"get on over to the other side!"

Can you tell me, what does it mean to “get over” something?

I just watched a rather cliché film about soldiers returning to Iraq. But it moved me intensely because it asks the question, “how?”

When nothing seems right, and everything seems backward, we find ourselves first asking why. Why did it happen? Why him? Why me? Why now? Then we ask how.

Some people ask, “How do I get through this?”

Others ask, “How do I get over this?”

Can you tell me, is there a difference? What is it?

Perhaps you aren’t interested in the minuscule details of the sentence. But to me words are life. Words are logic. Logic is reason. Reason is what makes us human. Reason and logic is why we are higher life forms. Reason is the image of God in us.

In this film I watched, several soldiers came back from Iraq to the same small town. One came back in a coffin. One came back with out her hand. One came to find himself replaced at work. One guy’s girlfriend wouldn’t speak to him. And one came back to a son who hated him.

They were all expected to get over what they had experienced.

So they each dealt in their own unique ways. Stop trusting. Develop an alcohol problem. Become exceedingly violent, take some people hostage and get yourself killed. Go back to war.

Some people got over and some people got through.

So, what is the difference?




You have been walking for miles. Days. You have been walking in a dark forest with perils worse than those of your nightmares. The pain in all of your limbs is so intense that your body has entered a state of shock in which the pain is now a throbbing numbness, like your reasoning skills.

You find yourself at a river.

The river marks the end of the forest and on the other side is a place stunningly similar to the place you once called home.

The river, however, is wildly dangerous. Rapids. Boulders. It is at the bottom of a deep ravine.

You look to the north and notice a deer trail. You could attempt to descend into the ravine on the deer trail.

You look to the south and realize there is a brand new bridge crossing the river ravine.

What do you do? While risking your life on the trail and then crossing the river does sound noble, it would be exceedingly stupid considering there is a perfectly safe bridge. So you cross the bridge and return to the place resembling home.

You made it through the forest. The forest left its mark on you. It scarred you. It might have ripped parts of you to shreds. But you made it through and are changed because of the experience. You have wisdom and warnings to share with others. You have become stronger and more confident. You now know how to handle forests.

You simply got over the river. You did not drink of its waters or face its threats. The river left no mark on you and you left no mark on it. You avoided it and are ignorant of what lies within it.

When you get through, you learn and grow.

When you get over, you simply avoid.

I will not, with respect for myself, my God given responsibility to increase in wisdom, and for the lessons to be learned, simply “get over” anything which holds within it any potential for positive, no matter how difficult that positive is.

And with respect to other people, I will not ask or expect them to simply get over their crisis. I will challenge them to face the demons of their forests and to search for the lessons and the increase.

This is life. Every day, every moment is an experience for us to tackle and get through. It is not a bridge to the next better moment. Life can be a series of answers to questions which create more questions; always adding wisdom and curiosity and unquenchable thirst for truth and meaning. Or, life can be a series of bridges which consistently avoid the pain and the beauty Creation holds within it.

Will you get over or will you get through? Will you expect your neighbor to get over, or will you help him to get through?

God speed, little man

Mom asked me to write a letter to Erik's supporters explaining why he might be having a tough time, with the tragic news he's recently recieved, in addition to the difficulties of being away from home. Maybe you'd like to read it too...



Being out of your comfort zone can be traumatic. If you do not have a proper support system for traumatic events, they will scar you rather than help you to grow stronger. In our daily lives there are plenty of uncomfortable experiences. We each have "issues" that we face, and as we do, we make the decision to continue in comfort or try to grow through and above that issue. Sometimes we face conflicts that require us to chose between our passion and our comfort. Let's just be honest and admit that we usually choose our comfort; it's more natural. Some of us, however, attempt to be faithful to our God-inspired passions and trust that He will see us through what ever discomforts come along. Erik chose to go with his passion... He's in a very uncomfortable place now.

Just over 24 months ago I left America and joined the US Peace Corps. I now teach English in a small town in south eastern Bulgaria. If you haven't experienced life in a foreign country that is below the level of "developed," I can tell you something about it. I can't tell you what Kyrgyzstan is like, but you can assume that what Bulgaria or Romania is like, is intensified dramatically in the Asian countries of the former soviet block.

