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Elementor #724
My Good Samaritan
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
Ephesians 2:10 (NIV)
I recently had a minor fender-bender. I was motoring slowly through a grocery store parking lot looking for a space. I saw no one moving or looking like they were about to move out of a spot. And then, suddenly, someone did, and I was right behind him when it happened. His car came to a rest against the front panel of my driver’s side, just ahead of the door.
I couldn’t get out but I could get my window down, which I did. I was met by an extremely agitated and noisy man. He was shouting about my driving skills (nonexistent) and my intelligence (seriously lacking). It was such a barrage and the whole situation so unexpected and unlikely, that I had some trouble responding at first, though I tried. My fallback in any confrontation is to try conciliation first, to speak quietly and gently and attempt to work with the other party. This man was having none of it, and the shouting continued. There were several references on his part to calling the police, and another one or two on my driving abilities.
When he saw that I was stuck in my vehicle, he pulled his back into the space so I could get mine out of the traffic. I parked a couple of spots down. My car had a bit of white paint on it, easily rubbed out, and no dents, scratches, or other damage.
When I returned to him, he was still blustering. The accident was all my fault; I was to produce my insurance information immediately. He would call the police if he had to.
I looked at his vehicle, which had as little damage as my own, only its scuff was gray.
It was right about then that I heard a sweet, controlled voice from beside my right shoulder. It said, “He hit you. I saw it from start to finish. You had the right of way and he backed right into you. I’ll stay here with you as long as it takes to get this taken care of.”
I turned to see a lovely young woman nodding at me. It was then that I began to steady, to be able to think clearly. Shouting and anger tend to shut me down; kindness will bring me awake every time.
I returned my gaze to the furious man. “You did hit me,” I said.
“It was your fault!” he yelled again, and showed no sign of letting up or speaking with me civilly.
So I called the police, taking it out of his hands. While we waited for them on the steaming asphalt on a 100 degree afternoon, I got the woman’s name. I thanked her for offering support and for standing by. And I told her I would never miss a similar opportunity in the future, if presented with one, to help someone as she had me.
It got sorted out eventually. The man was informed that he could not back out of a space into traffic under any circumstances. Moving traffic on any thoroughfare – backroad, highway, parking lot, etc. – had the right of way. Always.
I was shaken by the circumstances and also heartened – heartened to have been granted the experience, myself personally, of someone else’s presence, kindness, compassion, and generosity when badly needed. My Samaritan didn’t even have to stop, much less stand there for 45 minutes in the blazing heat to give a statement. But she did and I’m grateful.
Everyone should have a Good Samaritan when needed. And everyone should be one.
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How My Heart Yearns Within Me
“He said that when he saw me in the first grade he thought I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.” My friend threw her head back and laughed with pleasure. “And he said you were the other one. You were smart and pretty.” Now I threw my head back and laughed, also with pleasure. It felt good to be remembered in such a positive way by one of my oldest friends.
My classmates and I graduated from high school 52 years ago, and many of us have known each other for almost our entire lives. The man referenced and the friend who told me what he’d said are among my longest-held friends. I met them both in the second grade.
Due to COVID, we were unable to celebrate our 50th on time; instead, that celebration took place this past weekend. And what a celebration it was. Nearly 30 out of a class of around 60 turned out. There were spouses, friends, and two young children of one classmate present as well. A dozen of our friends were missing, having passed on way, way too early. But those who attended had a glorious time.
We reminisced, of course. We honored the dead. We ate. We ate lots. We all tried to talk with everyone else there. And we told stories. Oh, did we tell stories! Some were funny, some were sad, many were neutral, but all evoked in me feelings of nostalgia and love for those with whom I’d shared so much.
I learned, for example, of the tiny salmon two of my male classmates managed to catch when they were very small, and placed in a portion of the stream they’d dammed off near the cabin of one of their families. They checked on him every time they visited the place and he grew, as you can imagine, over the three years they kept him there. They called him Sam.
I heard of one classmate’s love for the rest of us to the extent that he regularly and frequently named us all by name to his wife. He talked about and prayed for us. He’s one of the ones who are gone and we miss him very much.
