My 20 Year Story

I forget where I heard this (I think it was an event at South Church, the church I go to in Lansing), but I was at some kind of event where my generation should be described “The Surviving Generation”. And he (or maybe she, once again, not sure) described how a third or so of my generation didn’t make it through childbirth due to abortion or miscarriage. A large number of other people in my generation had to survive through broken families, be it divorce, abuse or any number of other problems that seem to be more prevalent today than they have in the past. I bring this up because today is my 20th birthday. A day to celebrate that I have survived in this world for 20 years.

These past 20 years have been interesting to say the least. I’ve experienced some of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. But, maybe that’s part of the wonder of the story. I’ve changed and grown so much that if you told me 5 years ago what type of person I would become, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. But, I think that’s part of the wonder of the story. It’s strange for me to look back, and see some of the things God brought me through and some of the things I just couldn’t trust him with for so long. But, that might be part of the wonder of the story too. So, in honor of today being my 20th birthday, I’ve decided to share this story. I’ve done my best to remember these events correctly (or in some cases, remember how my parents told me the stories later on). This isn’t meant to be a testimony; it’s much more than this. It’s a collection of stories, bottled up into one big story. There will hopefully be moments where you’re laughing with me, and at other times laughing at me. There will be moments where you will probably want to sympathize with my shortcomings, but maybe also want to stay away from me for a little while (okay, hopefully not to that extreme, but I have done some stupid things throughout my life, as you’ll see). But enough intro, let’s get to the story.

On June 20th, 1988, I was born to my parents, Henry and Sandy Young in Downers Grove, Illinois. Both my parents are Christian, and did their best to raise me on the right path. I am happy to call them my parents, but in order to save time, we’re not going to go into to much detail about them. Apparently, we moved around a bit when I was really young, until we moved to Michigan when I was 3. However, once we got to the first house I actually remember living in, we would only move once more.

Quick side-track before we go on. When I was something like 2, my parents tell me that I was fascinated by this “Wheel-of-Fortune” game. So there would be times when they would set me in front of the computer, set it up so I was one of the players (which is an interesting concept for a 2 year old) and let me go crazy. Anyways, one day, both my mom and my dad were outside of the room while I was in front of the computer. All of my sudden, my parents hear, from the computer, “You just solved the puzzle!” Keep in mind, I’m 2 years old. They are obviously intrigued, because is it possible that a 2-yeear-old could honestly solve a puzzle on Wheel-of-Fortune? Now, in actuality, that noise also comes on when a computer player solves the puzzle. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that a computer player solved the puzzle, instead of me, but I guess we will never know.

Now, despite my parents’ lack of faith in my 2-year-old brain, they learned quickly that I was, in fact, a pretty quick learner. According to them, I could read and do basic addition at 3 or 4, well earlier than most. I would gain some more knowledge during my preschool years and they would encourage me to learn at a young age. However, my fine motor skills, such as coloring between the lines and tying my shoes still needed at lot of work. So, of course, it gets interesting when my parents go to a Kindergarten orientation, when the teacher talks about teaching us students all the things I have already learned to this point. My parents, being the concerned parents that they are, go up to her and ask her about me. From my understanding, the conversation went something like this.

Mom: Well, my son can already read. What will you do with him?
Teacher: Many parents think their children can read at that young of an age. He probably is just imitating you right now. Don’t worry, we’ll have him reading by the end of the year.
Mom: No, seriously, my son can already read. He isn’t just imitating.
Teacher: Well, we’ll see about that.

Needless to say, my mother wasn’t real happy about this. Anyways, from what I’m told, a few weeks later my mom and dad got a note from the teacher, requesting that I take a special-ed test. At this point, I was apparently acting OCD, not always getting along with the teacher, and of course, showing off my very poor coloring, letter making, and shoe-tying skills (you know, the really important stuff). My mom, I can imagine is furious, but she eventually agrees (probably had to). So I took this test (I have absolutely no recollection of taking this, by the way), and my parents and the teacher are asked to meet with the test administrator (I’m guessing the special-ed teacher). When they get there, my concerned parents ask me how I did. She apparently was thrilled, as I had passed the some math sections and reading sections… designed for 3rd graders (or something like that). I can imagine the grin on my parents’ faces and the shock of the teacher’s face. I’ll be honest, I have few memories of school for a little while, so we will not focus on school for a while.

