My Friend Timo

Timothy John Woelk
August 29, 1975 - May 24, 2014

I met Timo when I came back from Germany in 2002.  It was my first plunge into the college group at my church and I hated it.  Firstly, I was coming off of the high of Bible school, so wherever I landed I was bound to struggle with everything being less awesome.  Secondly, I was starting over as my group of high school friends had disbanded and I had to build brand new friendships.  Thirdly, this college group riddled with "misfits" was weird and quirky and there were too many "old" people who I thought should have moved on by now.  Fourthly, I was getting hit on uncomfortably often.

So there we were.  I was nervous and unsure and lonely.  He was odd and random.

Sometimes it's obvious when a friendship begins, but that's not how it was with Timo and I.  It was more like friendship snuck up on us, because at some point the quirky became endearing.

Timo was generally on the periphery.  Always around, supportive, interested, but never the leader.  He was perfectly happy to not be the centre and never imposed his ideas or plans on anyone.  If the conversation was sports, he certainly had an opinion.  He'd pull out his iPhone and have the stats in seconds.  Also, speaking of iPhones, Timo would regularly find funny anecdotes or videos to share with us at Bible study - sometimes relevant, sometimes not at all.  At our last get-together he shared some of the unbelievably weird Kijiji adds for roommates he had com across in his search for a new place to live.

A few months ago I got a window in Timo's softer side when he shared some of his life story and testimony at our small group.  It was great to have a window into his childhood, youth and young adult life and hear about the effect his dad's death had on him.  I was most impacted by the way he teared up when he talked about his best friend Benno's marriage and move to Australia.  I never would have guessed how much that had affected him.

In the last month of his life, Timo had gotten notice that he had to be out of his apartment.  As his small group we prayed with him and for him that he would find a place to live in time.  The last time we were together there was only a week left and he still had no solid leads.  It was remarkable to all of us that he was so calm about it.  He mentioned it as something to pray for, always ending with "but God's given me peace about this."  The rest of us were more worried and nervous for his sake then he ever was himself.

In hindsight, God knew.  God knew that Timo wouldn't need to worry about moving to a new apartment; that his next move was in a different direction.  I love that God knew and gave Timo the peace that surpassed our understanding.  What a powerful thing for us, who are left behind.  I love that Timo got to pack up his own things into boxes, leaving his family to come collect his already organized belongings.  And I love that Timo got to enjoy his last day in the woods and the sunshine with friends.

I will miss him.

Leviticus 19 inspired

At the crossroads of "do not bear a grudge" and "rebuke your neighbour frankly" and "do not hate" and "love your neighbour" there must be room for lovingly confronting someone who has wronged me in hopes of reconciliation and a better relationship moving forward.  

Right?

Take 1

Dear _____,

Damn it!!  Why don't you ever answer me?  Why don't you even try?  Do I have to do everything?  This sucks as bad as it did when you did it to me the first time.

Take 2

Dear _____,

Why don't you ever make any effort ?  I'm bending over backwards here to make sure you are not offended or upset or hurt or belittled.  Plus I'm proactively reaching out in multiple ways.  I want this relationship to work.  I'm initiating by phone, by invites, by offers, by cards, by gifts, by emails - anything so we have something to talk about.  But you never reciprocate.  And I don't even know you anymore, because you never try.  Do you even see what I'm doing?  Do you care?  It feels pretty shitty to be trying and be shut down.  Now I remember why I pulled away in the first place.  It hurts, this thing you're doing.  Or not doing.  It hurts and I'm angry that I let you keep doing it to me.

Take 3

Dear _____,

As I pray for you and work on my attitude, tone, and words when we are together, I am noticing that I am repeatedly coming up against a hurdle.  I know you mentioned in an email that you have assumed that I did not like you.  While that has not been the case, I realize that I began pulling back from you years ago and as I now work towards repairing our relationship, I am experiencing the same hurts that caused me to distance myself in the first place.  In order for us to move forward, I feel I would need to talk to you about this.  If that is something you are willing to do, maybe we could go for a walk one evening once the kids are in bed.  

F***in' Fours

Dear Four,

You are so very capable and independent.  You are a delight to be around with your clever observations of your world and the witty way in which you word things.  I enjoy doing "big" things with you, Four, teaching you board games and noting how smart you are at picking up the strategies.  Your competent help around the house is now actually helpful as you can legitimately put away your laundry, empty the dishwasher, bring in the garbage bins, and vacuum the back entrance.   I rejoice with you in your accomplishments, watching you climb high heights, bike far distances, and make great shots.

And then with a subtle shifting of the wind, everything about you changes, Four.  You'd think it would happen with a crash of thunder for the impact it has, but it sneaks up on us in stealth mode.  I imagine that's what makes it's effect even more devastating.

Now you are angry.  You spew rudenesss and rage and complaints as you erupt over all of us.  Your settings are so tense that your first reaction to every little thing is loud and messy and painful for both of us.  You can't, you won't, and you don't - and angrily at that.  You are out of control.  I don't really want to be around you and I'm ashamed of that.  I am embarrassed by your behaviour and feel like I need to defend you in front of others, even while I am rolling my eyes inwardly.

At this point any glimpse of the Four of moments ago just taunts me from the sidelines as I remember your glory days.  The ones I want to call 'normal' or 'the real you' because this monster in front of me can't possibly be the same person.

And yet it is.

