Memorial Service

The aunt I mentioned in the previous post died since I wrote that.  In fact, I have traveled from my home in southeastern coastal North Carolina to Rochester, New York for the memorial service and already returned home.  On hearing of her death, I began to write, just because that is often what I do now.  Immediately after I boarded the plane in Charlotte I received a text from my cousin asking if I would like to / be willing to say something at the service.  I responded, telling her that at that moment I was working on something, not intended for anyone else but myself.  I asked if I could think about it.  The thought of standing in front of what I assumed would be a good-sized audience was not to my liking.  And what would I say?  Later, I decided that my aunt had been so kind to my family and always so good to me, how could I not be willing to do one last thing for her? I asked permission to simply edit and shorten what I was writing for myself and read it at the service.  That was fine with my aunt's family.  

When my turn came to speak (read), I did tell those in attendance, an overflow of people in the sanctuary, that I had not prepared what I was about to read for the service.  I wanted them to know that my aunt was special enough that I had written something, just to think through who she was.  I felt that making them aware of that fact honored who my aunt was to an even greater degree.  The following is what I had written and read.  

“I’ve graduated.”  That’s what she said.  That’s what my Aunt Margie told me the first time I spoke with her on the phone after she moved from her patio home into an independent living facility. I had to ask, of course, what that meant.  The response?  “I’ve graduated from cooking.”  That very small part of our conversation is a capsule illustration of two of my Aunt Margie’s wonderful qualities; one being a positive, optimistic, “make the best of it”, “look for the good” outlook and approach to life’s changes.  The other is her quiet strength. 

I could stop right there.  Having shared that one glimpse of a conversation honors who Margie Lambert was as a person.  But were I to stop there would be like seeing the initial sketch for the painting of a gifted artist without ever having the opportunity to see the finished work.  So I’ll continue.   

I wear hearing aids.  When a battery needs replacing I hear several beeps 30 minutes prior to the battery being completely depleted.  I have time to do something so I can continue to hear others the best I can.  And often enough as I’m putting my hearing aids in each morning I wish they were multi-functional.  I wish, in addition to assisting me with the physical hearing process, they had a relational function.  I wish that each and every time I am hearing someone’s words, but not what they are really saying, my hearing aids would sound a warning beep.  I would know that I am failing to focus adequately on the person to whom I’m listening.  I would know that my desire to really hear that person isn’t strong enough.  Naturally, I wish I had no need for such hypothetical hearing aids.  But Margie, had she ever needed hearing aids for physical reasons, she would never have had any need whatsoever for ones having a relational functionality.  Her compassion and concern for others, her sincere interest in them and her deep desire to really connect allowed her to hear differently.  She did hear what others were really saying; and did so easily.  She did so, I think, by first asking questions, showing her interest in that person.  She had the ability to get people talking about themselves.  Then, she listened intently, wanting to learn more about the person.  If only more of us, myself most definitely included, could develop Margie’s relational gifts, I can imagine what the world would be like.

I love art.  Sometime within the last year a Van Gogh painting was found to be underneath another.   I was really intrigued.  I wondered, if when some of the masters used one canvas for two paintings, did there need to be thought given to the colors used in both?  Could, for example, the second painting be of lighter color than the underlying?  Lack of time for research and reading leaves that question unanswered for now.  However, as I began to think about that, it occurred to me what a fitting analogy that canvas with two paintings was for our lives.   

There can be a strong correlation between our outward, visible lives and our inward, underlying lives.  They can both be beautiful; made beautiful by the masterful use of the bright colors of sincerity, friendliness, openness, lack of judgmental nature, ability to draw others in.  You get the point. And by so doing, you now have an apt description of my aunt’s life.

That’s what made her special.  She totally rejected the dark and ugly colors of distrust, prejudice, and unexpressed hate; they were not part of the composition of her life’s paintings; not the visible nor the unseen.  Self-centeredness was another color she chose to leave unused.  Instead, she used those bright, uplifting colors I mentioned because she wanted to encourage others.  She wanted to share art with others.  She did not use those vibrant colors so sparingly as to give the impression she wanted to hoard them for herself.  In fact, she was one to come along side another who was struggling with his/her life paintings.  She was willing to share her colors, to share her brushes.  And not surprisingly, as she did so, her life paintings became more and more beautiful.  Her brush strokes or layers of watercolor were made more perfect.

Margie’s family and all of us who loved her are left to complete our own life’s paintings.  We need to be inspired by her.  I know I am inspired by not only what she was, but how she chose to live her life.  I am be inspired to work at having a positive attitude.  I am be inspired to be a far better listener.  I am inspired to take the time to be more interested in the lives of others.  I am inspired to be an encouragement to others.  I am inspired to look for the good in them; to expect that it’s there somewhere.  I am inspired to be gracious when I don’t find it.  If I do so, the end of my life will be like Margie’s.  It will leave the world poorer for my passing, just as her passing has most definitely done.