June

This has been an odd month, filled with beginnings and endings.

It started with the sense of a new beginning. Along with some other friends of mine, we’d been trying for quite some time to help our mutual friend, Andrejs, to find some steady work and a stable environment. And while the way forward didn’t appear certain, it looked like - at long last - an opportunity to both serve him and enable him to serve others had opened up.

I was excited, and also relieved at the same time. His situation had been wearing on me for some time, wondering and worrying how to help my friend, and at the same time wrestling with questions about how to help. Was I reluctant to open up my home, my wallet, my life, simply because of the convenience cost to me? Or, as I was telling myself (and being told by others), was that something that would end up costing us both in the long run?

So when an opportunity surfaced to help him, and enable him in some small way to help others, I was thrilled. Both because it meant there was something for him… and also because it meant less would be demanded of me.

Beginnings can quickly end.

Less than a week later, my friend and flatmate sat me down, early on a Sunday morning, and told me that Andrejs was gone. Had been killed. Stabbed. Suddenly, bizarrely, without any apparent motive or backstory.

Did I kill him? Did my failure to invite him to come live with me, my insistence that he stay in his hometown and seek a way forward there, contribute to his death? Of course not. And of course yes. 

Decisions always have consequences. Can I live with the consequence of the ones I’ve made? Am I sure enough that I chose wisely, that I had his best interests at heart, and not just my own selfish needs? Of course. And of course not.

Calling friends. Making plans to attend the funeral. Ironing my white shirt and black tie. Driving to the funeral. Seeing tears streaming down the faces of stoic, otherwise emotionless men. Driving back. Emptiness.

And this was the beginning of the summer.

One week after the funeral, the summer team arrives. Four bright, eager, expectant Americans (are there any other kind?). Three of them in Latvia for the first time, and one who was back for his second trip. He knew Andrejs too, returned in no small part because of him. Somehow it was cathartic to talk about it, together, reminisce and remind one another of our friend. Share some tears of laughter and sorrow in the same conversation.

We prepare to go to Jani camp - a midsummer camp hosted by LKSB - but because I manage to misplace the keys to the van, we’re delayed. Eight hours of searching later, we find them, but not before we miss the beginning of camp. Another odd start.

And yet,

and yet,

life moves forward, and is filled with good.

Our delayed arrival ends up bringing us closer together as a team.
Shared loss draws me closer to many others who also loved Andrejs.
I speak at the last night of camp, and despite minimal preparation, God seems to use my raw and honest sharing in meaningful ways.

This summer started with an ending. But it did start. Questions still remain, wrestling amongst themselves in the back rooms of my soul. In some ways, the busyness of running a summer program, hosting a team and coordinating a camp provide the distractions that I need to keep from wallowing in a place of grief. But there’s still unresolved layers of sorrow waiting to be processed.

And yet,

and yet,

the summer has started, and is already filled with good.