Pete and I have known each other since our freshman year in college. He slept on the bunk above me. Once at 5:45 am Pete tapped me on the shoulder to wake me up for my basketball practice at 6 am, and since then I’ve been convinced of his guardian angelship. Pete moved from Pennsylvania to Charleston to help start IES, and I first submitted our articles of incorporation in hopes that he would do exactly that. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him. But, even so, ever since he stepped into the mission we’ve done nothing but lock antlers like two wild bucks.
“It’s a messy story,” Pete said retrospectively last Friday.
Pete and I have had some tense moments. Like when I was driving Pete’s car and his transmission blew in Adrienne, Texas, and the following day I told him that we couldn’t take a bus home but instead had to keep going. It became tenser when—again while I was driving—I turned off Pete’s newly bought Ford Focus in the Grand Canyon welcome center and his key wouldn’t come out of his ignition. It stayed there for the next few days as we hiked and Pete must have contemplated the consequences of pushing me into the canyon. And even though I'd been causing all the problems, as the trip progressed it became all I could do in our tent at night to keep from kicking him.
That tension grew when, after returning home, I told him I didn’t want to sign a lease together, and continued even after a few weeks later Pete officially moved on and away from IES. There is conflict In Every Story, and every friendship too.
So for a while Pete stopped calling and I avoided him. I tried explaining to others that he was no longer with the organization without letting hints of bitterness escape me. I prayed (some) that I would stop imagining scenarios of failure for Pete. It seemed possible that our friendship was never made of anything more than a few commonalities close to falling off their hinges.
But In Every Story there are also examples of God’s love, hope, and redemption.
Last Friday Pete became a last minute replacement for our job at the fair, and it was a chance for both of us to heal and forget—a nice cap to a story that started a little more than a year ago when Pete and I took a picture of our fellow resident Errol working at the fair as a day labor. “I’m not sure if it’s a step forward or not,” Pete noted, “that last year we were taking pictures of day laborers and now we are the day laborers.” I thought that was a good point. But, as Pete’s already noted, good stories are just messy like that.
Things have settled between us, and I think we’ve both learned a lot. Our faith has grown too. I’ve decided that so long as I’m still invited I’m going to attend his wedding next summer, and his name is still in the running for my first born child or at least a beloved pet. I did some thinking the other night while we swept about what a lucky guy Pete is: He’ll be in law school soon, his fiance will be home, and there are a lot of things going for him. And in all honesty, I'm proud of Pete...I think this will forever be a defining time for both of our lives, to learn and take risks, but ultimately it will be time for both of us to accept the plans God has for ourselves and each other, and for Pete that means moving on. I’m just glad that we’ve become cheerleaders again. That’s what friends do.
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