I got a good laugh out of the story about two of our young men and a telephone pole. Both were, on separate occasions, walking the same young lady home from school. In their distracted states, both of them walked into the pole – the same one! One hit the pole itself, the other the guy wire connecting the pole to the sidewalk. They were both knocked silly but eventually were able to limp home. Neither seems any the worse for wear at this time.
Reunions here are terrific, but there’s a reunion coming that I seriously hope none of us miss. It would be tragic to do so, and unnecessary. That one will be in heaven, and will be the reunion to end all reunions; all others will prove to be very pale indeed in comparison. Revelation 7:9 speaks of it, and says, “After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne and in front of the lamb” (NIV). Won’t that be the day!!
My very great desire, and my frequent prayer, is that not a one of us be absent. With Job, may we say, and mean it, “. . . in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see Him with my own eyes – I and not another. How my heart yearns within me” (Job 19:26. 27, NIV).
I am yearning.
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Let’s Encourage One Another
I don’t have to tell you we live in perilous, difficult, and frightening times. It’s hard to remain upbeat and positive in the face of the tremendous suffering going on around us. Some of us are suffering. We all know others who are suffering. And we’d have to be dim in the extreme to be unaware of the immensity of pain being experienced right now – this minute – by brothers and sisters in Eastern Europe.
It’s just about too much.
However, I, at least – and you, too, I fervently hope – do enjoy some wonderfully good and fun and pretty things. Even now.
Several friends have had birthdays in the past few days. I’m glad – and so are they – that they’re still having them. These loved ones were made over, taken out to eat, sung to, gifted, etc. I praise the Lord for each of them.
There are sunsets, one of God’s greatest gifts, in my opinion. Where I live, they’re beyond gorgeous. I’d call them spectacular. I’ve not seen any prettier elsewhere. I’m so grateful to be here. And they happen almost every night. (I’m told the sunrises are just as pretty, but I wouldn’t know about those, occurring as they do, well . . . so very early in the day!)
Some of you saw a picture I posted on Facebook this week with my cat’s nose in my husband’s plate of food. While sitting on the table.
I’ve spent years trying to keep Dusty off the table. I thought Rick was doing the same. However, recently I’ve noted her increasing boldness and his decreasing fervor in preventing her. On several occasions I’ve actually said to her, “Dusty, who said you could be on the table? Did someone invite you up?” I failed to notice my spouse’s what-now-seems-quite-obvious shiftiness at those times. He has – yes! – apparently been inviting her up when I’ve not been around, or at least tolerating it and possibly encouraging it.
What could I do but laugh? My two sweets, in collusion re: meal sharing and time together.
So I’ve been thinking: despite the ugliness and despair that is so prevalent at this time, there’s still much joy to be experienced. Young people, and even some older, are getting married. There’s transcendent music. The sun still shines. Babies are being born. There are wonderful books to be read, friends/family to spend time with, food to eat, games to play. Kittens and puppies.
There are ways to help those less fortunate; to do so enriches them and us. We can pray, and should be praying for others in their dangerous circumstances. “Pray without ceasing,” in fact, we’re told (1 Thessalonians 5:17). Many of us have been doing just that.
If possible, we can give monetarily. Find a reliable donation vehicle and give what you can. Every penny makes a difference.
And some are able to actually go to the scenes of need. I know many who have done so/are doing so. We should pray for them as well.
But we can and should be enjoying the delights we’ve been blessed with. No doubt you’re all seeing, doing, listening to things that please and nourish you. What are they? I’d love to hear of your blessings in this dark time. So would others. I invite you to share, here, how you’re making the best of the challenges facing us and enjoying life in spite of them.
I look forward to hearing from you. Let’s encourage one another with cheering words (1 Thessalonians 4:18).
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Trudie
My cousin Trudie passed away this morning. It was expected but, boy! was it ever unwelcome. However, we all anticipate seeing her again.
Trudie was the daughter of my mother’s first cousin, making her my second cousin. We never met, but we have spoken to and prayed with one another on the phone, shared many, many text messages, and even exchanged gifts.
Last April she sent me a lovely book, First We Have Coffee by Margaret T. Jensen. It was one of Trudie’s favorites and now it’s one of mine. She was thoughtful like that.
When I started this blog in August of 2020, she responded with a sweet and encouraging note immediately, and continued to do the same each time one came out as long as she could. I speak occasionally, and when Trudie became aware of that, she wanted to listen to something. I sent her a link to a recent (at that time) sermon and she was so thoughtful as to ask for more. She won’t know until heaven how cheering and encouraging that was to me.
