Guest Post: Facing The Son

I am moving back to school this weekend, so the next few days I have a few guest writers lined up. I'll be back in a few days. :)


Today's guest writer is Becca. Becca blogs at Respectfully Captivating. I would encourage you to check it out, as Becca explores her identity in Christ through her online journal.


Without further ado, here is Becca's touching story. Please do read, it is a very touching post.


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Hiya! (is a word I have not used in several years)

I’m Becca. Or Rebecca, whichever you prefer.

Anyhow, it’s nice to meet you!

You’ve maybe noticed me poking around here in the comments, and perhaps you’ve even clicked on over to my blog. Awesome, and thanks for the traffic!

But chances are you haven’t heard of me, and that’s fine too.

When Dylan asked me to guest-post for him, I have to admit I was uncertain. The only posting I’ve ever done has been at my own blog; this is my first official guest blogging experience! And therefore I was nervous.

Very nervous.

The instructions were simple: write whatever you want.

I couldn’t have been given a more difficult task.

You see, I am a very uncertain person. I need specific direction, and even then I double- and triple- and sometimes quadruple- check my instructions so that I am absolutely certain I know what I’m doing. And even then I mess up or am not satisfied.

I love to write. I see my blog as my online journal.

But I need a firm idea of what I’m going to write or else I’m lost.

In school, if I was given the task of writing anything, I would hem and haw and take forever to come to a decision because I wasn’t sure what the teacher would want to read.

So trying to come up with a guest post was definitely a bit frustrating, and it took me a couple of tries before I was satisfied with this.

But there’s been something on my mind recently that I feel I should share, something that ties in a bit with some of what Dylan has posted before.

To most of you reading this, November 13^th, 2008 probably doesn’t strike a chord or ring a bell.

It was probably a normal day, right?

Probably you were at work, or perhaps at school. Possibly you were welcoming a new member into your family, or were at a funeral celebrating the life of a loved one.

November 13^th, 2008 started out normal enough for me. I got up and got ready for school as usual. Picked up my sister’s friend on the way to school as usual. Walked upstairs to meet my three best friends as usual. But that was where the Normal Train came to an abrupt halt.

Normally, my sister doesn’t come to find me before school.

Normally, my mom doesn’t come to find me before school.

Normally, I don’t break down in tears before school has started for the day.

Normally, I am not shocked by the discovery that my best friend has been killed.

Normally, I don’t spend my entire morning alternating between crying and laughing in a conference room that I did not know existed.

Normally, I do not go home at lunchtime to eat pizza and watch Get Smart with my sister and three best friends.

Normally, I do not spend my Thursday nights at church remembering my best friend’s life and trying to make sense of her death.

Obviously, this particular Thursday was anything but normal.

Here I think I need to backtrack a bit.

My best friend did not die that Thursday.

She died that Wednesday night, the 12^th, but more on that in a bit. First I want to tell you what I remember about her.

We met in 6^th grade when we ended up in the same class.

She was always upbeat and fun and a bit crazy—but that was what we loved about her.

She and I and two other girls spent many an afternoon hanging out in the hallway outside our classroom—not because we were bad students or were in trouble or anything, but because our teacher liked us. In fact, we were her “guinea pigs” when it came to books she was thinking about using in class. She allowed us to do our homework in the halls together, too. Teacher’s pets, we girls were.

I remember one time, my best friend cut out all the horses on her horse-themed folders to use as a presentation. I don’t know if that presentation was ever made, but those folders got cut up anyway.

I got her to come to church with me in 7^th grade, and she loved it. She came with to youth group on Wednesday nights and in 8^th grade started attending Confirmation classes. She was confirmed at the end of 9^th grade, a year after the rest of us in the grade because our Confirmation program lasts two years.

I will never forget that Sunday: she wore her Prom dress to church (her boyfriend was two or three years older) and tied it into her testimony beautifully. She also called me her guardian angel, which brought me nearly to tears. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about me—and I think it still is!

She was baptized around that same time, too, and I remember being so moved by her faith. I was the one who had brought her to church, yet I was jealous of her walk with Christ. And she walked that Walk until the day she died.

That fall of our senior year, she had enrolled in Post-Secondary classes at a college about an hour away, because it had the program she wanted, and because she was just independent like that. Her mom said she was always on the lookout for new people to sit with and talk to and befriend.

The night she died, she was helping a friend sort through some issues. She had pulled over on her drive with this friend, and was rear-ended by another driver. A driver who happened to be drunk. A driver who happened to be drunk enough that she thought my friend’s car was in the lane of traffic and that it was a good idea to pull up behind her—or so I’ve heard. I don’t exactly remember the full story. What I do know is that this driver made a mistake that cost a lot.

It cost me a best friend.

It cost a lot of people a friend, a family member, a confidante.

It cost the driver part of her life—she was sentenced to almost four years in prison.

Some might say this is not a fair punishment, but you have to know something: this young woman who made a mistake has been forgiven. My best friend’s parents have forgiven, befriended, and kept in contact with their daughter’s killer and her family. They’re counting down the days until she is released and she and my friend’s mother can begin writing a book together.

They knew that they needed to forgive, because if they didn’t the grief would overwhelm them.

They also knew that they needed to forgive the young woman responsible so that she could forgive herself, which I believe she has done.

She has been baptized and has tearfully shared her story several times. She is leading (or is part of) a Bible study group in prison, and I think I’ve heard that she is counseling other women, too.

And I can tell you that good has come from the pain and tragedy of that November night.

On the night of the 13^th, when our church basement was opened to those who wanted to mourn this dear beautiful friend’s death, and also celebrate her life, I learned that she had many people who considered her a best friend, or even a life saver.

I hadn’t realized until that night just how many lives she had impacted in only 17 brief full years.

True, she was taken from us at a young age and many thought she had more years to live. But her 17 years were enough. Many learned from her life, and also from her death.

She proves that “It’s not the time that matters, it’s the person,” that “Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80,” and that “a longer life isn’t always a better one.”

“Facing death is part of being human. You can’t change that.”

I miss her every day, but I also strive to be like her: full of joy and compassion for others, always searching for new friends and new ways & opportunities to share Christ.

Her uncle (a teacher) shared a wonderful thought at the funeral. He told us about sunflowers, and how they get their name. You see, a sunflower never faces the darkness. They always turn toward the sun. (Thus the French name, tournesol. Sol being short for soleil, sun, and tourne being turn.) I saw this in action recently when my family drove past sunflower fields. As far as the eye could see, these bright yellow flowers were all facing the same direction—it was an overcast day, true, but they were all turned in the same direction, straining for that ray of sunlight they knew was there someplace.

You see, my friend was like that. She was always chipper and always strived to follow the Son. That’s something that I will always remember about her.

Our roles have been reversed now, Flipper. Now you’re my guardian angel. Save me a seat at that Heavenly banquet table, and find me some awesome people with whom I can spend my Eternal days! And save me some adventures, would ya?

(Quotes taken from Doctor Who for those who are uninformed... :))

PS- The passenger actually ended up fine. A couple of injuries, but he lived. My friend's mom said that if you'd seen the car, you would have thought that the passenger would have died and the driver would have survived, but it ended up being the opposite. Which is kind of crazy.