Category: backstory

A few weeks ago I heard as the Discovery Center we we are the ‘front door’ of Wycliffe. We are the first human contact that people have when they enter the physical plant. I have been mulling that over since I heard it and considering what people expect and then what they actually get. It also took my mind to hospitality. This is something I have let my mind settle on various times through the years. It is a spiritual gift but actually difficult to put into practice. You have to put yourself out there. It’s possible rejection but it’s also potential and acceptance.

About 12 years ago I purchased my first condo. I was about 23 or 24 years old and at the time rather awestruck that someone would think me so responsible as to expect me to pay for something over the next THIRTY years. But for their own reasons they did and in some flash of insight I realized that God must have some purpose for it so I figured I would just use it the best I could. I had fairly recently really committed myself to living out my own faith and it seemed natural that I would have people in the college and career group come over to hang out.

That first invitation ended with melted placemats and black smoke. (Who knew that gas stoves have the broiler where the drawer should be?!) The second one, a new grill that took ALL DAY to assemble in my living room (that stupid ignition button never did work). By the third I was getting the hang of it and getting hooked on having people over.

I kept having visitors until I sold the place and moved into a loft downtown in a pre-mid life crisis. Soon after I regained equilibrium, purchased another condo and moved back to the suburbs.

It wasn’t long before I started inviting people over with gusto. It wasn’t unheard of to pack 25 new, old and would be friends into my condo. People on the floor, in the hall, in the kitchen and on the patio, weather permitting. If ever I met someone new at group I would immediately hustle to get everyone over for at least coffee and dessert if not a full blown extravaganza complete with food, coffees and questions. I wrote so many questions to help facilitate dinner conversation that for my wedding shower they asked all the attendees to write a question for me to use and bound it into a book. Sometimes peoples answers amaze and sometimes my own sparked lasting friendship.

And the food, ah the food. It varied from straight up knock off recipes from Macaroni Grill to ethnic extravaganzas culled from my growing library of culinary writings on everything from high end salt or cheese to Spain, India and other far flung glimmers of life. It involved stacked desserts of brownies assembled into veritable Pisas filled with berries, chocolate and whipped marscarpone. Coffees made from at least 8 different types of machines or contraptions over the years. It’s almost reminiscent of a high school football star in his glory days because I certainly cannot imagine doing such things today. Was it even real or was it a dream? Sometimes I even let other people bring something and often let them help with the dishes.

Life is certainly different now. I got married, moved a few thousand miles, changed jobs, churches and states. I’ve had more people from Colorado in my home than Floridians in the last year and I certainly haven’t seen the ‘southern hospitality’ that I expected but I am sure that it’s out there, somewhere. I guess it’s a challenge. Game on.

This weekend marks a high and busy point in the last month or so. We were happy to have one of my oldest friends in town. Deanna is here with her husband Mike and three kids to visit the land of the magical mouse and for the Shuttle launch which is now twice delayed and may go ‘off’ tonight.
They came for a visit last night and we drove down to Brian’s parents to borrow the pontoon boat. I love getting out on the water. I don’t know if it’s a throwback to my childhood or the cool air on the water or the mild somewhat nauseating fear of alligators but I love actually going out in the boat.
We got a little bit of a late start and by the time we were on the water of Fell’s Cove and East Lake Tohopekaliga (Toho) the sun was just beginning to set. I commented that the boat seemed to be poking along mainly out of hunger but we didn’t put much thought into that since I am a fast driver and really was hungry.
We had a nice catching up style dinner at Crabby Bills which is a crab shack on the shores of Lake Toho smack dab in good old style Florida Saint Cloud (think Mullets, Confederate Flags and pickups). Fried Shrimp, Grilled Shrimp, Shrimp Scampi, Barbequed Shrimp… and a bit of Frog Legs and Gator tail for the more adventurous. Brian had the chicken.
Then we headed back in the pitch black night on the now simply sputtering boat. Twenty feet out of the channel the boat dies.
Mike has had a bit of experience with this in the past and is able to shove a pin on the engine from the throttle and we cruise across the water with relative ease. Reaching the other shore and finding a small white post in the dark presented a new challenge and we poked along the shoreline waving a maglite at the reeds until we breathed a sigh with relief at the reflective glow peering out of the dark.
Gliding through the channel Brian picked out gators in the dark as they smoothly retreated from our spluttering engine and finally we bumped into the dock and were home.

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Well, it happened. We got the call at 4:22 am on February 1st. It is a morning of infamy for me at least. One of the liver coordinator’s called from Shands Hospital in Gainesville, Florida and told us that they probably had a liver for Brian. They also said we didn’t have to leave home until 7 am so we got up and started getting organized, packed and cleaned up around the house since we would be leaving for an unspecified number of days. The liver had a couple of problems but nothing that would render it unusable so we said that we would take it. A six to six and a half hour surgery followed and Brian has a new (if not slightly used) liver to replace the one that was slowly killing him. He did really well during the surgery, not even needing blood and staying strong.
They quietly wheeled him away around 9 pm and at 5am I sat and whispered, ‘you did well’ while he lay there with tubes snaking their way from his body as they managed the functions that up until now had been the every day.
His recovery was both markedly remarkable and unremarkable at the same time. He remained hospitalized until the 17th. He had some fairly profound rejection which was controlled through medication and generally regained strength very quickly. He got 68 staples in his belly and he didn’t eat anything but saline water for 7 days because the combination of anesthesia and morphine virtually stops your gastrointestinal system in it’s tracks and they don’t allow food until everything begins moving again. I was fairly floored to find that once he was able to eat they offered him everything from fried catfish to fried chicken with a healthy (@?!) smattering of mashed potatoes and gravy or macaroni and cheese in between.
This was a defining moment of understanding that we live in the deep south. This is comfort to some. It was shocking to me. Food, like tears, prayer or exercise is comfort. Something we use to soothe and remind us of the past, for release. The hospital is a place that is filled with waiting, angst, grief, joy and healing. We were bathed in prayer the entire 17 days we were there and have been every day since. Our family, coworkers and friends around the world asking God to give healing and sustenance. Prayer at least, is fat free.
Brian is healing. His body is recovering from the stress of his sickness and from the surgery itself. I am healing too and hoping that we don’t eat hospital food again soon for many years.