For Charlie

I met Charlie my summer in Africa. We were both working with Overland Missions. I was a sheltered Idahoan whose world had been blown wide open. He was a South African, searching for his place, I think, but very content to follow where he was lead. He was a doer, a man of patient action. It's very strange, how quickly you can become attached to people.

I knew him for maybe a month and a half, but still every year I feel the ache in my heart. I don't know his last name--not that I could pronounce it if I did. I'm not even sure of the exact day he left us, but still it hurts. I almost feel selfish in a way. What right do I have to miss him, to wish he was still here? I ache for his family, knowing that if I can feel the loss, how much more do they--those that have real, life-long memories of him?

The memories I do have are precious, but so precarious at the same time. I push them away so often, not wanting to feel the pain and tears that follow, that I become worried that I'm forgetting. Then, when I least expect it, they come flooding back, bittersweet and lovely, reminding me why. And so I ache; waiting, longing for the day when I see him again.

I am thankful for that pain because it means I knew him, that I have the memories to make me feel. But I resent it in a way. It reminds me that there aren't anymore memories, that there won't ever be. And that hurts.

How can you not...

absolutely love a shopping trip like this:

While shopping for shoes with Kurt, I found a pair of heels that I really liked--comfortable and all! Even on sale, though, they were just too much money for the enjoyment I would get out of wearing them.

5 Minutes later and ONE store down the mall...

I find the exact same shoes for half the sale price at the other store! YAY! (Now I can afford both the shoes and some longer pants that won't make me look like a goon in high-waters.) =0)