Another Way to Look at Things

So I did a post the other day, full of poetic imagery and lofty words. Today I'm left wrung out and my poetry is decidedly flat. And I guess "deflated" is kind of how it feels these days. Not defeated, but the air has billowed out and I'm feeling less than buoyant. A friend of mine died last week. He was a good friend. Cantankerous and funny and kind and passionate. He was all those things and will be forever in my mind. So many people have said both today and other days since the news has spread, "I can't imagine church without him." Personally I can't imagine life without him. And yet...

I didn't see him every day. Wasn't even guaranteed a conversation with him every Sunday. His wife, a saintly woman if ever there was one, and he would visit other congregations on Sunday mornings for various reasons. But their (and my) "home" church was where we saw each other. He came to my Adult Sunday School class and hammered out what it means to be a Christian in today's world. We talked theology and biblical texts, but we also talked work and children and spouses and everyday occurrences. This is so rare; so rare to be able to share faith in this way with someone. When we would go out for breakfast at the local diner, we would share laughter and philosophies and waffles, and crunchy hash browns and eggs.

When he would be absent from us for a few weeks, I would text and he would cryptically respond with one or two word answers, leading me in my imagination to fill in the spaces of what was going on. He had been sick, but they were adjusting his medications he would say or more annoyingly, he wouldn't say and would swear his wife (I said she was a saint!) to secrecy, not wanting to share whatever was going on privately in his life. But lest you think he was stingy with himself, that is not the case. He was generous and honest. Giving hugs freely when he knew you needed one and even sometimes when you didn't think you did. But those great big arms would enfold you and, glasses askew, you would know this was just what you needed at that moment. He had a mischievous sense of humor. And if there was irony to be found, he was there like a magnet, with a twinkling eye and smug smile.

He was so many things for me, I will be picking apart my memories and thoughts and dissecting my heartache for some time yet. I can't imagine life without him, week to week. But my life has been enriched for his presence. And my soul has been warmed by his light.