When violence takes someone...

These days I am in a quiet (if busy) phase of life. I no longer live in an IDP (internally displaced persons) camp and have to face the realities of displaced peoples daily. I no longer teach in a center for migrant workers, who face daily discrimination and insecurity. I no longer listen weekly to the tales of horror coming out of Arakhan State and the violence in Kachin and Shan States. (Go here to be educated on those realities.)

Instead, I spend my time teaching an adorable group of 25 second graders, mastering the art of sourdough bread-making (go ahead and ask me about wild yeast and my absolute excitement over this kind of bread making!), looking up recipes for fermenting vegetables, and falling in love with my husband more everyday. Like I said, it's kind of quiet. Maybe old-fashioned even. Rather restful. And definitely quite normal, for a girl whose adult life has been usually led in rather not-so-normal locations.

I think it's given this backdrop of not being surrounded by violent situations anymore that I am coming to process the violent deaths of two different friends.

[NOTE: I am not including my friends' names, as there will be already, unfortunately, far too many Google results regarding their deaths now, instead of their lives.]

Both friends are individuals with whom I had lost contact after a few years, and neither had ever been in my closest circle of friends, yet a few good conversations sealed the label "friend" years ago. One was a good friend for a summer during Teach for America's training institute, but when we were placed in distant schools, that friendship never really progressed further. The other I spent a year living and working with in high school as a Page for Congress. That's enough for a connection. Within a short time of each other, the first was murdered by her boyfriend, and the second committed suicide.

Both were far, far too young to die.

There will probably never be any great words of wisdom that come of out of such violence (I learned that years ago when first finding myself immersed in the pain of an IDP camp), and so this post is not about that. What it is about is connecting.

Upon reflection on the sudden loss of these two beautiful individuals, I've realized there are many people that I respect, cherish, and love, with whom I no longer connect regularly, due to distance and life circumstances. There are people I would call even close friends, with whom I rarely speak anymore. High school friends. College friends. Friends of other life circumstances.

So, friends of so many different life phases, here's what I want to say to you: I cherish you.

I may not always know how or when to reach out to you, and I know that a long-distance friend from a past life is not the same as a friend in your current here-and-now, but I do cherish you.

Moreover, I respect you. You became my friend, because I respect who you are--the person God created you to be.

We live in a violent world, where we are not guaranteed a tomorrow ever. Random violence, sickness, or accidents could take any one of us today. Yet for both of my friends, who have now left this world as very young women, as far as I understand, the circumstances that led to their deaths were not new. In light of this, all I can think to ask right now, friends, is that you not give up--that you refuse to see yourself as trapped in any situation. You're not stuck, and if you're struggling right now, there's more to this great, big world than pain. Take the steps, any steps, to get help and move beyond the painful circumstances that can trap you.

Meanwhile, let's make sure we love each other thoroughly. We've got today to give out every drop of love possible. I'm going to attempt that, and meanwhile, I'm also writing some of those dear friends that I haven't heard from in a while. A little encouragement goes a long ways during the dark nights of our souls.