Enough

My Dad calls it the stuff of life.
I went home this weekend for a dear friend from high school’s wedding. Christine has the distinction of being one of the only people for whom I would ever don a pink dress. I was able to navigate the Catholic ceremony without too many Protestant hiccups (it’s always one of three things – kneel, bow, cross – so you have a one-in-three chance any given moment). The day was gorgeous, it was a great ceremony, and she was a beautiful bride.
Between the ceremony and the reception, I got a call from Kate, who announced the safe delivery of Piper Joelle Rhiannon Sauer – which was the cause of much rejoicing. Thus, I partied all the more hearty at the fairly ritzy La Jolla Marriott, danced more than I have since high school, and even got a salsa lesson out of the deal.
The relative opulence of the wedding was contrasted the next morning by a visit to the church body my parents are now serving. Their meeting place? A tent in the dusty courtyard of a multifamily housing development. Specifically, this is the congregation of a group of men trying to reclaim their lives after incarceration. In southeast San Diego, even the morning sun is quite hot in July; but I have the joy of hearing my Dad exercise his wonderful gift of leading worship (something he hasn’t been able to do for years) and hearing the gospel preached with power. No cathedral is necessary when the spirit of worship is present.
We learned that afternoon that a dear friend of our family’s was in his final hours, struggling against the same IPF-cancer progression that claimed Charlie’s life five months ago. His son was one of my closest friends during my most formative years, and when we see each other we can quite readily pick up where we left off – a rare quality that gives him the distinction of being one of my longest friends. Knowing the grief the family was experiencing hurt, reminded me of another loss not that long ago. When we lost Charlie, part of my pain was in anticipation of this moment; and when I saw a man so once full of life in state, I felt I was losing my boss all over again.
The next day, around the time the polls opened in Georgia to fill Charlie’s seat, twenty-one weeks to the day since I lost my boss, another saint leapt into the arms of his Savior.
And that election did not go exactly as planned. The heir apparent failed; a perfect storm produced an Election Day victory for no friend of Charlie’s. Describing the shock in words is difficult. I had long pictured the days after the special election being a joyous reunion of the old guard – spread among different offices now, but still with a central location to visit, Cokes to drink. My inner reactionary, ever pining for the glory days, pictured me in the chair by the window, overlooking the Rayburn courtyard, chatting with my friends to recuperate after a long committee markup just down the hall.
But it was not to be. Now, who knows where my boys will land – lobbying, probably – and some in law school, maybe even outside of D.C. I should have known it would come to this. Yet I suppose it is better to have not experienced the blow of reality until just now. And there may yet be time.
Life is such a roller coaster. Whether it cycles in four years, or four days, the only constant is change. But there is One who does not change, and that is more than Enough.

Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble? ~ Job 2:10