Oh the joys of...

Catching the sun early in the morning as it yawns its way up into the sky in soft pinks and oranges... and drinking coffee with soy milk while doing so.  :)

Prisoner for Christ

For my  morning scripture reading, I checked out Philemon.  It's a short letter from Paul to Philemon: a fellow Christian who's slave, Onesimus, had stolen something and run away (a crime punishable by death according to Roman law).  When I first read through this, I did my usual reading style (checking for useful quotes, lists, facts), but didn't get much out of the passage.

Then, I closed my eyes and imagined.  The letter is to Philemon, encouraging forgiveness and acceptance of Onesimus.  However, I imagined what must of gone on with Onesimus at that pivotal time.  It's sort of like the Les Miserables story.  A man who's had a rough life finally escapes from bondage after stealing, only to be morally convicted to return to bondage!  For me, this passage is about giving up freedom in the name of Christ.  Imagining Onesimus's story shows me that we all are required to be slaves for Christ.  We must give up our freedom to be Free in the Lord.


Onesimus probably remembered that fateful day that he decided to make a break for it.  He was tired of having someone else call the shots. He'd like to have his own family some day-- to settle down with a pretty girl from his hometown and have a child or two. For many long years he'd worked and toiled for this master, just to maintain the status quo.  Never to move forward.  His master was a decent guy, and in fact, since he converted to Christianity and started hanging out with that Paul guy, he's a changed man.  He'd been treating Onesimus better than ever.

But still!  He couldn't stand it.  He couldn't breathe!  The pressure of freedom squeezed his very bones!

It was time.  Onesimus grabbed some of the Master's food for the road, and some of the wife's jewelry to trade along the way.  This wouldn't break them.  They'd make it through fine and everyone would be happier.

And life passed.

And Onesimus enjoyed the quenching splendor of being his own man!  He had options.  He had ideas.  He'd always been inventive and had a proclivity for being outside, especially in the farm.  Perhaps he'd start his own small farm, as his grandparents had done...

Then things changed.  That Paul burst into the life of Onesimus.  Paul was like no other man he'd ever known.  Even when a slave, Onesimus had always felt respect and kindness from that man.   And now he was in prison!  How?  This singular man who had touched Onesimus years ago- in prison?  It was that inevitable decision to visit the man that would change all of Onesimus's plans.


Paul taught Onesimus about a fellow named Jesus Christ.  Who in the same way had changed Paul's own life forever.  He his own miraculous story of the time when he was blinded on the road.  This man used to be a murderer of Christians?  What a change!


Paul and Onesimus forged a friendship over the months.  Onesimus would visit Paul in the prison on a regular basis and could feel his heart changing with each passing conversation.  He also knew that his presence was feeding Paul.  And he finally felt that he had a significant role in things.  He would help this imprisoned man spread the wonderful gospel of Christ!  His heart was beaming and he couldn't wait!


And the there came that conversation.  Onesimus had come in to discuss some new people he'd met who were interested in the Gospel, but seeing Paul's expression stopped that.  Paul explained he hadn't slept well the past week because of the pounding conviction in his heart.  He'd prayed.  He'd bargained.  He'd try to reason with God, but the answer was always the same: Onesimus must return to Philemon. 


Shocked and hurt, Onesimus didn't know what to say.  He bid farewell, and prayed for a three days on the matter.  He read old letters from Paul for encouragement.  But after asking for God's wisdom, that heartbreaking answer came back.  Return.

Onesimus was afraid of how his masters would treat him.  And he was dismayed that God could shed all those plans he'd made for him and cast him back into slavery.  But his heart knew what God wanted, and he could not argue with his spirit, so he returned to Paul, and watched as each painful letter formed on the parchment that would be requesting his master's forgiveness.  

And that was it.  Onesimus packed his bags and said goodbye to his Paul, not knowing if he would ever see that dear friend again.  And he gave up his freedom and dreams to return to his masters.


He thought along the trip home.  How can slavery ever be fit for the service of Christ?  The he recalled a letter Paul had addressed where he called himself a slave of Christ.  This man who was undoubtedly changing lives in the name of the Lord was a slave and prisoner in the name of Jesus Christ! If that was Christ's call for Onesimus, then that is where he would go.


