The Question

The day took a hard turn with some bad news. I heard that one of our clients, Jon, had died. He had gone kayaking in Colorado and something had happened in a rapid on the Arkansas River. That was it. A nice guy I knew was suddenly gone. It was sad news. Several of us at the office had known him. He had always been upbeat, helpful, and simply a fun guy to talk to. It didn't take long for the loss to gain a depth I didn't expect. My brother, Ben, called me a few hours after I heard the news to tell me one of his dearest friends had died. He was supposed to be on a kayaking trip with his friend, but wasn't able to make it. It didn't take much to realize that he was talking about Jon. Prior to that phone call, I didn't know they were friends. Ben was devastated. This wasn't just a client anymore. The loss had shifted to something greater as I realized there had been a connection far beyond my own between Jon and Ben.

The memorial service was to be held in a few days. My brother was not going to be able to make it in time for the service, so he asked, since I knew Jon, if I would go in his stead. Of course, I said I would. I knew some of the people he worked with and would go, I would let the family know that my brother sent his love and condolences, and that would be it. I wasn't very close to Jon, but as I said before, he was a nice guy that I had liked.

I arrived at the memorial that was held at a local botanical garden. The service was nice, and several people shared their experiences with Jon. I learned a lot about Jon. He was a great kayaker. He knew and loved whitewater. He had a lovely family. A loving wife had lost her husband. His children lost their father. That was hard. Full of emotion, I mingled for a while, but without knowing many of the people, I felt more like an outsider. I did go share what my brother had wanted me to share with the family, I talked with some of his colleagues that I knew, but once that was done, I felt a little out of place, but I stayed for my brother.

As I mingled a bit, I started to see some group dynamics that caught my attention. I saw the people he had worked with from 8 to 5, Monday through Friday, in their own circles of conversation. He spent more time with them than anyone else there. The conversations were emotion-filled, and they spoke about Jon in soft voices and sombre tones. Jon had been a good employee. He was great to work with. He was nice.

There was another group there too. The kayakers. Most were from a local club for canoe and kayak paddlers. This was a very different group from the office folks. Some of them wore suits or dark dresses much like the others, but some were much more casual. Some looked like they could have just stepped out of the '60s. Some looked like they may have been on a river that morning. The conversations were just as distinct. They were emotion-filled much like the office staff, but they talked about Jon's heart, his passions, who he REALLY was. Their fellowship seemed far deeper. Their connection to this man had an almost tangible depth to it. That struck me. I was intrigued.

As I walked past these groups and listened to the conversations, I was puzzled by the difference. Why didn't the people that spent so much time with him seem to have as significant a connection to him? Why did the kayakers, who only got to see him for a small fraction of his time on this earth, have such a deep link with this man? I wanted to understand. I also wanted connections like that. I envied that apparent significance and longed for it in my friendships.

It took a long time for me to make sense of that, but through a series of events I'll share in later posts, I realized that it was the shared struggle. Whitewater kayaking is a risky sport. A raging river is a dangerous place, and the risk could take a person's life. The kayakers all knew this. The passion for this battle between man and nature drove them to prepare, practice, and plan. They entered that battle as fellow warriors.

I left the memorial with a question that has been on my mind ever since. Why can't we have that kind of connection within the church? Often I find myself being guarded, not opening up and sharing my heart, my passions, and who I REALLY am. I go through my weekdays on my own strength. I put on a mask that is meant to say "I'm fine. I've got it all together." Many times it has just been a lie. I simply did not want to admit I was failing at anything and that I could handle what life was throwing at me on my own. Many times I was a fool.

I'm not alone in this. In 2019, Ipsos, a market research company in London, England, conducted research on the difficulty men had with opening up. In their report "Perceptions of Masculinity and the Challenges of Opening Up," they stated that 38% of men avoid talking about their struggles in order to avoid being seen as "unmanly." Most men agree (77% according to this study) that talking about their issues is a good way of coping with them. However, there's a catch. 41% of men in the study regretted opening up to someone about their problems, and over half of them say that this would keep them from sharing again.

We are in an eternal struggle. It's not easy. There is risk. The battle is going on every day. We will meet opposition, the rapids of our lives. We must overcome. We will certainly have times where we will go through challenges on our own, but I believe we NEED others in our lives to share the struggle. They can paddle alongside us and provide the encouragement, accountability, and sense of connection we need. If we are open about our own struggles, they can throw us a line and help when we feel like we're drowning.

I am now intentional about sharing the struggle. I love to go on outdoor adventures with others to develop a deeper relationship. I enjoy spending time kayaking, backpacking, climbing, and camping to create a connection that begins to break past the barriers we put up and allows us the space to share more about what makes us tick. I also share the struggle of the mission that Christ left for us. Matthew 28:18-20 "Then Jesus came near and said to them, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe everything I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

As Christians, we share that struggle. We are to share our faith, our experiences, and our testimony. We are commissioned to show others how to follow Christ. Some will be ready to join in that adventure. We can paddle with them, check that they have their safety gear, and throw them a rescue bag when they get into rapids that catch them by surprise. We can fight with them through the hard times and celebrate with them in the victories. Those that help us, as well as those we help and guide are important parts of our shared adventure.

I encourage anyone who reads this to embrace the struggle, connect with your fellow Christians, and adventure in your faith with others. As we battle through the tough times together, sharing our difficult times and our joys, we grow closer as believers and join in the shared mission Jesus gave us as fellow warriors.