Goodbye, Columbus

On Monday, August 11th, I am moving to Lousiville, KY, to begin at Southern Seminary.  Here are my emotions.  

Please play the video for some mood music (that is 100% free of screaming, and any words for that matter)

It is just past midnight as I am beginning to write this.  On Monday, around 40 hours from right now, I will be on the road to Louisville to get a job lined up, and to stay with a couple friends (the only people I know in the city) until I move into my dorm on Friday.  I will be in my Intro to the New Testament class promptly at 8:30 AM the following morning in Norton Hall, Room 195.  But, now, I sit after saying goodbye to a handful of friends I won’t see at church tomorrow morning and after reading the couple dozen notes that were written for me at a going away party.  Perhaps the definition for what I am feeling can be called “pre-nostalgia.”  I can’t be homesick since I haven’t left yet; I am not reluctant since I do feel that I am called to go to seminary to be trained for pastoral ministry.  All I know is that the levies in my eyes are not built high enough to keep back tears for these next forty hours of goodbyes and packing.

It is not that I think that Louisville is going to be horrible.  It is just that I have never loved a place like I have Columbus.  Six years, I’ve spent here.  Twenty-five percent of my life and all of my adulthood. It is where the Lord laid claim on me and I on Him.  It is where I matured, where I was nurtured by the love of Christ and His saints; where I learned to live and love like Him.  It’s was here that I actually became man enough to ask a girl out on a date. Above all, it’s where I came to grips with the fact that the boy/man I see day after day in the mirror was no longer on his own, but a blood-bought son of God. 

It is natural that my heart of hearts does not want to leave this place.  It was hard enough over the past few years to see my loved ones move on, but to be the one that is moving, moving away from everyone at once—I don’t know what I will feel as I drive down I-71 South past OSU, Downtown, and my church home of four years.  I know I need to go, I want to go, but it is a pain when I feel like I am leaving so much behind.

But here is why this is going to be so gut-wrenching—I actually have something real, true, and lovely that I am leaving behind.  People that have loved me far more than I deserved and that I have loved far less than they deserve, a church that has guided me and encouraged me and found a place for me to serve the Body, college ministry that poured so much into me as I was an infant in Christ—all of whom loved me to the point where I could hear my call to shepherd Jesus’ people (in graceful spite of all my failures, inadequacies, and stupidity).

To the one who is reading this and knows me at all, I love you.  You have probably played a larger part in my life than you expect and I earnestly hope that adequately conveyed my love for you.  I probably could have done a better job, and in a few specific cases I know for sure I could have.  Most of this past week has been me trying to run around and see and hug as many of you as possible.  I know I will miss a few of you and I wish that I could go on a farewell tour to make sure that I saw you all one more time, but, alas, I cannot and that fact pains my soul.

I don’t want to be like a naïve incoming college freshman and think that I am going to be able to see everyone as often as I hope—it will not be everyone and it will not be often by any means.  But, I will keep in touch will as many of you as I can (yet not try to live vicariously in Columbus) and by whatever means you have at your disposal, keep an eye on me, send me letters and cookies, and other fun stuff.

In all the Love that our Lord has blessed my heart to have,

Richard Patrick Leeman

Man, A Little Lower than Angels (Part 3.2: The Sports We Watch and LeBron)

I couple weeks ago, I wrote about about the tension between being a follower of Christ and a watcher/lover/fan of sports.  Now, being who I am, I mostly wrote about football, baseball, and hockey, because those were the sports that were on the television growing up, the sports I play(ed), and the sports I still care about today.  Basketball (save for the Buckeyes the past six years) has never been a sport I really liked, therefore I didn't really mention it in that post.  The only reference I made to basketball was to LeBron James, where I said, "I hope that LeBron James never scores another point in the NBA (and I was joyous that the Spurs dominated the Heat in the finals this year),"  o allude to how strongly one can dislike, even hate, an athlete of all people.  Now, post-"Return of the King",  I will have quite a few angry friends and neighbors here in Ohio if my wish comes true (thank God I'll be in the safe-haven of Kentucky!).  But now, in regards to my last post about how we care way too much about sports, I enter into evidence the Exhibit A: LeBron James. 

Man, A Little Lower than Angels (Part 3: The Sports We Watch)

(Disclaimer: I know that there are women who are sports fanatics and men who are not, so please forgive my generalization)

"Kill 'em, Tommy!"

These words came out of my mouth on October 3rd, 2013.  My brother and I went to a Washington Capitals hockey game while I was back home in Virginia for his birthday.  About midway through the first period, an opposing player laid a questionable check on a Capitals' defenseman that left him clutching his leg and pretty much done for the season.  Now, the thing about the sport of hockey is that when two opposing players have a disagreement, fisticuffs ensue, and each player typically only serves five penalty minutes (as opposed to a several game suspension in every other sport).  This particular hit sparked the ire of young 19 year old Tom Wilson, who happened to be on the ice at the time of the hit.  The Caps' 2012 1st round draft pick and 6'4" 210 lbs. power forward/man-child proceeded to skate across the ice, find the player he felt overstepped the line of a "legal body check," and beat the tar out of him as I cheered him on.

Help Me, I'm an Idiot

I do some silly things from time to time.  There was one time when I forgot to put a guard on my hair clippers and ended up having to go bald for a little while.  And, being summer, my bald head got sunburned when I went on a run and didn't even think about putting sunscreen on my head.  I voluntarily shaved the very top of my head and my beard one Halloween to look like a 1970's cop with a balding head yet sweet mustache and sideburns (my Facebook bears the proof).  A previous Halloween saw me dress-up as Miss Piggy (which was utterly terrifying, and Facebook may or may not also bear the proof).  I "lost" my wallet under a pile of clean clothes on the day I was supposed to fly home, so I had to play 20 Questions with TSA for them to confirm my identity. College kids, am I right?

Wounds and Burdens Made Useful

There are times where I go back and read the posts I write on here.  Honestly, one of the main reasons I write is to try and organize thoughts on paper out of my jumbled mind and hope that I can glorify the Lord and share what is inside with some folks who are willing to read.  Yet, there is a theme in everything that I write--I am a man broken beyond belief! (Case in point)  Probably half the things I write either directly or indirectly revolve around my wounds and/or my sin.  Now, of course, there is always a hopeful ending, but there is a lot of sifting through the mud before I can reach such an ending, which is indicative of life in general.  There is a lot of struggle here--I even struggle to believe that my struggles are legitimate and not foolish or juvenile.