic, and sent me on home.
It's a challenge for me to write about this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it was awful. I wasn't myself, was aware of it, but unable to do anything different. Secondly, my brain was so scrambled that I can't recall things in the correct sequence. Since my writing style is very stream-of-consciousness it's difficult to put things down in a way that makes sense.
That brings us to just after my birthday, March 15. Next time I'll attempt to bring us up to the present, which will be far less exciting. Only one surgery, lots of coffee shops, and that's pretty much it.
Some closing thoughts/facts:
-I had to be catheterized twice. It's no picnic when those things come out, guys.
-I was on a feeding tube for the majority of the time while hospitalized. The fed it up my nose, down my throat, and seated it in my small intestine. Taking it out: not fun either, but I felt I could breathe again which is awesome.
-By no means am I out of the woods. Not saying this to bum anyone out, it's just the truth. We're waiting to see if the infection is going to come back. I can walk on my leg, but these next couple of weeks are big. Prayers and thoughts go a long way: thank you.
-During those first six weeks I was so out of it I couldn't read. I would try, but was unable to remember or process what had happened on the page. I also bought a couple of video games on my PS3, and a pink GameBoy and Pokemon Blue off Amazon.
-I'm sure there are other things that I'm missing. I'll let you know what they are if I remember them.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
I should preface this by explaining my mental state throughout the hospital stay and the subsequent six weeks at home. The easiest thing to say is that I was foggy. There's a feeling you have right when you wake up from a long night's sleep: your brain can't keep up with the world, you feel almost as if you are swimming thru time instead of flowing with it, and memories have a hard time sticking. This is how I felt all the time, right up until just after mom left on March 18th.
They let me go home. But not before suggesting I spend another week in a rehab facility. They thought it would do me good to have around the clock care from medical professionals. I couldn't imagine something I would have rather done less. When the lady who brought this up to mom and me left I broke down. All I wanted to do was to be home, to not be in a hospital bed anymore. Not use a bedpan, not have to eat hospital food, not have people coming in every four hours taking my blood sugar, blood pressure, and the blood itself. So we decided that I was OK to go home, and they let me go home.
The next portion of my journey is split into the first six weeks of being home, and everything after that. During the first portion my mom took care of me, staying in my old bedroom. She changed my dressings every day, she helped me in and out of the wheelchair I had to use in order to keep my leg elevated 24/7, took me to the hospital for multiple doctor appointments, took care of my medication, fed me, cleaned up the bedside commode after use, and pretty much just waited around for me to need something. Because the infection (MRSA) was what it was I was prescribed Vancomycin. "Vanc," as the health-care folks, call it, is great and terrible all at the same time. It isn't effective as a pill, so has to be administered intravenously. The upside is that it gets right to work, the downside being that I had to have a PICC line put in my right arm. Three times a day mom would have to flush the line, hook up the medicine, wait for ninety minutes, unhook the IV, and flush it again. We did this for those first six weeks.
As I mentioned earlier, this whole time I was in a fog, like I had just woken up. Because of that I don't remember many of the details. Lots of folks visited and talked to me. My voice slowly got stronger and recovered from the surgeries. But I was surprised when Mom asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday: I thought there were still a couple of weeks to go. This wasn't the case, it was just a few days away. I started piecing together the time missed and figured that I had "lost" about two weeks of time at home. Thinking back I can't figure out if I was just unable to make new memories or if my life had become so monotonous, so much the same day after day, that time just blended together.
During those weeks that I'd forgotten I watched a lot of netflix and slept even more. I wasn't fun to be around, was unable to access my emotions, and was totally dependent on others to stay alive: for news from the world, for normality, for life itself.
But right around my birthday I started coming out of it. I remember Jess giving me a very nice wallet, I remember going to Barista Parlor and the piles of friends who showed up to make number 27 a good one. Hannah, Phillip, and Linus came over and brought me cupcakes. And that night we watched Back to the Future (I think? I'm pretty sure that was around the right time).
A couple of days later they took the PICC line out (simply by me having my arm straight and pulling: it came out quite easy for something that was a direct line to my heart), prescribed me a new antibiotic, and sent me on home.
It's a challenge for me to write about this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it was awful. I wasn't myself, was aware of it, but unable to do anything different. Secondly, my brain was so scrambled that I can't recall things in the correct sequence. Since my writing style is very stream-of-consciousness it's difficult to put things down in a way that makes sense.
That brings us to just after my birthday, March 15. Next time I'll attempt to bring us up to the present, which will be far less exciting. Only one surgery, lots of coffee shops, and that's pretty much it.
Some closing thoughts/facts:
-I had to be catheterized twice. It's no picnic when those things come out, guys.
-I was on a feeding tube for the majority of the time while hospitalized. The fed it up my nose, down my throat, and seated it in my small intestine. Taking it out: not fun either, but I felt I could breathe again which is awesome.
-By no means am I out of the woods. Not saying this to bum anyone out, it's just the truth. We're waiting to see if the infection is going to come back. I can walk on my leg, but these next couple of weeks are big. Prayers and thoughts go a long way: thank you.
-During those first six weeks I was so out of it I couldn't read. I would try, but was unable to remember or process what had happened on the page. I also bought a couple of video games on my PS3, and a pink GameBoy and Pokemon Blue off Amazon.
-I'm sure there are other things that I'm missing. I'll let you know what they are if I remember them.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Monday, June 16, 2014
the story so far
It's been a while since I've written anything, for a couple of reasons. It's mostly because I didn't have a computer that worked, and I'm not so 21st century that I'll blog on my phone. But also because, starting January 18th, I got sick.
A warning: I was really sick, and it was really hard for me and for those close to me. I'm trying to be as honest as possible here, which may be hard to digest. If you don't want to remember me in the hospital or remember me sick, you may want to skip this post. I'll understand: I don't want to remember those things either.
Now most of you who will read this are very aware of the situation, but some may not know the exact circumstances. Or you've heard part of the story, but not in a clear way. So I'm getting this out for that purpose, but also just to get it out. Over the past nine and a half months I've learned that there isn't one way to deal with trauma. You try something, and it might work. But it just might not work the next time, so you try something else. For me it's a "throw it up against the wall and see what sticks" sort of operation. Not fun, but it does need to get done.
Backstory-
On August 31st of last year I got hit by a car while I was on my motorcycle (1999 Honda Shadow, 750 ACE). There should be a post all about that on this blog, so if you're interested in what that experience is like you can take a look. After almost four months of healing my doctor cleared me to get rid of my crutches, and start thinking about going back to work. I joyfully complied and started hobbling around Nashville on two legs, no longer needing to use my hands to walk. I held Jess' hand while standing up and walking for the first time one Friday night as we walked to a movie. Things were really going well, looking up, showing signs of a return to normalcy.
Shortly after I ditched the crutches my leg began hurting. It started just as a dull throb, nothing really of note. I figured it was just me using a leg that hadn't been used in four months. The pain, however, continued to get worse. I went back to using my crutches because it was simply too painful to walk without them. On Sunday (the 12th of January) I nabbed an unfilled prescription for Percocet and made my way to a couple of pharmacies to get it filled. Wallgreen's and CVS were both out of the drug, but luckily Kroger had enough to get me through. The following Tuesday I went to sleep, just wanting to ignore the pain and get thru. I woke up in the middle of the night, something I hadn't done since the accident, and decided it was just too much. I went to the ER at Vanderbilt and was seen by a doctor in about thirty minutes. They took a X-ray and there was nothing special to note so they sent me home. I asked for a muscle relaxer, hoping that was what was wrong. The next day Jess and I had a dinner scheduled at Hannah and Phillip's place, something the four of us had been looking forward to for a while. To Jess' surprise I said we should go. This is when my memory starts to fade: I remember crutching up to the house, I remember sitting on the couch, I remember eating only one taco, but the things that I didn't focus on are a haze. I think we were supposed to play a game, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep for part of the evening.
The following two days I barely remember. I looked back at the texts that I sent, and half of them are a jumble of nonsense. One of those days I asked Jess to bring me food (or maybe she offered?) and she came to take care of me. I remember asking for fruit and veggies, and I remember her making me Tomato soup. My memory goes totally blank starting around that time, I don't remember from Friday on.
When I started to wake up I was going crazy. I'm not using colorful language to make a point, I'm not trying to overhype my situation. I was, by definition, going thru delirium (ICU Psychosis is another term, and terrifying thing to search on google). I first remember being in a dark room, what looked like a basement. I was shackled to what I thought was a bathtub, with a window directly in front of me. I was thirsty, my throat hurt, and I couldn't speak very well. I started forming plans in my head to get out: I needed to be out. I pleaded with my nurse to free me and transfer me to a new hospital, because in my mind I wasn't getting the correct care. This seemed to last forever. After dosing off I woke in a different room, this time it was light and just off a river. I was concerned that I was going to miss a play that I was a part of, that I was going to let every one down. I needed to get to it, and asked anyone around me to let me go because I couldn't let every one down. Let me be perfectly honest: this was the worst day of my life. I couldn't use my brain, and I was lost. Even writing about it is a challenge. I'd take getting hit by ten more cars if I never had to do that again.
After these delusions I started to really wake up. It was Saturday, a week after I'd been taken to the hospital. Jess had come over to my house a week before and I was, mentally, gone. Freaking out, she called 911 and got me to the care I needed. In a very real way she saved my life. She hates when I say it, but it's the truth and needs to be said sometimes. Once I came to my senses I found myself in a hospital room in Vanderbilt, the SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit). This was the same room I'd been in the whole time, dispite my memories of being in different places. My mom was there in the room to welcome me back to reality, and had been there since Monday. She told me my Dad was just down the hall with Sam, Melissa, and my two nephews Jake and Caden. Jess was working (I think). Mom explained everything to me: I was extraordinarily sick. During the crash I had apparently picked up MRSA, which is basically mean Staph. The MRSA hung around in my bone for a while then kicked into overdive, ending up in my blood, urine, and lungs (sepsis they call it). In response to being so ill my brain basically said "nope, no chance of us handling this. Gonna take a break and come back later, hope that things get better." The MRSA led to Necrotizing Fasciitis, which killed a large portion of the soft tissue around my ankle and some just below my knee. I had been thru five surgeries during my time away. The doctors went in and first removed the rod and bone graft that were now slammed with infection. They then would take a look at the leg, see what was dead, and cut it away (called debridement) in an attempt to save my leg. Though I had started coming out of my delirium I was far from out of the woods. My doctor explained to me the severity of my situation: they had never seen something like this, and amputation was still on the table. There was a plan to save the leg, but it would be a very long and painful road. I needed to consider what I wanted to do: get rid of the leg and be walking again in six weeks (with a prosthesis) or get a muscle and skin graft, and hope that it takes and be walking in maybe six months.
I chose to keep the leg and go the hard road, because why not? Worse case was it wouldn't work, we'd lop off the leg, and I could scare kids by taking a fake leg off when I get old. Best case I have some cool scars, an awesome limp, and maybe get to use a cane for a while. They took a muscle from my back and hooked it up to my leg, around the ankle, and moved part of my calf from the back of my leg to the side. The sliced off a layer of skin from my right thigh and grafted it over top of those two muscles. When all was done I'd been in surgery for eight or nine hours, in my ninth surgery to date. I thought it wouldn't be any harder than getting hit by a car: I was not correct in that assumption. If you're given the choice, I'd suggest picking the car.
After the surgery they had to check the bloodflow to the graft every hour for a couple of days, then every two hours, then every four, and so on. They expected me to get out of the hospital in two weeks after, but ended up letting me go at just under one. Healing is easy when you're young, and in the situation I was in you learn to be thankful for everything you can be.
