There’ll Never Be Another (Ode to Rosser)

Tomorrow is our first faculty meeting of the year. I’m going to walk into the library, but I'm not going to be looking for anyone. I’m just going to sit down. And that’s how it’ll start. When the day is over, I’m not going to stop by room 179 to hear about stock quotes. I’m just going to walk out the doors. And that’s how it’ll end.  It’s going to be different. It’s going to be a bit lonelier. It’s going to be sad.

I’m having trouble pulling myself together long enough to write this. Who wouldn’t? I remember when I first found out. It’s an odd thing to react to. On the one hand, all I can think about is myself, my feelings, my life, my workday. On the other hand, all I can think about is how right this is and how I’d never want to change it. The result is a very odd emotion, and I wouldn’t mind if I never felt it again in my whole life. You think I’m being dramatic, but that’s fine because if you know him, you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, then I’m very sorry for you because you won’t get to for 3 and a half more years.

You can’t write this character up in a book, people wouldn’t believe it. And when I try to recreate the experience of knowing him, people don’t get it. When you’re with him, chances are you’re about to be in a story told for weeks to come. And if there’s a boat or some sort of sea-faring vessel involved, years to come. I can’t think of a better way to live a life.

He has his own sort of way of doing things, and even though people try, no one can ever blame him for it. Once you know him long enough, you find yourself revisiting a grin and the phrase “that’s about right” regularly. His decisions are completely unpredictable, yet never surprising. He teaches those around him adventure, integrity, and innovation. If something’s broken, you bet he can buy it off Craig’s list and fix it. If you need help, you bet he will be there to help you move for the 5^th time. He’ll never tell you what you want to hear, but he’ll tell you what you need to hear. Over and over again. He has revealed parts of God’s character to me that I’d never thought about and taught me how to ask good questions.

He has shown me what it looks like to care deeply for people and in knowing their stories and histories. Once in Greece, he spent time researching the different icons. He picked one for each of his young life boys, and then we set off to go get them. Not a moment passed in the cab before he was digging into the life of the driver, language barrier be damned. This is what he does though. He has pushed me to invest in those around me more times than excuses I have. I’m going to miss that. No one else tells me to do that.

He has been constant, consistent, and resilient in the lives of kids around him even when they have been nothing more than inconsistent, rude, and uncommitted. And once married, he and his wife have been partners in ministry that I’ve not once taken for granted. They know what it’s supposed to look like. They’ve caught the vision, and that’s why they have to leave.

I’m not sure what I think about Seattle without them. I’m not sure I’ll like it as much. You’re thinking this is a bit morbid, even inappropriate. They're not dead after all. But God told me I’m not getting married in Seattle, so in June 2015, home will be somewhere else. So I know this is it besides fleeting visits here or there. I will never be able to interact in day-to-day life with them quite like I have been able to the past 5 years. This is a heavy thought for me, and I almost can’t grip it. If you know them, you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, then I’m very sorry for you because you only have 4 days left.

Tomorrow it begins. CS Lewis says, “Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.” I guess I have a choice—think about their absence or think about how blessed I was to have their presence. Here’s to the Rossers—a duo unlike any other. Nothing less than Kingdom seekers, nothing more than obedient. That’s about right.

Take notes and wash the dishes.

“Welcome home…or Welcome back? Which is it?”

What a question. Was I coming or leaving? Soon as I returned this morning, I took the walk down to my refuge, Burien Press. It had been a while, and I thought seeing faces I adore would ease the transition. I was startled by the question to be honest. Maybe she saw it on my face, but my mind still hadn’t left the Rock. So, which is it?

When you learn something, you should write it down. You won’t remember it later. And if you don’t remember it later, it’s like it never happened. To get it back, you have to relearn it all over again. And that’s exhausting for everyone when all along you could have just taken notes. School is one thing, but life is another. I can’t keep going in circles, can’t keep failing the same class over and over again. I’ll go mad, and God is a teacher I do not want to disappoint. I want to avoid all that.

So I write because I need to remember. I need to remember what it was like. I need to remember what He told me. I need to remember the people, oh…the people. I need to remember how washing thousands of dishes a day with some of God’s finest brought me so much joy. I need to remember that I’m not here to read about and stalk Jesus; I’m here to move, to act—love does. I need to remember that when I forget about myself, He gives me life, and I want to remember what that life is like. That life is simple. It’s real. It’s good. It’s honest. And most importantly, it’s possible.

I got to see what it was meant to be like, and I can’t let go of that. I have to write it down. It was meant to be full of joy. There is joy in waking up early to the smell of dead fish in Hobart's belly. There is joy in scrubbing dozens of sheet pans and smelling like the “river” everyday. There is joy in taking breaks to dance, and rap, and walk around the kitchen. There is joy in yelling the names of people you love just to keep them on their toes. There is joy in sorting bags and bags of trash. There is joy in carrying freight up ramps at low tide. There is joy in the frustration of being in the middle of a 40-person game of signs. There is joy in sharing one shower with 20 people. There is joy in spilling your life, your insecurities to people whom you may have just met but somehow trust with everything you’ve got. There is joy in serving. There is so much joy.

It was meant to be full of love. There is love in conflict and reconciliation. There is love in praying for each other. There is love in knowing each other’s “levels.” There is love in hearing each other’s stories and asking tough questions. There is love in sharing the weight of each other’s jobs and lending hands to help. There is love in creating a conversation with a stranger just so you can know their name and use it for six days. There is love in serving. So much love.

It was meant to be full of hope. There is hope in knowing it’s not about me. There is hope in knowing I am second. There is hope in knowing that He makes the difference in every single life. There is hope in knowing that even if I forget this, He will never forget me. And right now, all I want to do is honor this glimpse He gave me. There is hope in serving. So much hope.

So, which is it? Truth be told, I don’t want to answer the question. I’m not sure it matters anyway. He is still working. Still telling me what that life is like, so we have to keep writing. Write so that we can remember and move forward. You need to write too. It’s the only way for us all to get home.

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