He braced himself as he opened the old familiar door of Philemon's home.  And he was met with warmth, tears, and the presence of Jesus's abounding love.

Strange Dreams

I've been having some strange dreams lately.  In Costa Rica, I had one where I told off Hugh Hefner because he was basically a chauvinist pig. In another dream, Dad passed away, and I woke up with tears streaming from my eyes. There were a few other, off-the-wall, completely random ones as well, but I can't recall right now in my post-nap haze.

Some of the dreams are strange, and others are so emotionally vivid.  During today's nap, I dreamed that my Uncle Mike passed away.  Gammy's friend, Vanda, called and told her, and we were all sad!  Maybe this comes from the passing of Roger in January.  I still feel so sad about that, and Kiersta and the boys are presented with many new challenges... we miss him.

In another dream from my nap, it must have been several years into the future, because Fayetteville had several new stores.  I remember walking into Mom's studio to pick up something, and I guess she was in the process of moving out and away... the room was filled with just space, except for a lamp or occasional box or two.  No JR hair; it was immaculately clean and lonely!  I wasn't shocked or anything; in the dream, I'd known that Mom was moving out and I was probably trying to help.  I called her and she and Grandaddy (my 84-year-old Grandfather) were up at the playground on the swings.  They were laughing and having so much fun.  I asked if she'd like a chocolate smoothie and if I should buy a sugar free one for Grandaddy.  Hearing me, he shouted: "Oh, no, Laurel!  I'll be perfectly fine."  And Mom told me of three different places to get smoothies.  Before I hung up, Grandaddy said, "Oh, Wendy is so much fun! This girl has such a sense of humor!" (And of course all of this was said in his awesomely thick Dutch accent).  

And that was it. I woke up not sad, but wistful.  Wistful because the few strands of what  knew were beginning to dissolve away into the past... Only the future lay ahead.

And when I look back over this writing, I'm seeing that it seems the common denominator for these dreams is Change.  Yeah, that.  I've had a lot of change in my life these last two years, and the divorce represents a huge blast into my trajectory and those around me.  I've not given it much conscious thought, because I don't see any profit in it.  So, I guess it leaks out through my dreams.  The truth is, I miss what I knew.  I miss having a whole family and a cute little home on the hill.  But it is what it is, and I didn't write to complain.

Another thing this dream illustrates is that always-losing battle of clinging desperately to the past.  The only thing we get is nostalgia.  We must be ok with change and we must move on in order for God to work in our lives.  In Costa Rica, one of the pastors who spoke to us mentioned a strong tradition of immigration in the Bible, and how each of those newcomers brought a new, crucial element to their community.  Whether immigrating to a new place, or simply a new phase of life, we must face it willing to bring something new along, and to make that place (or phase) better.  We must! ... Or we sink in nostalgia.

I really like "Man In the Mirror" for that reason.  Change is a good thing in this song. He's actually asking for it!

"No message could have been any clearer: if you wanna make the world a better place, you better look at yourself and make a change."  

Sing it, Michael!

Day 4: Love Does Not Boast

I'll be thinking of the Love the Bible describes over these days preceding Valentine's Day.  I've decided to break the I Corinthians passage up into 14 pieces to concentrate on each day.

The first quality of Love is patience.  On Day 1, I learned that I lack much in this department and have a lot of work to do.

The second tenet is: Love is kind, or "love cares more for others than for self", as the Message puts.  As that day went by, I tried to focus on how I could put others' needs and interests before mine; how the world really wouldn't be destroyed if I waited and worried about someone else.

Yesterday, I ran around all day busy and didn't concentrate on any one piece of the Love passage.

Today, I'm making up by concentrating on two:  Love "does not envy, does not boast."  This is an interesting part of the verse here.  It points us directly back to that other good 'ol Corinthians gem that urges us not to compare amongst ourselves:  2 Corinthians 10:12 says, "We do not dare to classify or compare ourselves with some who commend themselves. When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not wise."  If we compare, we envy those whose talents or possessions exceed ours (there's always someone out there who can one-up you).  If we compare amongst ourselves, we boast when we outdo others.  That's why this important corollary follows the warning not to be jealous.

Interestingly, this is a passive kind of Love.  We're not directly doing anything to the person on the receiving end, but rather, we're not doing something which is very destructive to relationships.