In a later post I may go into what life looked like after the hospital, though right now living thru both the hospitalization and recovery is a little too much for me emotionally. But I do have one last thing to add.
I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams with the people who have, seemingly, wondered into my life and stuck around.
My family is incredible. My mom uprooted her life for two months to take care of me, and my Dad has worked his entire life to make sure that something like that was possible. My brother and sister-in-law brought their young children to Nashville to see Uncle Luke, and showed them how to handle a scary situation head on with courage. These people continually bombard me with more grace and love than you can imagine, and I am better for it.
My girlfriend Jess, having only been with me for two and a half months, practically stopped her life to hang out in a hospital with a man who wasn't there. Then she put up with one who was emotionally unavailable and sometimes even mean. Then, when mom left, she changed his dressings every day and took him to the doctor. Then, she let him start doing things for himself. All the while working full-time. She is an amazing woman, and I'd encourage you to get to know her for yourself. She works at Crema, go in and be nice to her. Order something other than a Cuban and leave a good tip.
Zach and Brad, forever linked because of similar beards. They are the type of guys you hope you get to hang out with: never thinking of themselves, and willing to do anything. Brad brought my mom coffee when she couldn't leave my side, and Zach drove me around for months and made me get out of the house.
Hannah, Phillip and Linus are a constant image of what I've wanted for years and I wouldn't want to do life without them. Hannah baked a cake for Jess and brought it to the hospital to celebrate her birthday, Phillip shows me every time what it means to be a man and also have faith, and I don't think Mom could have done what she did without seeing Linus every once in a while.
Jimmy and Daniel came and tried to pry my sick brain out of reality with games and laughter about the situation. They let me open magic cards, and showed love by just showing up. I'm thankful for their success, hope they have more, and look forward to more D&D sessions.
The folks at Crema have been encouraging ever since I got hit by that car. Asking how I'm doing, following my recovery, and supporting Jess and I as we try to figure out how two exceptionally single people can be in a relationship together. Thank you for being there, for making coffee, and for bringing it to me so I don't spill it all over your floor.
I have an incredible job (when I work) at Barista Parlor, and it wouldn't be half of what it is without the folks that work there. Andy has been one of the finest bosses I've ever worked under, it's been a joy to lead with Chelsea, Lee, Emily, and Chris, and I have grown from my relationships with fellas like Brock and Draper. Can't wait to see where we go, and glad the new guard of folks that have joined our ranks get to go with us.
My buddy Ian brought me the paper, bought me books, and sat and listened to me while I whispered my somewhat drug-induced and slightly off thoughts. I'm jealous that he's at camp now, but I wouldn't want him anywhere else: give those LDP's hell buddy.
And there are more people who were seemingly on the outside of my life who slipped in and showed care: Andrew, Jonathan, Chris and Marion, Jessica, and so many that I can't (but should) remember. I should include the parents of pretty much everyone on this list, as well as anyone those parents know.
Thank you for reading this, I hope it sheds some light on what it's like to be sick. If you know someone who is going thru something like this the only advice I have is this: just show up. Let them see your face. Everytime someone new came I felt my world expand back out a little, get a little bigger. That small room on the ninth floor of the critical care tower at Vanderbilt felt more a part of the world, and less like an isolation pod. I hope to keep writing and hopefully I can do so in a clear way that shows what life has been. Know that I don't do this for pity, or so that you'll look up to me: no need for that. I need to get it out, folks want to hear, and it's as simple as that. When you get sick you have a couple of choices: get better or don't. I wanted to get better, didn't like the idea of not being alive, so I headed that direction. It was really pretty simple for me.
Again: thank you. For reading, for being a part of my life, just for being.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
A warning: I was really sick, and it was really hard for me and for those close to me. I'm trying to be as honest as possible here, which may be hard to digest. If you don't want to remember me in the hospital or remember me sick, you may want to skip this post. I'll understand: I don't want to remember those things either.
Now most of you who will read this are very aware of the situation, but some may not know the exact circumstances. Or you've heard part of the story, but not in a clear way. So I'm getting this out for that purpose, but also just to get it out. Over the past nine and a half months I've learned that there isn't one way to deal with trauma. You try something, and it might work. But it just might not work the next time, so you try something else. For me it's a "throw it up against the wall and see what sticks" sort of operation. Not fun, but it does need to get done.
Backstory-
On August 31st of last year I got hit by a car while I was on my motorcycle (1999 Honda Shadow, 750 ACE). There should be a post all about that on this blog, so if you're interested in what that experience is like you can take a look. After almost four months of healing my doctor cleared me to get rid of my crutches, and start thinking about going back to work. I joyfully complied and started hobbling around Nashville on two legs, no longer needing to use my hands to walk. I held Jess' hand while standing up and walking for the first time one Friday night as we walked to a movie. Things were really going well, looking up, showing signs of a return to normalcy.
Shortly after I ditched the crutches my leg began hurting. It started just as a dull throb, nothing really of note. I figured it was just me using a leg that hadn't been used in four months. The pain, however, continued to get worse. I went back to using my crutches because it was simply too painful to walk without them. On Sunday (the 12th of January) I nabbed an unfilled prescription for Percocet and made my way to a couple of pharmacies to get it filled. Wallgreen's and CVS were both out of the drug, but luckily Kroger had enough to get me through. The following Tuesday I went to sleep, just wanting to ignore the pain and get thru. I woke up in the middle of the night, something I hadn't done since the accident, and decided it was just too much. I went to the ER at Vanderbilt and was seen by a doctor in about thirty minutes. They took a X-ray and there was nothing special to note so they sent me home. I asked for a muscle relaxer, hoping that was what was wrong. The next day Jess and I had a dinner scheduled at Hannah and Phillip's place, something the four of us had been looking forward to for a while. To Jess' surprise I said we should go. This is when my memory starts to fade: I remember crutching up to the house, I remember sitting on the couch, I remember eating only one taco, but the things that I didn't focus on are a haze. I think we were supposed to play a game, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep for part of the evening.
The following two days I barely remember. I looked back at the texts that I sent, and half of them are a jumble of nonsense. One of those days I asked Jess to bring me food (or maybe she offered?) and she came to take care of me. I remember asking for fruit and veggies, and I remember her making me Tomato soup. My memory goes totally blank starting around that time, I don't remember from Friday on.
When I started to wake up I was going crazy. I'm not using colorful language to make a point, I'm not trying to overhype my situation. I was, by definition, going thru delirium (ICU Psychosis is another term, and terrifying thing to search on google). I first remember being in a dark room, what looked like a basement. I was shackled to what I thought was a bathtub, with a window directly in front of me. I was thirsty, my throat hurt, and I couldn't speak very well. I started forming plans in my head to get out: I needed to be out. I pleaded with my nurse to free me and transfer me to a new hospital, because in my mind I wasn't getting the correct care. This seemed to last forever. After dosing off I woke in a different room, this time it was light and just off a river. I was concerned that I was going to miss a play that I was a part of, that I was going to let every one down. I needed to get to it, and asked anyone around me to let me go because I couldn't let every one down. Let me be perfectly honest: this was the worst day of my life. I couldn't use my brain, and I was lost. Even writing about it is a challenge. I'd take getting hit by ten more cars if I never had to do that again.
After these delusions I started to really wake up. It was Saturday, a week after I'd been taken to the hospital. Jess had come over to my house a week before and I was, mentally, gone. Freaking out, she called 911 and got me to the care I needed. In a very real way she saved my life. She hates when I say it, but it's the truth and needs to be said sometimes. Once I came to my senses I found myself in a hospital room in Vanderbilt, the SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit). This was the same room I'd been in the whole time, dispite my memories of being in different places. My mom was there in the room to welcome me back to reality, and had been there since Monday. She told me my Dad was just down the hall with Sam, Melissa, and my two nephews Jake and Caden. Jess was working (I think). Mom explained everything to me: I was extraordinarily sick. During the crash I had apparently picked up MRSA, which is basically mean Staph. The MRSA hung around in my bone for a while then kicked into overdive, ending up in my blood, urine, and lungs (sepsis they call it). In response to being so ill my brain basically said "nope, no chance of us handling this. Gonna take a break and come back later, hope that things get better." The MRSA led to Necrotizing Fasciitis, which killed a large portion of the soft tissue around my ankle and some just below my knee. I had been thru five surgeries during my time away. The doctors went in and first removed the rod and bone graft that were now slammed with infection. They then would take a look at the leg, see what was dead, and cut it away (called debridement) in an attempt to save my leg. Though I had started coming out of my delirium I was far from out of the woods. My doctor explained to me the severity of my situation: they had never seen something like this, and amputation was still on the table. There was a plan to save the leg, but it would be a very long and painful road. I needed to consider what I wanted to do: get rid of the leg and be walking again in six weeks (with a prosthesis) or get a muscle and skin graft, and hope that it takes and be walking in maybe six months.
I chose to keep the leg and go the hard road, because why not? Worse case was it wouldn't work, we'd lop off the leg, and I could scare kids by taking a fake leg off when I get old. Best case I have some cool scars, an awesome limp, and maybe get to use a cane for a while. They took a muscle from my back and hooked it up to my leg, around the ankle, and moved part of my calf from the back of my leg to the side. The sliced off a layer of skin from my right thigh and grafted it over top of those two muscles. When all was done I'd been in surgery for eight or nine hours, in my ninth surgery to date. I thought it wouldn't be any harder than getting hit by a car: I was not correct in that assumption. If you're given the choice, I'd suggest picking the car.
After the surgery they had to check the bloodflow to the graft every hour for a couple of days, then every two hours, then every four, and so on. They expected me to get out of the hospital in two weeks after, but ended up letting me go at just under one. Healing is easy when you're young, and in the situation I was in you learn to be thankful for everything you can be.
In a later post I may go into what life looked like after the hospital, though right now living thru both the hospitalization and recovery is a little too much for me emotionally. But I do have one last thing to add.
I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams with the people who have, seemingly, wondered into my life and stuck around.
My family is incredible. My mom uprooted her life for two months to take care of me, and my Dad has worked his entire life to make sure that something like that was possible. My brother and sister-in-law brought their young children to Nashville to see Uncle Luke, and showed them how to handle a scary situation head on with courage. These people continually bombard me with more grace and love than you can imagine, and I am better for it.
My girlfriend Jess, having only been with me for two and a half months, practically stopped her life to hang out in a hospital with a man who wasn't there. Then she put up with one who was emotionally unavailable and sometimes even mean. Then, when mom left, she changed his dressings every day and took him to the doctor. Then, she let him start doing things for himself. All the while working full-time. She is an amazing woman, and I'd encourage you to get to know her for yourself. She works at Crema, go in and be nice to her. Order something other than a Cuban and leave a good tip.
Zach and Brad, forever linked because of similar beards. They are the type of guys you hope you get to hang out with: never thinking of themselves, and willing to do anything. Brad brought my mom coffee when she couldn't leave my side, and Zach drove me around for months and made me get out of the house.
Hannah, Phillip and Linus are a constant image of what I've wanted for years and I wouldn't want to do life without them. Hannah baked a cake for Jess and brought it to the hospital to celebrate her birthday, Phillip shows me every time what it means to be a man and also have faith, and I don't think Mom could have done what she did without seeing Linus every once in a while.
Jimmy and Daniel came and tried to pry my sick brain out of reality with games and laughter about the situation. They let me open magic cards, and showed love by just showing up. I'm thankful for their success, hope they have more, and look forward to more D&D sessions.
