The Renovating Reverend

One of the Old (Stand Up) Guys

Psalm 30 | John 21: 1 – 19

A good ten years ago, my husband and I were invited to a big family picnic. Everyone had arrived at the park shelter and been there for a while when I found myself wondering why no one had gotten the charcoal lit so that hot dogs and hamburgers could be cooked. I’d never cooked for a large group of people before, and grilling wasn’t something I had done much of. Eventually, though, Steve and I agreed that if we worried about stepping on anyone else’s toes any longer we’d be eating potato salad and marshmallow fluff for dinner. As we fired up the grills, I told Steve that being the grill master had never entered my mind because “one of the old guys” always did that. Before I could say anything else, he gave me a sideways grin and declared, “Now you’re one of the old guys.”

In today’s Gospel reading, I think that Peter and the disciples with him were experiencing a somewhat similar, albeit much more serious situation of questioning their adequacy, their roles, and their callings. Not too long before, their friend, mentor, and Messiah had walked right into a death sentence and died a criminal’s death. It had been an especially big shock to the disciples like Peter who had believed the Messiah would take control and chase off the occupying army of Romans. Most of the disciples had scattered and hid out in various places to avoid suffering the same fate that Jesus did. Peter had gone so far as to deny he knew Jesus, three times over. Since that time, the resurrected Jesus had appeared to them, but it seems that they were still questioning and unsure of themselves.

They were in the midst of changing circumstances and uncertain expectations, with looming responsibility for things they had never done – or at least had never done without Jesus being nearby. Metaphorically speaking, in terms of my picnic grilling story, they were facing a moment of “I’m not one of the old guys”…that was hitting Peter especially hard.

Sometimes we put the people in the Bible on a pedestal, thinking they were somehow “super people,” but I don’t believe they were. So I want to ask if you can think of a similar time in your life when you were challenged or had the opportunity to take on a new responsibility, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it…weren’t sure if you even wanted to handle it? Maybe it was physically dangerous, or maybe you’d faced something similar before and failed in such spectacular fashion that the resulting embarrassment was still very strong, threatening to paralyze you with fear of a repeat. Or maybe you just beat feet in the opposite direction, in a hurry to avoid the scene entirely. I’ve been there – I can identify with all of the above experiences. I think most of us have been there in some way, at some time. We have, to some extent, stood in Peter’s sandals.

Poor Peter…his three-peat denial of Jesus, and running away to hide was such a spectacular failure that we’ve practically immortalized it in our language in the verb “to peter out,” meaning to fizzle out, taper off to nothing, or end weakly. In today’s reading, I can imagine Peter being stuck in a rough state of mind, conflictin thoughts and emotions sort of “stewing.” There’s a sense that something’s gotta give as he decides that he’s going to do something familiar, do something he knows he’s good at. He goes fishing…and the guys join him.

But Peter and his disciple buddies are out all night and don’t catch a thing, not a single fish. I can imagine Peter calling out to God at that point, like the psalmist did in today’s psalm, “God…listen! and be kind! Help me out of this mess!”

Of course, God didn’t let Peter flounder for long (that fishing pun is for you, Bob, wherever you are). Jesus appeared on the shore at sunrise and brought a sense of déjà vu with him. Jesus would proceed to kind of replay some earlier scenes from his group’s life and ministry together, but with a different outcome for Peter. If you identify with Peter’s situation, his state of mind, I invite you to stay in his sandals all the way to the end of this story.

Don’t worry, I know I’ve gotta pick up the pace at this point so I don’t go into overtime or lose y’all completely!

So, buckle up and don’t blink, here’s how I break down the replays and the message they convey to us…

First thing, Jesus told the guys to throw their net out into the water on in a specific direction, and, when they did, they hauled in so many fish that the net could barely handle them. Then, Jesus fed them a breakfast of loaves and fish. Does that sound familiar? The message I’m hearing in all of this is that you can and should trust Jesus, and that when you’re with Jesus, there is an abundance…there is “enough.”

