Some days leave an indelible mark on your soul. For me, Friday, May 9, 2008 will be one of those days. We said goodbye to some good friends today, one of whom we won't see again this side of eternity.
Our friend
Michael Colwell ("MC") went to be with the Lord on Sunday night, and his memorial service was held this morning. I had the privelege of working with MC for two years, and maintaining a friendship with him for almost three. Katherine, too, worked with MC for about four years. His wife Jen was Andrew's teacher for most of this school year, and their boys are in the same preschool classes as our kids. Their family holds a special place in our hearts, and there is no one who we, as a family, have lifted up in prayer more than the Colwells. MC fought bravely against cancer for much of the last couple of years, but ultimately lost his battle.
MC was an amazing man. As I contemplated my friend's life for a letter I was writing to his boys, I was struck by how true this is. We all have a tendency, when we lose loved ones or friends, to remember them with rose-colored glasses. Every tribute, every quote from those left behind, typically speaks of the deceased in glowing terms, to the degree that I tend to view such statements as hyperbole driven by respect for the dead, or a longing to remember them well. But as I made notes for my letter, I found myself humbled by my friend's life.
Here was a man who earned Master's degrees in two vastly different fields—theology and electrical engineering. He was almost absurdly overqualified for the position he held at North Point; and yet, in that role he was able to have extraordinary impact. Through his writing, editing, and project management efforts, he contributed to small group curriculum that will touch the lives of more than 100,000 people. Despite these accomplishments, what I will remember most about MC is his unwavering faith and his devotion to his family.
I must confess that watching the decline and death at a young age of someone like MC—someone who has been devoted to and has served the Lord for almost his entire life—has at times rocked
my faith. I have a very strong sense of justice, and to me, it did not seem fair that God would allow this to happen to MC. This week marks the first time in almost 10 years that I have cried—not just getting misty-eyed, but honest-to-God weeping. But what I've seen over the last couple of days has reminded me about who this God is. And while my heart still aches for Jen and the boys, for MC's parents and sister, and for all his friends who, like me, deeply miss our friend, I am finally at a place where I can celebrate a friend who finished his race strong. The memorial service this morning was at once amazing and heart-breaking. Through stories, photographs and even video, it was awesome to see the evidence of a life well-lived. When the picture of our LTR team at Disney World last fall appeared on the screen—the last chance I had to spend extended hang time with MC, since I left Staff that same month—I cried uncontrollably. Generally, I love it when a memorial service closes with a time of worship, because I love to see the focus drawn back to the One who has defeated death. But when we sang the song "Blessed Be The Name," I struggled. When we reached the bridge, I literally could not sing; between the intensity of my sobs and the challenge of believing what I was singing, I could not get the words to come.
You give and take away.
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say,
Lord, blessed be Your Name.
I will never forget seeing Jen Colwell stand and raise her hands, praising her God in the midst of deepest loss. Jen's example affected me powerfully, and reminded me what it means to trust in Jesus Christ. Still, leaving the memorial service this afternoon was difficult, as it lent a sense of finality to a sad goodbye.
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When we returned, depleted, from MC's memorial service, more goodbyes awaited us.
Phil and Elisha Walsh have been our next-door neighbors for five years, but today they leave the neighborhood for the next chapter in Wilton, CT. Our first interaction with them as friends was almost exactly five years ago; we went out to dinner with them the night before Andrew was born, and he will turn 5 next week. The Walshes have been great neighbors—fun to be around, witty and engaging, willing to help and accept help, and patient with the occasional delinquency of my yardwork. But they have not only been neighbors; they have been partners in ministry as well. In our previous small group (January 2006 - July 2007) they were our Apprentice small group leaders, and in this group they have been our Co-Leaders. Over the past couple of years, we have really "done life together," sharing prayer requests, both the "bad" ones and the "good" ones. That's why we can celebrate this move; we know that this move represents an answer to something we've been praying for with them for more than a year. This awesome opportunity for Phil at Deloitte's headquarters will not only advance his career, but will also improve their chances of landing a desirable assignment back home in Michigan. So when Phil, Elisha, Sean, and James stopped by on Friday afternoon, we said goodbye with hearts that are happy for them and sad to see them go.
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To MC and the Walsh family:
I thank my God every time I remember you. -
Philippians 1:3 (NIV)-Brian
After a late night on Saturday - 2:30am, i think?! We slept in past 10am Sunday morning. We had late brunch reservations at Tavern on the Green at 11:45am. So we dressed, packed and left our bags with the bell desk. We caught a cab to Tavern and took a table in the main dining room. It's such an iconic NYC landmark. We would have eaten in the center courtyard, but it was actually quite warm and sunny. But we had a view of the courtyard with the floral Chinese lanterns and flowers galore.
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