The Stranger at Your Funeral

 

The Stranger at Your Funeral

2015

When I read the obituaries in the New York Times, I often feel a pang of envy. Not that I want to be dead, nor do I want the recognition these famous people have earned. I am awed by the many accomplishments listed in their life stories. Each (inventor, philanthropist, teacher, survivor, author, scientist, or artist) has left behind a lasting legacy. I stop and think, how will I be remembered? What have I accomplished? 

As an ordinary person, I don’t think I will ever be honored with an obituary in a large city newspaper. But, having attended many funerals, I am hoping that, when my time comes, at least one stranger will show up at my funeral. 

Some years ago, my sweet Uncle Val passed away unexpectedly. Val had served in the military and worked as an engineer. He loved his wife and three children and cooking. Still in shock at his funeral, we stood in line to comfort his family. My husband and I noticed a group of older folks, some with white canes and many with walkers, waiting in line behind us. We didn’t recognize them as family members, so we asked them how they knew my uncle. “Oh,” they said, “he was our driver.” 

When Uncle Val retired, he wanted to do something to keep busy. He took a part-time job driving the senior transport bus in his town. He took his job seriously and took good care of his riders, walking those frail to and from their doors, passing the time of day, learning names, and asking about ailments. He became their friend. He was a quiet man, so he never mentioned these things to his family, but the riders remembered. They came to honor this man who had loved them well. 

Every one of us has an opportunity to help someone, to be kind, to make a difference. Val might have just opened and closed the bus door. Taking time to speak to people, to listen to their needs, to lend a helping hand might slow you down, but the time is never wasted. Someone’s spirits will be lifted. Someone will feel valued. Someone will remember. 

When my father died, I stood in the family line welcoming friends and family to his funeral service. I was touched by so many who came to honor him. My brothers gave wonderful tributes about the kind of father he was. His friends spoke of his compassion and gentleness. His grandchildren honored his memory by singing his favorite Broadway show tunes. All these things warmed my heart. 

About a month after my father left us, after we had all gone home and back to our daily activities, a man showed up at the door of my parents’ home. He was the cab driver who had taken my father to his regularly scheduled doctors’ appointments. When he heard the sad news, the cabbie burst into tears. He hugged my mother and they wept together. 

This is the stranger at your funeral. The person who has been touched by your life in some way you may never imagine. While we are still here, let us gather these strangers. We won’t be there to meet them, they may never even know of our passing, but if we can enrich one life, we will never be forgotten. 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

2015

I grew up in a Broadway musical. No, my parents were not actors or professional singers. Life was a musical for them. From my earliest days music filled the house. My father built his own stereo system and kept an extensive collection of albums — all Broadway musicals. He played them, we sang them, and sometimes, we lived them.

Most days were happy. Raindrops were on roses and whiskers were on kittens and life was good.  Sometimes dark shadows hovered over us and we would “Whistle a happy tune and every single time, the happiness in that tune” convinced us that we should not be afraid.

Our family kept expanding swelling our chorus to ten. When finances were tight, we sang “If I Were a Rich Man,” thankful that, although our family resembled his in size, we were much better off than Tevye of The Fiddler on the Roof. We knew that, “Wonder of Wonders, miracle of miracles,” we had a faith that would uphold and sustain us. 

My sister Maria was named after the song in West Side Story. Whenever the phone rang when she was a teenager, we sang out Mariiiia! Of course we also serenaded her with “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” from The Sound of Music. We threatened to have it played at her wedding. (We did not.)

We knew we could “Dream the Impossible Dream,” like Don Quixote and “Climb Every Mountain” to overcome any obstacle. Nothing would “Rain on Our Parade.” If ever there was “Trouble in River City:” we knew that, “The sun will come out tomorrow.” We believed in a magical place called “Camelot.” 

As we stepped out into the world and found romance, we dreamed big. “Tonight, tonight, I’ll see my love tonight, and for us stars will stop where they are.” We knew that, “Some Enchanted Evening” we would meet that “Wonderful Guy.” The first words my future husband said to me were “Shall We Dance?”