After breakfast, Jesus asked Peter three times, “Do you love me?” Essentially giving Peter a do-over of the night that he denied knowing Jesus three times. Jesus accepts each of the three answers that Peter gives, and repeats his invitation to Peter to “feed my sheep” and “follow me.” The message here? Jesus not only forgives what some people might think unforgiveable, but reminds us that he is the one calling us to follow him. At no time is worthiness or ability mentioned. The only thing I hear being questioned is willingness, or maybe commitment.

Are you hearing the same messages that I hear?

You can trust Jesus.
When you are with Jesus, there is enough.
Jesus forgives the biggest screw ups. Jesus invites you to follow him.
And, with Jesus, you are enough.

When we let all this reassuing, good news sink in, and embrace it as Peter eventually did, we can let go of the fear and the “imposter syndrome” that’s dragging us down. We can embrace the responsibility and role of being “one of the old guys,” get on with cooking the burgers, and maybe even enjoy the picnic. We can take a deep, grateful breath and say to God, as the psalmist did:

“You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I’m about to burst with song; I can’t keep quiet about you.

GOD, my God, I can’t thank you enough.”

Amen.

All Scripture quotations are taken from THE MESSAGE, copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Recharge Your Light

Sermon given January 16, 2022

Isaiah 62:1-5
Psalm 36:5-10
John 2:1-11

I’m blessed to be sharing with you a message of God’s light on this second Sunday after Epiphany, in the liturgical season that celebrates God’s abundant love and light coming into the world in the person of Jesus. The season in which we learn who Jesus is and what he’s about.

I can imagine that, at this point in the service, someone may already be feeling as though they just can’t relate to a celebration of light today. “OK,” I imagine them thinking, “Preach on, brother, but I just can’t deal with a sermon about abundance and light today. Don’t you know what’s going on out in the world?! These are tough times. We’re fighting bigotry, greed, and injustice. And we’re mourning the loss of neighbors, friends, and family to disease and addiction.”

And to that I can honestly say, “I hear you loud and clear.” I get it – if you’re in a dark place and you need to feel your feelings right now, please simply hear this reminder that you are not alone. Or if you are knee-deep in fighting the good fight, please remember that we need something stronger than determination, pain, and anger to keep us going…and to make sure that we’re going in the right direction. As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, only light can drive out darkness. Whatever our situation, we need more light – to support us and guide us.

Today’s readings from the Bible assure us that God’s incredible light not only exists, but is limitless. The readings also help us recognize what God’s light is, what it’s all about. I digress a bit to say that I smile when I consider that today’s scripture was written by the prophet Isaiah and the psalmist, and, of course, the gospel reading was written about Jesus. These are not people from the Bible whom I would describe as being “Suzie Sunshine.” They have dark times, are angry, afraid, or just deeply troubled about the state of the world…but in this morning’s readings, they are celebrating abundance, feasting, and light — which can help us reconnect with God and recharge, just like they did.

So abundance and feasting are concepts we easily understand, but what do we mean when we talk about God’s light?

I would say that God’s light is a description of how we sometimes experience God’s love, the freshness or clarity of shadows disappearing, and the renewal we call salvation. But let’s recap the scripture readings to see what they say…

Isaiah challenges the hearer to embrace his vision of a God that shines like the sunrise and a brightly burning torch. For Isaiah, this light is about salvation, about being justified, validated in the eyes of his people’s adversaries.

The psalmist, who so often seems to be struggling through the worst day ever, is celebrating the unwavering love of God, love in the abundance of a feast and in the volume of a flowing river. The light of God, he tells us, is “meteoric, astronomical,” so bright and intense that we’re able to perceive and experience it. It’s as though God’s love is carried in the light, is part of the light, and it won’t ever run out.

