They say that PLNC is a bubble. They say it's different from the "real" world. I'll agree with that. The only other place I have to live is my hometown of Lompoc, California: home of many bad memories that I would be happy to wax nostalgic over (along with how Jesus rescued me from those situations) when being treated to a free lunch. Needless to say that, given a choice, I'd rather be here.

        This summer, I didn't have a choice. My summer employment plans fell through, and as such, I had to return to Lompoc. To say I wasn't enthusiastic about it would be an understatement. I was leaving two great jobs for the summer to return to the most boring town on earth. My best friend wouldn't even be there, as he's stationed in Germany with the U.S. Army.  The one thing that would be there for me to do would be to take care of my mother, who would be receiving a total hip replacement within a week of my return home.

        My attitude was one of resignment. I chalked it up to familial duty (as no one else in my family would undertake such a thing for my mother) and decided to make the best of it, all the time regretting that I wasn't back at PLNC, doing what I felt to be more important. Over those next few weeks, however, of fixing meals for the woman who had fixed so many of mine over the years, and of even helping her put her leg into bed so she could try to sleep through some of the obvious pain she was going through, I was challenged by a stray thought.

        That thought was one echoed on bracelets all over PLNC right now, "What Would Jesus Do?". One thing is for sure.  Jesus wouldn't be cursing his luck and thinking that there were more important things to do. He would know right off hand that the important thing was comforting a suffering mother, particularly if it was his own.

        Weeks before I ever saw one of those bracelets, that question stuck with me. It's a question I admit that I've given the wrong answer to before. The answer to "What Would Jesus Do?" goes far beyond the obvious answers of "Don't drink, don't smoke, don't use profanity,"  etc., but goes into what we need to do. Comfort the hurting friend, love the caustic enemy, and be there for those who need you.

        How many excuses have we given not to do this simple, yet demanding task? I'm too tired. I don't know if I can help. I'm not smart enough. I haven't been through the situation. I don't think that person would accept me in that sort of role. I have too many other things going on. I'm sure they can work it out on their own. My ministry is in this other area. These have gone through my head far too many times, and they disgust me. I know that there were times over these last few years that I've used them, to avoid being available to being all that Christ calls me to be. There are times last year, and even some this year, that I haven't been Christ
to some of you, and for that, I can only beg your forgiveness.

        Perhaps some of you think I'm being too demanding of myself and of you through these words, and I gave a lot of thought and prayer into the possibility of writing this article before I actually did it, but one night put the experience into perspective for me. I checked my email that night, and saw a message from Dr. Barry Ryan with the subject line: "Loss of Dan Alquijay."  Every night when I walk into the dorm room in which Dan lived when I met him three years ago, I'm reminded of just how important it is. I have the testimony of a clean conscience in that I was a good friend of Dan's in the classes we shared, and that he died a Christian. In
some of my relationships, I won't be as lucky. Life is fragile, even for immortal collegiates likes us, and each of us might have the opportunity to be the last Jesus on earth to someone. It's an opportunity we can't afford to waste.

        This article was dedicated to the memory of Dan Alquijay, a good friend.