A Boy and His Buffalo

In the northern hemisphere summer of 1995, I met Christine for the first time.  August 15 at roughly 3:00 in the afternoon.  Why do I remember this?  Because my sister was dropping me off from our yearly family trip to Canada.  Just she and I drove in her white car, windows rolled down, stereo blasting.  We had talked about the week of fishing, the various shenanigans that occur when there is no phone, no TV, no internet - only family.  We also discussed my relationship with the girlfriend I had at the time, who was a friend of Vikki's.  I assured her that distance didn't make any difference, that I would be faithful to my young girlfriend who, at that time, was still in college. 

But then we pulled into the parking lot of the church.  The very first person I saw was a tall, bronze brown-haired young woman wearing short shorts and a t-shirt.  Incredibly, she was the very first person.  I must have had my mouth open, pupils dilated as the Greek Athena that was wandering past the front of the car.  It's slow motion, now, wind whipping through her hair like a Whitesnake video. 

Vikki punched me in the shoulder.  "Don't even think about it."

Too late.

I had a joined a Christian ministry organization called Youth Encounter.  Over eighty young people age 18-29 had descended on Minneapolis to begin training for a year of music ministry to churches and youth groups across the world.  I had been assigned to the team Watermark, whose designation was the Midwest and East Coast of the United States and then five months in Germany and Denmark.  There were seven people on my 'team,' eventually they would be known as family, as, after a few months, we interacted and understood each other like brothers and sisters.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I wanted to make out with Christine.  I didn't want to do that with my sisters.

Christine was the lead singer - still is - with a voice that would make the angel Gabriel stop and pause.  From Australia, Christine had left a teaching position to travel to the United States, a place, she later confessed that was not in her top destinations to go.  There's a delicious sense of irony, isn't there?  She wanted to go to Africa, but the year we joined team, there was no African group; there were, however, eight bands that would travel across the U. S. and four international teams. 

We connected quickly, the seven of us - three males and four females.  Aaron, a red headed wunderkind guitar player from Redwing, Minnesota; Jason, the bald drummer from Joliet, Illinois with a chin divot that looked like small children could get lost in it; Jenn, the acoustic guitar player from, Michigan who had an affinity for short overalls, plaid shirts and black tights; Desley, keyboardist  from New Zealand, vertically challenged, and prone to embarrassment from all areas of life; Jill, sound tech, a fiery redhead from Wisconsin who had various difficulties driving the minibus (which included almost tearing the back five feet off in an attempt to pull away from the curb as she hit a telephone pole.  Duck tape works for that too.) Then, Christine and I.

We spent our first week of training being drilled in Lutheran theology.  Nothing like sitting in a church, in the middle of summer, for a whole week learning about 'Simultaneous saint and sinner.'  I can remember passing notes to Christine in the middle of the classes, like we were junior high kids intent on filling in the boxy "Do you like me?  check 'yes' or 'no'. 

But then the second week, we traveled to Lee Valley Ranch in Black Hills of South Dakota.  This extraordinary camp is nestled in between various small mountains on the northern side of Mt. Rushmore (basically the Presidents' backsides).  The valley traps the scent of pine trees and the sounds of cows mooing between the mountains has a tendency to put everyone to sleep easily.  We slept in tents with old, worn out mattress.  Each person got an individual tent, but I can think of many times that in between practice sessions Aaron and I would go back to chat for a while. 

Because I didn't have a pillow at the time, one of our excursions into Custer, I bought a stuffed toy buffalo.  I named it 'Buford.'  This became my pillow for the next sixteen months and a half months.  Buford and I saw many things - some are worth remembering; some are worth forgetting, but in all the time that I spent with my Watermark teammates, I think that thing that resonates most with me now is that friends that you live with, whether college or else wise, are one of the true reasons that life has meaning.  No matter how long we are apart, we could pick up the same conversation, remember the same stories, and slip into the same rolls as we did ten years earlier.