And it’s those kinds of stories being told by friends and family on a Facebook page dedicated to her. She phoned, wrote, prayed for, and gifted people. She went on mission trips, she cooked, she taught, she commiserated. She shared herself, generously.
Many of us want to do right by others, want to give of ourselves, want to do what is needed in the moment, want to help, want to encourage, want to be there when circumstances require. However, not all of us move at these promptings. Trudie did, and I praise God for her presence in my life. It wasn’t as distant as the actual miles between us might suggest – nearly 1,500 – what with modern technology and all.
Still, it wasn’t close enough, and I so look forward to actually meeting Trudie in the kingdom and getting acquainted over the eons of time stretching out before us. All of her loved ones no doubt are anticipating the same gift of her time. We may have to stand in line.
In the meantime, I remind myself that, truly, “The smallest deed is better than the grandest intention.” Anyone can intend to do, say, go, and invest time, effort, and energy. Not everyone acts on these intentions.
Trudie did. Thank God.
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The One Who Gets to Help
On December 18, 2017, accountant Dan Konzelman, state of Washington, U.S.A., was on his way to work in Olympia, the state’s capital. The traffic was, as they say, bumper-to-bumper. As he and his passenger, Alisha, motored down Interstate-5 to the south, he saw a train on a track to his right, moving fast. Really fast. Too fast, he thought.
Moments later there was a slow-down, then a rapid complete stoppage of the early rush-hour traffic. Dan and Alisha stopped too, of course. The thought crossed Dan’s mind that there’d been a problem with that over-fast train.
He was right, though he couldn’t see anything yet. Noticing an onramp to the freeway he was on slightly behind him and to his right, he maneuvered his car up it so that he and Alisha were on a rise, near which was a bridge overlooking the roadway. Such a sight as can’t really be described met their disbelieving and horrified eyes.
The brand-new passenger train, on its very first commute, had missed a turn at a terrific rate of speed and thrown 12 cars off the track in various directions. Some were hanging on the trestle, poised above the highway. Several were on the highway, some of them on top of vehicles that had been traveling beneath them. And there were a bunch resting on the hillside between the two. The visual effect was of a fistful of thrown pick-up sticks.
Dan said it was eerily silent. He heard no road noise, no horns honking, and, at first, no cries from the frightened and/or injured. There were no police or firefighters present yet.
He went into action. Running down the hillside he began to approach people clearly in shock, some escaped from the train cars, some who’d been passing by on the freeway below. Then he began entering crushed, jumbled, and some upside-down rail cars, wrapping his hands with his coat so he could clamber through shattered windows. He had to climb a tree to get into one of them.
Help in the form of the police and area firefighters began to show up, and, with them, he continued to talk to, dig around, hold hands with, and walk or carry out the injured.
He says he wasn’t afraid, feeling it “a worthy thing to die helping or serving other people. And if that did happen, I would be OK with that.” He watched the firefighters especially – what they did and what they said. When the day was done, and he’d had a little time to think, he knew what he wanted to do. And it wasn’t accounting.
Dan enrolled immediately in firefighters’ school and now works with a crew in Tacoma, where he lives. Because. “There’s more to life than going to work to make money,” he says. “I wanted to help people and make a difference. . . . You’re the one that gets to go help, and to me, that’s the biggest privilege ever – to be the one who gets to help.”
Jesus said, in John 15:13, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (NLT; and I’d add, “or for anyone, for that matter, including strangers and enemies”).
I admire Dan and hope my paradigm is the same as his. I’m afraid it’s often not. But I want to be among those whose view is that it’s a privilege to help others, and when opportunity presents, I want to hop to it; I want to be the one who gets to help. I hope you want to be and maybe already are, the same.
Amen!
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The Christ Baby
During every Christmas season I read my very-favorite-of-all short story, The Littlest Orphan and the Christ Baby by Margaret E. Sangster. It moved me enormously the first time I read it several years ago, and it moves me still. It moved me again last night.
Beautifully written, it’s the story of John, who never knew his mother or the circumstances of his birth. He knows only that he’s lived, always, in the orphanage, among other boys who don’t have their mothers either. However, some of them remember when they did, and John loves to hear their stories of other, better times. To him, though, mothers remain mythical creatures. John is five years old, and the youngest by far of the current crop of boys.
