One of my "kids" died yesterday.
I remember a crazy night on a play trip back in the 80s when I was a long-haired youth pastor with a scraggly beard and a Norwegian Afro and David Holland was a sophomore sitting in his wheel chair working our sound/lights. 120 kids, two weeks on the road, early mornings, late nights, lots of love and laughs and fun, and lots of depth of thought, care, prayer and meaning.
In the middle of a dark sanctuary after a very long day, Matt Holland (the brother in the children's book "Mickey's Not the Same") picks up David and about six guys join him. They hoist him onto their shoulders like a huge log (he was pretty big by then) and start carrying him out of the room. Someone stubbed their toe in the dark, the lifters shifted weight, almost dropping Dave, and there, in that space and sacred moment, one of the lifters whispered... a small profanity! David burst out with a huge gasped "Haaaaaaaw" and the whole assembly joined him.
There is no such thing as sacred and secular. Holy and profane. Sanctuary and world. Insiders and outsiders. Gifted and non-gifted. Half and whole. When you are One in love, one in mission, one in friendship, one in care, all is sacred. All is holy. All is sanctuary. All are insiders. All are gifted. All are whole.
David, what joy you brought to your world. Matt and Eric would not be the men they are today if not for you.
What joy your memory brings. What depth your depth called forth. What friendships your friendship spawned.
What life your life still gives.
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