Any time you leave your culture, whether that place is developed or not, you must face a new and unknown culture. A development worker (and missionaries should be in the business of development on many levels) is required to attempt to understand and integrate into this culture. This assaults you on so many different levels. Your ideas of right and wrong are challenged. Is it Right? or is it just different? Everything you know to be familiar is gone, from food to sanitation. Etiquette, public and private; communication, group dynamics, ethical and moral standards, unspoken codes of behavior... And at the end of the day you just want a hug or a chocolate bar. Or mom's pot roast, or apple pie, or your favorite fast food take out. The effective development worker realizes these differences and is forced to analyze them, decide which they cannot participate in (for me, it's blatant cheating and race-bashing), and more importantly, how to delicately and respectfully show their own values with out losing the respect of the host culture. In my 24 months, I've learned a tremendous amount about the culture I'm in. I respect it. Parts of it I adore. Parts of it I detest. Every day I learn something new. And every day that I challenge myself is exhausting. Some days I choose to be comfortable though. I have the luxury of a TV, Internet, and a "supermarket" (that means three isles and two checkout counters, rather than shouting my order at the one lady behind the counter). I can stay in, stay warm, and stay safe. All Saturday, I can stay in my pjs if I please.

But what about when crisis strikes? For us in our safe places, we turn to our support system. That probably includes your friends, family, your faith, and your church. Some of us have some unhealthy things we do such as over eating, watching TV, or alcohol and/ or drugs. There are of course some healthy distractions, like music, exercise, socializing, and pets. But what about when those support systems are not available? I can tell you that first, everything seems so much bigger than it really is, unless you push it off to the side and don't handle it at all. Second, daily life becomes more of a chore and less than a great experience full of potential. You are merely dealing and managing- floating in a cocoon you create to make a safe place. Third, healing takes much longer. It's like trying to cure a wound with out Neosporin. It'll heal on its own, but not as quickly and not as cleanly.

Erik found out recently, as many of you know, that Eric Falk and Emmy Scott were killed in a car accident. Pastor Falk was not only a pastor and mentor to Erik, but a good friend and camping buddy. Another problem of being far-flung, is that frequently communication is sketchy. So Erik ended up finding out about this tragedy through a church mass email, rather than through a face or even a voice. Now, with nearly two weeks left in their service, Erik must face every day with the challenges this foreign culture, climate, language and people present, but with the grief of losing a good friend. In development work, every next day holds more potential than the one before. Your skills are greater, your contacts have increased, the host community has developed more trust and respect for you. This makes that last leg of the period, whether it's 9 months or 9 days, the most valuable for everyone who has invested in that development. Unfortunately, it is naturally a very difficult period where most people develop an exhaustion or "senior-itis" syndrome. Can you imagine adding to that the grief of losing a good friend and mentor?

We need to pray that Erik can stay strong and encouraging. He needs your prayers to be the leader and comforter that God has created him to be. There is a lot of development left to be done by that team and Erik, through his grief, frustration, and exhaustion must find a way to do the work of God there.

here i am..

i walked out on a class today. i think i've done this three times now. with all that has happened, i could not bring myself to fight with my students to participate. i simply didn't have it in me. as i stood there, these words ran through my head: "my brother is in a foreign land, possibly not aware that his good friend is dead. these *$@! don't even want me here, yet here i am when i should be with my family and friends. with my brother." so i gathered my things, said, "teach yourselves english," and walked out. i went to the teachers' bathroom and sobbed on the floor. it just doesn't seem right.

My mom and sister went to the visitation yesterday. When they greeted the wife of the deceased, she asked how our Erik is doing. I imagine she was mildly surprised not to see him there. My mom looked at her and said, "Erik doesn't know." According to mom, Amanda nearly fell to her knees in shock and anguish. She wept for my brother. Then she prayed that he would be comforted with God's peace.

The human spirit amazes me. This woman has lost her young husband and she mourns for a young boy's loss. She mourns not only for herself, but for each person who mourns with her. This is how we are a part of the whole. This is how we are not an island. This is the oneness of humanity.

it's just enough to see a shooting star to know you're really never far...

I never really realized how close my family is. It is trite, but distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Do you ever feel like there’s somewhere else you should be, but that you should also be where you are? You are torn between to places, people, and/or situations. PC Bulgaria has been amazing and I would not trade it for anything! But sometimes I felt the most miserable guilt for being here.

My brother graduated high school.
My mom had her ankle reconstructed and was disabled for over three months.
My sister’s good friend died in a car accident.
My best friend’s brother died.
My mom had a tumor scare resulting in a complete hysterectomy.
Two members of our church including a friend to my sister and brother, and a mentor, friend, and guide to my brother were killed in a car accident.