John does have available to him the Christ Baby, his term for the sweet-looking infant in the painting over the high, heavy mantel in the dormitory where the boys sleep. He regards the Christ Baby at every opportunity, and sleeps under the gaze of the Christ Baby even though he can’t see Him in the dark. He often feels as if the Christ Baby looks directly at him, and it warms him somehow.
One cold night, very late and unable to sleep, John takes it into his head that he must have the Christ Baby to hold. It would soothe him, he thinks, to have the baby in his lonely bed. He would get warm, he would be filled. The Christ Baby would comfort him.
After a great deal of effort, as quietly as he could, John managed to gain the wide mantel with the use of a heavy table beneath it, and stood before the Christ Baby. His small, frozen fingers lifted the picture off its hooks and he turned carefully around to face the black room of sleeping boys. It was then that the Matron, who had no love for John, entered the room on her last round of the day before going to bed herself.
The calamity that followed you may be able to predict. It involved a disastrous step out into dark space at her order to come down immediately, and an injury to John’s head and the destruction of the precious picture. It was the night before Christmas Eve.
John spent the next day in bed, bandaged and bruised, while the other children got ready for the much anticipated Christmas celebration put on for and by the trustees that would take place that evening. None of this mattered to John – all that mattered to the small boy was that the Christ Baby was gone. Light and life were missing from above the mantel. They would be/He would be gone from John forever.
Hearing the noises from downstairs as the guests began to arrive, and looking at the empty spot on the wall opposite him, John could only cry. Then – a great and unwelcome surprise – the Matron arrived to inform him that a particular trustee and patron – the very woman who had donated the picture of the Christ Baby in memory of her young son, lost – wanted to see him.
After struggling into clothing with the brusque help of the annoyed Matron, John managed to get himself down the stairs and into position in front of Mrs. Benchly. He feared the worst, and so, clearly, did the Matron. She was right next to gleeful at the prospect.
But Mrs. Benchly did not react as anticipated. To the contrary, seeing how small and frightened and ill John was, she took his disbelieving little form into her arms, placed him on her lap, and sent the Matron away.
The next few minutes showcase some of the finest writing I’ve ever been privileged to read. John settled into Mrs. Benchly – and this sentence gets me every single time: “. . . he had never known before that there was a place in ladies’ necks just made for tiny heads” – and Mrs. Benchly, still grieving the loss of her own sweet boy, settled into him.
It was established immediately that John loved the Christ Baby – he said so repeatedly with great emphasis – and that the Christ Baby was his one true comfort. For her part, Mrs. Benchly shared that it had been loved by her son also, and that he’d spent countless hours over his short life gazing at the original in his room. His now empty room. It was a copy that had been destroyed.
You surely know where we’re headed with this. If you’ve guessed that John and Mrs. Benchly have found that their immense and individual needs can be met in one another, you’d be right. But, oh, the sorrow and joy that have brought us to this place in our sad and beautiful story.
Each time I read it I’m reminded of my own needs – for comfort, for warmth, for assurance, for safety, for courage, for healing. I’m reminded, in short, of my need for the Christ Baby. And you have the same need.
Take Him into your bosom. Be warmed, be comforted, be held, be healed.
Merry Christmas from me and the Christ Baby.
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Joy
“Joy,” the battered wooden sign said. It was leaning up against an old, very run-down house in a neighborhood that was equally beaten-looking. It was, I assume, a nod to the Christmas season, and was the only such indication of the holiday on the entire block. The home looked abandoned.
I wondered how much joy that house, and its inhabitants, have seen, do see. By appearances, not much. But I could be wrong and hope I am. After all, they’ve put a sign out. It is a sign of hope, I believe, if nothing else.
It sure got my attention and has kept it in the week since I spotted it. I have no such sign up against my house or in my yard. And maybe I should have one, because my life does truly contain great joy. I am most blessed. Should I be advertising it? I think . . . yes. And maybe you should too.
We’re surrounded by pain and anguish, all of us, experiencing it ourselves personally and watching as others get clobbered as well. In the past three days alone, 160 migrants were involved in an horrific truck accident in Mexico, fatal to 55 of them so far. Tornadoes in the southern part of the United Sates cut a deadly swath through the region and at least 100 individuals have died, with more anticipated.