If anyone needs this passage, it's me.  I'm pretty hard on myself, and often assess myself on a "relativity scale."  "Well, most people don't [insert something that I think is a big deal but is not really] like me!"  Or ... "Everyone here has done X and Y and has Z... I need to work on my life!"  The only One to judge my success and progress and those of others in the human experience is the Lord himself.  The only One.  

This is why those who excel at the art of Love don't envy and boast.

My best friend posted in her blog about the 1 Corinthians 13 passage the same day I did; she mentioned that one can work on these few verses for, oh... their entire life. 

How true.

I think that as these days pass, I'm no where near "mastering" Love; rather much as I'm learning where I stand in my walk towards True Love.  And I got a lotta work to do, folks.

On Love

It's been a long week.   We lost a very dear loved one in the family, and it's been hard on everyone involved.  No one really knows what to do or say; there is no handbook on how to handle the passing of a young man who left behind two boys and a wife.  I will discuss this more in another post.

Thinking of life and how flimsy it is (as Dave Chappelle aptly puts it), I want to live it well.  Rent -- another fav of mine -- poses the question:  "525,600 minutes... how do you measure a year in the life of a woman or a man?" and then the cast sings, "Measure in Love."

I think that one of the problems of our culture is that it only glorifies really one aspect of Love:  romantic love. Think about it. In almost all movies there is a romantic love interest.  True Love's Kiss conquers a wicked spell.  The pursuit of romantic love has a monopoly on the content of modern media: it's integral to the plot of any "good" movie, shopping malls offer a host of material ways to attract someone into that romantic love, and our songs are riddled with that L-word; Paul McCartney just flat out admits that about his song in, "Silly Love Songs":  "some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs.  What's wrong with that, I'd like to know, cause here I go again!"  He then repeats the phrase "I love you" some thousand times.

Romantic love is great: it gives us that safe and warm feeling, but it's only one component of the full Love. C.S. Lewis in his book, The Four Loves, proposes four different facets of what we know as "love":  affection, friendship, romantic love, and unconditional love (the highest). The True Love proclaimed by the great religions of this world is much more than that expressed in a romance novel.   Gandhi, who identified himself as a Hindu and a Muslim, fasted nearly to death and would not eat anything until the violence between Muslim and Hindu sects ceased.  Martin Luther King, a Christian, conveyed the power of love in his speech, "The American Dream":

       And so throw us in jail and we will still love you. Burn our homes and threaten our children, and as difficult as it is, we will still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our communities at the midnight hours and beat us and drag us out on some wayside road and leave us half dead and, as difficult as it is, we will still love you. But be ye assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer, and one day we will win our freedom. We will so appeal to your heart and your conscience that we will win you in the process. And our victory will be a double victory.

This is Love.   Can I say I've known this full spectrum of Love? Yes. However, I'm a little rusty in practicing this love.  

Valentines Day is coming up:  that day that can be hard on singles sometimes; that day which perpetuates the myth that a happy life hinges on romantic love, just one part of true Love; that day which spurs the urgent race to "find someone," that we may not waste away this life... alone! *gasp!*

But what about real Love?  What must we do to experience that full, joy-filled Love that God gives to us?

The Bible states it clearly in I Corinthians 13: [The Message] If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy, but don't Love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.  If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump" and it jumps, but I don't Love, I'm nothing.  If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't Love, I've gotten nowhere.  So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without Love.

How do I Love?  Thankfully, the Bible goes on to list clearly the qualities that comprise True Love in I Corinthians: Love is patient, Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Starting today, there are 14 days before Valentine's Day.  There are 14 tenets to this statement.  I am going to take these 14 days and focus on one piece a day.  I need to get my head on straight about love and stop worrying about myself all the time.  I will try to write each day with what I've (hopefully!) learned.

On Animals

Thoughts on animals...

Mark Bittner of The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill studied a wild flock of parrots in San Francisco for six years.  Over these years, he learned that the birds had distinct personalities and experienced emotion ranging from pride, to lonliness, from contentedness to playfulness.  In one passage of the book (you'll just have to read it to get the gist), he describes a dying bird and how it conveyed a clear emotion of regret to him.  He believes unflinchingly that animals experience the same range of emotions as humans, unadulterated by neuroses and other disorders borne of a higher functioning brain.  