We continued to sing when we started our own families. “The Soliloquy” from Carousel came in very handy with “my little girl, pink and white as peaches and cream is she.  My little girl is half again as bright as girls were meant to be.” Maria sang ” Food Glorious Food” when she placed a tasty meal in front of her brood. My brother Joseph amused his boys with “Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy Talk” from South Pacific. Carla, who as a teen played Jesus Christ Superstar continuously on our eight-track player, asked her kids “What’s the buzz, tell me what’s a-happening?” Paul taught his children that “You’ve Gotta Have Heart” when striving for a goal. Michael reminded his kids that you never know when the “Wells Fargo Wagon” will bring “Something Wonderful” your way.  

They say that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Music gives joy, uplifts, perhaps even guides and protects you when you keep it in your heart  and remember to keep the people you share it with in your heart too. With music, and your family, in your heart you will “Never Walk Alone.”

Give Extra: Reap Much

 

Give Extra; Reap Much

Bus dismissal time in elementary school is frenetic. Students are packing backpacks and socializing while listening for their buses to be called. After most of the wriggling throng departed, a few kids waited for the late buses. Usually, those left behind in my second-grade class, yearning for after-school freedom, bounced off the walls. But one year, I was left with five little sweeties who gathered on the carpet to chat.

After some conversation, they decided. “We should make a club!”

Breaching the invisibility shield I had posted around my desk, they trooped over. “We want to make a club. What can we do while we wait for the bus?” 

Looking past their eager faces, I took in the chaos left behind by busy seven-year-olds. Paper and pencils littered the floor. Desks, once soldier-straight, zigzagged haphazardly across the room. Computer mice, like Petrie dishes, harbored legions of germs. Bookcases spilled out books and shelves dropped learning tools and games onto the floor.

“Well, ”I said, “Wouldn’t it be nice to straighten up the room to make it easier for Mr. J to clean?” Mr. J was our custodian. Every morning we started the day in an organized classroom and every afternoon, we left chaos for him to clean up.

“A cleaning club!” Their eyes lit up! Grabbing paper, they scurried back to the carpet to make a list of jobs. In minutes, they had delegated responsibilities and named their club — The Cleaning Crew. The club swept the floor, sharpened pencils, straightened desks, dusted chalk trays, organized shelves, and wielded disinfectant wipes to de-germ surfaces. In the five or ten minutes before their bus arrived, The Cleaning Crew cleared away and organized, brightening the classroom with their exuberance and their cleaning. Our classroom sparkled.

Custodians are nighttime angels, so I didn’t catch up with Mr. J until a few months later. The Cleaning Crew had left a thank-you note on the board for him (happy faces and hearts included). He wanted to thank them. He left a response on the board (happy faces but no hearts). What joy when the crew arrived in the morning! Before long, the club roster swelled as others joined. 

In a few minutes and with a little effort, the Cleaning Crew had brightened so much — our classroom, my faith in the sweetness of children, and Mr. J’s evening chores. So often, we resist giving extra effort to make someone’s life happier or easier. The extra tip we don’t leave, the compliment we don’t give, the pat on the back we withhold. It takes so little effort to make someone’s life brighter. Waving a car into traffic in front of us, picking up litter from our neighbor’s yard, or sending a note to a hurting friend take only a moment but can mean so much.

The Cleaning Crew could have invented any club but they chose to show someone they rarely saw that his work was appreciated. Their lesson was one of the most important ever taught in my classroom. Give extra; reap much. I wonder whose lives those five little sweeties are brightening today. Their light never left me, nor their example. Give extra; reap much. 

New-man Peter

 

New-man Peter

He was a wiggler. Falling out of his desk or squirming on the story carpet. Calling out questions, chatting with his friends, putting his fingers where they didn’t belong, and often forgetting just what belonged to whom. He was awkward, curious and impulsive, tripping over a schoolbag, stomping in a puddle on the playground, or building a tower out of anything that would stack. He always seemed to be stepping into trouble — willingly and with a smile on his face. In other words, a normal seven-year-old boy but a bit amplified. His name was Newman. 

Newman was a charmer with a sweet smile and a lively eyes but his bounciness was a bit of a distraction for the other students, so I did what I often did with kids who had trouble focusing on learning, I gave him a special job. Computers were relatively new in our classroom. Students learning to use them often interrupted instruction to ask for help. 