COVID continues to take an awful toll, with relatives, friends, and relatives and friends of relatives and friends succumbing right and left. The brother of one of my dearest friends is fighting for his life as I write this. And there was a memorial service yesterday for another friend, dying from the same cause. There have been, and will be, many more.
This is sobering in the extreme, and could be disheartening. However. Our hope in Jesus lends us courage, optimism, confidence, assurance (and reassurance) in each of our individual circumstances. It enables us to stand tall, stand firm, and stand true. It promises better to come. Life as we know it is temporary. Jesus pledges to put an end to this misery and come get us. Among the many verses that speak to this hope – nay, more than a hope: a certainty – are the two that follow.
Revelation 1:7 says, “Behold, He is coming with clouds, and every eye will see Him, even they who pierced Him” (NKJV). And in 1 John 2:28 we read, “And now, little children, abide in Him, that when He appears, we may have confidence and not be ashamed before Him at His coming” (NKJV). Hooray!!!
Again, this life is fleeting and temporary. We need not despair. We should not. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning,” said the psalmist (Psalm 30:5, NKJV). And it’s true, happily.
I wish you joy this Christmas season. Because Jesus came once and will come again, and soon, it would appear, we can and should indulge in the fulness of joy that that assurance brings. I pray you might experience this in the midst of your own sorrows and travails. And I pray it for the family a few streets over who claim it via a sign. May it be their reality.
We may look forward to morning, and everlasting joy. Let’s!!
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Puppy Seeds
Things are not always as they appear, are they? I’m beginning to wonder if anything is as it appears – it’s so very easy to be mistaken.
Years ago, during an effort to organize things in our kitchen, my husband placed seeds and cereals, nuts and condiments, seasonings and snacks, in separate plastic containers. Then he labeled them. On their tops, with a marking pen, he wrote things like almonds, flax, quinoa, walnuts, sesame seeds, couscous, pecans, wheat germ, coconut, smoky paprika. And, on one, poppy seeds.
Never mind that before long, as an item was used up and the need for an empty container occurred, something other than the original item was placed inside. Of course the item did not now match the label. No matter. We’re both fairly bright and could see what was inside and make choices accordingly. We wondered more than once why we’d marked them in the first place. The ink didn’t come off, even with scrubbing. It did smudge and wear some, though, over time.
Hence, my discovery one day, upon opening a certain drawer, that we had a store of “puppy seeds,” the top of the “o” in “poppy” having vanished at some point. I was tickled at the mental picture. Puppy seeds! Wouldn’t it be delightful to have access to such an ongoing wonder? Imagine: to be able to plant a puppy any time I wanted one!! I enjoyed this pleasurable fantasy every time I opened that drawer. Every. Single. Time. It doesn’t take much to amuse some of us.
I’ve been impressed, over these past 20 months of forced evaluation and re-evaluation of “facts” of how much I think I know and how very much I actually don’t. Many of my beliefs have been challenged. Many things I knew I knew . . . I’ve discovered I don’t. Situations have surprised me. Responses to situations have surprised me. People have surprised me. Really surprised me. And facts as I’ve understood them are, in many cases, not facts at all.
I’m left wondering how many things I don’t understand, see clearly, am mistaken about. Quite a few, probably. Now I “see through a glass, darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12, NIV). It’s awfully uncomfortable, as you’ll have discovered for yourself. But there’s hope for us – we know the One for whom all is clear. There’s no confusion, no hesitation, no uncertainty on God’s part. And we’re His, held in His hands and guided by His Spirit. We’re safe there, in His hands; it’s the only place we are. To mix a metaphor, “He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection” (Psalm 91:4, NLT). Isn’t that a relief?
In the meantime: puppy seeds, anyone? Yes, please!!
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The Last Time
“There are unheralded tipping points, a certain number of times that we will unlock the front door of an apartment. At some point you were closer to the last time than you were to the first time, and you didn’t even know it. You didn’t know that each time you passed the threshold you were saying good-bye.”
Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York
Less than three months ago, Rick and I didn’t know we were going to move. And now we have moved and have been quite settled for several weeks, with, of course, some tying up of loose ends taking place. This is all a wonder to us.