Oh, Four, you make me bubble up and grin one moment.  Only to make me cringe and curse the next.  You tease me with your apparent ability to be pleasant and helpful and roll with the punches.  And torture me with your apparent loss of sanity and any semblance of the son I know.

Four, you are tumultuous and a love-hate relationship seems inevitable for us.

First Birthday

Lachlan, my son,

You look so big as you earnestly "tell" me about what you are playing in the tub.  And so small as you snuggle into me when you are overwhelmed.  So big as you eat a whole piece of watermelon, holding the rind like this is no big deal.  And so small as your new toddler carseat seems to swallow you up.  So big playing cars together with your brothers on the floor, them already starting to argue with you as though you are one of the guys.  And so small clutching your bottle as you lie in my arms at night.

I watch you let go of the couch and balance, right on the brink of walking on your own yet still hesitant to take your first steps.  And I feel like I am watching you on the verge of so much more.  On the cusp of another year that will bring growth and development in abundance.  A year that will snowball into another and another and suddenly you will walk and talk and climb and discover and run and bike and read and build and learn.  Suddenly and also not so suddenly at all.  

I pray that as we sometimes lead you and sometimes follow you, we would guide you right to the cusp of the fullness of our awesome God and let you jump headlong into His love and grace and peace and joy and discover for yourself the amazing person He created you to be.

Love, your Mom

Don't Swallow Me

A baby was born and I became something new.  Something altogether exciting and challenging and rewarding and overwhelming and fulfilling.  Suddenly spit-up covered my clothes and life took on exponentially more meaning.  Decisions became more weighty, their consequences farther-reaching.  Judgement, perceived and real, lurked behind the eyes of strangers and friends.  Mundane events became the evening's entertainment.

Everywhere I went, Motherhood followed.  It didn't get tucked into bed with the kids in the evening.  It wouldn't stay at home and wave good-bye as I pulled off the driveway in the van.  It wouldn't stop interrupting what should have been my time.  It's sticky fingerprints took over every square inch of the house and of my heart.  And I loved it.

I love it so much that sometimes it's hard to remember it is not everything.  I am also more.  Or at least I am also other.  I can't turn Motherhood off or lock her at home, but perhaps I can hide her for a bit.  Is that terrible of me to suggest?  Maybe I can disguise her for a few moments and try to forget she's there.  Does she have to define all of me?

I want to be the cliched best mother I can be, I do.  But not more than I want to be the best wife I can be.  Best friend I can be.  Best teacher I can be.  Best Jesus-follower I can be.

Don't swallow me, Motherhood.  I'm pulling my life back out of your jaws and reclaiming it before you gulp it down.  Back off.

The Valley

It isn't quite what I thought, this being-a-mother thing.  The early days of generous visitor after enthusiastic visitor did not foreshadow days of monotony and loneliness.  Idyllic childhood dreams of being a mommy didn't include this level of sacrifice and loss.

I love it, I do.  And I love them, the ones who have made me Mom.

I love them so much that while it makes me sad to be losing a friend, I watch her drift away and do nothing.  How can I explain it to her, when I don't understand it myself?  I feel selfish for clinging to my Time like a hoarder, but I don't know that I can let go.  And so I watch her across the valley called My Kids and know that shouting is in vain.  I holler anyway, even knowing it won't bring us any closer.  Perhaps, at least, we won't turn our backs if we are still shouting now and again.  Facing each other is better than the alternative.  How did we get here?

I am mourning what we had.  Even when we are together, I feel the valley.  Your life is so so different from mine.  What do I share?  What do I say, that doesn't draw attention to the fact that we don't have anything in common?

I don't know how to navigate the grief.  I don't know if I'm supposed to let you go and move on.  Or fight for us?  How much is fighting for us going to cost me?  Is it worth it?  Will it even work?

Remember me?  We used to blare our songs.  Have inside jokes.  Compare about travel adventures.  Trade books.  Watch movies.  Dream.  Look at photos.  Giggle.  Fill weekends.  Call.  Talk.

Do you remember?
Do you miss it too?

His Song

You picked his song.  Your brother was gone for the night - the first night you've spent alone in your bunkbed - and you chose to sing his song at bedtime.

The sweetness is almost too much.

Treasuring up in my heart, I am.

Feel

Find delight through the body I gave you, daughter.  I didn't just slap it together to give your soul, heart, mind, and spirit a vehicle for getting around.  Your senses are yours to lap up every bit of good I have created.  The pleasure you can experience in and through each carefully created inch of you is my gift to you.

Click the camera of your mind and capture that snapshot of the budding tree against the perfect blue backdrop, the sun's rays streaking through the grasping branches and into your soul.  Revel in the sloppiness of a spontaneous kiss on the cheek.  Savor the tingly sparkle of discovery and the radiant glow of pride.  Welcome the shivers as the breeze dances across the lake in unpredictably wonderful patterns of rippling water.  Flow along with your hand as you write in swirling cursive across a fresh page.  Tease your ear into a smile as you play with words until the level of subtle eloquence is just right.  Transform each pounding step of a run into freedom and joy.  Let the fragrance of memory take you on a journey.  Make sure to walk barefoot and know that this is holy ground.  Knead the dough and really get your hands in deep.  Let the shower run a little longer just noticing the impact on your shoulders and the drip-trails down your breasts.  Drum until your hands are stinging, sing and feel your insides ringing.  Embrace every embrace with all you are.  Lean in and treasure each sensation.

Feel it all.  Enjoy it all.  And know that it is good.