My experiences with J.R. has also given me insight into the meaning of animals, I guess.  J.R. loves to have a job; he used to get the morning paper when we lived on High St.  He was so proud of his post!  Animals like choice and , in fact, choice has been proven to stimulate brain development.   J.R. also likes to please.  Each night as lights get turned off and I wind down for bedtime, he'll dutifully crawl under the covers and with great care, begin to lick my legs.  If my I have long pants on, he'll lick my arms, or perhaps my hand.  Anything he can get to do his job!  Dad has knee problems, and J.R. would always lick Dad's legs over Mom's and mine; but, if Dad weren't around, he'd jump over and with alacrity lick our legs.  Another thing J.R. likes is touch, though he may be reluctant to admit it and often plays the strong guy role.  But it's true, and if you don't believe this quality exists in animals, look up the Harry Harlow experiments.  Baby monkeys were placed in a cage with the choice of two mothers: one was made of soft terry cloth, but gave away no food, the other was a wire mother who dispensed food via a baby bottle.  The monkeys spent the majority of their time with the terry cloth mother.  Harlow concluded:  "These data make it obvious that contact comfort is a variable of overwhelming importance in the development of affectional response, whereas lactation is a variable of negligible importance."  Yes, animals can give and receive love. 


When J.R. was recovering from a cyst removal surgery, he was dependent on me for his healing.  I administered antibiotics to him as well as pain killers.  I took him out.  Kept him clean.  And loved him. Sometimes the love required things he didn't like, like pulling on a string that drained his wound (much easier typed than done, believe me!) But all measures were necessary.  He had to have faith that I was taking care of him and doing what was best (to my knowledge) for him.  Sometimes, when his faith faltered and he'd protest, squirm, and growl at me, he had to endure the process against his will.  All these experiences made me think of God's role in our life.  Sometimes we have faith in him, sometimes we suffer under his care, but always he is caring for us.  


Perhaps animals give us a glimpse of God.  Man was made in God's image.  Man, as the other animals, evolved from a common ancestor.  Could we also not say that animals reflect something about God as well?


I particularly liked this morning's devotional by Elisabeth Elliot.  It approaches a question I've always had... what is the significance of animals?  Why are they here?  Are they more than flesh and basic instinct?  I believe so. 

Animals, My Kinsman
While driving recently I was listening to one of those "call-in" shows on the radio, and was glad to hear a question that had nothing to do with politics or abortion or the drug problem. A lady wanted to know whether mongrels were ever trained to be seeing-eye dogs. She felt sorry for all those mongrels she saw on the streets, and she thought it would be so nice if they could be trained to help blind people because (and here the host had to ask her to repeat what she had said to make sure he had heard it right) it would give them something to look forward to.
Just exactly what view did the lady take of the minds of dogs? Did they suffer identity crises? Were they bored with life on the streets, finding that there wasn't much future in it?

Then I heard a recording of the songs of whales. I wouldn't have believed it if I had not just read the fascinating article in the New Yorker by Faith McNulty, "Lord of the Fish," in which she says that whales do indeed "sing." A man named Frank Watlington, an engineer with the Columbia University Geophysical Field Station at Bermuda, recorded the songs with a hydrophone. In contrast to birdsongs, which are light and quick, the song of the whale is heavy and slow, a sort of muted trumpeting interspersed with ratcheting and at times with a surprisingly high, thin whining. It is jubilant and boisterous, eerie and sorrowful, often reminding one of an echo. I had the feeling the whale sometimes experimented with different kinds of sound and when pleased with one drew it out, then abruptly reverted to the ones he'd practiced before, even including a loud, rude Bronx cheer.

The question naturally arises as to why whales make these noises. "It must be the mating call," is the first suggestion most people come up with. But that theory doesn't stand up to scientific investigation. The truth is that nobody has figured out why whales make the noises they make. But then, as my husband pointed out, nobody has figured out why human beings make the noises they make either. Miss McNulty believes whales sing so they won't be alone.

