Lost, found, found again

It seems that, in the past few years, I've been simply inundated with reconnections with old friends. Allow me to list them off:

Brad Schultz: friend from high school, got to see him come to Christ at an Altar Boys concert. Attended Bethany for a couple years, joined the Air Force, lost touch. Found via (the now defunct) highschoolalumni.com. Blown away to see his name, doubly blown away to know he moved to the same town in Washington I did, triply blown away to find him living right down the street. He's moved back to California, but we stay in touch.

Imre Golden: another good friend, also from high school. Mean trumpet player, and we shared a love of classic Mustangs. Went to college at UC Davis, lost touch in the late eighties. Found him (where else?) online. He was selling a car, of all things.

Carl Gaede: still another high school friend. Introduced me to great Christian bands like Undercover and the Altar Boys. He found me while doing a Google search of his own name, and found himself referenced on my post about the Christian music night in 1985 at Knott's Berry Farm. Living in Wisconsin now.

Randy Taylor: a great friend from church, taught me a lot about honesty and integrity. Posted here about a week ago - found me via the blog. Still down in SoCal.

and the latest, probably remembered only by KMJ and Mrs. Funkiller:

Shannon Sabatino (although she's married now, don't know her married name). KMJ and I took her under our wings as a troubled 12-year-old junior higher at church. Her aunt, Julian, was in the college group with us, and Shannon was living with Julian and Julian's parents, her grandparents. I was privileged to be there when she received Christ, after a Christian concert in Redlands, California (I believe the bill was Crumbacher, The Holidays, and maybe someone else). Without sharing too much of her story, let's just say she was really turning over a new leaf when she was forced to leave Long Beach and live with another relative near Seattle. Karen and I found out at a college group retreat - I remember weeping together over it.

I know Shannon trusted me - in fact, I was the one she spent the day with after she'd returned from running away from home at 13 (I believe this incident precipitated my taking her to the show in Redlands).

I believe I can credit Shannon with creating the niche in my heart that allows me to love junior high kids as I do. She was hurt, she was lost, yet she was still willing to trust an adult (and I was barely one, at that - maybe 19 or 20).

Losing her hurt. If I could have taken her in myself I would have in a heartbeat.

Fast forward six years. It's 1995, and I'm renting a room from KMJ and Eric. I'd been listening to a lot of Grateful Dead that summer, and the song "Jack Straw" was (and still is) one of my favorites. One of the characters in the song is named "Shannon," and, although it's a male character, it made me think of that lost little kid from half a decade earlier:

Hurts my ears to listen, Shannon
Burns my eyes to see...

So, I got on the phone, and asked for information for Everett, Washington. I found Shannon, and we talked at length. At nineteen, she was quite a bit tougher and rougher around the edges, but I could still hear the same Shannon I'd known.

Fast forward another ten years, to this afternoon:

I was working in the garden, and Kat came to the back door to tell me that there's "someone named Shannon on the phone, and she says you knew her aunt a long time ago..."

So. Lost, found, lost, and found, yet again, hopefully, this time for good. (She has the URL of this blog, so I'm hoping she'll visit soon). Get this, Karen - Shannon is almost 29 years old!!! Now, how did that ever happen?

It's funny - the difference between 13 and 20 is so very different from the difference between 29 and 36. Really, there is no difference between 29 and 36. 13 and 20, however, are a different proposition altogether. Just weird, is all. It's amazing to think that one of my bosses (my assistant principal) is probably just over 29 herself - weird to think someone who was a junior higher when I was in college could now be a co-worker.

I guess this is just a bit how my co-teacher, Gary, feels, when I tell him I was born in 1969, and he quietly informs me that he turned 30 that year.

Still, pretty weird.

But, at the end of it all, it sure was nice to hear from Shannon. She's doing well, by the way - married, living in Texas, got the whole grown-up life thing going.

She made it.

She survived.

Those prayers sent up in shock by two 20-year-old college students sixteen years ago have been answered.


Praise God.