death

I was reminded that yesterday marked a year since my young friend Derek went to spend eternity with his Savior. A whole year has passed and still I expect to see him come through the door again. It seemed that perhaps a reminder was in order, so I’m re-posting my thoughts from that day. I hope you’ll forgive a sentimental old man.

Memorial Day

“I wish I could have seen Strider again, Grandpa.” The precocious five year old stands in front of me with a pensive look on his face. His mom, like her mother and father before her, wants her children to face the truth, so he has not been lied to. Our family dog was his friend, the beneficiary of frequent trips to the treat bag by this youngster, and also an eager participant in numerous games of fetch with the child. I remind my grandson that we just won’t be able to see Strider again and he is satisfied.

I am not.

It was not my intention to broach the subject again, but as often happens, other events have brought the conversation to mind once more. I told a friend a couple of nights ago, that I was done with the “dark” subjects that have been the focus of my writing on numerous occasions, and seemingly more frequent of late. I have attempted to move to lighter subjects and still intend to keep my daily rumination moving in that general direction.

Just not tonight.

Friday afternoon found the music store a beehive of activity. It seemed that the floodgates had opened and customers were almost compelled to pile into the place. In the middle of that flurry of busy-ness, he came in. The young man had been a frequent visitor for the last number of years, usually just coming in to check out the stock and see what was new. If he found something that caught his fancy, we would start a conversation; first about the “real” price of the item, then about the possibility of making a trade. If I was lucky, he would find time during his visit to sit and play a guitar for a little while. For his age, the boy was one of the finest guitarists I have known, employing some advanced techniques which many seasoned players would love to master. He didn’t have them all perfected, but he was well on his way.

This was one of our lucky days and he sat and played a few moments as he waited for me, drawing the attention of others in the store, as he always did.

I had just traded for some items he wanted, which he brought over to me when I got a free minute. He had no money to spend, but there were other items he could bring in to trade. He asked me to hold the ones he wanted and promised to return soon with his trades, which he did within a short time. We talked about business and almost nothing else. Our transaction concluded, we shook hands and he promised to come back.

He never will.

I got word on Saturday night that yet another family had lost their son. I don’t know all the details of his death, but I do know that he was far too young. I wasn’t finished with our friendship yet. There were things I would like to say to him. Like my grandson with the family dog, I wish I could have seen him one more time. If only I had known it would be our last time, I would have talked about something else besides the power rating of the amplifier and the battery life of the microphone.

God’s timing is perfect, but mine definitely is not.

As I write this, Memorial Day is upon us. It’s a day for remembering and honoring those who have gone to their reward. We mostly think about it in terms of our military men and women, but many families take the opportunity to remember those absent from their number, whether military or not. From where I’m standing tonight, it seems a good day to think also about the living and to consider carefully what we say in our conversations with them. That next visit may never come; the opportunity to say those words in our hearts may never present itself again.

It’s just a suggestion from a saddened and not-so-very-wise man, but today would be a great day to say those important words and to show the people you love that you really do (love them, that is).

Then again, maybe that should be every day.

Carpe Diem.

“I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore that I can do, or any kindness I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”
(Stephen Grellet~French Quaker missionary to the United States~1773-1855)

“Be very careful then how you live, not as unwise – but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”
(Ephesians 5:15,16)

“I want to go home.” You’ve all heard the words. You’ve probably said them, years ago. Everyday, around the world, children say them to parents, to strangers, to doctors, and to policemen. There’s something comforting about home; it’s a place where we can relax and know that we are safe. When a child, any child, says the words, we understand and sympathize. But the person in front of me wasn’t a child, by any standard of measure.

Miss Peggy was over ninety years old. She had been on her own in the world for many years; a spinster lady who gave her life to her God. She lived alone, but had influenced thousands of children with the Bible classes she taught for fifty years in Oklahoma and Arkansas. Now, here she was, old and nearly blind, hard of hearing. and dependent on friends who came daily to help her through the long, dim days. She sat in her comfortable chair and said the words. “Paul, I want to go home.” I knew what she was talking about, but really didn’t comprehend it then. All I said was, “You are home. This is your house. You have your things here.” She brushed the words aside. “No!” She was defiant. “I want to go to my real home!” I found myself casting around for the right words, but none came. Later, as I left, I thought to myself, “Why would anyone want to die? I want to live!”

I can still remember when I talked with her some weeks later about one of her friends, slightly younger than she, who had passed away. She looked through me with her almost sightless eyes and said, almost angrily, “It wasn’t her turn! Why does she get to go and I have to stay?” If she hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed. I had a vision of schooldays, with a line of kids waiting to get ice cream after lunch. “No fair! She cut the line! It’s not her turn, it’s mine!” The vision faded and Miss Peggy, her head tipped a little to the side, still gazed past me and said again, wistfully, “I want to go home.”

The dear lady has been home for many years now, and I still think about her words. Funny…I’m starting to understand her a little better. Life here is good. I enjoy my family immensely; I love every single occasion on which we meet. I love my church; love my work; love the town in which I live. But, I’m starting to realize, just a little, that there is something not quite right. I recall the times when as a child, home was a place of shelter and comfort from a scary world, and that’s all I needed. I reminisce about early days of marriage to the Lovely Lady and remember the satisfaction of being at home with her and later, with our children. Home was enough; nothing else was necessary to satisfy. It has been so for many years. Something tells me that it won’t stay that way forever.

I saw today that the Encyclopaedia Britannica is not going to be offered in print again. After 244 years in print, from now on, the reference library is only going to be available online. The reality of the information age in which we live is that we want instant and up-to-the-minute facts, not outdated words on a page printed a couple of years ago. The publisher is admitting that the beautiful sets of books which found a home on the bookshelves and in the libraries for so many years, will now have a new home, albeit a nebulous one, in cyberspace. I couldn’t help but think as I heard the news, that we certainly live in a transitory world. Always have, always will. In the business arena, we’re constantly warned to be agile and light on our feet. If we get slow and languorous, we’ll not only be out of a home, we’ll be out of existence. All things change. The same might be said of our entire lives. A Greek philosopher, who lived five hundred years before Jesus, put it this way, “Nothing endures but change.” His words still resonate today.

I’m not sure why we don’t (or won’t) see the truth of it while we’re still young. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I remember vividly, wondering why the old men in church were so anxious for the Second Coming, and why they sang that old song that said, “This world is not my home.” I wanted to live! This world was too my home! Now, a few years have passed and I have more than a sneaking suspicion that they were onto something. Somehow, as I move along, I feel a growing certainty that I’m not made to be comfortable here. There is something, somewhere, that is better and I want to point the prow of my ship in that direction.

The will to live is strong in us. Our Creator made it so. I’m not telling you that I’m going to start sighing and wringing my hands about a better place. This is the place that I’m intended to be right now and I am content with that. But I’m not going to get too comfortable here. I think I’ll stay light on my feet and ready to move.

After all, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the Blue…

“…they are eager for a better land, a heavenly one…He has now prepared a city for them.”
(Hebrews 11:16)

“I am prepared to go anywhere, provided it be forward.”
(David Livingstone~Scottish missionary~1813-1874)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

Memorial Day, Again

Finally Home