Last week.
Usually in our art commune we aim to have a house dinner every Sunday night in order to connect with one another and have a planned meeting. Last week's meeting was supposed to be especially important because we’d been having a difficult time getting all eight house members together at once as of late. This much-anticipated night only brought out three of the eight of us in the house, accompanied by Hannah. We hit Seva Café at an inopportune time, and by the time we would have been seated the kitchen would have basically been closed, so we decided to go elsewhere downtown. By some strange circumstance our small party was driving in two separate cars: Ariel driving me, Hannah driving Rachel. While Ariel and I were parking I got a call from my father. He informed me that my grandfather Dave had a heart attack and was being transferred to Downey Regional. This man has had a greater impact on my life than any other person, so needless to say I was distraught. We immediately headed back to the commune so that I could pick up my car. On the way I got a call from Rachel. Hannah had accidentally driven down the Transit Mall (buses only), and got pulled over/didn’t have her driver’s license (which was apparently in my car from earlier that evening). *To Hannah's credit she's not from Long Beach and was being given directions by Rachel, a native of Long Beach. Eventually the police officer let Rachel drive Hannah’s car back to our house, while I found Hannah’s wallet and Hannah so graciously insisted that she drive me to the hospital. I was in no emotional condition to drive.
We got to the hospital and after a half hour of my mother’s emotional circus I finally got the chance to see my grandfather. He was in a coma, his body white. I couldn’t help but realize how much I resembled him.
He died five times that night.
They transported him from the ER to the Critical Care Unit, where many of us waited for several hours before calling it a night. I was scheduled to work at 7am the next day, which didn’t happen. I was back at the hospital, spending time with my grandfather, telling him how important he was to both myself and to God. I told him how proud God was of him for his many years of faithful service. I read Genesis 1 to him.
After my time with my grandfather I went into the lobby. I eventually got a phone call from my brother, Dakota Jack. He told me that I got a piece of mail from St Andrews. “Finally, they tell me I didn’t get in,” I thought to myself. I had submitted my application rather late, and while the directors expressed optimism about my thesis last fall, they were afraid that they had given out all of their positions for the next term. On March 11 I got an email from the admissions department informing me that the program, The Institute of Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at St Mary’s College, would get back to me in 6-8 weeks. That time had passed and I had convinced myself of my rejection, but then again, maybe their delay was to see if someone else dropped out because they wanted me. It really could have gone either way. Still on the phone, I asked Dakota, “Is it a large or small envelope?” He said that it was a large envelope. Generally, in my experience, that implies acceptance, but perhaps any piece of mail sent in such a manner (as in from an institution in the UK to the United States), acceptance or rejection, would be sent in the large envelope. I debated this in my mind as I raced from the hospital to my parents’ home.
I got into the program I was hoping for over the past two years. I never wanted something so badly, to be honest (of course I am speaking of something so concrete and tangible, not something more abstract like the Gospel and the coming kingdom I yearn for so deeply...). I broke down prostrate when I found out.
By Wednesday my grandfather was out of his coma! But just in time for my mother to have a breakdown (I won’t go into the pitiful details) and I needed to leave work after only one hour in order to find her and make sure she wasn’t doing anything [else] foolish.
Then another strange turn of events by Thursday: I was experiencing a lot of pain near my bottom right wisdom tooth. It persisted throughout the night, keeping me from sleep. By morning my mouth was so swollen I couldn’t close it. I scheduled an emergency dentist visit. At 11am I was taken in and given an antibiotic prescription and a referral to an oral surgeon. By 2:30pm I was having emergency surgery to remove all four wisdom teeth. To be honest, all I remember was discussing Church history before falling asleep and not really coming to until Saturday. I missed me remaining two work shifts last week on Friday and Saturday. I am extremely indebted to God for his grace this week, especially as shown to me through Hannah who has met my needs as no one else has. And she put up with a conked-out, bleeding, swollen, theologian for many hours this weekend.
Jessica and Tyler finally got married yesterday, and there was much rejoicing!
What an emotional and physical roller coaster. My swelling has been miraculously tame, as well as my pain, though as I am currently getting ready for my first shift of work this week I suspect that I’m having some sort of anesthetic relapse, ‘cause I feel very goofy.
I wonder what this week will be like. It’ll probably be good, very good. Even the worst weeks have been very good as of late.
We got to the hospital and after a half hour of my mother’s emotional circus I finally got the chance to see my grandfather. He was in a coma, his body white. I couldn’t help but realize how much I resembled him.
He died five times that night.
They transported him from the ER to the Critical Care Unit, where many of us waited for several hours before calling it a night. I was scheduled to work at 7am the next day, which didn’t happen. I was back at the hospital, spending time with my grandfather, telling him how important he was to both myself and to God. I told him how proud God was of him for his many years of faithful service. I read Genesis 1 to him.
After my time with my grandfather I went into the lobby. I eventually got a phone call from my brother, Dakota Jack. He told me that I got a piece of mail from St Andrews. “Finally, they tell me I didn’t get in,” I thought to myself. I had submitted my application rather late, and while the directors expressed optimism about my thesis last fall, they were afraid that they had given out all of their positions for the next term. On March 11 I got an email from the admissions department informing me that the program, The Institute of Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at St Mary’s College, would get back to me in 6-8 weeks. That time had passed and I had convinced myself of my rejection, but then again, maybe their delay was to see if someone else dropped out because they wanted me. It really could have gone either way. Still on the phone, I asked Dakota, “Is it a large or small envelope?” He said that it was a large envelope. Generally, in my experience, that implies acceptance, but perhaps any piece of mail sent in such a manner (as in from an institution in the UK to the United States), acceptance or rejection, would be sent in the large envelope. I debated this in my mind as I raced from the hospital to my parents’ home.
I got into the program I was hoping for over the past two years. I never wanted something so badly, to be honest (of course I am speaking of something so concrete and tangible, not something more abstract like the Gospel and the coming kingdom I yearn for so deeply...). I broke down prostrate when I found out.
By Wednesday my grandfather was out of his coma! But just in time for my mother to have a breakdown (I won’t go into the pitiful details) and I needed to leave work after only one hour in order to find her and make sure she wasn’t doing anything [else] foolish.
Then another strange turn of events by Thursday: I was experiencing a lot of pain near my bottom right wisdom tooth. It persisted throughout the night, keeping me from sleep. By morning my mouth was so swollen I couldn’t close it. I scheduled an emergency dentist visit. At 11am I was taken in and given an antibiotic prescription and a referral to an oral surgeon. By 2:30pm I was having emergency surgery to remove all four wisdom teeth. To be honest, all I remember was discussing Church history before falling asleep and not really coming to until Saturday. I missed me remaining two work shifts last week on Friday and Saturday. I am extremely indebted to God for his grace this week, especially as shown to me through Hannah who has met my needs as no one else has. And she put up with a conked-out, bleeding, swollen, theologian for many hours this weekend.
Jessica and Tyler finally got married yesterday, and there was much rejoicing!
What an emotional and physical roller coaster. My swelling has been miraculously tame, as well as my pain, though as I am currently getting ready for my first shift of work this week I suspect that I’m having some sort of anesthetic relapse, ‘cause I feel very goofy.
I wonder what this week will be like. It’ll probably be good, very good. Even the worst weeks have been very good as of late.