Friends

It’s early. Before I drive six hours to attend the funeral of a dear friend, I sit in our study and read my morning meditation book. Today’s is all about the importance of relationships. The author pointed out that never, when he was with someone on their deathbed, has he heard someone ask to see their diplomas, awards, or bank statements. What matters most are the people in our lives. It’s a powerful reminder as I prepare to honor my friend by driving so far, but there’s a conviction within the inspiration.

He and I met in college. He was a senior, I a freshman, and still he asked me to be his roommate on the choir tour. Our love for each other grew long past college, and he sang at my wedding reception. He was the kind of friend I loved to go on long drives with because we never stopped talking about things that mattered. He was the kind of friend who dropped everything when I needed a friend. He knew me better than I knew myself. He was one of the true gifts of my life. On my deathbed, he would be one of the people I would ask to see.

But, like far too many friendships, we did not stay in touch. We married, had children, and worked hard at our careers. We were in touch enough, as if there was some kind of minimum requirement, and I am happy to say we were starting to be in touch more often recently, but the fact is he was diagnosed with cancer in July and I didn’t know it, he got remarried last summer and I never heard. I am as torn by this distance between us as by his death.

I agree with this morning’s author that relationships are the most important thing in our lives – with God and others (The two are connected, as someone wise pointed out). I need to readjust my life to better reflect that. I certainly have enough time in the car to reflect on such a change, and I wanted to invite you to reflect on your relationships as well. Let’s not wait until our deathbeds.

Time Travel

When my father retired, he built an office in our back yard called “The Supplement” in which there was a pipe organ, harpsicord, and piano. I remember liking the place as a child and remember the many gatherings there, many of which were concerts. 

The Supplement is long gone, the instruments given to others to play, but my sister recently sent me the guest book my father persistently had everyone sign. In it are many names, some famous others not, but he also included the programs from each concert. I have taken those programs and created a playlist of every piece performed in The Supplement*. Closing my eyes as I listen, I try to imagine the music being played in that special place. I take my seat beside the other guests and listen (and try to sit still, which was always a challenge for me). Most of all, I try to picture the performers, particularly my father, who died many years ago. 

It’s a form of time travel, I suppose, fueled by a longing deep within to go back and be with my father and the others and to listen as if the music is being performed for the first time. I guess it’s why people read the Bible - to go back, to sit beside those who heard the words when they were first spoken, and, most of all, to be with the one who first uttered them.

*“The Supplement” can be found on Spotify. (The first two concerts are assembled. The others will be coming soon.)

Anyone Can Win

“That should be your next Brushstroke,” my wife said after I sat trying to make sense of what had just happened. A team that shouldn’t have won, did. Despite all the odds, the hours of commentary before the game, they somehow pulled it off and returned to the locker room victors. I sat in my chair shaking my head. “Anyone can win,” was all I could say.

That’s going to be my spiritual mantra for awhile. Reminding myself that anyone can win somehow changes my outlook. A life based on the commentary that surrounds me, living by the odds, constricts my soul. More important, it constricts God. 

I’m not sure how all this God thing works, how God is involved in the world. I’m not sure God cares much about the outcome of a game, but I do believe God cares a lot about each player and coach, just as God cares about each banker and janitor, each homemaker and homeless soul. I believe in God’s very soul (If God has a soul. It sounds redundant.) is the belief that anyone can win. Defying the odds seems to be what God does best. Proving pundits wrong must make God smile.

Give God a murderer, and watch him burn bushes. Give God someone who thinks her time is all but over, and watch a child be born. Give God a broken-hearted husband, and watch God create a prophet. Give God a bunch of frustrated fishermen and watch the nets overflow.

The next time I hold back because someone says it won’t work, the next time I beat myself up for trying and failing, I hope I remember what I said last night. Anyone can win. All things are possible. Just remembering that causes me to take a deep breath and smile before walking out the door to begin another game, oops, I mean day.