I know a Vermont policeman who was on duty as a game warden one day during hunting season. He sat quietly in the woods and heard a stirring in the leaves over a little rise and soon a young bear appeared about thirty yards away. The bear lay down on his side and squirmed around in a circle in the dead leaves, pushing them into a pile in the center of the circle. Then he climbed a tree and jumped into the pile. He did this not once but again and again. Obviously he was having fun.

I have always found animals irresistible. The whole idea of a kingdom of beings utterly separate and distinct from ourselves who nevertheless gaze upon us and think thoughts about us ravishes me. What do they mean? Why are they there? What did God mean by making them? When he made man, he made him in his own image. When he made animals, his imagination ranged wide and free. But we confront them, we breathe the same air and walk the same earth and live and move and have our being in the same Creator. So we seek to understand them, and quite naturally we ascribe to them our own passions and needs--the ambition of the forsaken mongrel who roams the streets, hoping for some useful niche in the scheme of things; the loneliness of the tremendous beast that moves through dark oceans, singing his wistful song on the off chance that there will be ears to hear; the gaiety of the little yearling bear who, all alone, makes his arrangement for joy and then joyfully climbs, plunges, plays and climbs again.

These creatures are, I suppose, unaware (but perhaps I am wrong--perhaps they are profoundly aware) that a human heart goes out, a human ear is tuned, a human eye watches. And perhaps animals are aware of the divine heart and ear and eye. Perhaps they are not so oblivious as we. Even young lions, according to the Psalmist, "seek their food from God." Look at the face of a good dog. There is simplicity and gentleness and reverence in those liquid eyes. Does he behold the face of the Father? It is easy for me to believe that he does.
God meant the animals to instruct us. I am sure that is one of the things he meant. When he had listened to all the arguments and complaints of his servant Job, and all the bombast of his friends, he answered by the revelation of himself. And this revelation, beginning with the dimensions of the universe, the mighty harmony of the morning stars, the phenomena of sea, clouds, snow, hail, rain, dew, hoarfrost, ice and the constellations, wound up with animals.

What Job didn't know then was that God had already identified himself with one of his own creatures, the gentlest, most harmless little animal of all. He was a Lamb, slain from the foundation of the world.
I have often thought that that terrible ash heap on which poor Job scratched and shrieked would have been made so much more endurable if he had had the least inkling of that. He was overpowered, but had he any idea at all of how he was loved? I have been comforted, in the midst of what seemed to me like ashes, by the thought of the Lamb, and even (does it seem absurd?) by the unflagging attention and affection of a little black dog. For I remember that when Jesus was tempted in the wilderness he had two comforters--angels and animals. The record says he was "with the wild beasts," which I once took to mean he was endangered by them as well as tempted by Satan. I now think otherwise. The animals were surely no threat to him. They kept him company in his sore struggle.

When the impact of life seems about to break us, we can put our minds for a few minutes on fellow creatures--the whale, the bear, or things that "take life blithely, like birds and babies," as Martin Luther said--and remember that there is a sacrifice at the heart of it all. The Lamb became the Shepherd, bearing and caring for the sheep, laying down his life for them both as shepherd and as Lamb, and, in the end, the Book of the Revelation promises, "the Lamb in the midst of the throne shall be their Shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God shall wipe away every tear from their eyes."

What Endures?

So, I've had the "Blah" as Kiersta puts it, for the past week.  Suffice to say, it's given me time to contemplate lots of things.  Physically, I feel icky, but I've had lots of reading time.  Mom gave me Uncle Tom's Cabin for my birthday, and I could not put it down, to my surprise.  I never thought I'd really be into a book based on the heavy subject of slavery, though I could definitely have learned more about it.  But the book, to me, is more than a exposition of the injustices of slavery; to me, it's a memoir of a man who embodied what Christ taught.  Uncle Tom, the namesake of the book, suffered much in his life, but was always loyal and a devout Christian.  Through all the hardships he experienced, he never gave in!  And, man, he goes through some heart-breaking times in this book.  The book taught me that Jesus has purchased us with his blood (yes, that cliche and morbid saying we've all heard... but true!) and that we're his, if we just hang on; Physically, we can lose all, we can be afflicted, tortured, lost, degraded, but nobody has a hold on our Soul, besides Christ.  That's it.  It's untouchable by those of the physical realm.  I like that.   I've never been much into fiction, but this book shoes me that fiction can be used, if not better than non-fiction, to illustrate a real-world lesson.  I also like that.  So, more fiction, please!