Finally, we hear from the Gospel of John about Jesus attending a wedding reception in Cana with his disciples and his mother. In the midst of the, apparently, very happy feasting, the wine begins to run low. Next thing we know, Jesus’ mother is having a “proud mom-zilla moment.” She tells Jesus that he has an opportunity, here, to show what he’s got, to give the disciples and anyone else who’s around a sign of his power. After replying to his mother with the ancient equivalent of, “Ease up on me, woman,” Jesus does something interesting.

Seeing these large jars that are dedicated to ritual washing, he tells some servants to fill the jars with water. Notice that Jesus isn’t portrayed as saying a prayer, or laying his hands on the jars, or waving a wand – he doesn’t seem to be “performing” anything. At some point, simply in the presence of Jesus, the water becomes about 150 gallons of very tasty wine. We know from other parts of scripture that Jesus isn’t very impressed by people who need to see a miracle in order to believe, and he didn’t appreciate getting his mother’s advice at that particular time, so what is he signaling, here? Well, there is quite of bit of meaning we can get from this story, but what I feel is important for us to hear today is that we find transformative abundance in God’s presence.

To quickly summarize what’s happening in today’s readings:

God’s light is salvation and justification, or, in other words, it’s about God saving our metaphorical and physical butts, right in front of those who’ve been attacking us or laughing at us for being God’s people.
God’s light is also love, and there’s a never-ending supply of it.
And it’s in the presence of God that we find this transformative, rescuing, loving light.

For Isaiah and the psalmist, God’s light is very real. Of course, Old Testament folk were having visions and such all over the place, so they may have been a bit ahead of the game on experiencing God. Still, the abundance, the feast, the shining light isn’t “pie in the sky by and by,” it’s a certainty for them, despite being in the midst of challenging and painful lives.

Perhaps we modern folk don’t have as many visions, but we can certainly visualize. And, anyway, visions can be a bit perilous. I remember an old Episcopalian priest warn that visions are only worthwhile, are only a blessing, when they can be brought into the “real world” of daily life. So, how can we visualize and experience God’s presence, be filled and recharged by God’s abundant light in the here and now?

Well, I invite you to join me in a paper cup meditation. Yep, I said a paper cup, one of those little Dixie-Cup-type-things. Or, if you’re a fan of picnics and parties, I guess it could be a red plastic cup – I won’t judge. 🙂

You just gotta trust me on this. And, anyway, it will only take a couple of minutes.

I don’t know what the origin of the paper cup meditation is, but it’s all about visualizing your heart, your whole life, being filled with the light of God.

Now, I invite you to take the next couple of minutes to give God’s light a chance to fill you up to overflowing. You might close your eyes, focus on the dancing flame of a candle, or look at one of the beautiful features of this sanctuary. However you focus your thoughts, know that the abundant light of God, the light of God’s love is for you, just as you are at this moment, in this place.

If you think you might have a tough time envisioning or experiencing this today, just imagine that your heart, your soul, your whole being is a paper cup. There is a constant, gentle flow of God’s light into your being, into your cup. You might picture the light as something soft and airy or as a bright metallic liquid. See the light, and all that it represents, all that it contains, begin to fill your cup.

If your cup has a hole in it, or even if it has no bottom and the light flows right on through, don’t worry. Know that the light of God is constantly shining, is constantly flowing into your cup. Before the foundation of time, God knew us, and knowing all that we are in advance, God extended the light of God’s love to us. God has continued to supply it, and it can never be exhausted. See the constant, limitless light of God begin to fill in the bottom of your cup.

As the bottom of your cup fills in, more and more of God’s light stays with you, and your cup begins to hold more and more. Imagine also the light of God that has come to you through others, even in the smallest of ways. Every kind smile and thoughtful remark, every good wish and act is coming home to rest in your cup, along with the constant, direct flow of light from God. All of this light keeps filling in the bottom of your cup until the amount of light in the cup rises toward the top. It continues to fill your cup, to rise slowly until it just spills over the edge. Your heart and soul, the very core of your being, are so full of light that light is not only around you, but has become an integral part of you.