The folks at Crema have been encouraging ever since I got hit by that car. Asking how I'm doing, following my recovery, and supporting Jess and I as we try to figure out how two exceptionally single people can be in a relationship together. Thank you for being there, for making coffee, and for bringing it to me so I don't spill it all over your floor.
I have an incredible job (when I work) at Barista Parlor, and it wouldn't be half of what it is without the folks that work there. Andy has been one of the finest bosses I've ever worked under, it's been a joy to lead with Chelsea, Lee, Emily, and Chris, and I have grown from my relationships with fellas like Brock and Draper. Can't wait to see where we go, and glad the new guard of folks that have joined our ranks get to go with us.
My buddy Ian brought me the paper, bought me books, and sat and listened to me while I whispered my somewhat drug-induced and slightly off thoughts. I'm jealous that he's at camp now, but I wouldn't want him anywhere else: give those LDP's hell buddy.
And there are more people who were seemingly on the outside of my life who slipped in and showed care: Andrew, Jonathan, Chris and Marion, Jessica, and so many that I can't (but should) remember. I should include the parents of pretty much everyone on this list, as well as anyone those parents know.
Thank you for reading this, I hope it sheds some light on what it's like to be sick. If you know someone who is going thru something like this the only advice I have is this: just show up. Let them see your face. Everytime someone new came I felt my world expand back out a little, get a little bigger. That small room on the ninth floor of the critical care tower at Vanderbilt felt more a part of the world, and less like an isolation pod. I hope to keep writing and hopefully I can do so in a clear way that shows what life has been. Know that I don't do this for pity, or so that you'll look up to me: no need for that. I need to get it out, folks want to hear, and it's as simple as that. When you get sick you have a couple of choices: get better or don't. I wanted to get better, didn't like the idea of not being alive, so I headed that direction. It was really pretty simple for me.
Again: thank you. For reading, for being a part of my life, just for being.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
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 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
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
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
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
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
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
@luketlancaster on twitter
lalaluke on instagram
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
guest post: smell the roses, blow out the candles
Every time someone decides to let me publish their words I get real excited. And then I don't do anything with those words for a long time. But I have some free time for the next hour or so (Rob is in Brentwood, and I don't have a key) and I thought I would write. I then remembered that Zach Erwin wrote a little something and I said that I would post it on my blog. That was a couple of weeks ago, so sorry to Zach for being such a bum.
Zach was one of my campers last year at Brookwoods. I'm proud of the man he's becoming, and I'm glad that I've had the opportunity to visit him in Louisville three or four times since camp. I don't know what else I can say by way of introduction, so I'll let his words speak for himself. If you'd like to get a hold of him let me know and I'll see what I can arrange. And if you'd like to post something (either as me or as yourself) let me know and let's make that happen.
Without further ado, here are Zach's words:
"Life, the compilation of multiple years meshed together to form lives. Each year that passes we should hold in memory, but never wish to return to that year. In Tuesday's With Morrie, a recurring theme is that it is never good to wish we were somewhere in our past, nor should we ever hope for the future to come quicker than it will.
Wishing for the past is an empty wish because if we were in the past we would never know what we had learned since then; wishing to "redo" a moment just doesn't work, because without it we would never have learned what we learned in the moment. What I'm saying is that without those moments, without those mistakes, we would never be able to be in a place where we saw that they were a mistake.
Wishing for the future to come is a wish that you will regret in the future itself. By not taking advantage of the place you are currently you are wasting your own time. If you don't look for the value in each moment you will never realize the price of that moment, that each moment holds an opportunity that you will never get back. Even now I'm sitting on the floor, bow tie and glasses on in my uncles house hours after my great aunt's funeral service; so the value of life is a little more on my mind than ever.
All around me there's a small party of talking adults -- many of which are faking there way through a conversation that they aren't interested in. Is that even practical? Is that a good way to spend life? Is typing this on an iPad a waste of my time?
I ran with Clay today, is that ok? How about chilling out with a game of Mario after a stressful day? Should one always push and press on?
The audio buzzing around me is a conglomeration of many conversations, all talking about something different: some new achievement, what they plan on doing in the future, etc. But I would bet none are talking about Christ. Why is it that so many flinch and shy away at Jesus's name? People remain civilized when they talk about Buddha and Brahman and Allah and even the ever so broad term "god," but if Jesus comes up in conversation all bets are off, lawyers called, and lawsuits filed.
What does Jesus even think of this? What does he think of how we spend our life? It's amazing that we could hear the greatest truth and walk away not talking about it. I mean come on.
John 3:16
How many eyes just rolled or people went through the verse in their mind and then toned out what they're reading now. How can we be tired of John 3:16? That's insane. "For God so loved the world" the beginning alone doesn't even make sense, much less the rest of it, "that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life."
They say that when you have a favorite book you wish you had not read it only because you want you could read it again for the first time with a freshness that only comes with the first reading, because there is something about reading text for the first time that holds your attention captive. Then there are those texts that even hold you for ransom and only desire the retribution of understanding.
So do we think we have paid our ransom to the Bible? Even more specifically to the text of John 3:16? How audacious of us to think we have understood this. If we have then to hell with the Bible; to hell with Christ even. If you think you have the Bible understood then you might as well do with it what you do with a book you are done with: sell it to half price books or give it away.
Some of you are offended by what I just said but if your body or mind had no reaction to John 3:16 then what I said is true. That immense truth claim should either evoke disgust, if you don't believe it; confusion, if you don't understand it; relief, if you believe it; or AT LEAST SOMETHING! Cause if it doesn't, then we're messed up. I'm not here to preach because my reaction is just the same -- no reaction at all. "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." All I'm saying is that our eyes have been closed to the wonder of the scriptures that we've heard over and over and over and over again, but we have got to wake up or we will sleep for the rest of our lives."
Wishing for the past is an empty wish because if we were in the past we would never know what we had learned since then; wishing to "redo" a moment just doesn't work, because without it we would never have learned what we learned in the moment. What I'm saying is that without those moments, without those mistakes, we would never be able to be in a place where we saw that they were a mistake.
Wishing for the future to come is a wish that you will regret in the future itself. By not taking advantage of the place you are currently you are wasting your own time. If you don't look for the value in each moment you will never realize the price of that moment, that each moment holds an opportunity that you will never get back. Even now I'm sitting on the floor, bow tie and glasses on in my uncles house hours after my great aunt's funeral service; so the value of life is a little more on my mind than ever.
All around me there's a small party of talking adults -- many of which are faking there way through a conversation that they aren't interested in. Is that even practical? Is that a good way to spend life? Is typing this on an iPad a waste of my time?
I ran with Clay today, is that ok? How about chilling out with a game of Mario after a stressful day? Should one always push and press on?
The audio buzzing around me is a conglomeration of many conversations, all talking about something different: some new achievement, what they plan on doing in the future, etc. But I would bet none are talking about Christ. Why is it that so many flinch and shy away at Jesus's name? People remain civilized when they talk about Buddha and Brahman and Allah and even the ever so broad term "god," but if Jesus comes up in conversation all bets are off, lawyers called, and lawsuits filed.
What does Jesus even think of this? What does he think of how we spend our life? It's amazing that we could hear the greatest truth and walk away not talking about it. I mean come on.
John 3:16
How many eyes just rolled or people went through the verse in their mind and then toned out what they're reading now. How can we be tired of John 3:16? That's insane. "For God so loved the world" the beginning alone doesn't even make sense, much less the rest of it, "that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life."
They say that when you have a favorite book you wish you had not read it only because you want you could read it again for the first time with a freshness that only comes with the first reading, because there is something about reading text for the first time that holds your attention captive. Then there are those texts that even hold you for ransom and only desire the retribution of understanding.
So do we think we have paid our ransom to the Bible? Even more specifically to the text of John 3:16? How audacious of us to think we have understood this. If we have then to hell with the Bible; to hell with Christ even. If you think you have the Bible understood then you might as well do with it what you do with a book you are done with: sell it to half price books or give it away.
Some of you are offended by what I just said but if your body or mind had no reaction to John 3:16 then what I said is true. That immense truth claim should either evoke disgust, if you don't believe it; confusion, if you don't understand it; relief, if you believe it; or AT LEAST SOMETHING! Cause if it doesn't, then we're messed up. I'm not here to preach because my reaction is just the same -- no reaction at all. "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." All I'm saying is that our eyes have been closed to the wonder of the scriptures that we've heard over and over and over and over again, but we have got to wake up or we will sleep for the rest of our lives."
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
the wonderful wonderings of mister luke
It's been far too long since I've last posted, and even longer since I've actually written about what I've been up to. Think of this as a "state of the luke address." Chances are most of you have given up trying to figure out where I am or why I'm there, and I certainly don't blame you because I have as well. I feel as if I'm as much along for the ride as anyone else is. Below I'm going to give you a little month-by-month account of my life, starting when I left Nashville and ending a couple of minutes from now.
June 2011
I left Harvest Hands and Nashville on the 11th, the day my second nephew Caden William was born. I was in Kansas City for a little under a week, and then I went to Columbus for a wedding. After the two days in Cbus (as the natives call it) I flew into Boston, and drove up to Alton, New Hampshire for camp. During June we went canoeing a couple of times, camped on an island, learned about Jesus through a guy with my name's eyes, and generally had a pretty good time.
July 2011
Spent the entire month of July at camp. More of the same, but that wasn't a bad thing. Spent the time deepening relationships with campers and co-counselors alike and learning more about leading a program than I ever had before. Saw the first part of Captain America, figured out I was in the wrong theater, then saw Harry Potter.
August 2011
First couple of weeks spent at camp. Some of the most challenging weeks of my life. Spent three days on a hike I was supposed to be on for six, wallowed about that for a while, helped my campers put on one of the most original and exciting banquets I have had the privilege of witnessing, and then left camp. Ten days in KC with the family, then a flight back up to Boston.
September 2011
Worked the first part of September in Keen, New Hampshire at a "Bivouac" program for BB&N, a private school in Boston. Lots of firsts at this camp: self-repelled down a tree, set up and tore down ropes courses, picked heirloom apples, baked a couple of giant apple pies, etc. It was a great experience, and I hope to do it again sometime in my future. After Biv I went to Boston, bussed to New York, and then rode from there down to Charleston, SC with a camp/biv counselor. Long boarded around downtown and shrimped. Flew out of Charleston to start my life again in KC.
October 2011
Started looking for work in Kansas City while living with Mom and Dad. Applied a bunch of places and eventually started back up at Subway. I found a job at PT's in Topeka, worked in their roasting plant for three days, and couldn't bring myself to move to "Top City." Told them, got another offer to work for Parisi Coffee in their roasting facility (great location), but didn't feel happy in KC so I turned that down as well. Visited Boston at the end of the month. Played through Assassin's Creed: Revelations
November 2011
Continued work at Subway. Thanksgiving with family, more time with nephews. They're the cutest, don't even argue with me about it. Played through all the Uncharted games, while mom watched.
December 2011
Christmastime with family, more working at Subway. Switched my phone service from T-Mobile to Sprint and got a new iphone. Continued the process of thinking about moving. Loved being home for the holidays. New Years Eve at the Saucer with Melissa, Neal, and Sam (for a bit).
January 2012
Worked at Subway until late in the month. Bought my first car (2000 VW Jetta TDI, diesel) and got that squared away. Moved to Columbus, OH after an awesome geocaching roadtrip with Dad.
February 2012
Got a job at Northstar Cafe in Columbus, and an offer for another at a Chase bank. Went out for a lot of coffee with Chris during the beginning of the month.
March 2012
More work at Northstar, roadtrip with Chris to New York. I continued on through CT up to Boston seeing friends and going to National Parks. Another trip to Nashville to visit friends and gloat about Kansas doing so well to the Kentucky fans down here.
