I’m about to wash my hands of this place and retire to my study (Holy freaking cow I miss my bedroom). I have fought this fight, finished this race and I can confidently say Ive kept this faith.

I’ve tried to write “a final blogpost” 4 separate times now. Each time I have sat down to write it, I’ve become overwhelmed by the flood of stories, relevant metaphors and less relevant and inspiring personal anecdotes. 4 times Ive begun to write this and each time, my thoughts move faster than my fingers can type (Me from my World of Warcraft days would be ashamed). 4 times Ive written layouts of how this post was supposed to go and 4 times I have scratched it because I forgot the original point I was intending to make.

Ive got nothing. I know a lot of questions are coming. I know in less time than Im ready for, people will ask me vague and undefined questions expecting precise and detailed answers. “How was it?” is supposed to be followed by a 5 minute summary of the lessons I’ve learned. “What was prison like?” is supposed to enact a 10 minute explanation of the characters of the men I met. “What was the best part?” “Were you ever scared” “What did you miss the most?” and so on and so on and so on. I know these questions are coming, quite frankly I welcome them. I look forward to not knowing how to answer them.

Im still learning how to tell these testimonies because 4 times Ive sat down to write this and 4 times I remembered stories I had already forgotten. Some mornings I wake up, look out my window and feel a decade older than when I got here. Other mornings it feels more like 2 decades. I’m bringing home with me a great many stories from a great many people. How these peoples stories have been woven into mine is a thread masterfully sowed by a master fully sowed. Its a thread I am still carefully following but in all its complexities, I have yet to find its ends.

They walked to school alone because their siblings didn’t want to be seen with them. They walked barefoot because their step fathers were only willing to buy shoes for his legitimate kids. Their mothers constantly reminding them they’re lucky they weren’t aborted, the pregnancy having been an outcome of their mothers rape. Their books were damaged from constantly ripping through the plastic bags their parents gave them in place of a backpack. Their mothers were gone with the wind, their fathers and uncles stabbing each other right in-front of them after too few drinks. Their fathers beat them if they dared defend their helpless mothers. Their mothers beat them if they dared speak ill of their fathers. They had guns put in their hands and were sent to kill men, knowing if they returned back without blood they themselves would find the same fate. Their mothers hired their brothers to murder them. They took bullets for gang leaders who then left them to die. They were groomed from a young age by wealthy men with ill intent for their lives. They learned to suspend their humanity because that was the cost demanded by survival. They mutilated bodies because killing simply wasn’t enough and for them and the ends always justified the means. These are their stories. I may not be able to summon them on command, I may forget certain details of them from telling to telling, but I trust these will remain with me when I no longer remain with their owners.

They say you’re supposed to have a 5 minute, a 10 minute and a 30 minute break down for when people ask you those pesky questions I spoke about earlier. I have enough material to give every person in my life a different 30 minute break down, thats not the issue. What I’m afraid of is this: I want to serve God in telling their stories well. I want to do justice to what Ive seen and experienced, that the full impact of Gods doings would be revealed. In 5 minutes it doesn’t seem possible.

I will close with a thank-you, a promise and a request. First, the thank-you.

Thank you to those of you who have followed this blog. It gave me great comfort knowing that I was covered in prayer each and every day as I stepped into a truly uncomfortable phase of life.

Thank-you to those who I have done a horrid job of keeping in personal contact with (pretty much everyone). Thank you for your patience. I hope you’ll excuse it as a full hearted investment in what has happened here and not a sign of disrespect or disregard.

Thank-you to those who have donated to make this whole thing possible. I’ve learned a great deal about discernment and listening to the lords voice, I am thankful that each of you listened and were willing to pay a price to see this come into vision. I am thankful for the example that you then set for me in your embodiment of a willing spirit.

Thank-you to those whom picked up slack, carried extra weight and simply covered for obligations I couldn’t.

This brings us to the promise. I promise I will do my very best to answer your questions. I promise I will do my very best to remind you how thankful I am for what you’ve all done for me, all you’ve provided for me and all the love you’ve shown me. I promise I’ll tell you stories as I learn to tell them and I’ll show you what I’ve learned once I can pin a finger on it.

Finally, the request. Early November is usually the time of year that Starbucks releases their Christmas blend. For those of you who dont know, this is a big deal. Its the time of the year when its appropriate to run naked through the streets proclaiming “Hail to the coffee king”, rejoicing that he has come. Yeah, its that good. Some even say it has magical properties that help people process life events… If you want my 30 minute version, shoot me a text, an email, a fax, hire a sky-writer, or just show up at my house and lets grab some coffee. I’m buying.