Bringing this experience and knowledge of God’s light along with you, slowly return your attention to the sanctuary, to the present time and place.

Know that the light of God is truly endless, ever flowing into and through our lives. There is so much more than enough. If your experience or certainty of this ever fades and you feel like you’re running on empty, you can always meditate again on the cup, filling in and filling up to overflowing with the light of God. Amen.

Insides, Outsides

The carpet in our new old place was showing wear and shedding like a big, hairy dog, so it really needed to go. It took us a while to decide what to replace it with. We finally settled on vinyl plank in the high-traffic areas, and carpet in rooms where it will have the most impact on comfort and acoustics.

My husband took on the task of removing the worn carpet and tack strips in the areas where I would put down planks. His work revealed concrete slab with an occasional splash of paint, the odd hairline crack, and sulfur-colored stains from the 1970’s carpet pad adhesive. It wasn’t a very pretty sight. But, then again, the “bones” of any home that’s been lived in for a while are sure to have a grimy sort of character. Older houses can have a lot dust and crud that has filtered into the walls, or degraded and fallen from the wall material itself. After all, it wasn’t until somewhat recently that houses began to be built “tight,” with house wrap and good insulation. Heck, open up a wall in a century home (100+ years old), and you may even discover a growing vine, like Steve did back when we were working on a Victorian in the oldest part of town.

I’m not sure why, but I always have a strong reaction to seeing what’s behind the surfaces of a house. There’s such a contrast between the combination of dusty studs, tangled wiring, and cruddy pipe connections, and the smooth coherence of tile, drywall, and paint. Even more amazing is the realization that the bones of some very expensive houses aren’t very different from those of more affordable homes. After stripping the places down to the studs, most of the differences are on the surface. Underneath, one isn’t any stronger or better than the other. Underneath, they both have dust, crud, and the occasional growing vine.

Having the aforementioned reaction while looking at our concrete slab, I was reminded of the 12-Step slogan, “Don’t compare your insides to anyone else’s outsides.” Just like houses, we all have some metaphorical crud, sawdust, and left-over bits of wood framing in our walls. For all we know, that well-put-together looking person we admire is actually full of rusty pipes, rotting studs, tangled wiring…self-hatred, fear, and regret. Or, conversely, that broken-down looking person may have one or more untold treasures hidden inside their walls…generosity, joy, and compassion.

The scuzzy concrete beneath the flooring is just another reminder that we can’t tell much by looking at surfaces, that we need to look beyond appearances – and that it’s healthy to appreciate and mind our own property, instead of always comparing it with everyone else’s.

Wallpaper, Masks, and Smiles

It’s not paint removal this time, it’s wallpaper removal; nearly as tedious, but not quite, so I’ve just managed to maintain an attitude of gratitude as I scrape.

Although we recently moved into a condominium in order to reduce the amount of maintenance we had been doing, the place still needs a little help. Built in the 1970s and remodeled in the late 1990s, the needs are more modest than they’ve been in our previous two homes. We’re talking fairly low-stress improvements, such as painting, replacing toilet tank parts, curtains/blinds, light fixtures….and removing wallpaper. And none of these tasks have required the protective equipment we’ve needed on past projects. The steamer for the wallpaper can get a bit uncomfortable at times, but it definitely doesn’t call for gloves or a respirator. I save the mask for when I go out to the grocery store.

As I slowly worked my way across an expanse of wallpaper, holding up a steamer, then scraping, steaming and scraping, I got to thinking about the mask situation.

Funny to think that I need to wear a mask outside the home, to protect myself and others from COVID-19. That’s not something most Americans are used to. When Steve was going through chemo, he wore a mask for quite some time to avoid getting the colds and flu-like illnesses that are so common. I put a navy blue ribbon on each mask so that people would have some idea of why he was wearing one, without having to ask. At that time wearing a surgical-type mask or dust mask in public was an unusual sight, and many assumed that a person wearing a mask was sick and should be avoided. Now, it’s not unusual, although I still see that a large number of folks in our town don’t feel they should have to mask up for themselves or anyone else.