April 2012
Another trip to Nashville for Easter/to finalize work for the summer. An unexpected trip to KC for my Grandma Lucille's funeral, and a visit from Mom and Dad in Columbus. Quit Northstar on great terms, packed up the car, and moved to Nashville. Working at Harvest Hands for the summer while trying to get a research job at Vanderbilt.
That brings us to May 2012, but as it isn't finished I thought I would leave that for another time.
I hope you enjoyed being caught up on my past year, at least as much as I have enjoyed living it.
Next week I'll be posting a piece that one of my campers from last year wrote, so look forward to that. I have shut my facebook down, so if you enjoy any of my posts please feel free to share them with anyone in any way that you'd like. I'll be writing soon about why I did that, but I felt like this might lay the groundwork for that. And that nobody knows what's going on in my life and that some folks may like to know.
Oh, and I have a new fascination with sending postcards. Shoot me your address in an e-mail and the next time I'm on an adventure (let's be honest, it'll be soon) I'll drop one in the mail for you.
luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
June 2011
I left Harvest Hands and Nashville on the 11th, the day my second nephew Caden William was born. I was in Kansas City for a little under a week, and then I went to Columbus for a wedding. After the two days in Cbus (as the natives call it) I flew into Boston, and drove up to Alton, New Hampshire for camp. During June we went canoeing a couple of times, camped on an island, learned about Jesus through a guy with my name's eyes, and generally had a pretty good time.
July 2011
Spent the entire month of July at camp. More of the same, but that wasn't a bad thing. Spent the time deepening relationships with campers and co-counselors alike and learning more about leading a program than I ever had before. Saw the first part of Captain America, figured out I was in the wrong theater, then saw Harry Potter.
August 2011
First couple of weeks spent at camp. Some of the most challenging weeks of my life. Spent three days on a hike I was supposed to be on for six, wallowed about that for a while, helped my campers put on one of the most original and exciting banquets I have had the privilege of witnessing, and then left camp. Ten days in KC with the family, then a flight back up to Boston.
September 2011
Worked the first part of September in Keen, New Hampshire at a "Bivouac" program for BB&N, a private school in Boston. Lots of firsts at this camp: self-repelled down a tree, set up and tore down ropes courses, picked heirloom apples, baked a couple of giant apple pies, etc. It was a great experience, and I hope to do it again sometime in my future. After Biv I went to Boston, bussed to New York, and then rode from there down to Charleston, SC with a camp/biv counselor. Long boarded around downtown and shrimped. Flew out of Charleston to start my life again in KC.
October 2011
Started looking for work in Kansas City while living with Mom and Dad. Applied a bunch of places and eventually started back up at Subway. I found a job at PT's in Topeka, worked in their roasting plant for three days, and couldn't bring myself to move to "Top City." Told them, got another offer to work for Parisi Coffee in their roasting facility (great location), but didn't feel happy in KC so I turned that down as well. Visited Boston at the end of the month. Played through Assassin's Creed: Revelations
November 2011
Continued work at Subway. Thanksgiving with family, more time with nephews. They're the cutest, don't even argue with me about it. Played through all the Uncharted games, while mom watched.
December 2011
Christmastime with family, more working at Subway. Switched my phone service from T-Mobile to Sprint and got a new iphone. Continued the process of thinking about moving. Loved being home for the holidays. New Years Eve at the Saucer with Melissa, Neal, and Sam (for a bit).
January 2012
Worked at Subway until late in the month. Bought my first car (2000 VW Jetta TDI, diesel) and got that squared away. Moved to Columbus, OH after an awesome geocaching roadtrip with Dad.
February 2012
Got a job at Northstar Cafe in Columbus, and an offer for another at a Chase bank. Went out for a lot of coffee with Chris during the beginning of the month.
March 2012
More work at Northstar, roadtrip with Chris to New York. I continued on through CT up to Boston seeing friends and going to National Parks. Another trip to Nashville to visit friends and gloat about Kansas doing so well to the Kentucky fans down here.
April 2012
Another trip to Nashville for Easter/to finalize work for the summer. An unexpected trip to KC for my Grandma Lucille's funeral, and a visit from Mom and Dad in Columbus. Quit Northstar on great terms, packed up the car, and moved to Nashville. Working at Harvest Hands for the summer while trying to get a research job at Vanderbilt.
That brings us to May 2012, but as it isn't finished I thought I would leave that for another time.
I hope you enjoyed being caught up on my past year, at least as much as I have enjoyed living it.
Next week I'll be posting a piece that one of my campers from last year wrote, so look forward to that. I have shut my facebook down, so if you enjoy any of my posts please feel free to share them with anyone in any way that you'd like. I'll be writing soon about why I did that, but I felt like this might lay the groundwork for that. And that nobody knows what's going on in my life and that some folks may like to know.
Oh, and I have a new fascination with sending postcards. Shoot me your address in an e-mail and the next time I'm on an adventure (let's be honest, it'll be soon) I'll drop one in the mail for you.
luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
how to: dish like a pro
I started reading "East of Eden" by John Steinbeck the other day (a couple of weeks ago, but "the other day" rolls off the tongue a little nicer). My copy was purchased from a used book store here in Columbus for $3.50, which makes me think the we should all be buying used books from used book stores. But that is a discussion for another day and another post. I bring up "East of Eden" because in it one brother is writing to another, and begins with: "Dear Brother Adam, I take my pen in hand to hope you are in good health" Steinbeck continues "he always started this way to ease himself gently into the task of writing."I feel that I need some phrase to ease myself into the task of blogging, because it always seems I use a paragraph to do it.
This week I hope you'll learn something. I have been working at Northstar for about two months now and wanted to pass of some of the handy tricks I have learned while busing tables. If you have any serving experience I'm sure this will be old hat, but I thought it might be fun to anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of picking up after other peoples kids.
First: let's start of with the glasses. Northstar is a classy joint (the owners would shudder if they heard me describe their restaurant like that) where we don't have customers: we have guests. Because of this we only stack things two high, and pint glasses don't get stacked at all. When you get to the table you'll need to assess how many items you'll be able to carry. Don't worry if it seems overwhelming, you'll get it down quickly enough.
Ok. Step one in carrying glasses. Put on in between your thumb and index finger and grip. Like this:
Great! Now you'll add another glass, taken care of by your other fingers (middle, ring, pinky in case you forgot which ones you had left).
As you can see, the glass is being gripped in between the pinky and index, while being supported by the middle and ring fingers. If your grip is sure enough you'll be able to hold the glasses upside down without any problem. Don't do this at work though, the partners will get a little cross. On to the next glass!
This one is a little tricky. Balance the third glass in your palm, resting it against the first two if need be. Don't try the upside down trick now. Glasses are expensive.
Now on to plates. You can hold up to six at a time like this, but I'm going to show you three. I've been doing it all day, so I thought I'd take a break.
Place the plate in between your thumb and pinky finger, supporting it with your index, middle, and ring fingers. Easy peasy.
The next plate goes under the first, with your middle finger under it and your index and ring fingers above it. These three fingers act like a kind of vice to keep the plate steady.
Balance the third plate on the platform created by your forearm and palm, above the first plate. If you double up each plate you can get six without too much of a problem. You should also be able to carry plates full of food like this pretty easily, give it a try!
Bonus:
Mix it up! Try to carry a combination of plates and glasses! See what you can accomplish!
----
I realize that this is all a bit silly. But during my orientation at Northstar I (for some reason I've not forgotten) brought up an idea: the idea that everybody is looking to grow and develop, to become more than they are, to learn. Kevin, the owner, said that he simply didn't believe that was true. And while it may not be his point still made me sad. I have a desire in me to learn, to master things. To be better tomorrow than I am today. And I hope that you have the same drive in you. I don't know if you have learned anything today, but I hope that by reading this you are a bit more developed. A bit more knowledgeable. A bit more ready to serve even.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
This week I hope you'll learn something. I have been working at Northstar for about two months now and wanted to pass of some of the handy tricks I have learned while busing tables. If you have any serving experience I'm sure this will be old hat, but I thought it might be fun to anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of picking up after other peoples kids.
First: let's start of with the glasses. Northstar is a classy joint (the owners would shudder if they heard me describe their restaurant like that) where we don't have customers: we have guests. Because of this we only stack things two high, and pint glasses don't get stacked at all. When you get to the table you'll need to assess how many items you'll be able to carry. Don't worry if it seems overwhelming, you'll get it down quickly enough.
Ok. Step one in carrying glasses. Put on in between your thumb and index finger and grip. Like this:
Great! Now you'll add another glass, taken care of by your other fingers (middle, ring, pinky in case you forgot which ones you had left).
As you can see, the glass is being gripped in between the pinky and index, while being supported by the middle and ring fingers. If your grip is sure enough you'll be able to hold the glasses upside down without any problem. Don't do this at work though, the partners will get a little cross. On to the next glass!
This one is a little tricky. Balance the third glass in your palm, resting it against the first two if need be. Don't try the upside down trick now. Glasses are expensive.
Now on to plates. You can hold up to six at a time like this, but I'm going to show you three. I've been doing it all day, so I thought I'd take a break.
Place the plate in between your thumb and pinky finger, supporting it with your index, middle, and ring fingers. Easy peasy.
The next plate goes under the first, with your middle finger under it and your index and ring fingers above it. These three fingers act like a kind of vice to keep the plate steady.
Balance the third plate on the platform created by your forearm and palm, above the first plate. If you double up each plate you can get six without too much of a problem. You should also be able to carry plates full of food like this pretty easily, give it a try!
Bonus:
Mix it up! Try to carry a combination of plates and glasses! See what you can accomplish!
----
I realize that this is all a bit silly. But during my orientation at Northstar I (for some reason I've not forgotten) brought up an idea: the idea that everybody is looking to grow and develop, to become more than they are, to learn. Kevin, the owner, said that he simply didn't believe that was true. And while it may not be his point still made me sad. I have a desire in me to learn, to master things. To be better tomorrow than I am today. And I hope that you have the same drive in you. I don't know if you have learned anything today, but I hope that by reading this you are a bit more developed. A bit more knowledgeable. A bit more ready to serve even.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Monday, March 19, 2012
the grass is always greener
I was thinking about this statement the other day. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I asked a friend, Laura, what she thought of it and she gave the answer that most of us probably would:
In the classical, romantic sense we have a tendency to idealize what we don't have. "If I just move, get another job, date someone prettier/more like me/less like me, THEN I'll be happy." I think there's truth to thinking about the statement like this. We have desires placed inside of us that we seem unable to satiate, no matter how hard we try. We find that our life situation isn't making us happy, so we seek to change it. We look for greener pastures, for wells that haven't run dry, or for easier living. Everyone, at some time, has thought about a change. But it also seems to be true that everyone has, at another time, cursed change when it comes without being invited.
That's neither here nor there, back to the point I'm wondering to.
I work at a restaurant called Northsar Cafe. Northstar was an early-comer the organic food craze, and because of this and their continued commitment to serving food that is good and good for you they've been successful. I was given a book called "The Omnivores Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals" during my orientation to the company. I, somewhat begrudgingly, started to read. Four days later I put it down and was a little more informed and opinionated about what constitutes "food" and what "food" I want to put in my body. I bring this book up because in one section the author, Michael Pollan, visits Polyface Farm. The farmer, Joel Salatin, practices a somewhat complex system of crop and animal rotation with the goal of a "closed loop" farm system. This means that the soil is naturally replenished, the animals are fed with what we cannot eat, and the crops are planted and farmed in a sustainable fashion. For a self-professed intellectual this fascinated me.
