Leah [To Kansas and Back]

The following is Part 1 of my comments at Leah's Memorial Service at Skyline Wesleyan Church on May 29, 2010.

Leah had a good childhood. She had a mom and a dad, a brother and a sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and lots of the things that families do together. But, the best story of Leah’s life is more recent. It’s about a trip to Kansas and back.

Volleyball is a Trask family sport. Vicky played in college, I played sand, Simon, Hannah and Leah played in high school, Hannah and Leah played club ball and went on to play in college – Leah played one season at Grossmont College with her sister-in-law. Somehow, Bethany College in Lindsborg Kansas recruited Leah to finish out her college eligibility with their team. So, after a visit to the school, a liking to their art department, and a scholarship offer, Leah was Kansas bound.

If you know my wife Vicky, you know she’s quite expressive. If you know me, you know I’m, well, not. One of us was going to drive out to Kansas with Leah and she expressed the choice this way – “I can go with Mom who won’t stop talking or I can go with dad and ride in silence” – she chose Mom.

Vicky and Leah had a playful relationship. It was filled with all the tender and explosive moments characteristic of mother-daughter relationships, but it had a unique quality. When Leah would visit home, she and Vicky would engage in taunting that you’d expect from a couple of 10 year old boys and it would invariably escalate to full scale chases through the house with locked bathroom doors and in one case, a broken door. I’ll spare you the details, but the stories from the drive to Kansas are on the same “maturity” level as the antics at the house.

Leah started her art studies with an artistic sense, but like any budding artist had coarse skills. In time her skills began to develop, but her art had a dark or heavy feel to it. Through her body of work, you can see a struggle to find her way of viewing the world and then expressing it. Through a series of events, she was to find that narrow path that would uniquely define her art.

Leah had friends everywhere she went. Lindsborg is a very small college town with a very small college and there is a natural divide between the Bethany kids and the “townies,” the kids who lived in the town of Lindsborg. Leah was one of those unique people who could cross that divide and started strong friendships with members of her student body and folks from her town alike. When we were cleaning out Leah’s apartment, four different girls stopped by, each to tell us that Leah was her best friend.

Last fall, Leah’s connection with Kansas began to deepen. One of her good friends set her up on a blind date with his roommate, John Blasenhauer. Vicky was visiting Leah at the time and Leah wouldn’t let her meet John because she was afraid Vicky would do something nutty to embarrass her. Apparently that date went pretty well because they went out again the next night (Vicky still was not allowed to meet him).

The relationship between Leah and John blossomed into a full-fledged romance. Blossom is a good word for what happened. John’s parents Virginia and Tom describe the 180 degree change in John’s perspective on life and general attitude – from pretty subdued to the happiest they’d ever seen him. Vicky and I saw the same change in Leah – she was truly the happiest we’d ever known.

Just as important, Leah’s art blossomed. Her connection to the community and the region through John and his family had a profound effect on how she viewed the world around her and how she expressed it. Gone were the darker images of her earlier work. They were replaced with more thoughtful and expressive images that reflected the look and feel of Kansas landscape. We’ve brought back a small collection of Leah’s work including prints of rose flowers that are a far cry from her early pieces. Not only in her art, but in her life, Leah had found her place. She was a Kansas girl born in San Diego and planned to stay in Kansas.

Leah and John had planned a trip to San Diego this July and Vicky and I would meet John for the first time. We’d heard from friends and later from John’s parents that there were marriage suspicions, but neither Leah nor John would give any indication. Vicky and I spoke with John’s roommate Garrett and he put those suspicions to rest – John had asked him several times if Garrett thought it was foolish for him to go all the way to San Diego to ask Leah’s dad if he could marry her. That’s the way it’s done in Kansas, but he wondered if it would be OK in California. Let me be very clear: I would be proud to have my daughter marry a man who had enough respect for her to ask before he took.

Leah’s death was sudden, tragic, and heart-wrenching, but our God is merciful. Vicky and I talked with proprietors of the “The Seasons of the Fox” bed and breakfast where Leah worked, the last people we know to see Leah and John before the accident. John picked her up at work and they were headed out to a farm in John’s family where he and Leah kept dogs. They loved to go out to the farm to see their dogs and the animals and were excited when they left. On the way, Leah called Vicky and they talked for some time about how well life was going. Leah had just sent off Vicky’s mother’s day present and was so excited about it she just had to tell her what it was – a “Forever Rose,” a real rose treated in some way to always to appear fresh and alive. Twenty minutes after that conversation ended Leah was standing in front of Jesus, probably wondering how she got there. The next morning a handwritten letter and a Forever Rose arrived on our doorstep.

You might know that Pastor Jim is from the part of Kansas where Leah lived. You also might know of the tragic death of his college age nephew last August. While in Kansas, Pastor Jim’s sister-in-law spent some time with us. Laurie Garlow gave Vicky a necklace that she had worn since her son died and said that it had helped her through the past ten months – a beautiful rose cast in silver. Laurie proclaimed through our collective grief that “our kids made it home.”

The last memory I have of Leah is when I dropped her at the San Diego airport in January. I hugged her, kissed her, prayed over her, and told her that I loved her.

And now, Leah our blossoming rose dances with Jesus.