Gencon continues to be a force of nature in the world of hobby gaming, and I got to be a part of it for the second year in a row. I’m still getting mentally getting back to my version of normal after days of spending time with the Geekpreacher and showing God’s love to those geeks that descended on Indianapolis. Be on the look out on our Game Store Prophets page for reflections, interviews, panels, and more in audio form throughout the next week. Until then, since editing takes time and my memories are fresh, I wanted to share a couple thoughts with you.
Hanging at booth 160
This year was our first real year at Gencon. The booth was primarily run by the dual groups of Fans for Christ and The Christian Gamers Guild. When I wasn’t there, I walked the floor – talking to designers, artists, and general con-goers as the booth’s featured guest and man on the floor. Even after four days of practice it was a challenge navigating my way through the booths and elaborate set pieces. If you have never found yourself awash in a sea of humanity fifty six thousand strong, there is no way to explain the sights, sounds, and experiences that come with it.
Each day brought with it something I didn’t expect. There were delightful talks with a couple of Jedi who were there to see if Derek could perform their wedding at next year’s event. There were laughs shared over stories of an ecumenical party in an Eberron game made up entirely of clerics – including a warforged preaching liberation theology. I even demoed a game at Asmodee to discover the gentlemen from Shut Up & Sit Down playing Ca$h N Guns Second Edition
It was the first day, and people were beginning to swarm the booths on either side of us. It was his cavalry hat and vest riddled with buttons that caught my eye. I made a comment about the vest, just trying to make an initial connection, and he returned with, “Yeah, those are from past Gencons, but the ones on the hat are the ones I’m proud of.” I looked across the brim to see a number of symbols I’d never seen before, but a couple looked familiar. He told me that he had served as a supply sergeant for a number of military units – the 82nd Airborne being among them. When I shared with him that one of my best friends served in the rangers and the 82nd, he started to smile and tell me about his experience.
He told me great stories about crazy bomb-disposal guys that weren’t quite right, told me about feeling guilty when somebody else was caught in a blast that probably should have hit him, and a bunch of other tales that aren’t really mine to repeat. After a long pause he told me he wished he could go back. He missed it, but his body had just been beat up too badly. He physically wasn’t able to go back even if they would let him. There was a sadness that fell on him when he realized that, delineating all the surgeries he still needed to go through. It was like the most important and terrifying thing in his life had been taken from him before he knew what it even meant. I prayed with him for his upcoming surgery and didn’t see him again.
Why was it that he shared that with me? Why did he feel so free telling me about some of the best and darkest points in his life? I have no idea, honestly. Maybe, just like how I felt with the SU&SD guys, he didn’t think he had the right to be noticed. Maybe he just wanted somebody to take a minute to listen to them. All I know for certain was the feeling of floodgates opening when we started to talk. I didn’t have to say anything, do anything, or even be anything to this man other than someone there, truly present in his life. That realization made me feel less qualified to hear his story than any expectation he could have put on me.
The whole of Gencon had me collecting stories. Good ones. Funny ones. Stories that I won’t tell because the 
world is already over-full with pain and anger. The swelling waves of people needed to be brought down to that one moment in time in order that it wouldn’t crash on all of us. At times, I don’t even think those talking with me knew why they were saying as much as they did. But they did, and I’m thankful that I got to be the guy who received those stories.