I bring up Joel's farm because after reading about it I started thinking of this cliche in a much more pastoral sense. When looking through the worldview of farmer Joel, the grass is always greener on the other side. The grass is always greener simply because the animals are not there. Where the animals are the grass has been eaten, processed, and pooped out. Where there aren't it, the grass, is lush and ready to have that whole process done to it. This is all a part of the plan of this farm: turning solar energy in to caloric energy that we can process.
So what if Jesus is the good shepherd, as He claims to be? Isn't there the chance that the grass is greener on the other side? That He is preparing these green pastures for you, and for me? And that by holding onto anachronisms all we are saying is that we don't trust, don't have faith?
I understand the need for being stationary, but I also feel this desire in me for movement. For travel. For being someplace new and exciting. Someday I may "settle down." But I choose to believe that not only the grass is greener on the other side, but that it's greener because the good shepherd is preparing it for me. And you.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
In the classical, romantic sense we have a tendency to idealize what we don't have. "If I just move, get another job, date someone prettier/more like me/less like me, THEN I'll be happy." I think there's truth to thinking about the statement like this. We have desires placed inside of us that we seem unable to satiate, no matter how hard we try. We find that our life situation isn't making us happy, so we seek to change it. We look for greener pastures, for wells that haven't run dry, or for easier living. Everyone, at some time, has thought about a change. But it also seems to be true that everyone has, at another time, cursed change when it comes without being invited.
That's neither here nor there, back to the point I'm wondering to.
I work at a restaurant called Northsar Cafe. Northstar was an early-comer the organic food craze, and because of this and their continued commitment to serving food that is good and good for you they've been successful. I was given a book called "The Omnivores Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals" during my orientation to the company. I, somewhat begrudgingly, started to read. Four days later I put it down and was a little more informed and opinionated about what constitutes "food" and what "food" I want to put in my body. I bring this book up because in one section the author, Michael Pollan, visits Polyface Farm. The farmer, Joel Salatin, practices a somewhat complex system of crop and animal rotation with the goal of a "closed loop" farm system. This means that the soil is naturally replenished, the animals are fed with what we cannot eat, and the crops are planted and farmed in a sustainable fashion. For a self-professed intellectual this fascinated me.
I bring up Joel's farm because after reading about it I started thinking of this cliche in a much more pastoral sense. When looking through the worldview of farmer Joel, the grass is always greener on the other side. The grass is always greener simply because the animals are not there. Where the animals are the grass has been eaten, processed, and pooped out. Where there aren't it, the grass, is lush and ready to have that whole process done to it. This is all a part of the plan of this farm: turning solar energy in to caloric energy that we can process.
So what if Jesus is the good shepherd, as He claims to be? Isn't there the chance that the grass is greener on the other side? That He is preparing these green pastures for you, and for me? And that by holding onto anachronisms all we are saying is that we don't trust, don't have faith?
I understand the need for being stationary, but I also feel this desire in me for movement. For travel. For being someplace new and exciting. Someday I may "settle down." But I choose to believe that not only the grass is greener on the other side, but that it's greener because the good shepherd is preparing it for me. And you.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
instablog
The other night Jessica and I were hanging out and instagram came up. I mentioned to her that the reason why I like instagram is because it looks like what I want my social media experience to look like. If I were to have a "do-over" with facebook I'm sure that it would look a little different for me, which is to say that certain people wouldn't show up so much on my homepage. I like instagram so much because I'm so selective about who I follow. I do this because I don't need to see how much one person loves another person every day. I'm glad, but that's just not something that needs to go into my head, because it makes me feel lonely. That, I'm sure, says more about me than you.
But why bring up instagram at all? Well lately I've been wanting to take a picture, throw a "retro" filter on it, and write a witty caption. But I find myself not interested in doing that. For example: this evening the moon was out, and it was making a statement. It wanted to be felt. It was a pale blue, larger than you could believe, and was forcing itself onto the coming evening.
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But who's words? If you are looking at a picture I took, are they my thousand or yours? Or perhaps someone else? Or maybe five hundred of mine, five hundred of yours. I think that if you are looking at my picture you are thinking all your own words. You're thinking about how pretty it is, how hungry it makes you, how much you want some pie, about why I took that picture of myself, et cetera. But you are thinking your words.
I wanted to take that picture of the moon because it was making me feel things, and I wanted to communicate those feelings. And I didn't take the picture of the moon because no instagram photo, facebook status, tweet, letter, phone call, or text could convey the moment. Nothing short of being there with me could do that. I wanted to share that moment in it's entirety with someone and I don't think there's any other way to do that other than being present. I don't think that there will ever be a way to share the kinds of feelings you experience in a moment through radio waves, phone lines, or the internet.
While I was thinking about this I was trying to come up with a conclusion, because that's what I've been taught to do. And I couldn't really think of one. I wanna be with someone? Well, yeah, but that's already known by anyone who: 1. Knows me, and: 2. Is a person who also wants to be with someone. A post on the evils of technology and their inability to communicate the human experience? I suppose that's what it's turned into, but I didn't want it to feel like that.
So I don't know how to conclude this. Enjoy other people? If you get the chance to look at the moon, do it? Don't get your feelings hurt if I don't follow you on some form of social media? Yeah, I think those work.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
But why bring up instagram at all? Well lately I've been wanting to take a picture, throw a "retro" filter on it, and write a witty caption. But I find myself not interested in doing that. For example: this evening the moon was out, and it was making a statement. It wanted to be felt. It was a pale blue, larger than you could believe, and was forcing itself onto the coming evening.
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But who's words? If you are looking at a picture I took, are they my thousand or yours? Or perhaps someone else? Or maybe five hundred of mine, five hundred of yours. I think that if you are looking at my picture you are thinking all your own words. You're thinking about how pretty it is, how hungry it makes you, how much you want some pie, about why I took that picture of myself, et cetera. But you are thinking your words.
I wanted to take that picture of the moon because it was making me feel things, and I wanted to communicate those feelings. And I didn't take the picture of the moon because no instagram photo, facebook status, tweet, letter, phone call, or text could convey the moment. Nothing short of being there with me could do that. I wanted to share that moment in it's entirety with someone and I don't think there's any other way to do that other than being present. I don't think that there will ever be a way to share the kinds of feelings you experience in a moment through radio waves, phone lines, or the internet.
While I was thinking about this I was trying to come up with a conclusion, because that's what I've been taught to do. And I couldn't really think of one. I wanna be with someone? Well, yeah, but that's already known by anyone who: 1. Knows me, and: 2. Is a person who also wants to be with someone. A post on the evils of technology and their inability to communicate the human experience? I suppose that's what it's turned into, but I didn't want it to feel like that.
So I don't know how to conclude this. Enjoy other people? If you get the chance to look at the moon, do it? Don't get your feelings hurt if I don't follow you on some form of social media? Yeah, I think those work.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
how to: get a job
That's the question: how to get a job. With the national unemployment reading 32%, or something, more and more people are looking for work. And with the average friend of mine just graduating from college more and more of those people are looking for work as well. I hope this will be not only an informative, but a helpful post as well.
First off: my credentials. I've held down five jobs in the last year and been offered four more on top of those. Now a couple of those jobs have been seasonal, but I received w-2's for them so I believe they count. I have also filled out applications and polished my resume more times than I care to count for positions I didn't get or get offered. So know that when I write this it is out of the vast experience I have had over the past couple of years.
Things you will need:
1. Thick skin. You're probably going to get rejected. This won't look like someone saying "no" to you. It'll probably look more like someone ignoring that you even turned your resume in. It's alright, rejection is the spice of life. Or the crappy side that comes with the meal. One of those.
2. A computer. It's 2012, probably shouldn't even mention this since this is on a blog on the internet, but I want to be thorough.
3. An extra resume or completed application.
4. A moleskine journal and uniball vision elite ultra fine line pen. Or your version of these things, but these are the best.
5. Some kind of experience. Life will usually do.
So what do you do with these things?
Well, you need to find a job that you are somewhat qualified for. And by this I mean that you have enough "give" in your experience to make it sound like you should be hired. "I started a coffee roasting company" sounds a lot better than "I bunged around a new business for a year with my psychology degree and eventually figured it out." You are qualified for any job, just be creative with your experience. Don't lie...color.
Once you've found that job, apply to it. This is where the extra application comes in handy. If you have to fill it out from scratch every time it'll take forever. But if you have the extra it's a simple copy/paste job. Easy and not nearly as frustrating as it could have been, right?
After you have turned the application or your resume in wait a day. Then pull out the big guns. Common wisdom would say that you need to call them. But, again, this is 2012. If you're dealing with someone who is anywhere close to your age shoot them an e-mail with an abbreviated version of your cover letter. Flatter them, just a little. "Your coffee-shop is my favorite place to go," "you research piqued my interest," "I don't often eat sandwiches, but when I do I eat subway." You get the picture. I say e-mail them because it's less threatening, but also because I get super nervous when I call people on the phone. One day I'll grow out of it, promise.
After this you're sure to get an interview. I only have one tip for interviewing, besides "being yourself" and all that. The killer app for interviewing is to, at some point, say:
"I really think that the important thing to focus on is the details. If you make sure that you get those done with excellence, than the big stuff will follow."
You should also probably believe this, because that will go a long way, but I don't know if that's totally necessary. This is probably a line that works best with your standard entry-level position. If you're applying for a CEO position I don't know if that'd help. But do send me an e-mail, I know a guy who's detail oriented.
After following these tips you are going to be inundated with offers and you'll have your pick of the litter.
One word of encouragement: keep at it. Looking for jobs sucks, is "the worst." I've been there. You aren't alone. Life does go on, and eventually we'll all find something. That's the hope I have, and the faith I have about it as well.
Thanks for reading.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
First off: my credentials. I've held down five jobs in the last year and been offered four more on top of those. Now a couple of those jobs have been seasonal, but I received w-2's for them so I believe they count. I have also filled out applications and polished my resume more times than I care to count for positions I didn't get or get offered. So know that when I write this it is out of the vast experience I have had over the past couple of years.
Things you will need:
1. Thick skin. You're probably going to get rejected. This won't look like someone saying "no" to you. It'll probably look more like someone ignoring that you even turned your resume in. It's alright, rejection is the spice of life. Or the crappy side that comes with the meal. One of those.
2. A computer. It's 2012, probably shouldn't even mention this since this is on a blog on the internet, but I want to be thorough.
3. An extra resume or completed application.
4. A moleskine journal and uniball vision elite ultra fine line pen. Or your version of these things, but these are the best.
5. Some kind of experience. Life will usually do.
So what do you do with these things?
Well, you need to find a job that you are somewhat qualified for. And by this I mean that you have enough "give" in your experience to make it sound like you should be hired. "I started a coffee roasting company" sounds a lot better than "I bunged around a new business for a year with my psychology degree and eventually figured it out." You are qualified for any job, just be creative with your experience. Don't lie...color.
Once you've found that job, apply to it. This is where the extra application comes in handy. If you have to fill it out from scratch every time it'll take forever. But if you have the extra it's a simple copy/paste job. Easy and not nearly as frustrating as it could have been, right?
After you have turned the application or your resume in wait a day. Then pull out the big guns. Common wisdom would say that you need to call them. But, again, this is 2012. If you're dealing with someone who is anywhere close to your age shoot them an e-mail with an abbreviated version of your cover letter. Flatter them, just a little. "Your coffee-shop is my favorite place to go," "you research piqued my interest," "I don't often eat sandwiches, but when I do I eat subway." You get the picture. I say e-mail them because it's less threatening, but also because I get super nervous when I call people on the phone. One day I'll grow out of it, promise.
