Monday, June 2, 2014

Day 94: Making Meaning

June 2, 2014

Let me tell you a little story. It's a God story. Or a coincidence story. A story of deep faith or of great chance. Bring to it what you will. I'll tell it as it happened.

In the Spring of 2012, I was happy.

I had a wonderful job teaching middle school in one of the best districts in the country, with some of the best people I know. I loved my students and I loved what I did. I had been there since 2005.

I was single, and had been by choice for over a year. I was feeling really good about digging my feet in spiritually and feeling, perhaps for the first time in my life, grounded and immensely content. My life to this point had not been without great sadness and greater disappointment. I had experienced several hardships and was grateful to be feeling a period of stillness and peace for once.

I had a cute little house and an even cuter little dog. I had a multitude of talented, funny, and supportive friends and a lifestyle that included healthy eating, happy running, prayer and meditation, and ongoing assessment of my behavior in relationship to others. I had made things right.

I had a practice before going to bed of having a cup of tea, writing a list of things I saw or that had happened in the previous 24 hours that I was grateful for, and then praying on my knees before bed.

It's a bit funny, because I wasn't raised to pray on my knees. And the idea used to offend me or strike me as too conservative a practice. I'm more a meditate under a nice tree or have a running talk with God while driving cross-country kind of person. But here I was, praying on my knees (on a Muslim prayer rug I had purchased on a World Religions field trip with 8th grade students, to confuse matters.)

I prayed before bed in this way and in the morning I rolled out of bed and prayed in the same way.

"Dear God, I turn my will and my life over to the care of You. I offer myself to Thee to do with me what You will. Please remove my defects of character which stand in the way of my usefulness to others. Help give me the right thoughts, words, and actions as I go about my day." This is what I'd say. Day in and day out. And sometimes it just came out like a mumble.

One particular evening in the spring I knelt by my bed. And something like this came out of my mouth:

"Ok, God. Whatever I had planned for my life is not exactly what's happened. And that's ok. I'm doing ok and I'm happy with what I have. But I just want to say that I'm really READY to turn my will and my life over to You. I mean...I'm ready to do whatever it is I'm supposed to do. I feel ready, and I have no idea what that is." Then I thought about all of the things God might think is a good idea for me. "Um...God?" I clarified, "I'm not so sure about going and living in some remote village somewhere. You know." And then I thought some more. "But, whatever. If that's what You want me to do, I'll do that. I guess." More thinking. "But a Starbucks would be nice."

I was having this friendly conversation with God, which is how I talk to Him, only in this moment, I felt...something. It felt like for the very first time I was really saying, "Ok. I'm ready. What can I do to be of service? To be a good person? I'll abandon my limited ideas of what life should be like in order to welcome what it could be like."

And a few months later I was on a plane to Korea.

I've mentioned this before, but I have no idea why I chose Korea. I'm embarrassed to say I'm not sure I could have pointed it out on a map and I certainly didn't know anything about the culture beyond the handful of students I had who were from there.

A normal and frequent question I got when getting ready to come here was "Why Korea? What made you choose Korea?" and at that time (and my mom and I were just talking about this)- I had no good answer. I didn't know. It just...felt right.

I kept telling people before I came here that it felt like I had a string tied delicately to the center of my chest, and it was being pulled in a certain direction. My job felt like it was to trust that and let myself be led. I'm aware as I'm writing this of how strange this may sound to some of you. It sounds strange to me, too. But this is how it happened and this is how those who know and love me remember it unfolding as well.

Friends and family watched as I went through the insane process of applying to teach in Korea. Last minute panicked requests for paperwork to be gathered, officially stamped, and sent. FBI fingerprinting (twice- the first time was done wrong.)  Names on diplomas needing changed. Skype interviews. And little if any information given to me about where or what I'd actually be teaching if and when I got to Korea. As the departure date got closer and closer, worried friends would ask, "Aren't you freaking out? I mean...they haven't even told you WHAT you'll be teaching? You don't know WHERE you're living? This is ridiculous!"

And it was. But I was calm. I was ok. I felt with 100% certainty that everything was unfolding as it should, even if I didn't have all of the information. I had faith.

It was weird.

A series of events and last-minute paperwork problems changed my placement from one area to the small town of Hadong. "Aren't you disappointed?" a friend asked. And I was, a bit. But again, I thought "I'll end up where I'm supposed to be." This was the feeling I had in every bit of my being. That all was well. That I was ok. And that I was supposed to be doing this.

Trust. Trust. Trust.

And I was. Trusting, that is.