The few early childhood memories I do have revolve around sports. When I was 5 or 6, I started playing soccer. Maybe that is just an optimistic view, but it’s my story! My dad was an assistant coach for a while, and then he became the head coach sometime. This was a fun experience for him and me. At first, I really enjoyed playing. It was a good growing experience and a good release for my energy. However, the more I played the game, the bigger, faster and stronger everyone else got. And, let’s just say, I didn’t grow at quite the same rate. It also didn’t help that God did not compensate my size with the gift of just being completely awesome at sports (He decided to give me other gifts instead. Things worked out okay after all). I stopped playing soccer somewhere around 4th grade, but my dad wouldn’t stop influencing my love of sports there.

At some point (based on the year I thought it was, I was 8), my dad introduced me to the great game of basketball and the king of basketball, Michael Jordan. I immediately became a fan (this was the great 72-10 season) and would watch what I could (usually the first half of the game, before I would have to go to bed).A year later, on June 11, Game 5 of the Finals between the Bulls and Jazz. With the series tied 2-2, and my dad waving me inside, told me at that point the MJ was sick, and that he heard that MJ wasn’t going to play. “He’ll play”, he said defiantly, “he’ll play”. Sure enough, there goes Jordan, playing through the first half. The second quarter looked good (I only remember the specifics of the game because my dad got a collection of complete Bulls basketball games from the Jordan era, including this game), but we were down by 4. As I was preparing to head to bed at the half, my dad told me something that would ultimately grow my fandom for any sport. “You know what Danny, why don’t you stay up? It’s the summer anyway. I’ve got a feeling that something special will happen.” This game is forever known as “The Flu Game”, a game where MJ would somehow take over with 38 points and need help off the court. One of the greatest performances in NBA history.

Anyways, I could go on and on about sports, but that wouldn’t be fun either. Let’s go back to my school days. I’m going to jump ahead to late in my 3rd grade year. At this point I’m at the top of my class grade-wise, and I end up getting interviewed by some people who are teachers at the new elementary school, talking to me about an advanced placement program for students. What a difference a few years makes, eh? My family and I decide this is the best move for me, and it was. It ended up being a good experience. It was nice to learn in an environment at a pace I liked better (with all due respect to my lower grade teachers and classes, why do we have to wait for the stupid people?). This was the first time I was ever challenged at school (although not outrageously). It was a good opportunity and I needed to do it. This kept me going through 5th grade.

Sometime during the 4th grade, I got really scared about something (I think it was a tornado warning, not sure). Before this point, I had grown up in the church. I knew that God existed, and that Jesus wanted to have a personal relationship for me, as my savior. However, in a way, this tornado scare (or whatever it was) somehow got me to trust God and it was the first time I really accepted him as my savior. I soon was baptized, and I thought that I had got my ticket to heaven. Nothing left to worry about, in fact, God was going to make sure nothing bad would happen. Well, that’s what my 9 year old self would have told you.

Let’s skip ahead to my 6th grade year (age 11). I was back into a regular program at school, and doing well. But that wasn’t my concern at this point. You see, over the previous few years, my grandpa on my mom’s side of the family (known for the rest of the post as Pap-Pap, what all us grandkids would call him), was sick with cancer. He was a Christian and a good man, and of course with my messed up thinking, I knew that God would heal him. I mean, look at all the stories in the Bible about healings, especially through Jesus. Of course, as time went by, things got worse. But somehow, Pap-Pap always remained faithful, at one point even saying “May God Bless you” when our family was leaving. At the time, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why he would say something like that. I didn’t understand why God would end up taking him to heaven on May 7, 2000 (I think that was the date, I don’t feel like double checking). Our whole family was sad, but I took this very hard. I even started to doubt whether God was real, or if God cared. It didn’t take long for me to accept that God is still caring, but it did take me a while to mourn.

