The Return

I'm as nervous as a school boy before recess the day after the school bully openly declared him the new "victim" now that the old one has transferred schools. C'est la vie.

I just returned from two years. It doesn't feel like it. I can still remember the goodbyes, the hugs, the promises. True to form, I seem to have failed most of those last ones. But, well...I have no room to apologize really.

It is good to be home. I have so much I want to write. So much to post. The people were extraordinary. Phon Yun (om srei) changed what love can do. A little old Cambodian woman, I couldn't even communicate with her, loved me without end and even remembered me two years later. She just did what she could and hoped that was enough. It always was.

The places were breath-taking. Sunsets (almost) as good as Arizona's. Bridal Veil Falls. Apple Hill. Loon Lake. Even the deep city showed me a new beauty. Oak Park. Downtown. Murals galore. The Crocker Art Museum. I can't say the art I saw changed my life, but each memory is pleasing. And there are lots of pictures.

Even the music. One day while riding down Broadway a young man stopped me. He asked, "If you are a man of God, what do you think Christ would do for a man who hasn't eaten in three days?" My mother had recently sent me a package of energy bars and granola (thank you for always being inspired dear mother). I offered all I had. He told us a bit of his story. He raps, for Christ. He recently came to Sacramento because he feels it is where he was being led. He is probably 18 now, but this was a year ago. He had arrived in town the day before but had been traveling for two days and he ate like he hadn't eaten the whole time. In return he sang for us. Well, he rapped for us. It is unexplainable how good it was. His voice was sweet, from youth and desire, but commanding because of his subject and its personal relation to his recent development. And all the reggae and rasta about Jah. It brought a lot of peace.

Some things changed, but many did not. I'm getting used to having the bracelets on again, wearing shorts and sandals, moccasins, staying up late, writing blogs, playing games, and the like, but it's all the same. It has the familiar feel of riding a bike again. I write poetry more often, especially limericks. They're fun. I study the gospel more. I want to be a good person. I want to impress someone's parents, especially in the first encounter. I want a large family. So there are a few changes, mostly in my desires. And I feel I'm beginning to understand how freeing but empowering it is to rely on someone else for your biggest worries.

I got accepted to BYU this last January. I did not sign up for classes or found housing until I got home last week. I now have a full schedule of the classes I need and the Moore's offered for me to stay with them. Still paying rent, still need a job, but I have been able to let all the stresses of those events and needs fall to the wayside because someone up in that big, blue sky loves me and was preparing a way. Life is good. It always had been. I don't know why I keep resisting. I don't know why I keep going back to the old self. But that is the point of this, Speaker for the Dead speaks for the dead me, the old thoughts and desires.

What I'd love to do right now is see a whole bunch of people face to face, hug them, and let them know that I love them. Many people over the last four years have made a big difference in who I am. I am thankful for that and I am thankful that I need other people to help me make the change. But the love will wait, probably strengthening in the process.