“Newman,” I said, “you are now our classroom computer expert.” I knew little about computers and Newman knew even less, but I showed him how to log in, reboot, adjust the volume on the headsets, and navigate on a page, and he took over. Soon confused computer users began calling “Newman!”

Given a position of authority, Newman rose to the challenge. Even I started asking him for help.

Simon was a bouncy guy too, awkward, impulsive, and curious. Calling out to his friends in other fishing boats or on the beach, just as likely to pull in a net as to fall into the lake and drag it ashore as he was to share a story or a joke with his friends and family. One day, his brother Andrew told him about a new teacher. Simon had to see him for himself so he went along with Andrew to listen. Meeting that teacher changed his name and his life.

Following the teacher, Simon remained awkward, impulsive and curious. Asking questions: Where are we going to get food for all of these people What reward will I get for following you? How many times should I forgive my brother? What plans do you have for that other disciple? Is his reward greater than mine? Calling out answers: Let’s build tabernacles for you, Moses, and Elijah. Don’t say you will have to die!  You are the Christ, the Messiah! Jumping into trouble, walking on water, cutting off the soldier’s ear, sleeping when he should stay awake, speaking when he should be quiet, making promises he cannot keep: I will never deny you. I’m ready to die for you. 

But when the teacher gave him a special job, “Feed my sheep, care for those who follow me,” Simon rose to the challenge. Throwing out his nets to catch not just fish but people, Simon became the rock, a foundation for the new church, a leader, prophesying, preaching, and evangelizing, fulfilling the commandments of his Savior even until death. First to run to the empty tomb, first to speak out in public after the resurrection, and first to welcome Gentiles into the early church. From awkward fisherman to apostle to leader to saint, Simon, renamed Peter the Rock, did his best.

When given a special job by his teacher, wiggling Newman became computer- expert Newman, a leader in the classroom. When given a special job by his teacher, awkward Simon became Peter, a new man, a rock, a leader in Christ. 

Newman or new man. Awkward, impulsive, curious, bouncy — when the teacher believes in you, you grow. What special job is the teacher giving you? 

Rise to the challenge. 

Authentic Parenting

 

Who will your children be?

In my parenting career, I made many mistakes. I could enumerate them here, but I am sure it would be a lot faster just to refer you to the list my daughter kept. I’m sure she keeps it close at hand – just in case I need reminding. My sons may have their own lists but they probably can’t find them. (Just a joke, guys!)

I do have a few excuses for my errors. When I married my darling husband, he came with a family ready-made. Since I was a very young bride (my husband always says he married me before I was born. (Isn’t he sweet?) I didn’t know too much about mothering. Sure, I was the oldest of six and had had practical experience with changing diapers and washing faces, but I had little practice in the more important aspects of parenting, such as comforting hurt feelings, encouraging exploration, or listening to dreams. 

By the time my daughter joined the family, I was a bit more experienced but just realizing what a big responsibility parenting actually was. I still made many mistakes (see list – probably available on social media). I am sure I didn’t listen closely enough, pay enough attention to the really important things, and had many more requirements than were welcome (Note: piano lessons and cleaning room).  

I freely admit that I was not the parent of my children’s dreams. I am not exactly sure who that might be, but I am sure that no actual children have ever been attached to them. There are no model parents -- just as there are no model children.  Thankfully, my children grew up to be wonderful people, and they are now wonderful parents. I think this is because of one thing my husband and I did right.  Even while we made mistakes, we remained authentic.

What is an authentic parent? One who models the person she wants her child to grow up to be. If you want your children to be responsible, caring, hard-working, kind, and trustworthy, be responsible, caring, hard-working, kind, and trustworthy. Children always learn more from your actions than from your words. 

Our children saw us work through hard times while holding the family together. They saw us losing loved ones and going on. They saw us sharing our blessings and mourning our sorrows. They understood that, while life was not a bed of roses, the scent is never lost when you hold onto faith, hope and love. 

