The End of One Journey and Beginning of Another

Last week, I was walking home for lunch when an ambulance passed me. It moved slowly over the dirt road, not an emergency. Still it’s always disconcerting to have an ambulance on your street. The other side of the spectrum from the old Publishers Sweepstakes commercials when Ed McMahon showed up at someone’s door with seven-foot long check for a million dollars.

The yellow sun was high in the Montana sky. The air was calm. A few slight wisps of clouds against the blue. The spring daffodils on the side of the road were drooping, giving way to summer’s bluebells. As I got closer to home, I watched the paramedics rolling my neighbor out of the ambulance and into his house. My neighbor is a kind, retired physician from Portland. He’d been battling serious illness for over a year. The last weeks were especially hard. It was clear that they were bringing him back to pass away in the comfort of his home surrounded by family.

As I passed their house, I heard a piercing cry. My two-month old son was telling the world that he was ready to be fed again. I pictured usually-smiling mouth stretched in a squall. All of the joy, love, anger, and sadness that life would require wrapped up in that little body.

The juxtaposition between birth and death was striking. Some ancient theologians described the process of life as going out from and then returning to the Divine. Plato and Aristotle both espoused versions of the concept. Christian theologians tied the theory to Jesus’s parable in Luke 19:12 and the King Solomon’s Song of Songs.

I’m writing this in the Salt Lake City airport. Travelers go past. Different races, faiths, and destinations. They recheck their itineraries. Contemplating the challenges and joys that they will face upon reaching their destination. I read the German mystic Meister Eckhart’s statement that “All created things have flowed out of God’s will.” Then imagine the travelers as souls departing the Divine for their time on Earth. Each going to their own personal destination to confront their own individual challenges and joys. Eventually to return, discuss their trip with the heavenly father, and be judged upon their actions.

• Did you remember the reason for your trip? 
• Did you stay true to that purpose? 
• Did you follow the signs and teachings that were sent to guide you? 
• How did you act when confronted with the adversities of life? 
• How did you serve your fellow human beings?

Anyone contemplating how they would respond to those questions should be filled with trepidation. Human existence is by definition cloaked in failings and sin. We do the best that we can, knowing it can never truly be enough.

However, the words of Psalm 145 give comfort. "The Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in love. The Lord is good to all, compassionate to every creature." Psalm 145:8-9

The return to the Divine may be terrifying, but it will be more filled with joy and love than anything we can imagine.

Guest Post: A Final Goodbye

One of the reasons I started this blog was because I felt that others had had similar experiences that didn't have rational, scientific explanations. I knew that there is nothing special about me and therefore others must be having similar experiences. I hoped that by sharing mine that others would share theirs. I am amazed that it only took a few weeks for the first guest post to arrive

This guest post is from a childhood friend Stephanie Sampson. It's an amazing statement to how a few kind deeds can bond souls beyond the limits that we see every day. If you've got a similar story that you'd like to share, please send it to me. The only requirements are that: (1) it must be true, (2) it must be 1-2 pages, and (3) it must be generally well-written or close enough that a little editing can get it there.

Thanks Stephanie.

A Final Goodbye

A new family moved into the apartment next to me and my mother in April of 2000. They were from Kazakhstan and spoke Russian. I could tell that they were poor, but my heart broke as I watched them take abandoned furniture from the complex trash and pull it into their apartment.

I knew that I wanted to do something to make them feel welcomed. I was pregnant and single. I had a good job, but I wasn’t about to go buy them a Mercedes. I went to the bookstore and picked up a Russian dictionary.

After learning some of the basics, I knocked on the door. The family looked at me nervously.

I said, “Preeviet.”

That was all the introduction I needed. From then on, the family and I spent the nights on the steps of our apartment complex going over translations from Russian to English.

When it was time for the kids to go to school, I made sure the little girls had a new set of clothes and shoes. They acted like little princesses with their hair ties, little girl lip gloss, and jewelry. The outfits didn’t cost much, but the presents were enough to light up their eyes again.

The boy’s shoes had duct tape wrapped around the toes. I took care of that on his birthday. We picked up a bike that was for sale in the neighborhood. I sunk some more of my waitressing tips into spoiling the kids with a Playstation and covering some of their groceries until they got on their feet.

After three or four months, we may as well have been a family with the tides of people going back and forth between the two apartments.

I would sit with the old sick grandma and the children would translate for her. She was worried about me being pregnant and alone. I tried to convince her that it was going to be ok.

The old woman looked at me seriously and said, “You are my family’s angel.”

I didn’t know what to say.

She continued, “Watch out for my family.”

I didn’t know what she meant. I had a bad feeling, but I vowed to do what I could.

I gave birth to my son Jade and it was the Russian family’s turn to be angels. As a single mom, there are few things better than an extra set of hands. They had nine sets and each one was more than happy to tend to Jade.

One night I dreamt of the Russian grandmother. I awoke to someone shaking my bed. I glanced around the room and there was no one there. The shaking stopped when I sat up.

The phone rang beside my bed. It was one of the little girls from next door telling me their grandmother had passed away. My tears fell upon the covers of the now-still bed.

I don’t have a natural explanation for what happened that night with the dream of the grandmother and the shaking bed. In my heart, I know that she came to say goodbye.