You just don’t get me.

I wanted you to listen and feel with me.

Stop giving me solutions and just listen to me.

Why are you so quiet?

No, that’s not what I meant.

Are you listening to me?

I want you to want to.

I don’t have to tell you; you should just know it already.

WELL,

Sarah just gave me the Best Valentine’s Gift Ever:

It’s basically like getting the other team’s playbook. Everybody wins, so it’s even better.

Sarah made me an instruction manual for Valentine’s Day. No, seriously. It’s a cute handcrafted book with little snippets of lists of her likes and dislikes, her basic info, and most of all, this mental model and decision diagram of the female brain (well, hers at least).

My logical, rational, Engineer mind rejoices. I love this girl.

At the same time, it’s kind of fun staying late with coworkers, sharing in the pain! Ah, yes, it’s every single EECS class I ever had, all over again. Fun, but only for the first couple of evenings.

I have to remember I’m human and limited. God’s sovereign and the work is going to get done with or without me. And God forbid if I am ever controlled by work or stress or deadlines. It’s just not worth it. Shake it off. Take a deep breath, Andrew. It’s gonna be okay.

This week at Urbana was what I needed. I think I heard what I needed to hear: echoes of the Kingdom told through businesspeople who understand that with regards to their businesses, “it’s not about the money, but all about relationships.” It’s about being conscientious to how you can use business to advance the Kingdom and change lives: creating jobs, being ethical, opening doors.

I’ve been needing some sort of spiritual kick in the pants, and I think I finally feel that there’s a door opening with regards to my future. Coming here and getting excited about using my skills and passion about software, design, programming, people… man. I think this is helping me focus where I need to be going and growing. Mentorship, discipleship, practical real-world business skills, prayer…

Tom Hsieh is an Asian-American tech entrepreneur whose story tells that story well. Years ago Tom went to Urbana and came away with two convictions:

1. God’s heart was for the urban poor.
2. Tom did not love the poor.

Something needed to happen, so Tom decided to move into the inner city after graduation, turning down several lucrative offers and serving with a local church there. He took a part-time computer tech job with flexible hours so he could do his service there.

Tom was successful in what he did and his career advanced. Soon he found himself an executive at Earthlink (in its nascent startup days), where he told us stories about simply being obedient to Jesus in the workplace, living a simple life in the grind of corporate America, living a life of radical giving. Tom and his wife have committed to live at or below the median income level, so that means they give away about 80% of their income. Crazy.

Tom was closing a business deal over a power lunch one day: “This isn’t real!” he thought to himself while bringing the slice steak up to his mouth. Hanging out with the neighborhood kids and seeing their smiles? That’s real. Being spiritually authentic and Hopeful in a world that denies it? That’s real.  Choosing to fight greed with generosity? That’s real.

Hearing stories like these this week was good for my soul. More specifically, I think I have some sort of calling to live a focused, missional life. Here. Or overseas. Who knows, and where a few years ago that was something I felt I had to fight, this time around it’s something that’s freeing.

Who knows, who knows. It’s the start of a new year. New possibilities. We’ll see.

I’ve got my bags packed and waiting in an airport in Kansas City en route to Urbana.

I was thinking today about how much I’m seeking a calling (or a life direction, you could say). Life in the working world has its way of sucking you onto its treadmill, where it’s easy to simply wake up one day, and a year has passed, and you’re still sporting the same haircut.

But I was thinking today that really, this is less about direction than it is about identity. I’m known less by my professional aspirations, my friendships, the person I was in college, my performance as a worker in the marketplace than I am simply God’s son.

I need some sort of kick start, something to make that realization hit home.

Justin hands me a photo a few weeks ago. Can you get this blown up? Mike wants it.

I go see Mike. What do you want it to say?

He thinks.

“Rest in peace, Godfather. From your brother, Spicy Mike.”

"Oh, my God. What happened?"

"He's got an infection, and it's been bad Drew, it's been bad." I hear some muffled voices in the background. "But hey Drew, I gotta go now. I need your prayers."

--

Truth of the matter is that when I graduated and moved away, I lost touch with Mike. It wasn't a sudden break, but gradual and subtle. I graduated. I went to Africa. I came back and started working. Mike stayed around.