I didn’t realize how much I adore my family until I sob in pain for their loss, not my own. That Eric and Emmy were killed is sad to me in a humanitarian way. “No man is an island entire of its self; every man is a part of the continent, a part of the main. Any man’s death diminishes me because I’m involved in mankind… Ask not for whom the bell tolls… It tolls for thee. Humanity, Christianity, Nashville, Christ Church suffered a great loss that day. It is my brother’s pain that doubles me over in grief. It is knowing that my darling, smiling, cheery boy will grow weak in his knees; his shoulders will shrug in; his chin and lip will tremble as he tries to understand the details. He will go to a quiet place to be alone and cry to the God who he cannot understand. He will want to be alone and untouched for a while. He will come out of the quiet place and want to be with people. He will look to those he is with for hugs, comfort, sympathy, and understanding. It breaks my heart that I won’t be there, more than anything, I wish I were with him, or at least that he were home.

But this is part of growing up, part of life. We learn how to cope, to mourn, to deal, and to move on. Some of us suffer more and earlier. I’ve been so blessed. I’ve never had a close friend or immediate family member die an untimely death.

When I mentioned to my mother that I feel like I’ve missed so much in these two years, she said that Erik and Elayna have been through more in these two years than most kids their age. I can only pray that these losses will help them to grow into better and stronger people.

I sit here in my warm room and cry out asking why. Feeling like a great Wrong is being committed. Of course, I have the faith to say that God works all things for the glory of those that love him. Of course, I believe that in everything there is meaning and Purpose. That doesn’t make it hurt less.

I picked up a book from a friend today called, “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families” by Phillip Gourevitch. It’s a book of stories about the genocide in Rwanda. I read a few pages in an attempt to distract myself from my own sadness. We cry for our immediate losses, as we should; but why can the world not cry out for the crimes against humanity? An untimely death is tragic. The untimely death of one million souls in a period of 100 days is more than tragic. It’s inconceivable. It’s unimaginable. You can imagine your mother dying and the pain you would feel. Can you even begin to empathize with a person who has lost everyone they know? Maybe everyone (of that ethnic or religious group) they have ever known? This is the answer to the question, “Miss, why must we read these disgusting things?” my students ask as we learn about Rwanda. Wouldn’t you want some one to know? Wouldn’t you want some one to care?

I’m sorry these thoughts are so rambled and inornate. Thanks for reading anyway.

It tolls for thee

There are so many words, themes, ideas, groanings of my spirit that I want to pour out into words. Love. Love of God. Love of Family. Guilt. Pride. Sorrow. Loss. Where does one begin?

My brother is in Kyrgastan with YWAM. He’s got another two weeks or so before he completes his service there. He’s there because he’s had leaders and mentors who have encouraged him to live beyond himself, to dare, to try, to be bold, and to always have faith. When Erik, my brother, started attending Christ Church Nashville, he was a senior in high school. He became involved in the young adult ministry, which was pastored by Eric Falk. That winter Eric Falk took a group of young people to Texas for the World Mandate Conference, a convention for world missions. Our Erik came back on fire for world missions.


Last summer, Eric Falk and a group of people from our church went to Israel. Erik joined them on that trip. Eric baptised Erik in the Jordan River

Eric Falk, since then was moved to the position of Missions Pastor. He was integral in getting my brother to Kyrgastan, helping him to raise funds and supporting him spiritually as a mentor, leader, and brother.

This winter, actually, just a few days ago, Eric Falk took a group of young people including Emmy Scott, a friend of my brother and sister and active leader in young adult and youth programming, again to the World Mandate Conference in Texas. They lost control of the van and collided with a tractor-trailer. Eric and Emmy were killed.

A twenty-six year old woman became a widow.

Loving parents lost a daughter.

A church lost two faithful leaders and servants.

What hurts me the most? My siblings lost friends and I can do nothing.

My brother is supposed to return in a couple weeks. YWAM is supposed to have contacted him shared this tragic news with him. We have no idea if our Erik knows of this loss. It will take a genuine miracle for him to get back to Nashville in time for the service on Tuesday. Miracles happen.

Parents knew the miracle of the love for a child.
A woman knew the miracle of the love for her husband.
A church knew the miracle of the love for a servant to its Master.