There are places we’ve been, things we’ve seen, people we’ve spoken to/had relationships with, activities we engaged in, that we didn’t know was for the last time. Things happened before our decision was made. We had no idea that we were nearer to the end of our time in our last home than we were to the beginning. There was no chance to say good-bye in many instances.
Once the decision was made and the wheels were in motion, we did know, of course. And what a bittersweet time that interim period was: the last time we’d worship in our little church; see Mt Rainier as residents of the area; cross a certain bridge and look up at our close friends’ home; walk into our small town’s grocery store, Post Office, hardware store, favorite restaurant, city park; have my hair cut by my long-time stylist, become good friend; hike a particular trail; have lunch with two of my longest-time and closest friends; leave the garage, shut the door, drive out of the driveway; and . . . so . . . much . . . more.
We love where we’re at now. Of course we moved because we wanted to. It was a freely-made choice. Oh, but who and what we left behind!
There’s little of permanence in this life, as you’ll have no doubt noticed. But I don’t believe that’s how it was meant to be. And it’s certainly not how it will be, praise the Lord!
Before Jesus left for heaven after His death and subsequent resurrection, He made a promise to His beloved disciples and all believers who would follow. That includes you and me, friends! In John 14:1-3, He said this: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am” (NLT).
Always! Can you imagine?! We’ll never leave loved ones again. We’ll always be closer to the beginning of our eternal lives than we are to the end. Time, in fact, will never run out. There will be no more last times. There will be more and ever more places to go, things to see, people to interact with, experiences to repeat any time we want to. There will be Jesus nearby. And people and things we love.
I so look forward to that day. As pleased as I am in my new circumstances, much was given up to achieve that happiness. Our future holds none of the giving up of something. All will be ours forever.
Good-bye, last times. Good-bye!
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Oh, Boy, Would I?!
“There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, . . .”
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 (NIV)
Our family has just experienced a significant passage: that of our father/brother/grandfather/uncle/friend. My father passed away a few weeks ago at age 93. It wasn’t a surprise, as he’d been failing for some time. And, as I’ve said, he was 93. But his condition and resultant end was not welcome. We’d rather have him with us yet, healthy and whole. The aging process and what follows is not pretty, as you’re only too aware.
But I won’t dwell on that point. Instead, I’d rather pen a brief tribute to a special man.
The ordinary, basic facts about his life appeared in his obituary. But he was so much more than those rudimentary, minimal tidbits of information would indicate – things, of course, like his birthplace; service as a radioman in the Navy during the 2nd World War; educational and work history; his marriage to my mother; the births of my sister and me; his skill at fast-pitch softball; his love for fishing, motorcycles, and cars; and so much more. Yes, those thing go some distance in defining the man, but fall very short of expressing the ultimate representation of my dad. This short piece won’t do it either. But . . .
He was loyal to his family. His wife, daughters, and grandson meant everything to him, and it showed. He was available to them – always – at need, even if/when it greatly inconvenienced himself. And he didn’t necessarily wait to be asked. When he saw a need he acted, immediately.
He spent different types of time with my sister and me. He and I shared an interest in sports, for example, and he spent countless hours teaching, coaching, and playing with me. He attended as many of my sporting events as he could.
With my sister, he physically took her out of certain stressful situations when she needed him to. He knew when it was time to “spring” her. This facility of his saved her. He got her the respite she needed when she needed it.
At the end, it was her – my sister Susie – who made sure his needs got met. She knew when he needed to be “sprung” and she performed this task for him without complaint. And it was Susie who saw our dad as he must have been as a young boy. She’s told me that more than once she asked him if he’d like to go for ice cream. “Oh, boy, would I?!” he’d fairly shout, eyes shining, face broken into a huge grin.
Someday he’ll be that boy again, or at least closer to that boy than to a 93-year-old man. He and my mother will live again. They’ll not be able to contain their excitement at seeing one another and us once more. Of being asked if they’d like a treat of whatever-takes-the-place-of-ice cream in heaven. If something takes the place of ice cream in heaven . . .
I’m eager to see that look of excitement and anticipation on my dad’s face. If you were to ask me if I’d like to sit with him, my mother, and my sister enjoying such a treat, I’d say, “Oh, boy, would I?!” My eyes would be shining and I would be grinning. That day can’t come too soon.