Every once in awhile, I get a phone call from him. "Hey Drew, how ya doin?" Mike will ask. And I will tell him that I'm at work, and I'll call him back. I try to remember to call him back. I really do.

--

"He's gone."

"Mike, I'm so sorry."

"He passed at 7:07."

"I'm so sorry man."

"Wayne just gave up man. Drew, I'm tired."

I can say nothing.

"I can't cry no more."

--

Sarah and I show up at Alta Bates later that evening with some coffee and La Burrita. We wait for Mike in the waiting room. Soon he comes in a bit unsteadily, a boombox clutched in one hand, a thick wool beanie covering his head and ears. Slumping into the seat across from us, he leans forward and puts his head in his hands. "He's gone"--and exhales.

The details make their way out. "I was out in Berkeley doing my thang. They had to come find me, tell me 'Mike, your brother Wayne's in the hospital. You gotta get over now.' Can you believe that? They had to come find me.

Sarah offers Mike some coffee. Mike looks up and over--you brought that? Bless you. A deep sip.

"Wayne had an infection"--Mike says the name of some medical term, but I can't quite catch it. "There was an infection on his insides. He was in so much pain. They say he couldn't hear nobody, but I was there at his side talking to him and I know he can hear me. You know? He twitch."

--

"I gotta tell everyone on his street that he gone now."

Mike chuckles a bit.

"Listen, I tell you, Wayne used to always walk by this woman's house in the morning. She used to ask me, 'Why does Wayne always do that?' I say 'It's because he likes you!' She says 'But I'm married!' and I say 'Well that's why Wayne always coming around when your man's gone!'

Mike laughs as he relives the memory.

"I was prepared for Moms, but nothing prepared me for Wayne, you know? You're ready to see your momma pass, but not your own brother. Drew, I can't cry no more."

--

Last I heard from Mike, he was about to go in to court for his Social Security hearing. "You gonna come, Drew?" he asked me. I told him I'd be there, and just to give him a call. "Good. I just need you to say to the judge that you seen me have heart problems and take me to the hospital once." I tell him to have his lawyer call me. She never does.

Mike called the afternoon before his court date. I'm at work, so I let the call go straight to voice mail. "Hey Drew, it's Mike. Court hearing's tomorrow. Can you come?" I call him right back, but alas, it's disconnected. All through the evening and into the next day, his number's still disconnected, and I wonder how his case turns out.

--

"God got his purpose, Drew. I know that. Last night I was walking the neighborhood and I saw this shooting star. Just... shoom"--Mike makes this flying hand motion--"I saw a shooting star and it fly right over Wayne's house. And I knew, I just knew.

"Wayne was a grumpy guy, you know? Every time I come over he kick me right out after fifteen minutes. Say he don't want to see nobody. He was a hard man, but he was family ya know?"

Mike's expression changes, and he puts his head down in his hands again. "When my Moms passed, we all came together again. That was her last wish. We usually fighting and everything and sure enough, we came together. But we was fighting all over her things.

"My big sister give me a call one day and she says 'Mike, come down here and take some of Mom's stuff.' I say, 'I don't want nothing to do with it.' Everybody's over there taking and taking. I finally go down and you know what's left? A vacuum cleaner." Mike's face registers disgust. "They take everything but her vacuum cleaner."

Sarah and I don't know what to say, but to look intently at him.

--

I've heard from Mike time and time again. He'll call me once in awhile and leave a voice mail message. "Hey Drew, just thinking of you. Call me back all right? Say hi to Sarah for me."

"We don't deserve a friend like Mike," Sarah told me last night. "You know? Like we're not nearly as good as friends to him as he is to us. He has every right to disregard us as do-gooder students, but we really are his friends."

I try to remember to call, I swear I do.

Since Mike doesn't have a working cell phone any more, he calls me from several phone numbers, all of which I judge to be his family. One number is his sister's, another is Belinda's. "How's he doing?" I ask Belinda. "He's not doing too well," she replies.

"Can you talk to him?" his sister asks, her voice cracking too, "He really needs someone to talk to."

--

I met Mike on a starry evening five years ago on Telegraph and Durant. Was it March, or was it April? He was sitting on a milk carton at the time; I was a big-eyed freshman willing to talk to anybody. I met a Mike who was lost in his thoughts. "You know what man," he tells me that evening, "I miss my Moms. She passed five years ago today."

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