Seventeen Years - Part 1

I was blessed to have Marc's friendship for more than 17 years.

We met in September 1990, when I first showed up in the dorm complex of Stanford University's Lagunita Hall. I had just turned 17, had hubris to spare, and was ready to drink from the firehose of new experiences offered in the university environment. Marc and his roommate Teddy were living in the remote corner of Granada House within Lagunita Hall, and they had built themselves sleeping lofts so that their room would be unusually spacious and well-suited for hosting visitors. It was the beginning of Marc's second year at Stanford, and he was partnering with Dusty Ellington to boldly spearhead a small group Bible study in the dorm. They reserved the Granada lounge one evening within the first couple weeks of school and advertised a discussion about a passage in the Bible. I showed up, and the dorm lounge was packed. This is my earliest memory of Marc. I can still picture him sitting comfortably in one of the overstuffed lounge chairs, serenely looking around at everyone in the dim yellow light, and posing questions in that remarkably unhurried speaking voice. I think the passage was the "Parable of the Sower"--most likely Luke 8:5-18. Why was it that Jesus "taught in parables, so that seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand"?

Out of that crowd in the dorm lounge came a small group that would meet regularly for the rest of the academic year. This was my first time studying the Bible intently with peers, and I also gained a taste of how rich and deep relationships in Christ could be. Several close friendships originated in that group, including my friendship with Marc. That freshman year of college was a crazy year for me; I was pre-occupied by diverse academic and extra-curricular pursuits. Marc was plenty busy as well, but he always seemed to have time for me. Marc had many friends, but we all felt included in his inner circle. That year, I remember sharing many meals in the dining hall, joining with Marc and other small group friends for evening escapades, and cruising around with too many people in Marc's incomparable Thunderbird. (I still remember Marc's pride and glee when he drove the fully-loaded T-bird over a sizeable wheel stop in a parking lot near Stanford Shopping Center. The undercarriage was high enough and the distance between the wheels wide enough to completely clear the concrete block.)

Since Marc had many close friends and was also a year ahead of me in school, I felt honored and touched when he asked whether I would be interested in living together the following year. Scott Semrau, Cliff Loh, Marc, and I pumped our fists with joy when we drew a very low number in the housing lottery, giving us our first choice of living location: Kimball Hall. Construction on this dorm was completed just days before we moved in. Cliff and I shared a 2-room double on the top floor, while Marc and Scott lived across the hall. During this second year of knowing each other, Marc was patient in our friendship. I was a member of another small group that Marc was leading in Kimball, but I callously chose to attend a machine shop course on the evening that the group met. All that year, I struggled with priorities. I know that Marc felt hurt by my lukewarm commitment, but he was very gentle about it. By the end of the year, I was well on my way to learning a couple of the greatest lessons that I learned in college: to put the pursuit of God and genuine friendships before all else and to not start any endeavor unless I planned to be fully committed. I learned these lessons by example, and Marc was one of the best examples I've ever had.

Among the fond memories of that year together in Kimball Hall is the music we shared. We often had the doors of our respective rooms open and played music on our stereos loud enough to be heard in both rooms. I introduced Marc to different kinds of jazz, and Marc let the pulse of U2 throb in our hallway. His stereo was powerful, and I remember the dramatic ambience created when Marc cranked up the intro to "Where the Streets Have No Name." Marc took a course where the students had to construct their own musical instruments from "found objects." He made a one-string bass guitar that used a stainless steel salad bowl as its resonator, and we jammed together. "We could form a band," quipped Marc. There were raucous games of foosball, numerous afternoons of ultimate frisbee, and pizza partaken at midnight in the dining hall.

We overlapped for two more years at Stanford, and Marc continued to be one of the best friends I had. Increasingly, we shared our love of the outdoors together. Perhaps the most memorable trip was an overnighter on Mt. Rose, north of Lake Tahoe, in January. We went to Marc's home in Sparks first, and Mike Brierley kidded us about going all the way to Tahoe just to "sleep in a snow bank." There were five of us. We had backcountry skis (still my favorite kind of skis to this day), -20F sleeping bags checked out from the Stanford Outdoors Club, and backpacks full of motley gear. We ascended to a ridge above 10,000 feet on the first day, and after the tremendous exertion of climbing steeply through deep powder with packs and skis, I remember being almost incapacitated by altitude sickness. We camped in the middle of an alpine snowfield, and the temperature dropped below 0F by morning. Marc loved every minute. I remember feeling quite fortunate to be alive when we finally skied back down to our vehicle.

A meal or coffee with Marc was always something to look forward to. He was an intent listener, always had profound questions and musings, and when he was sitting with me one-on-one, it was as if all of the rest of the world faded into a muted background. We shared a lot of life in common through InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. We worshipped together, we prayed together, and we experienced the Urbana '93 missions conference together. I participated in more student Bible studies, and Marc continued to serve as a mentor both as a student leader and later as a member of the InterVarsity staff. Being half-German himself, Marc was excited when I decided to postpone graduate school and spend a year in Germany.

-Dave L (to be continued...)