After this you're sure to get an interview. I only have one tip for interviewing, besides "being yourself" and all that. The killer app for interviewing is to, at some point, say:
"I really think that the important thing to focus on is the details. If you make sure that you get those done with excellence, than the big stuff will follow."
You should also probably believe this, because that will go a long way, but I don't know if that's totally necessary. This is probably a line that works best with your standard entry-level position. If you're applying for a CEO position I don't know if that'd help. But do send me an e-mail, I know a guy who's detail oriented.
After following these tips you are going to be inundated with offers and you'll have your pick of the litter.
One word of encouragement: keep at it. Looking for jobs sucks, is "the worst." I've been there. You aren't alone. Life does go on, and eventually we'll all find something. That's the hope I have, and the faith I have about it as well.
Thanks for reading.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Monday, January 30, 2012
Jan 30
I want the lord to move within me but I don't know how to let him
My spirit is more akin to mud than water my blood flows thick and slow
I desire holiness and act in sin
I want to want the presence of god because that's what I'm supposed to do
I've been taught to say the right things to hide my true self and so encourage people
I'm terrified that no one feels the way I feel
I'm scared of being alone
I want a companion, I wish that companion could be god but want flesh
I want clarity but all I know is opacity
My life is closed off to all but me
If god knows my innermost thoughts than I fear he's left me
I've never been fully convinced of the reality of god
I've always wanted to live a life of faith
I want community true and deep
My spirit is more akin to mud than water my blood flows thick and slow
I desire holiness and act in sin
I want to want the presence of god because that's what I'm supposed to do
I've been taught to say the right things to hide my true self and so encourage people
I'm terrified that no one feels the way I feel
I'm scared of being alone
I want a companion, I wish that companion could be god but want flesh
I want clarity but all I know is opacity
My life is closed off to all but me
If god knows my innermost thoughts than I fear he's left me
I've never been fully convinced of the reality of god
I've always wanted to live a life of faith
I want community true and deep
Thursday, January 19, 2012
luke being luke
I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm an introspective person. I like to think. Think about me, think about you, think about work, think about relationships, think about the future, think about the past, even think about thinking. I also like to think that I'm a pretty observant person. Maybe not about the things around me, but at least about the people around me. And one thing I've noticed, about myself, is that I don't seem to be the type of person that people see and want to strike a conversation up with. I'm the guy who people sit by last on the plane when all the other seats are filled. It takes about fifteen visits to a place for me to be recognized. I blend in.
The best example I have about this is Gabby's, one of my favorite places in Nashville. I went to Gabby's (at least) once a week for, probably, a year and a half. And it took a solid month and a half for the employees to take notice, to start conversing with me. Now, if I go back, they celebrate like the prodigal son is returning. What a good feeling.
I think this is part of the reason why I haven't found any places, haunts, in Kansas City. It just takes so damn long for me. And I'm tired. I'm tired of having to conintually throw myself out there, tired of not being the guy who gets noticed right off the bat.
But at the same time I know this is who I am. I know that once someone gets to know me chances are they'll like me. And I know that I'll like them, too. I know that after a month and a half I'll have a great relationship with that coffee shop, restaurant, church even. And I know that I need to continue to be myself, and part of who that is is the guy who keeps plugging along. Who keeps going into the same burger joint ordering the same thing with the hope that I'll become a regular. And you know what? It'll happen.
Now I'd like to give you two assignments. I know that, on average, I get fourty-five views per post. So there should be about that many people doing this. I promise it won't take long.
1. Think about yourself. What kind of person are you? And are you being yourself? Are you happy with that, or would you rather be something or someone else?
Now the second assignment is more in jest. I would like a laugh, and need for you to help me. If you have read this far please respond: just post (or e-mail/facebook message/text me) your answer.
2. I think that one way you can find out something about yourself is by taking your last name (in my case it's Lancaster, FYI), adding "the" before it, and "special" after. "The Lancaster Special." What do you think of when you think of that:
The Lancaster Special:
A sandwich with at least two different types of meat, bbq sauce and spicy mustard, pepperjack and provelone cheeses, tomatoes and pickles. Grilled or toasted.
That's what I think of. So how about you? What do you think of? Please, in the name of science and good-natured humor, respond.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
The best example I have about this is Gabby's, one of my favorite places in Nashville. I went to Gabby's (at least) once a week for, probably, a year and a half. And it took a solid month and a half for the employees to take notice, to start conversing with me. Now, if I go back, they celebrate like the prodigal son is returning. What a good feeling.
I think this is part of the reason why I haven't found any places, haunts, in Kansas City. It just takes so damn long for me. And I'm tired. I'm tired of having to conintually throw myself out there, tired of not being the guy who gets noticed right off the bat.
But at the same time I know this is who I am. I know that once someone gets to know me chances are they'll like me. And I know that I'll like them, too. I know that after a month and a half I'll have a great relationship with that coffee shop, restaurant, church even. And I know that I need to continue to be myself, and part of who that is is the guy who keeps plugging along. Who keeps going into the same burger joint ordering the same thing with the hope that I'll become a regular. And you know what? It'll happen.
Now I'd like to give you two assignments. I know that, on average, I get fourty-five views per post. So there should be about that many people doing this. I promise it won't take long.
1. Think about yourself. What kind of person are you? And are you being yourself? Are you happy with that, or would you rather be something or someone else?
Now the second assignment is more in jest. I would like a laugh, and need for you to help me. If you have read this far please respond: just post (or e-mail/facebook message/text me) your answer.
2. I think that one way you can find out something about yourself is by taking your last name (in my case it's Lancaster, FYI), adding "the" before it, and "special" after. "The Lancaster Special." What do you think of when you think of that:
The Lancaster Special:
A sandwich with at least two different types of meat, bbq sauce and spicy mustard, pepperjack and provelone cheeses, tomatoes and pickles. Grilled or toasted.
That's what I think of. So how about you? What do you think of? Please, in the name of science and good-natured humor, respond.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Sunday, January 15, 2012
something different
Just a little change of paste this time around. Let me know what you think.
Yesterday morning I woke up early. Real early. I'm talking "some people are just getting to bed early". Why don't I just specify a time? Good Question. It was 4:10. I decided I'd go for a ride through town and just see what makes this town tick. It was cold out so I grabbed a jacket and gloves, and then revved up the motorcycle for an evening stroll. And this my friends, was the beginning of a very strange night.
The road, as expected, was empty. Fast food wrappers drifted about on the sidewalks as a brisk wind had taken hold. And yet it struck me as odd how an empty road in the cold suburbs of Kansas City could be so nostalgic. There was no good reason for this nostalgia, and today I have tried to make sense of the feeling but to no avail. Looking back, it was as if I knew something was going to happen. Something amazing I wouldn't soon forget. I pulled up to a park I once frequented and dismounted the hopefully-soon-to-be-sold bike (any takers?). The park has lights along the fringes illuminating a walkway through the grass. I was severely unprepared for the cold, and was shivering intensely, yet decided to keep walking (the temperature drops at night? who knew!). About a quarter way down the walkway toward the other end of the park, I saw a man by one of the far lampposts. He was also cold. Rubbing his hands together furiously, tapping his right foot, the man was more prepared than me, with a winter hat and neck warmer to show for it, yet as I came closer to him, it was clear he was waiting for somebody. And when I could see the whites of his eyes, it was clear that somebody was me.
"Luke?" he asked. He knew I was Luke, but asked anyway, maybe he's not great with names.
"Yes? Do I know you?"
He pulled his neck warmer down from his mouth, as if expecting me to say "Oh, of course, the aerobics instructor!", but instead I just waited for further, preferable verbal, explanation.
"Nothing? You don't recognize me at all?"
"I'm usually so good with faces too, I'm really sorry."
"Well, I'm not gonna bail you out so easy, you're gonnna have to figure it out. Follow me."
We walked down the rest of the walkway, quiet. And as you might expect I was pretty nervous. How did he know who I was? How did he know I would be here? Could this guy be dangerous? I began to assume I was mixed up in some North by Northwest scenario.
"You know Luke, I didn't think you were gonna show up there for a second. And I didn't know how many more nights I would wait for you."
"Excuse me". (I tried to say this as composed as possible, but inside I was saying, "Who would win a fight, me or this old guy" He looked to be about 50).
"Well Kansas City winters aren't the easiest, and at my age the joints act up after a while in the cold"
At first I smiled because I began to think I was caught in some sort of Aleve commercial, but then I thought "I wonder if I could beat him back to my motorcycle".
"Well you probably could Luke, I'm not that fast a guy, and these shoes offer anything but traction." For the first time I noticed he was wearing slippers.
"Excuse Me?"
"You wondered if you were faster than me, I was just saying you probably are".
At this point there was no turning back, because as my Aunt Sally once told me "Once they start reading your mind, you're pretty much roped in'.
"Well, here we go Luke"
The man then unlocked the door to a business of some sort, and said, "After you".
I entered, because at this point, I figured I was dead no matter what happened, might as well have fun with it.
There were two cups of coffee on a table waiting for us, one had a note that said, 'Just how Luke Likes it". And it was. (If you want to know how to prepare coffee "Just how Luke likes it" call me).
"Luke, have you figured it out yet?"
"No sir, I haven't"
'Well, I guess some people were just born dumb."
(silence)
He looked up from his coffee for a second then said, "That joke sure didn't land. You know, sometimes I think it'd be better if I just didn't joke at all, but heck, i wouldn't get to see that look on your face would I?"
I did indeed have a peculiar look on my face, and I think its because it had just hit me that I had just followed a stranger into a building at 4:45 AM and was now drinking a mysterious cup of coffee he had provided. If this wasn't a picture perfect kidnapping scheme then I don't know what is. And to think I had finally made it out of the possible-kindapping-vicitim age. I guessed all I could do now was wait for the drugs to kick in.
He let out a low melodious chuckle, "Luke, its not spiked. If we were going to spike your coffee, don't you think we wouldn't have gone through the trouble of using a fresh Colombian roast?'
I was now wondering who the "we" was, but then remembered that he could indeed read my thoughts so I quickly tried to think of nothing.
"It's just the guys and me Luke, and of course I can see your thoughts. What are thoughts anyway, but words were to afraid to utter".
He stood up and started to put on his coat.
"Well I guess I shouldn't expect you to remember after all these years. But man did we hang out a lot back then Luke. And me, you, and the guys did whatever we wanted. We had all the time in the world to hang out, well, nearly."
He started to make for the door.
"Wait, was the point of this? What's going on? And most importantly, who the heck are you?"
A nice combination of confused and offended, the man said, "What? A couple of old friends can't have cup of coffee together?" He smiled and opened the door. "Don't let it be this long before I see you again Luke." Then he winked and walked out, whistling as he walked down the road.
And as for me, my motorcycle was right outside the door on the curb. I got on and rode home, dazed but content, confused but at peace.
Merry (late) Christmas Everyone.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Yesterday morning I woke up early. Real early. I'm talking "some people are just getting to bed early". Why don't I just specify a time? Good Question. It was 4:10. I decided I'd go for a ride through town and just see what makes this town tick. It was cold out so I grabbed a jacket and gloves, and then revved up the motorcycle for an evening stroll. And this my friends, was the beginning of a very strange night.