Probably the most vital vehicle into God healing me was music. Now, at this point, I listened to a little bit of music, and I enjoyed singing. Despite initial complaints, I was learning the piano and enjoying it quite a bit. This culminated in a fateful trip with another family to a pizza place to watch a Chicago-Tampa Bay football game (our family being big Chicago fans, as I’m sure you know, and the other family being Tampa Bay fans). Somehow, some of us got onto the topic of music, specifically the youth praise team (since one of them happened to be a part of the youth praise team). Well, this guy, Bubba, found out I was a piano player, and that they were looking for a piano player for the youth praise team. Next thing I know, I’m at a praise team practice, playing piano with a group, instead of just in private. That next Sunday, I was playing piano in front of our youth service. And, for the first time since Pap-Pap died, I really felt... joyful. And they invited me to play the next week, and the next week. It became the thing I looked forward too most in a week, for quite a few years.

Back to overall school and people stuff. As I grew older, I would continue to do well in school without really trying. On the flip-side, the older I got, I got more and more awkward around people. I had friends in both middle school and high school, but I can’t say I had a lot of close friends. I don’t feel I needed them, I guess. At this point, I believed in a very work-based idea of faith, because I had seen that hard work paid off in many things of my life (namely, school and piano). And I had a high view of myself, so I didn’t always want to “hang out” with people that I wasn’t comfortable with, because obviously, the people I was comfortable with must be good people. I was never wrong in my judgments. So, this was my life for a couple of years, until eventually, I made the stupidest decision I ever made in my life.

I don’t know why I went to that website in the first place. I don’t know why I felt that like I needed to stay there and stare for so long (other than the obvious endorphins and such). But for some reason, I saw my first pornographic website sometime my freshman year (it might have been a little before, not sure). I knew it was wrong. I knew I never should go back to that website, but I did. And that linked me to another site. Next thing you know, any chance I could (of course, when no one was looking), I’d do my best to look at some naughty pictures or some bad videos. I guess, in my mind, I was already good enough, and that it was okay to be a little bad. It’s worth noting that this decision still affects me. I have to do battle every day, and there are many days I don’t win.

Well, my dad caught me once by looking at the history of the computer and figuring out who could have watched it on those days and times. And it should have ended there, but instead, I just got more sneaky. But it didn’t. By this point, I was addicted, although I never would have admitted it. So there I was, living what was essentially a double life. In public, I would portray this image of being the good guy, doing my best to live perfectly (by the way, looking back, it’s easy to see that I wasn’t as good as I thought I was). In private, I was just as bad as anyone else, but since it was in private, and I wasn’t hurting anyone, it wasn’t as bad (another brilliant observation by me >_<).

I never had felt so alone in my life. I felt like I was the only guy that was doing this. So it would just eat at me. There were few times when I could truly say that I was happy throughout my first 3 years of high school. There was going to church, not because of the fact that I knew I could worship God (although it did feel right), but because of the true friends I had there, whether it was the praise team or just other people my age. There were our school musicals, which I enjoyed for performing and for the music in general. There was watching sports with my family. The frequent video game playing too. That’s about it. That’s about it. Shockingly, I was never depressed. I never hated life. I was just doing my own thing, and no one else was entering my little world. I still did well in school. But I was never the life of the party. Although I knew quite a few people, I feel like I had few close friends.

Because I really don’t have a whole lot of good stories, I’m gonna skip ahead to a good part. The summer before my senior year, I ended up going to a Christ In Youth event. Don’t remember why I felt I should go, but I did (man, my memory is terrible, if you couldn’t tell). Anyways, there were 12 of us from our church (along with lots of other churches), 6 guys and 6 girls. Better yet, of the 12 people that went, I only knew 4 of them well, 1 being myself (at the time, this was not a good revelation, but you’ll see why this was important in a few seconds). So we get there, and we have our first session of the week. And it really affected me. It was the first time I was really confronted with how bad of a person I was, and a reminder of the idea of grace, something that I had heard many times, but didn’t understand fully.

