Stoked

It's been a fairly interesting week to say the least. I never thought it would have gone like this. Quick run down, since last friday:

Friday:
1. I decided I wanted to go on the Annex retreat. Not exactly a small ninety dollar venture.
2. Kyle Keeler (my BWOI!) decides to call me about five minutes (no joke) before I take off for the retreat in some other undeserving boob's car.
3. Kyle Keeler decides during the phone conversation that he too would be attending the retreat. I pass up my ride in favor of awaiting Kyle's arrival. We decide to go up together.

Saturday-Sunday:
1. Kyle Keeler and I kick the weekend's ass. It was an absolute blessing and privilege to spend a weekend with him. It not only made my weekend, it made my month. And the month before that, and perhaps the one before that, too.
2. Sunday evening, my C.S. Lewis House people went to our church's sanctuary to begin practicing three sets of seven songs. These songs will eventually be used to bring glory to God in country line dance and two step form. Our worship pastor (who is leading the whole thing) graduated from Auburn University, and is such a country/cowboy. He met his now pretty serious girlfriend at the grizzly rose. All of us college kids in the worship band refer to him as "Uncle Jeff" and his girlfriend by her "Auntie" name, accordingly. Here's the three sets of music we're playing:

Set One

Play Something Country – Brooks and Dunn

Gone Country – Alan Jackson

How ‘Bout You – Eric Church

She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy – Kenny Chesney

Sinners Like Me – Eric Church

What Was I Thinkin’? – Dierks Bentley

Love You – Jack Ingram

Set Two

Country Comes To Town – Toby Keith

Good Directions – Billy Currington

Hillbilly Deluxe – Brooks and Dunn

Southbound 35 – Pat Green

I’m From the Country – Tracy Byrd

Life Ain’t Always Beautiful – Gary Allen

Guys Like Me – Eric Church

Set Three

Lot of Leavin’ Left to Do – Dierks Bentley

If You’re Gonna Play in Texas – Alabama

Chattahoochie – Alan Jackson

Amarillo by Morning – George Strait

Crazy Little Thing Called Love – Dwight Yokam

Beer for My Horses – Toby Keith

Sweet Home Alabama – Lynyrd Skynyrd

As can be seen, the list of songs rocks in a way that could best be described as boot scootin'.

After listening to all the songs, my roommate, Tim and I, headed off to the Grizzly Rose. It was probably the most awkward trip ever. A couple people (who chose to make last year a writhing pain in the neck for me) came and threatened (by their mere presence) to render completely awkward an otherwise formidable evening of line dancing.

I'm not one that often steps out of his comfort zone. I couldn't help it on this evening. I decided while riding in the car to the Rose that I would initiate a little friendly competition with some of my less awkward "friends" in the group. The idea: ask as many girls who we didn't know to dance. I never anticipated winning this little Olympic dance event. I just wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone and make myself try something new for the sake of building my confidence. It worked. As soon as we got to the rose, I spotted someone who I found quite attractive, and established my country line credibility while in close proximity.

I hate bragging. I love telling the truth.

My solo line dancing was flawless. I ripped hard on the wood flooring of the Grizzly Rose right off the bat and boot scootin' boogie. A few songs later in the evening, I worked up the courage to ask this western beauty to share in some slower two-stepping with me.

It's not that I only danced with her for like thirty seconds. It's that I danced with her. When I asked her on the floor, I hadn't realized that the song was all but over. I don't think she did either. If she did, it makes her that much more kind to step onto the floor with me. After no more than thirty-five seconds of pure two-step bliss, I dipped her for the first (and last) time and thanked her. Mission accomplished.

After that, I was manhandled in the friendly competition. My colleagues had more game than that Mystery guy on VH1. During the car ride I talked big like I knew what was up. My secret ambition (for all you OLD SCHOOL Michael W. Smith fans) was to merely let myself be satisfied with asking ONE girl. Looking back and reliving the experience makes me want to ask more.

The greatest part was that an otherwise ominously awkward evening was spared by my sheer divine intervention. I'm not sure why I didn't feel more awkward, but as I threw back a good old New Castle Brown, I felt pretty good.

Wow, that was a lot of description for Sunday. We still have to get through Thursday!!

Monday: Nothing special here. I got chipotle with some young life beyond kids. My burrito was disappointingly small. Worthless boulder burrito prep staffing!

Tuesday: During the weekend, I forgot to turn my alarm clock. My roommate was (I imagine) less than impressed with my ability to consider his needs before leaving.

My alarm clock is a cd alarm clock. Every morning I wake up to Anberlin's "Hello Alone" from the album Cities. I am convinced that Tim had issues with turning the actual alarm clock off. He remedied the situation by turning the volume all the way down. I didn't notice this until tuesday morning because on monday I woke up to the beep instead of the beat.

I usually get up on tuesdays and thursdays at 5:15 in the morning. This confuses a lot of people. Why would any college student force that kind of strain upon an already difficult process? I do it because I have to be in Denver for school at 8:30, and I like to be early to either write blogs (like I'm doing now) or to finish up any homework. I didn't wake up until 7:45 am. My alarm clock went off but failed to wake me. The near-silent volume level wasn't sufficient. I laughed as I watched the last bus (I could have caught in order to get to my first class on time) sped by the C.S. Lewis house. Ha ha. I'm such an idiot sometimes. So is Tim, but I love him.

I owned school that day, and rocked it at the annex that night. 'Nuff said.

Wednesday:

This is where things went crazy. I received an email from Ye Olde Central Presbyterian Church. It read:

Dear Church family;

I need to let you know that PJ, the son of Dave and Heather Stokes, died this moring at Longmont United Hospital. He was 7 years old. Please keep Dave and Heather and Carolyn in your prayers. Services are pending and will be announced at a later date.

Dammit.

All the life of the previous week was still valid. It just took a turn for the eerie. PJ was a kid that Alva appointed me to be the caretaker for during a week of Vacation Bible School. He was intensely bi-polar by the time he was five years old.

PJ has been through the fucking run-around. All he's had his entire life is people either tell him (in fluffier language) to just be quiet or try to appease his dynamic (in every way possible) personality. PJ is a prime example of someone who was a victim of the system. Religion was never the right thing for him. So when Alva asked me to care for him over the course of the week at Vacation Bible School, I made it absolutely clear to her that I would be breaking rules, acting outlandishly and doing everything I could to figure out why God wanted me (of all people) to love PJ and meet the social outcast at his level.

I connected with him. Enough that I miss him pretty badly. Am I proud of myself? In no way. His dad loved having me around so much that he wanted to take me and PJ to a rockies game. Back in that day, the rockies sucked and tickets were easier to come by than burrito joints in boulder. I never took them up on that offer, and now I regret it.

That brings me to about 8:00 am on Thursday. I'm sitting in the starbucks in larimer square in Downtown Denver. Who the hell knows that today will bring.

"So come on and sing out
let our anthem grow loud
there is one great love...




...Jesus!"


~David Crowder Band, "O, For A Thousand Tongues To Sing"


(rip, PJ Stokes)

Intent never -and I MEAN NEVER- makes a sound!