She Made Us Walk Slowly

A good many years ago, a funeral.

A young woman.
Down Syndrome.

She'd taken ill, one of so many illnesses that came her way.
And she breathed her last.

Family members spoke with tenderness.
Telling of her love for them, and their love for her.

Her good cheer and laughter.
Her eagerness and energy.

Of course, her shortness of temper.
And her stubborn ways, too.

And, then, this from a brother:
"She made us all walk slowly."

Obviously, she couldn't keep up with them,
At their regular pace.

They had to slow down their walk, for her.
Because she couldn't walk with them.

Are there not lots of folks like her?
Folks who can't keep pace with us?

In our bustle and hustle.
Our self-impressing ways.

So, we can either leave them behind.
Or, we can slow ourselves down.

I think it's good thing to keep in mind.
To slow down, sometimes.

So we can walk with the slow folks.
And with them, enjoy the day.

Who knows what gifts they have for us.
We might be surprised.

Good cheer and laughter might come our way.
A smile and a hug.

Or, maybe, just the look of gratitude.
For paying attention to them.

Seeing them in their reality.
A slow gait, a hesitant step.

Some can't go all that fast.
Some hobble through the days.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
I fear no evil," wrote the Psalmist.

"For thou art with me."
The LORD slows down.

Because I can't run, sometimes.
I can hardly walk, sometimes.

I can't even move, sometimes.
Frozen in time and space, sometimes.

The LORD stops walking, sometimes.
The LORD sits down beside me, sometimes.

Those times where I set the pace.
Because it's the only pace I can pace.

Sure, there are times when the LORD says.
"Get up and go."

Like the LORD said to Elijah, at the mouth of the cave.
But only after a time of solitude and listening.

Elijah had to get it out of himself.
And the LORD was patient.

"The LORD walks with me.
And talks with me.

Along life's narrow way."
Says the hymn.

And, then, too, those times.
When the LORD says, "Come, follow me."

And I surprise myself with the pace I can keep.
For the work of life and the demands of the day.

Yet never to be so impressed with myself.
That I harshly expect others to keep pace with me.

I have to pay attention
To the pace of others.

It's not always: "Keep up with me."
As if I were the one in charge.

I have to slow down, sometimes.
Pay attention, sometimes.

Walk with them.
Sit with them.

Go nowhere with them.
Because nowhere is somewhere.

And somewhere has life.
For those who are slow enough to see it.

Slow folks do their best, as everyone does.
So, it's a good thing:

To let others.
Slow ... us ... down.

A Morning Funeral

A funeral this morning for an unusually gifted man.
Who rode freight trains,
And invented new toys for his kids.
And reinvented and improved just about everything.

A video of stills and music ... from his parents to him as a babe in arms.
And then a kid ... and then the adolescent ... and then a young man.
And then a husband, and then a father, and then a grandfather and then a man getting up in years ... and then just shy of 90 turns around the sun, time to tuck things away and say goodbye.

Others now, to take up the tasks.
The fun, the work, the play and the love.

He managed to be more than a father, a husband and an uncle ... more than a friend and a co-worker ... what it was that he was, best summed up, I suppose in his:
Never-going-away kind of smile.

I saw his life unfold in all of those delightful pics.
Like a flower - from seed to bud to unfolding.
And then wilting in the heat of time.
Petals dropping away.

Life getting lived ... lived quite well ... and then ...

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God was a favorite.
So was Amazing Grace.
And lots of other music.

So, I wonder ... about this thing called life.
We're so unconscious of it when we're in the throes of it.
And, then, one day, it hits us.
We hear the clock ticking.

Incessantly.

It's okay.
Though I don't like it.
Times I hate time.

And not a dern thing to do about it.

And so it goes.
Live while we can.
If we can.
As best we can.

Know nothing but love.
And love covers a multitude of sins.

What is love?
Oh, I don't know.
But I know it when I see it.
And I suppose you do, too.

Funeral Poem: "His Heart Stopped"

His heart stopped.

This brave heart.

Strong and resilient.

Said in the early morning hours.

To him:

Our work is done.

The race is won.

We've crossed the finish line.

Now take a rest m'boy.

Take a rest.

Enjoy some time off.

This brave man who worked so hard.

Who loved so much.

Who made things with his hands.

And told stories to hold everyone's attention.

Who wheeled around and put ---- on his lap.

The best seat in church, it was said.

A father.

A husband.

A human being.

The world is better because of him.

And today, we cry because it's over.

But we smile because it was.

A good life.

A good man.

A brave heart.

Now at rest.