That night, the 6 of us guys were in one of our rooms just talking about our lives, struggles and stuff. The conversation was finally getting around to me. I was listening intently, offering up some words of encouragement if I had any, but mostly being quiet. I was thinking of something to say, because I didn’t feel comfortable sharing what actually was going on in my life. Then, it was finally my turn to confess some things, and I broke down. I confessed everything about my addiction to them, and expected the worst (also, I was crying a lot at this point). But the worst never came. Instead, each of those guys showered me with love and kindness. People I only knew a little bit were caring about me in my moment of weakness.

The next couple of days, I had some time to reflect on my life, what it had become. And, my life didn’t look that pretty, to be honest with you. But I kept coming back to this idea of love, and grace, and forgiveness. So, on the Wednesday of that week, I rededicated my life to Christ, with my new friends standing beside me. That night, us guys hung out with another group. We were laughing, singing having a great time together. It was the first time I felt this joy for a long time. And you know what, it felt so right. That week is probably the most important week of my life. I don’t know where I’d be at without it.

Well, I’m long overdue for a funny story. That week, since there were an even number of guys and girls, that each guy would pick one of the girls’ names out of a hat, and each guy would pray specifically for that girl. At the end of the week, we’d write them a quick note, letting them know we prayed for them and be on our ways. The girl I picked was Cari, who basically is like a sister from another family (if you look on facebook through my profile at Cari’s, it actually says “You are Cari’s brother”. My hunch is that she feels the same way). So, I pray for her, like I promised the guys I would. I write her a note, (took me about 15 minutes) leave it for her in her bag or something like that, and the job is done. Well, she finds the note, finds a quiet place and next time I see her (pretty quickly after she finished reading the note) she’s going crazy, jumping for joy. She gives me a hug, and we go on our way. Now, you’re probably thinking, “Well, that isn’t very funny.” Well, let’s look at it from an outsider’s point of view.

A semi-awkward boy is good friends with a girl. Both are single. Boy writes girl a note, and leaves it for her to find. What are you thinking the note is (If I remember correctly, I was one of the first guys to actually bring the note to the girl)? Think about it for a second. It probably isn’t a note saying “Hey, I’ve been praying with you over the past few days. Have a nice day, life, yada yada yada.” If I were looking at it from the outside, I’d probably guess the letter would say, “Hey, I know we’ve been friends for a long time. Can we go out, on like a date? Cause I really like you, and I’m awkward so I can’t say it to your face.” Yeah, probably should have thought this one through a little more before I actually did it this way. By the way, Paul, one of our youth leaders, would later joke that, “The reason she was so happy was because it wasn’t a love note.”

Well, after that, I’ve seen my life change and grow so much. That first year, my senior year, I look back and see myself growing spiritually. In many ways, I was still an awkward kid, but I grew in the fact that I had a certain joy about life. I started praying, more than just at dinner. I read my Bible more and more. There was a desire in me to grow to be a better man. When college hit, I not only grew spiritually, but I grew out of a few awkward shells. I think being in a new environment, without knowing really anyone where I was, really helped. I may not be the most outgoing person in the world, but I know that I have people I can go to if I have problems.

I could go on and on, mention story after story, talk about person after person. But it’s already 2:30 in the morning, and I’ve filled up 6 pages on Word (single spaced) over the last few hours. So let me end with this. I never could have made it here without my friends, my family, anyone that ever cared even a little for me. My life hasn’t been perfect by any stretch of the means, but you guys have stuck with me. So thank you so much, for being friends to me in the good times and the bad. It’s been a long, strange and interesting road these last 20 years. But I’d be hard-pressed to change a lot about it. So thank you for being a part of my life, my story (this is only a cliff-notes version. I have more stories I could share). The first 20 years are over, the rest of my life begins.