The road, as expected, was empty. Fast food wrappers drifted about on the sidewalks as a brisk wind had taken hold. And yet it struck me as odd how an empty road in the cold suburbs of Kansas City could be so nostalgic. There was no good reason for this nostalgia, and today I have tried to make sense of the feeling but to no avail. Looking back, it was as if I knew something was going to happen. Something amazing I wouldn't soon forget. I pulled up to a park I once frequented and dismounted the hopefully-soon-to-be-sold bike (any takers?). The park has lights along the fringes illuminating a walkway through the grass. I was severely unprepared for the cold, and was shivering intensely, yet decided to keep walking (the temperature drops at night? who knew!). About a quarter way down the walkway toward the other end of the park, I saw a man by one of the far lampposts. He was also cold. Rubbing his hands together furiously, tapping his right foot, the man was more prepared than me, with a winter hat and neck warmer to show for it, yet as I came closer to him, it was clear he was waiting for somebody. And when I could see the whites of his eyes, it was clear that somebody was me.
"Luke?" he asked. He knew I was Luke, but asked anyway, maybe he's not great with names.
"Yes? Do I know you?"
He pulled his neck warmer down from his mouth, as if expecting me to say "Oh, of course, the aerobics instructor!", but instead I just waited for further, preferable verbal, explanation.
"Nothing? You don't recognize me at all?"
"I'm usually so good with faces too, I'm really sorry."
"Well, I'm not gonna bail you out so easy, you're gonnna have to figure it out. Follow me."
We walked down the rest of the walkway, quiet. And as you might expect I was pretty nervous. How did he know who I was? How did he know I would be here? Could this guy be dangerous? I began to assume I was mixed up in some North by Northwest scenario.
"You know Luke, I didn't think you were gonna show up there for a second. And I didn't know how many more nights I would wait for you."
"Excuse me". (I tried to say this as composed as possible, but inside I was saying, "Who would win a fight, me or this old guy" He looked to be about 50).
"Well Kansas City winters aren't the easiest, and at my age the joints act up after a while in the cold"
At first I smiled because I began to think I was caught in some sort of Aleve commercial, but then I thought "I wonder if I could beat him back to my motorcycle".
"Well you probably could Luke, I'm not that fast a guy, and these shoes offer anything but traction." For the first time I noticed he was wearing slippers.
"Excuse Me?"
"You wondered if you were faster than me, I was just saying you probably are".
At this point there was no turning back, because as my Aunt Sally once told me "Once they start reading your mind, you're pretty much roped in'.
"Well, here we go Luke"
The man then unlocked the door to a business of some sort, and said, "After you".
I entered, because at this point, I figured I was dead no matter what happened, might as well have fun with it.
There were two cups of coffee on a table waiting for us, one had a note that said, 'Just how Luke Likes it". And it was. (If you want to know how to prepare coffee "Just how Luke likes it" call me).
"Luke, have you figured it out yet?"
"No sir, I haven't"
'Well, I guess some people were just born dumb."
(silence)
He looked up from his coffee for a second then said, "That joke sure didn't land. You know, sometimes I think it'd be better if I just didn't joke at all, but heck, i wouldn't get to see that look on your face would I?"
I did indeed have a peculiar look on my face, and I think its because it had just hit me that I had just followed a stranger into a building at 4:45 AM and was now drinking a mysterious cup of coffee he had provided. If this wasn't a picture perfect kidnapping scheme then I don't know what is. And to think I had finally made it out of the possible-kindapping-vicitim age. I guessed all I could do now was wait for the drugs to kick in.
He let out a low melodious chuckle, "Luke, its not spiked. If we were going to spike your coffee, don't you think we wouldn't have gone through the trouble of using a fresh Colombian roast?'
I was now wondering who the "we" was, but then remembered that he could indeed read my thoughts so I quickly tried to think of nothing.
"It's just the guys and me Luke, and of course I can see your thoughts. What are thoughts anyway, but words were to afraid to utter".
He stood up and started to put on his coat.
"Well I guess I shouldn't expect you to remember after all these years. But man did we hang out a lot back then Luke. And me, you, and the guys did whatever we wanted. We had all the time in the world to hang out, well, nearly."
He started to make for the door.
"Wait, was the point of this? What's going on? And most importantly, who the heck are you?"
A nice combination of confused and offended, the man said, "What? A couple of old friends can't have cup of coffee together?" He smiled and opened the door. "Don't let it be this long before I see you again Luke." Then he winked and walked out, whistling as he walked down the road.
And as for me, my motorcycle was right outside the door on the curb. I got on and rode home, dazed but content, confused but at peace.
Merry (late) Christmas Everyone.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit
I tweeted this phrase this past Sunday. One translation goes like this:
"Called or not called, God is there."
But what does that mean? And why was it encouraging to me?
When I first read it I felt a stirring somewhere behind my sternum. Because I took astronomy instead of a real science class I can't tell you exactly where, so I hope you understand where I'm talking about. And this stirring, almost a wrenching, let me know that the words that I had just read meant something. Before I had any clue about what they meant, I knew that they were for me.
I think that these words mean so much to me because I have been struggling with the idea of my calling.
What is it?
And the bigger question still:
Do I have one?
And the reason why I have the last question is because I haven't been pursuing anything. I haven't been moving.
It reminds me of my Dad's GPS. When we are out geocaching the thing points the direction that we need to go. But sometimes there's an odd little quirk: if you're not moving in a direction, if you are stationary, it can get mixed up. As soon as you start walking though it gets it all sorted out and you're good to go. I'm not smart enough (see my course choices above)to tell you why, though I could probably make something up that sounds about right. Ask me and I'll do that, if you like.
I'm currently working at Subway as a "Shift Leader." I'm doing that because I turned down two jobs in the area because I didn't feel good about them, because I thought that I wasn't going to be too long for KC. And that may be true, but I'm now reeping the fruits of that decision. I have a desire in me to go places: to be better at the job, to move about geographically, etc. And the job I'm in right now has no place else for me to go.
But, according to the Latin, none of that matters. Forget it all. Because
Called or not called, God is there.
But there's another interpretation from Buechner:
"in the long run, whether you call on him or don't call on him, God will be present with you. That if we really had our eyes open, we would see that all moments are key moments. That he who does not love remains in death. That Jesus is the Word made flesh who dwells among us full of grace and truth."
So called or uncalled, God is with me. If I have a calling or have no calling, God is with me. God is with mean whether or not I call on Him.
Blessed Assurance.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
"Called or not called, God is there."
But what does that mean? And why was it encouraging to me?
When I first read it I felt a stirring somewhere behind my sternum. Because I took astronomy instead of a real science class I can't tell you exactly where, so I hope you understand where I'm talking about. And this stirring, almost a wrenching, let me know that the words that I had just read meant something. Before I had any clue about what they meant, I knew that they were for me.
I think that these words mean so much to me because I have been struggling with the idea of my calling.
What is it?
And the bigger question still:
Do I have one?
And the reason why I have the last question is because I haven't been pursuing anything. I haven't been moving.
It reminds me of my Dad's GPS. When we are out geocaching the thing points the direction that we need to go. But sometimes there's an odd little quirk: if you're not moving in a direction, if you are stationary, it can get mixed up. As soon as you start walking though it gets it all sorted out and you're good to go. I'm not smart enough (see my course choices above)to tell you why, though I could probably make something up that sounds about right. Ask me and I'll do that, if you like.
I'm currently working at Subway as a "Shift Leader." I'm doing that because I turned down two jobs in the area because I didn't feel good about them, because I thought that I wasn't going to be too long for KC. And that may be true, but I'm now reeping the fruits of that decision. I have a desire in me to go places: to be better at the job, to move about geographically, etc. And the job I'm in right now has no place else for me to go.
But, according to the Latin, none of that matters. Forget it all. Because
Called or not called, God is there.
But there's another interpretation from Buechner:
"in the long run, whether you call on him or don't call on him, God will be present with you. That if we really had our eyes open, we would see that all moments are key moments. That he who does not love remains in death. That Jesus is the Word made flesh who dwells among us full of grace and truth."
So called or uncalled, God is with me. If I have a calling or have no calling, God is with me. God is with mean whether or not I call on Him.
Blessed Assurance.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Friday, December 9, 2011
fifteen minutes
Because I am behind in my writing I thought I would come up to Starbuck's, sit down, and write. Unfortunatly I spent the majority of the time reading about Robert Benson on his website, so I only have fifteen minutes left until the store closes. I'm going to write for those fifteen minutes and see what happens, let me know what you think.
Right after I wrote the last blog post I went to a used book store (Steel's Used Christian Book, in Northtowne) in the hopes of finding a copy of C.S. Lewis' "Space Trilogy." I found all three (two matching, one not) in addition to a book by Frederick Buechner, "Now and Then." I read "Telling Secrets" for my Spiritual Formation class at Belmont, so I thought I would give him a second thought. Glad I did.
In "Now and Then" Buechner attempts to tell the story of his life, or the second part at least. He writes about his time in New York at Union, in Exeter as the head of the fledgling Religion department, and Vermont as writer, husband, and father. He does a fantastic job of communicating what his life was actually like, breezing over the fun times and spending pages on the nothing time. It seems that life is like that some times: the places and times we want to last forever zip by, and the hard times drag.
The quote that struck me most was on page eighty-two: "I felt like a rat in a trap, and the trap I was in was myself and the new life I had chosen." I'm certian that if you are a regular reader of this little blog you'll understand why I liked that post. Some background for Buechner: he had just quit a job in New Hampshire that he was good at, that he enjoyed. He had grown a department that didn't exist into on that was on par with the English and History schools. He was connected to friends, he had a family. And yet he felt the need to move on to something more, something different. The parallel was too obvious for me.
"A rat in a trap, and the trap I was in was myself and the new life I had chosen." So what I do I do to get out of that trap? No clue. None whatsoever. But, you know, I'm ok with that right now. Life isn't how I thought it would be, but as I read on Benson's site:
"We tend to think the happy people are grateful because they got what they like. In reality the grateful people are happy because they like what they got." - David Steindl-Rast
So I'm working on being happy with what I have. Smelly sandwich-hands and all.
Look at that, four minutes to spare.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Right after I wrote the last blog post I went to a used book store (Steel's Used Christian Book, in Northtowne) in the hopes of finding a copy of C.S. Lewis' "Space Trilogy." I found all three (two matching, one not) in addition to a book by Frederick Buechner, "Now and Then." I read "Telling Secrets" for my Spiritual Formation class at Belmont, so I thought I would give him a second thought. Glad I did.
In "Now and Then" Buechner attempts to tell the story of his life, or the second part at least. He writes about his time in New York at Union, in Exeter as the head of the fledgling Religion department, and Vermont as writer, husband, and father. He does a fantastic job of communicating what his life was actually like, breezing over the fun times and spending pages on the nothing time. It seems that life is like that some times: the places and times we want to last forever zip by, and the hard times drag.
The quote that struck me most was on page eighty-two: "I felt like a rat in a trap, and the trap I was in was myself and the new life I had chosen." I'm certian that if you are a regular reader of this little blog you'll understand why I liked that post. Some background for Buechner: he had just quit a job in New Hampshire that he was good at, that he enjoyed. He had grown a department that didn't exist into on that was on par with the English and History schools. He was connected to friends, he had a family. And yet he felt the need to move on to something more, something different. The parallel was too obvious for me.
"A rat in a trap, and the trap I was in was myself and the new life I had chosen." So what I do I do to get out of that trap? No clue. None whatsoever. But, you know, I'm ok with that right now. Life isn't how I thought it would be, but as I read on Benson's site:
"We tend to think the happy people are grateful because they got what they like. In reality the grateful people are happy because they like what they got." - David Steindl-Rast
So I'm working on being happy with what I have. Smelly sandwich-hands and all.
Look at that, four minutes to spare.
Luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Monday, December 5, 2011
don't worry, it'll all get better?