Also weird.

I've written about this before, about how I stepped out of my apartment on the second day there- the day after a typhoon- and went out to explore my surroundings. I wrote about the chance encounter I had with Gareth on the streets of the market in Hadong and how we hit it off immediately, wandering in and out of stores, laughing, and eventually sharing some scrambled eggs and toast at my apartment for dinner.

I wrote about my conversation with God the night I met Gareth, after he had gone home. "Listen, God. That guy is really funny, and we seem to have some kind of connection...but if you have any funny ideas about me dating somebody here, it's not going to happen. I'm kind of busy...you know...doing the KOREA THING...remember? And I don't really have time for a guy. So, just want to keep you in the loop there."

And how God must have laughed.

Gareth and I had coffees together. We worked on lesson plan ideas and created materials to use in the classroom. We skyped frequently. He read Neil Gaiman to me at night, via the computer, before going to bed. We met for walks and we worked on poetry together. I softened to the idea of love because it was transforming me. It was filling me up and I hadn't even realized I was hungry.

We had fallen in love.

Facebook posts and photos in the following months and over a year chronicle one amazing journey of a relationship. You watched as we traveled to Geoje Island where Gareth cheered me on for a half marathon on my birthday. You saw us as we hiked the hills and explored the cities. You were with us when we checked into hilarious love motels or wandered by car around an island. You saw evidence of our card games, our dinners, our sun rises, our writing, our motorcycle rides, our gift-giving. You heard us laughing in video clips. You saw us kiss.

I kept the struggles that I witnessed with Gareth private, of course, except for the few of you who walked me through those unexpected times. And in those moments, I remember commenting how easy it was for me to love him. How I was a bit in awe of my ability to love this man, even when he could be trying, to say the least. I didn't respond to him in the ways I would have thought I would. I always responded with love.


And this surprised me.

I love many people and have loved romantically in the past. I can tell you that I have never- and I said this while he was alive and we were together and I say it now- I have never seen myself love someone so completely in the way I love Gareth. I have never seen myself understand someone the way I understood him. I saw him clearly. And I loved him for who he was.

This doesn't mean I excused inexcusable behaviors. This doesn't mean I didn't take care of myself.

It just means that at all times I was aware of the deepest love I've ever felt. And I was aware of the joy and moments of peace I was bringing to Gareth's life while feeling deep gratitude for the joy he was adding to mine- a life that I felt was already full and one I was happy with. He didn't make me whole. He made me grateful.

I couldn't in my wildest nightmares have imagined what would have played out from the very end of January until the morning of February 28th when he fell. I couldn't have seen the days to follow or foretold of the immense grief I'd be faced with.

I think about all of this and I know, in my heart of hearts, I would do it all again. The coming here. The meeting Gareth on that street. The eggs. The coffees. The falling in love. And even the losing him. I would do this again. And again. Because I think it was what was meant to happen.

And here is where some of you may disagree. And here is where you may question my sanity. But I go back to that moment in the spring of 2012 and remember that deep prayer. I remember exactly what it felt like to tell God I was ready for anything He has planned. And I believe that God heard me and said, "Ok, Bridget. I have just the thing for you...Our sweet Gareth has suffered long enough and he is not meant to be on this earth for long. I want you to go show him the love of God before he goes. I want him to experience extended moments of joy. Of peace. Of loving and being loved. Show him how I love him." And I went.

Is all of this coincidence? Am I making meaning where there is none just to bring me peace? Perhaps. But my faith tells me that God gently pulls us sometimes, and when we set fear aside and listen, amazing things happen.

Coincidence. God's plan. Signs from those who have gone before us. Random chance. Looking for it where it's not there.  God speaking to us. Gareth speaking to us. Making connections where there are none.

It may be any of that. All of that.

But if peace is brought to those who need it, it's a beautiful thing.

I've written before about the first time I saw Gareth in the hospital. I wrote about crawling into his bed and wrapping his arms around me. I wrote about holding his hands and whispering into his hear. "I'm here. I'm here now. I love you so much. I forgive you. Please forgive me. It's going to be ok. Your mom is coming. Your dad is coming. Scott is coming. I'm here now. It's ok, babe. I love you. I love you so much."

I've written about how our friend Beth, also in the room, pointed out to me that each time I spoke to Gareth in his hear, his heart-rate went from the mid 80s to 111. Each. time. Not 110, not 112. 111. And not when others spoke to him. Only me.

Coincidence? Could be.