After reading the book, I began thinking about how things of the physical world inevitably fail. Whether jobs, relationships, our own bodies, or minds... things fail.  When Mom and Dad separated, I tried to be very practical about the matter. One of the things that I was reluctant to leave was our little home.  I liked that place, and had spent a good 15 years of my life there.  However, I told myself, "It's just foundation and wood, it doesn't matter."  Life went on.  But over the years, I've had this recurring dream that Mom, Dad, and I are squatting there, whether while the present owner (someone I went to school with!) is at work or on vacation.  We sneak in with just the perfect timing and leave the place immaculately untouched as it has been before... I've had about five of these dreams.  When I spoke with Dad about his selling his car (which he's had for way too long anyway!) to be replaced with a new one, we both were a little wistful of the matter.  It's a freaking car!  Why?  And I realized that it's because things are mementos.  We can ascribe memories, people, feelings to little, superficial things.  The items themselves are no more than an item, but the associations we make with these mementos are extremely important to us.  I remember when I was about five, Mom and Dad were trading in the White Car (a little Honda we'd had for a couple of years).  I remember looking back from the seat of the new Blue Car and sobbing, "Goodbye, White Car!!"  I knew how many moments I'd had in that car and how significant they were to me.  Things do matter, because the emotional associations we ascribe to those things. 

So, what endures?  Things will fail us.  They'll be gone, shadows of the past which echo in our memories.

I guess the expected answer is God, in all his glorious infinity.  Yes, that's true, but that's not where my thoughts lie today.

I believe that the people in our lives endure.  If we're blessed enough to meet those wonderful souls who plant a thought, or an experience in our selves which we keep throughout our lives, then those people have endured in our minds, hence the phrase, lasting impression.  Those people have given us something that will go beyond their physical presence with us (whether they pass, or get off the bus, or move to another country) the kind word, the relationship, the years, the children, or the home they've given us will persist in our hearts for our short stint on this rock. 

True, the house is gone.  My parents are no longer together.  But I'm blessed with two wonderful Folks who are still around this day.  And even if they weren't, they will endure: biologically in me (through DNA, as a friend wisely observed when speaking at her father's service after he'd passed), mentally by their thoughts and teachings and all the lessons they have cultivated in me over the years (though some took a good while to sink in), and spiritually, by showing me examples of their strong faith and introducing me to my Savior.  Yes, they'll endure.

As will my wonderful friends.  I've graduated and moved out of Marshall, but the people I've met there will go on in my hearts.  I've been fortunate enough to have the time this year to spend with old PROWLer's or APO brothers.  Others, however, have also moved on to a new stage of life, but they remain in my heart.  God has also put new friends in my life since I've started my Americorps term.  I've been so lucky to have these amazing people in my life who stay in my heart to the end!

I was on the plane from Iquitos, Peru (2006) to the States when a stranger sat beside me.  She was tall, lean, and athletic looking with very short, blond hair. We sat, wordless for a while, and then she leaned over and asked if she could have my fruit.  We began a friendly conversation (alternating between Spanish and English) after her question; she was a German college student who had earned a scholarship to travel throughout Peru.  She had been to los altiplanos with indigenous peoples, and through the sprawling cities whose chaos which can be understood only by visiting a developing-world-metropolis, and finally, she had made her way through the Amazon jungle.  She told me of the wonderful people she had met.  I was struck by the positive energy she just radiated!  Particularly, she told me of a parasite she had caught in the jungle, evinced by a small mark on her shoulder.  She'd had to go to the hospital eventually.  "But it was OK", she remarked glibly, "It was like I had a little buddy with me during my travels!"  I was awed by her positive spirit.  The plane landed after seven hours, we went our ways, and I've never heard from her again.  But I'll always carry that conversation with me.

These "observations" are probably obvious to some readers.  I guess, I'm more of a math and science, black-and-white person, and understanding people has proven a tricky process for me. What I've come up with is this:  I'm convinced that the experiences we have with people in this world are the things we will take with us to our last days. Because of this, it is imperative that we cultivate healthy relationships, and make a good lasting impression on the people we meet.  And finally, when we pass through our last days into Eternity, we may be able to resume those precious relationships.  :)