God's little pieces: Reflections on a life nearly wasted

Editor's Note: I wrote this piece on Facebook on July 12, 2011. It was in my memories today, and I wanted to post it here so I don't lose it someday.

I don't remember the name of the gas station or what kind of sandwich I'd bought at that Quiznos. I do remember watching Dave try to stumble around on his leash after four hours trapped in the back of my Subaru, his carrier nestled strategically between boxes containing the pieces of my life I deemed worthy of transporting from Coeur d'Alene to Joplin, Mo. We were parked at some service depot on the side of the road in Missoula, stretching our legs, eating a late lunch.

I remember wanting to go to the little cigarette store and buy a pack of menthols.

I remember the phone ringing.

I remember seeing Seneca answer the phone, but the sound in my memory is on mute. The next sound is my mother's chocked sob from the other end.

"He's dead."

As she cried these words she was curled around her husband's body where it lay on the floor by their bed, the last bit of earthly warmth escaping him. I didn't know that at the time, but in my memory now those moments are forever linked.

"I'm coming back." I told her, not breathing.

"No, no, don't. You're future ... I don't want you to give up your future."

We went back.

My future in Joplin. Where I had a full ride and an editor's job at the paper at Missouri Southern University. The future I had been meticulously planning for the past year. The path I always wanted to be on.

My Perfect Plan. That would catapult me into newspaper fame.

After three years in Coeur d'Alene, I had spent the past year in a sort of stoned oblivion. Running from the disaster my life had become -- a broken relationship, canceled wedding, a parade of parties, faces, men -- some nameless, others less so. Finding my roommate near dead on the couch, pills scattered through the room. Getting evicted, moving six times in three months. The booze and the men and the weed a do-it-yourself compress for my aching soul. Knowing that things had finally spiraled beyond my control, I left Coeur d'Alene a wreck, abandoning my belongings, bailing on my best-friend-turned-enemy roommate, pairing my life down to what fit in an Impreza and running, hoping that at the end of the road was a brighter future.

Three hours down the road and we turned around. As we headed west on I-90, Seneca was the first to speak, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to go," I said, the despair of a dead stepfather mixed slowly with panic as I realized an inescapable truth: I wasn't going to be able to run away from my life.

Today is the anniversary of my stepfather Buddy's death. A bit of a downer topic, I realize. It's been five years since that day. I never moved to Missouri. The future I had so carefully laid out for myself went a different way -- I begrudgingly went to the University of Idaho, half-heartedly signed up for a Bible study, continued to fight God and smoke pot with my ex for a few months and then finally -- finally -- stopped fighting.

I rededicated my life to Christ that February, being baptized at Living Faith Fellowship in Pullman with my dad watching and me sobbing snot balls into the baptismal water, finally letting all the anger and sorrow and shame be washed away.

At UI, I also met my future husband (though we didn't know it at the time), grew tremendously as a person and met a good portion of my wedding party and some of the best friends I'll ever have. I regained myself and God's calling for me.

There are moments when my mother and I reflect on her 18-month marriage to Buddy Gatlin -- his sudden, horrible and terminal illness changed her in ways I will probably never fully understand. But it also lead to our new understanding of God's love, His provision and His ultimate promise to work out all things for the good of those who love Him.

My life is not perfect. I am not perfect. But I feel so blessed every day to be a little piece in God's jigsaw puzzle. Would Jesus have found me in Joplin? I don't know if I would have let Him. I'm grateful He found me on the side of the road five years ago in Missoula, Mont. I'm grateful to be able to look back on my mother's fear that I was giving up my future, sacrificing needlessly to be with her.

Instead of giving up my future, I found one.

So thank you, Buddy, for being a light in death and setting into motion events that changed us all.

We'll see you in Heaven.