Sometimes, God Just Provides

You know, I don't understand why God works the way he does sometimes. Had you told me two weeks ago what was going to happen, I don't know that I would have believed you. But, despite some of the craziness, I'm glad it happened. Because sometimes, you just need to be reminded that God knows best, and he will provide for even when you aren't sure what is going on. I think the best way to describe it is to just go day-by-day (btw, these stories are accurate on my memory. If you think anything is wrong, well as my dad has told me many times, "That's my story, I'm sticking to it").


Monday, May 19th, pretty late at night (actually, I think technically it was Tuesday morning at this point, it's kinda fuzzy).
I'm looking on facebook and I see that the church overnight is that coming weekend. Of course, I'm a little sad, because I know that I have to work, and that I couldn't get it off. Oh well. I missed it last year, and still turned out okay. Whatever.... wait a second. I had to think about my schedule a second, because there may be a loophole.

You see, I had said to myself (correctly, by looking at the request schedule) that there was no way I could get Friday night and Saturday morning off to go. But after looking at my schedule for a second or third time that week, I saw this part, finally.
Friday- Off
Saturday- 4pm to 10pm.
Then, I take a look at the Overnight schedule
Friday- 6pm to Saturday- 4pm. Wait a second! I can go! I can go, assuming my parent's say yes (which they did, with no convincing whatsoever).

Skip ahead to that Friday. I get there, and of course, there are some good friends I haven't seen in a while. Let me say this, it is nice to live in my house, but I miss being in a dorm with stuff always going on. I got a taste of that at this overnight, starting right off with seeing Joy and remembering just how crazy she can get (no offense Joy). It was fun. Got to play some volleyball, bumper pool, but more importantly, got to catch up with some good friends. Heard some good things about the ministry that night, had some things to think about and all that. But first, more fun. Beginning with the cartoon Robin Hood, I got to spend some time with some friends that I didn't know great, but it was a good time for me to listen. I told myself that I was gonna go to bed by 2, so I could get 6 hours of sleep. I did still had to work the next day. Yeah, right. Next thing I know, I still can't stop laughing (things get funnier when you should be sleeping) and it's 4:30 in the morning! Ah, I've survived on 3 hours of sleep.

Woken up at about 8 (as expected) on Saturday morning. And boy, it did not feel good. I think it took me about 15 minutes to get off of the couch I was sleeping on. But, chug on I must. I had to somehow make it to the morning session and leave after lunch (it was the most convenient time). But, I wasn't sure if I could make it through a 6 hour shift (okay, so I've written papers on less sleep, I'm sure I could have done it). However, during the session, God decided that I shouldn't work all 6 hours (especially since it would have put me over 40 hours, I covered for someone on Tuesday). Instead, I got a text from my mom saying that work called, and that I was to show up at 7, not 4. Normally, I'd be upset that they cut some hours, but in my tired haze, I needed to take some more hours off. Plus, I could stay for the last session, which had some things I needed to hear (so much, I should probably talk about it in another post. Too much to talk about). Long story short, I made it home and made it through the work shift.

Fast forward a day, which I had off. My family went to see Indiana Jones (a good movie, but once again, not worth it to talk about it here), but as we're going back, my mom gets a call on her cell phone. Apparently, my Granddad was in the hospital because of a seizure. He wasn't in good health to begin with (diabetes, among other things), and obviously this was a scary situation. My dad decided to head down to Indiana to see him, leaving my family and I here in GR.

The good news is that, despite almost losing him twice, he not only pulled through, but according to my Granddad, he is feeling better than he has in years. We suspect that he had been on so many pills, they needed to be flushed out of his system (like they were with dialysis). But even more importantly, his heart changed. My Granddad believes in God and Jesus, and I have no doubt that if the worst happened, we would see him in heaven. But he is also a pretty proud person. On Monday, when my Dad arrived and told him about everyone at our home church and at my church in Lansing (among others), Granddad basically said, "Well, it couldn't hurt." However, through the week, it became obvious to my dad that his heart was changing. And maybe that was the most important thing to happen these past two weeks.

Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that God provided a Stanley Cup for the beloved Red Wings ;) . But that's another story as well.