Although I just read a part of a book someone gave me wherein a woman details her experience of being in a coma and nearly dying from cancer. Upon waking up, she could recall who had been in the room with her, what they had said to her, how they had felt, and even conversations which were happening down the hall, out of earshot. We're free to believe what we will, and I have no need or desire to argue what feels true for me. I can only say that if Gareth did indeed react to me and let me know he could hear me, I have great comfort in that.

In the weeks that have followed, I've seen the number 111 many times. Am I looking for it and that's why it's happening? Could be. But it will play out like this: I wake up in the middle of the night after dreaming I saw Gareth. I reach for my phone to check the time. 1:11. I take a screen shot.  I have plans to walk dogs downtown which entails a 30 minute journey and I feel too sad to get off the couch. I hear Gareth in my head tell me that it will be good for me. I argue that I've wasted too much time and probably won't even have enough time to make the subway. I look at my clock. It's 1:11. I take a screen shot.


I send Gareth's mom a voice message and after I record it, I notice it was 1:11 long. I share that with her and she tells me she grew up at 111 --- street. 


I'm speaking with university students during a timed conversation practice and they ask me if I have a boyfriend. I tell them that no, I don't, but tell them about Gareth. The timer goes off while we're talking and it's 1:11. I take a screen shot. This happens more times than I'm able to count. 

A few days ago I was particularly low. Riding back home on the subway, I posted something on facebook asking for prayers. I hit "send," walked off the subway, headed up the stairs, and saw the above poster on the wall- a magnifying class with the number 111 inside.

Do I believe Gareth is making me look at the clock at these times? That his spirit ran up and taped this poster to the wall as I was getting off the subway? Of course not.

Do I think it's a reminder of him and the fact that he loves me? That God loves me and that I'm going to be ok? Yes. I do. Can I explain it? Nope. Not one bit.

It opens up the possibility that Gareth and I did not meet by chance. That I played a role in helping him experience deep love before he left us. And I don't mean this in a megalomaniac GOD CHOSE ME kind of way. I mean to say that perhaps, in some way, we're constantly being called to show one another the love of God. Sometimes we're being called pretty specifically. Sometimes we're aware that we're in the middle of something greater than ourselves and our plans and sometimes we're not.

But that doesn't mean it's not happening.

Perhaps, and just sit with me here for a minute on this thought, perhaps we all have a role in each other's life. You. Me. Those we know intimately or barely at all. Perhaps we're all meant to teach each other something. To show each other something.


And let it be love.






1 comment:

  1. Some things you say really stand out for me. "I remember commenting how easy it was for me to love him. How I was a bit in awe of my ability to love this man, even when he could be trying, to say the least. I didn't respond to him in the ways I would have thought I would. I always responded with love..This doesn't mean I excused inexcusable behaviors. It just means that at all times I was aware of the deepest love I've ever felt. And I was aware of the joy and moments of peace I was bringing to Gareth's life while feeling deep gratitude for the joy he was adding to mine- a life that I felt was already full and one I was happy with. He didn't make me whole. He made me grateful....Our sweet Gareth has suffered long enough and he is not meant to be on this earth for long. I want you to go show him the love of God before he goes. I want him to experience extended moments of joy. Of peace. Of loving and being loved...if peace is brought to those who need it, it's a beautiful thing...Perhaps, and just sit with me here for a minute on this thought, perhaps we all have a role in each other's life. You. Me. Those we know intimately or barely at all. Perhaps we're all meant to teach each other something. To show each other something...And let it be love."

    All of this resonates with me. I was talking to a UU minister about my beliefs and spirituality. That I can't say I believe in a God, but I do believe that there is great mystery. There are connections. I do believe these connections serve a purpose or purposes. I do believe in the power of love. And that is closest to what I believe about God.

    I find comfort thinking about reading about your giving Gareth unconditional love, and think about the way I loved Jessica unconditionally "even when (she) could be trying, to say the least."

    What has changed for me with having loved Jessica so unconditionally and knowing the pain of her suffering and experiencing the pain of a parent who despite all her love could not help her child is that I have deeper compassion.

    I always had thought of my self as a compassionate person, but now I realized I had a superficial compassion. Superficial compassion for the suffering my father experienced, who could be much more than a little trying. Superficial compassion for people who love someone who is suffering. It wasn't until Jessica entered my life that I fully understood what it is like to love unconditionally and to feel deep compassion.

    I can only hope that Jessica was grounded in our love, so that her suffering was somewhat diminished throughout her short 27 years on earth.

    Thank you for sharing all you do. You sharing gives comfort to me. That has to come from some purpose.

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