Take Two

Things I learned this week:

When you don’t really know what to do or where to go, the best thing sometimes is to just go home. And if you don’t have a home, you could just go to the last place you felt completely happy and useful and competent and loved, and if that happens to be on the couch with your decade old tie-dyed sheets, a stack of books and your best friend, in your old apartment in Fort Wayne instead of Europe, then fine. It’s not the end of the world.

If you begin to have fleeting moments of worry that maybe “home” is some guy popping the question with a ring from Zales in front of a fire next to the Christmas tree, or two kids and a house instead of grad school and Europe, you’re probably just homesick and approaching 30 in the Midwest at Christmastime, and home can actually be chili with your best friends or lunch at Las Lomas or Starbucks when it snows for the first time or even Wanda Sykes standup comedy and chicken noodle soup.

Someday in my life, maybe God will speak to me directly in the form of Morgan Freeman or a burning bush, but for now, I can only make the best decisions I can with what I have at the time, and trust that God will meet me there. My prayers at night usually go something like this: helphelphelphelp…sorrysorrysorrysorry…helphelphelphelphelp… thankyouthankyou.

The miracle, I have realized—the exception, not the rule—is that we are alive. That our skin comes together and holds everything in. That our blood flows and our hearts beat. That we breathe in and out and are given a certain number of days to complete a certain task in the world, and that we think somehow all of this is our doing. That our lives belong to us. We are created, and we exist so long as our creator continues to breath life into our frail, fragile, pile of bones and skin and muscle. Each time we breathe in and out, we are experiencing a tremendous, fantastic, unbelievable miracle.

When you hurt someone, you say you’re sorry. And when someone tells you they’re sorry, you forgive them. We have this crazy weapon, this powerful tool against all the ugly and darkness and hurt in the world, called redemption. Hardly any of us use it, and it’s our one chance in the world to actually undo something. To undo something. An excuse to stop hating someone, and to offer someone else the same chance. Did you guys know about this?

We have to protect each other. We always have to protect each other, and I am the worst at remembering this, but it’s so important. I am doing my best to make the list of people who hate me in the world shorter, to become less harmful and more protective.

There is no timeframe for how life is supposed to go. Deferring is okay. It’s not a race and I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I can do whatever I want whenever I want to.

Things happen, and we adjust. I am going back to Germany tomorrow.
Katie’s funeral was beautiful.
We are heartbroken.

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5 thoughts on “Take Two”

  1. i love you, brooke! and you’re one of the few people i know that can write about faith without sounding preachy. man, i wish we could meet up in the fort over a big, neverending plate of nachos and just talk.
    until then, keep up the writing. i can’t wait to read your book.

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  2. “i for one” am glad you were here. thank you for coming home. not just for yourself, but for me, as well. that’s what friends do, and you are a true friend. i love you. have a wonderful european experience, and give a hug to that other amazing friend of ours for me.

    au revoir.

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  3. I’m really glad you were there. And thank you for giving up your seats for us. My dad was really concerned that you might not have somewhere to sit. But thank you for the seats. Have a good trip and keep safe.

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  4. You are always in my prayers. God will be your home. Let him be your comfort. Losing a friend always makes you think and live differently. It happened to me when I was sixteen years-old. I feel you put into words how I felt back then and how I feel to this day. Thanks for giving a gift of your writing along with a piece of your heart. Do what you want, love others, thats all you can do. If that means serving people across the world or country, then so be it. If that means having a family in a familiar town you work in, then so be it. If that means going from place to place and doing multiple things, then so be it. Just do what you feel is right and what makes you happy. See ya when you visit next.

    Laura Pflueger

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