2015 is our twenty-year anniversary of starting with Youth Encounter.  Christine organized a New Years' Eve Watermark family reunion at a place called Grizzly Jacks outside of Utica, Illinois.  We rented a large cabin that accommodated all of us.  Desley married a Youth Encounter member from another team, Kevin, and we met up with them first.  After unpacking and having a little time to chat, then Jason and his wife, Tara, arrived.  By this time there are already seven kids playing together.  Jason and I went into the metropolis of Utica to pick up some essentials for the weekend.  Here's a brief remembered conversation from our shopping time.

Jason: (as we pull up to the store)  What do you think we should get?

Reid:  Essentials, I guess.  Milk, eggs, bread, pbj...

Jason:  I'm talkin' about beer.  You know, essentials for the adults.

Reid:  I don't think we're going to find that at the family grocery.

Jason:  (Points behind the counter) There it is, man.  Right there. 

Reid:  Let's go to the other store for that.  (We buy the essentials for the family, spend about fifty dollars on some hamburger and spaghetti, essentials.  Then we drive to the liquor store.  It's a room the size of a small Laundromat.  It's dark; light only filters through dusty, slatted shades.  The man behind the counter looks like hasn't moved in four months.  Unshaven, strangely enough, wearing one of the same flannels that Jenn used to wear.)

Liquorman:  (Deep gruff voice)  What can I help you with?  (It's obvious that we are tourists because we are not wearing flannels)

Jason:  We're going to get some wine, beer and whiskey.

Liquorman:  Beer's over there.  (He points to the cooler that has an astonishing four kinds of beer all of them ending with the word 'Light.') 

Jason:  Is that all you've got?  No imports or microbrews?

Liquorman:  What do you think this is, Walmart? 

Reid: I think I'll get some wine.  What have you got?

Liquorman:  It's right behind you.  (I turn around and notice the dust encrusted bottles that seem to have been sitting there for multiple years - aging, of course.) 

Reid:  What's good?  Any local wines that you'd recommend?

Liquorman:  Don't know nothin' about wine.  Beer drinker myself.  (obviously, judging by the size of the keg he tucked under his shirt this morning.) 

Reid:  (as I looked over the wine behind me, I noticed that most of the bottles did not say 'shiraz' or 'cabernet' or even merlot.  Most of them just had the label of a local vineyard and the words 'red wine' on it, as if somehow the locals would not be able to tell that it was red by its color.)  I think I'll just buy a bottle of whiskey.

Liquorman:  What are you looking for?

Reid:  Any scotch or well edged Irish whiskey?

Liquorman:  Huh?

Reid:  Never mind, I'll just buy a bottle of Canadian LTD.  Fifteen dollars for two liters.

Liquorman:  That's good stuff.

Reid:  Yes, usually buying bulk whiskey in a plastic container means that it does have a nice bouquet and should be sipped slowly.  (my sarcasm flowed right over his head as he nodded at me.  Jason started laughing.)

Jason:  You're not really going to drink that, are you? 

Reid:  What would you suggest that I do with it

Jason:  You could disinfect your toilet with it?

Reid:  You don't have to drink it.  (I put the plastic bottle up on the counter along with some wine coolers for Christine.)

Liquorman:  You ain't from around here, are you?

(Inwardly, I was grateful that we were not frequent fliers at this liquor store.)

Jason:  Let's go home and drink some LTD!

Reid:  Yes, let's do so.

The plastic two liter bottle of LTD became of constant source of entertainment for the weekend which included a rap song, a Tarzan-like call and about half of it left over.  But throughout the weekend as we went to the waterpark with all the kids, climbed the indoor rock wall, flying fox and lasertag, it became increasingly obvious that as a family, Watermark has done really well. 

In our current social networking age, we don't make friends anymore, we manage them.  We don't argue very well, we don't laugh out loud so someone else can hear us, we don't tell others that we love the enough so that it can resonate with our voices inside their heads.  As I watched Jenn and Desley, Jason and Aaron and their families interact with ours, I wished multiple times that we had more time together, to walk across the street to see if we could hang out on the back porch sipping LTD or just listening to music.  I wished that I could have friends like that close by; not that I don't have friends here in Australia, but friends that require nothing of you but expect great things from you. 

New Year's Eve we stayed up until about two playing music and games with the kids and talking through the morning.

It was precious.

I wished Buford could have been there.