Decide who you want your child to be, then be that person. This is really the only type of model parent you can be for your children. If you want children to be polite, be polite. If you want your children to value education, value education. If you want your children to call you when they move away, call your own parents. If you want them to work to better the world, work to better the world.  

Model making good choices. Model loving your spouse. Model loving your kids. Be authentic. Set the example. Be the best person you can be, and hope that your children will follow your lead. They may still keep a list of your mistakes, but they will be happy to shred it in the light of the model you have set. Mistakes fade in the light of love. 

Day Twenty-five: The Christmas Rose

 

The Christmas Rose

An Advent Story Calendar

Day Twenty-five

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.   John 3:16 KJV

While Joe rummaged through his music collection, Dora went back to look at the Christmas rose. “I can see the pink!” she said. “I know it will bloom on Christmas Eve.”

Joy bloomed in the greenhouse as Joe joined Dora by the miraculous rose. His Darling Rose lived in his heart with his new rose, Dora. He thanked God for the legend of a small girl who gave a miraculous gift to a newborn King and the small girl who stood beside him. Music filled the greenhouse and miracles filled Joe’s heart. He knew what he would name his rose when it bloomed.

Gesu Bambino 

When blossoms flowered ‘mid the snow

Upon a winter’s night

Was born a child

The Christmas Rose

The King of love and light.

The angels sang, the shepherds sang,

The grateful earth rejoiced

And at his blessed birth the stars

Their exultation voiced!

O, come let us adore Him

O, come let us adore Him

O, come let us adore Him

Christ the Lord.

(Pietro Yon 1917)

Rose History: The Christmas Rose is the only true flower that blooms in winter. It represents the purity of Mary and Jesus. The Christmas Rose is often carved into altars and embroidered on vestments. Its message of peace and hope symbolizes the Savior who brought us peace and hope.

Prayer: Holy Savior, thank you for bringing peace and hope into a dark world. Amen

Day Twenty-four: The Christmas Rose

 

The Christmas Rose

An Advent Story Calendar

Day Twenty-four

Mary’s fiancé Joseph, from Nazareth in Galilee, had to participate in the census in the same way everyone else did. Because he was a descendant of King David, his ancestral city was Bethlehem, David’s birthplace. Mary, who was now late in her pregnancy that the messenger Gabriel had predicted, accompanied Joseph. While in Bethlehem, she went into labor and gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid Him in a feeding trough because the inn had no room for them.  Luke 2:4-7

Dora began, “Last week after our Arctic Animal reports, my teacher let me push the cart back to the library. I used my regular muscles for that. When I got to the library, there was a display of new books. One of the books was The Christmas Rose!”

“Honestly?” asked Joe. 

“Yes! I took it out and read it over the weekend. It’s the same legend but the name of the shepherd girl isn’t Madelon. You’ll never guess what it is!” She pulled the book from her backpack and held it out to Joe. The beautifully painted cover showed a young girl holding a bouquet of Christmas roses before an infant lying in the straw.*

Dora opened the book and began to read, “Dorothy had three brothers, tall and strong, shepherd giants who guarded their father’s sheep. At least they were giants to her.”* 

Dora stopped. “The shepherd girl’s name is Dorothy!”

Joe chuckled, “That’s almost your name!”

“That is my name! My name is Dorothy but my family calls me Dora because my grandmother is Dorothy too.”

Joe sat up straight. “Dorothy was my wife’s, my Darling Rose’s, name too!”

“It says in the book that Dorothy means gift from God,” Dora said.

“So true!” said Joe. “My Darling Rose was a gift from God and so are you.”

“So Madelon gave the gift of roses to the baby when she was already a gift.”

“And the baby Jesus was a gift to us all,” said Joe. “Now let me play you the special song.”

Rose History: Legends, songs, and poems written about the beauty of roses remind us of the love they represent. The 30,000 varieties of roses in the world represent of the variety in God’s love.

Rose Hues: The Peace Rose, a well-known hybrid, has large flowers of cream and yellow, the edges tinged with pink. It was named Peace to commemorate the end of World War II.

Prayer: Father of all, bring us together in peace. Amen

*(The Legend of the Christmas Rose by William Hooks. Paintings by Richard A. Williams 1999)