His departure was natural, beautiful, painful, and mysterious.
Almost three years ago, I stopped writing for this blog. Instead, I began writing a monthly column for our local newspaper, an idea I proposed when our neighbors and world were still keeping social distance.
I began to interview local community neighbors for a column called Hello Neighbor. Each month, my focus shifts off of myself and onto a different person or specific topic. I have met and interviewed people who are similar to myself and people who are strikingly different from myself—and in the process, I have learned more about myself than I have wanted to know. For instance, to understand another's story, my mouth needs to remain closed, and my focus must be fully absorbed in the life and heart of another. I don't need to agree or disagree with another's perspective. I have learned to listen to stories that transpire in the mud and muck of life, to storylines that twist and turn, and ultimately to a consistent conclusion that things are not what they appear to be; people are not always what they appear to be.
Often, the most beautiful unfolding of another's story is what happens to the one telling their story out loud for possibly the first time. Almost always, there are tears, and sometimes, I am caught off guard when such a moment occurs. In telling our stories, we are transported back to a time that feels like it never happened and as if it just happened today. Our stories reveal our journey in such a way that the emotions connected with the journey also revisit us. Emotions connected to sharing stories about our younger selves may bring new revelations in the telling through the eyes of our older selves.
I know of few things in my life that have been as great of a privilege to participate in than to be an audience to a person I have just met in listening to their story. I can ask questions when my interest is piqued, but mostly, I'm learning to hold my tongue and give undivided attention to a person God has placed in my path for such a moment.
Although we live in a world that idolizes celebrities, where many focus their energy and attention on social media, being an influencer, or presenting ourselves in a way that makes us feel seen and essential—I realize that often the people who leave the most extraordinary legacy are the ones who are unaware of their influence and impact. The teachers who poured into their students, the artist who turned an old tire shop into a home and a gallery for local artists, high school sweethearts whose love was so deep that several years after an accident left his girlfriend paralyzed from the waist down, he still married her. Today, they celebrate decades of good memories together despite their journey's difficulties.
In writing another's story, I have learned that life is lovely, beautiful, complex, and challenging regardless of who you are. Careers are meaningful, but family is more important. Traveling the world is fun, but being with the people you love is what you will remember at the end of your life. Photos of who you are in your youth may not resemble photos of who you are when there remains more road behind you than in front of you. We are no less beautiful in our older skin than the younger one, at least not to those who truly know us, especially not our Maker. Significance is not found in what we accomplish but in who we become due to our accomplishments. And most importantly, every end is a start.
My father's end of life on this earth was a start to a new life in eternity, a story that I do not yet fully understand. As I reflect on his life—how he lived, how he spent his time, and what mattered to him—I can better understand the truth of who I am. In telling another's story, I have learned the beauty of humanity—we are all a messed-up mixture of glory and grime.
Stay the Course…
Sheila