For the majority of my life well meaning people have told me, whenever I complained about how tough things are, "don't worry, it'll be ok. You'll be fine. God'll take care of you."
When I confessed my desire for a romantic relationship and my commitment to the singleness God had deemed apropriate for who knows what reason the response was:
"Oh, you'll find that person when you least expect them."
"You're a great guy, you won't be single for long."
"Good for you, but you're the 'marriage type.' You'll find someone soon."
And while I appreciate the sentiment, I can't help but think about what the words actually mean. I may be picking apart the meaning too much, but no one has ever accused me about thinking to little about anything. In fact one of my co-workers at Subway, an eighteen-year old who I met less than a month ago, told me that I thought too much about everything. Well said, Tiffany.
If I find that person when I least expect them I'll never find them because I'm always going to be thinking about it. Or thinking about not thinking about it. So far, that's been my m.o. It's how I'm wired. That's not to say that I shouldn't change, but it's just how I've been for the past twenty-four years (or so).
Being a great guy and being single can be mutually exclusive. Just because someone is great doesn't mean they're gonna get married. Jesus wasn't, and he was pretty great.
Sure, I may be the "marriage type" but there are all sorts of people out there who are married who probably shouldn't be, right? Not thinking of anyone in particular, just the odds are pretty good.
What brought all of this up? Well, I was sitting in church yesterday (Redeemer down in Midtown KC) and the pastor was preaching on Hebrews 10:1-25, one of my favorite books in the Bible. The writer writes about how we have a High Priest who can identify with us, because He was tempted in every way. This is one of the great Truths of Christianity, and one that we should all hold fast to. It's something I don't think about nearly enough and that leads to a whole lot of whining. But this train of thought led me someplace familiar, and someplace I didn't like too much. The logic goes like this: God's got it taken care of, so don't worry. He will come through and make you clean. You don't need to trouble yourself over life because, eventually, God will take over and everything will be ok.
This made me think of coffee. What else? When I make a good cup of coffee it takes some things: good coffee, a good grinder, a good brew method, good water, and time. The time doesn't need to be good, there just needs to be enough of it, FYI. If I try to rush the process the coffee doesn't turn out. If I buy the coffee pre-ground and don't wet the filter and don't take enough time usually I end up with an under-extracted (weak) cup of coffee that isn't even worth drinking. On the other hand, if I take too much time I wind up with an overly strong, over-extracted cup that hurts to drink. There is an appropriate amount of time that it should take me to make a cup of coffee, and if I don't take it I won't get a good cup. It's as simple as that. I'm working on a chemical reaction and if I try to speed up that reaction it goes wrong. If I take ten minutes brewing the cup instead of four it won't be much good. If I try to brew sixteen ounces of coffee in my Chemex in two minutes it won't be any better. But if I take the time to heat my water, pre-wet the filter, wait to grind until my water is ready, and brew for three to four minutes I'll have something that I can enjoy. You can probably enjoy it with me, I usually make enough for two.
Our redemption takes an appropriate amount of time. Or, I should say, our sanctification takes an appropriate amount of time. As I write this I am being sanctified by God. I am being purified from sin. I have been redeemed by the sacrifice of our high priest, as have you (I assume if you're reading this). But the sanctification is something I'd like to focus on. To rush it is to rush the plan of an omnipotent God, to stall it is to claim that we know better. Just like a cup of coffee we take time to be purified. We have already be justified, set apart. But our purification is a process. And it is one that must take the time set aside for it. I have, often, caught myself looking ahead to what is to come. I'm, unfortunately, not above time like God is. I'm doomed to live in the present as a three-dimensional creature, crawling along my time-line in always the same direction. So the only time I see with any clarity is the now. The future is an uncertainty, the past is past.
I know that everything will be ok. Well, I at least hope that everything will be ok. But please, let me have the time to get there.
luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
When I confessed my desire for a romantic relationship and my commitment to the singleness God had deemed apropriate for who knows what reason the response was:
"Oh, you'll find that person when you least expect them."
"You're a great guy, you won't be single for long."
"Good for you, but you're the 'marriage type.' You'll find someone soon."
And while I appreciate the sentiment, I can't help but think about what the words actually mean. I may be picking apart the meaning too much, but no one has ever accused me about thinking to little about anything. In fact one of my co-workers at Subway, an eighteen-year old who I met less than a month ago, told me that I thought too much about everything. Well said, Tiffany.
If I find that person when I least expect them I'll never find them because I'm always going to be thinking about it. Or thinking about not thinking about it. So far, that's been my m.o. It's how I'm wired. That's not to say that I shouldn't change, but it's just how I've been for the past twenty-four years (or so).
Being a great guy and being single can be mutually exclusive. Just because someone is great doesn't mean they're gonna get married. Jesus wasn't, and he was pretty great.
Sure, I may be the "marriage type" but there are all sorts of people out there who are married who probably shouldn't be, right? Not thinking of anyone in particular, just the odds are pretty good.
What brought all of this up? Well, I was sitting in church yesterday (Redeemer down in Midtown KC) and the pastor was preaching on Hebrews 10:1-25, one of my favorite books in the Bible. The writer writes about how we have a High Priest who can identify with us, because He was tempted in every way. This is one of the great Truths of Christianity, and one that we should all hold fast to. It's something I don't think about nearly enough and that leads to a whole lot of whining. But this train of thought led me someplace familiar, and someplace I didn't like too much. The logic goes like this: God's got it taken care of, so don't worry. He will come through and make you clean. You don't need to trouble yourself over life because, eventually, God will take over and everything will be ok.
This made me think of coffee. What else? When I make a good cup of coffee it takes some things: good coffee, a good grinder, a good brew method, good water, and time. The time doesn't need to be good, there just needs to be enough of it, FYI. If I try to rush the process the coffee doesn't turn out. If I buy the coffee pre-ground and don't wet the filter and don't take enough time usually I end up with an under-extracted (weak) cup of coffee that isn't even worth drinking. On the other hand, if I take too much time I wind up with an overly strong, over-extracted cup that hurts to drink. There is an appropriate amount of time that it should take me to make a cup of coffee, and if I don't take it I won't get a good cup. It's as simple as that. I'm working on a chemical reaction and if I try to speed up that reaction it goes wrong. If I take ten minutes brewing the cup instead of four it won't be much good. If I try to brew sixteen ounces of coffee in my Chemex in two minutes it won't be any better. But if I take the time to heat my water, pre-wet the filter, wait to grind until my water is ready, and brew for three to four minutes I'll have something that I can enjoy. You can probably enjoy it with me, I usually make enough for two.
Our redemption takes an appropriate amount of time. Or, I should say, our sanctification takes an appropriate amount of time. As I write this I am being sanctified by God. I am being purified from sin. I have been redeemed by the sacrifice of our high priest, as have you (I assume if you're reading this). But the sanctification is something I'd like to focus on. To rush it is to rush the plan of an omnipotent God, to stall it is to claim that we know better. Just like a cup of coffee we take time to be purified. We have already be justified, set apart. But our purification is a process. And it is one that must take the time set aside for it. I have, often, caught myself looking ahead to what is to come. I'm, unfortunately, not above time like God is. I'm doomed to live in the present as a three-dimensional creature, crawling along my time-line in always the same direction. So the only time I see with any clarity is the now. The future is an uncertainty, the past is past.
I know that everything will be ok. Well, I at least hope that everything will be ok. But please, let me have the time to get there.
luke
luketlancaster@gmail.com
Sunday, November 20, 2011
back into the swing of things
I'm currently fifteen posts away from achieving my goal of writing in this blog "every week." I don't know for sure if that will happen, as lately I don't have either the motivation or the material for a new post. That isn't much different today, except I got a call from Chris (and a couple of tweets) the other day that boosted my motivation a bit. It was amazing to talk to someone my age who is feeling the same things that I'm feeling and is in a similar place that I am. Chris gave the metaphor that it's as if we are both in Latin American countries: miles apart, but in the midst of cultures that are speaking the same language. And that language isn't one that we speak. Great great point and one that really struck home with me. That conversation led me to feel a bit better about my circumstances, and also led to this post.
So why the absence of Luke from the blogworld? To be perfectly honest I just haven't felt good enough to write anything positive. I know that when I started this blog and a couple of times since I've said that I would write whatever I was feeling so that other people who may be feeling the same thing wouldn't feel alone. But lately everything that I've been feeling has been such a bummer that I don't want to share it with everyone (who reads this) because I don't want to be that much of a bummer on your life. So this will be a true, but it might be a slightly more censored version of the truth than if you were to talk to me face to face. I don't know how else to get the thoughts out there than to just dive in, so forgive me if I'm all over the place and hard to follow.
luketlancaster@gmail.com
So why the absence of Luke from the blogworld? To be perfectly honest I just haven't felt good enough to write anything positive. I know that when I started this blog and a couple of times since I've said that I would write whatever I was feeling so that other people who may be feeling the same thing wouldn't feel alone. But lately everything that I've been feeling has been such a bummer that I don't want to share it with everyone (who reads this) because I don't want to be that much of a bummer on your life. So this will be a true, but it might be a slightly more censored version of the truth than if you were to talk to me face to face. I don't know how else to get the thoughts out there than to just dive in, so forgive me if I'm all over the place and hard to follow.
- I don't know what I'm doing with my life or where I'm supposed to be. Any attempt I make at heading in a single direction leaves me feeling better for a while, but then I get back to "normal" soon. It's the same feeling I had when I broke up with the couple of girlfriends I have had in the past: I knew it needed to happen, but put it off for however long for whatever reason. I would try to come up with reasons why I didn't need to break it off, but in the end the only thing that made me feel better was doing the deed. And now I know that something needs to happen, I just don't know what that something is. So my mode of operation, right now, is to take as many stabs in the dark until I stab the right thing. I might need a better phrase here.
- I am doubting everything in my life right now for the first time. I don't know what I believe or, ironically, why I believe it. I want to believe what I've been told to but I can't transfer that want into reality right now. This could be because I lack concrete-ness in my life. Or it may be because, for the first time, I have the occasion to be whoever I actually am. A liquid takes the shape of the container that holds it, and right now I don't know what shape of container I'm in. I don't even know if I'm in any container at all. I could be poured all over the ground. I simply do not know. For the entriety of my live I have had the benifit of being around people that believe a certain way, who are thier own shape. And the sum of those shapes (or the inversion of those shapes surrounding me) were the shape of my life. Now I get to explore who I actually am without that. Funny that it would happen at twenty-four. I would have expected it earlier. But then, I've always been a bit of a slow-developer.
- I think one of my greatest fears is the lack of something to do. I was explaining this to Chris yesterday on the phone, and it goes a bit like this: I have a couple of tasks that I've needed to get done for a while now. And I have been putting them of for that while. It could be as simple as laziness on my part, but I like to over-think things so this is the "actual" reason that I came up with: if I don't do these things I'll always have something to do; I will never be without. I realize this is silly and not incredibly logical, but I fear what will happen the day I don't have anything to do. I'll probably watch more TV or play more video games I suppose.
- Speaking of that, I recently played the Uncharted series on PS3. Great. Not a ten out of ten, but still great. Mom was even getting into it, wondering what happened to Elena and Sully while I was wondering around as Nathan Drake shooting people whose heads were on fire. I then traded those in for the new Assassins Creed game, which is also solid. Very similar to the previous one, but still a lot of fun. This has been the video game review section of the post, thanks for reading.
- Saw J. Edgar with Neal. Watching Leonardo Dicaprio roll around on the floor with the Winklevoss twins was really weird. And I still don't really know what happened in the movie. Would have been better with robot boxing I bet.
luketlancaster@gmail.com
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