I guess the one major conundrum for folks who are wearing bandanas, scarves, or masks when they go out on necessary errands, is that nobody can see their smile. I get this because I’m a smiler, but I also understand that there are some folks who just don’t smile or can’t smile, so I don’t take a lack of smile too personally. Besides, not all smiles are created equal. There are smiles, and then there are SMILES. Here’s what I mean…

By and large, in North American cultures, a smile is a sign of happiness, welcome, or amusement, but a smile can also indicate embarrassment or confusion. So how do we explain what a smile actually is and looks like? The physical mechanics of smiling were studied by a neurologist way back in the mid-19th century. Guillaume Duchenne noted that your basic, generic smile is created when contracting the zygomatic major muscle raises the corners of the mouth. Duchenne also noted that there is a second type of smile, in which the zygomatic major muscle raises the corners of the mouth while at the same time the orbicularis oculi muscle raises the cheeks, making crow’s feet appear at the outside corner of each eye. This second type of smile is called the Duchenne smile or smiling with the eyes, and is almost exclusively associated with positive emotions.

Because at least half of it can be seen above the nose, the Duchenne smile solves the conundrum of how to visibly share a smile while wearing a mask. Uh, but don’t get too carried away…an exaggerated Duchenne smile can indicate that a person is lying or insincere. And don’t worry if you’re unable to do a Duchenne smile, for whatever reason. I imagine that many people recognize smiling is not a requirement for being a person of goodwill: smiling is as smiling does.

As for me, crows feet be damned! I’m going to smile with my eyes…especially when I turn off the steamer, set down the scraper, and see all that wallpaper gone!

Honoring Service

When there’s a parade in town, it almost always goes through the Old Town neighborhood. The Memorial Day parade, which is coming up soon, isn’t the largest, but it might be the longest, wending its way from the downtown area through the Old Town and Sunrise neighborhoods to the old cemetery.

Large American flags line the main road through the cemetary, and each one represents a military veteran who has passed away. One of them is for Steve’s father, who was a tanker during WW II. We have a panoramic photo of his outfit, flanked by Sherman tanks, one of which has the name “Crazy Cat” scrawled across the front in chalk. I look at that photo and smile until I remember things like most of those guys were at the Battle of the Bulge, hungry as hell and/or miserably freezing their asses off. They had to be tenacious, lucky, or courageous–or perhaps all three–to make it through and come back home.

One word you will seldom hear me use to describe a fellow veteran is “heroic.” That could be because I’m a Cold War veteran, and the drill sergeants taunted us in Basic Training by calling us “Hee-row” with a sneer in their voices. Or, maybe it’s because the highly-decorated Vietnam veterans I served with would never use the word. One in particular would only wear all of his medals on special occasions, and only to knock some of the overblown pride out of the non-combat guys who loved their achievement medals just a bit too much. He’d been awarded everything except the Medal of Honor, multiple times. Man, that guy had, as they say, been to hell and back. The journey was written on his face and on his body. Call him, or any of the men (and women) like him, a hero, and they’d give you a lecture about how making it out alive didn’t make anyone a hero. Nor did dying. It was as if the word carried a fluffy, romantic meaning that cheapened real sacrifice.

That was many years ago. Now it seems that even more people than ever before, military and otherwise, are touted as heroes. I get the feeling that the word comforts those who use it, or perhaps gives some of them comfortable distance on the suffering of those they call heroes. It could be that the use of the word has changed over time and simply doesn’t mean what it used to. For me, the word doesn’t carry much meaning.

Words–any words–can be awfully cheap. Service–any type of service–comes at some sort of cost. It requires giving of ourselves. The very best way I know how to honor service is to serve.

After all the speeches are done and the accolades have been liberally bestowed, and after we share the stories of those who served, may we always remember to move beyond the words and honor service with our actions.

Be Ye Kind, Old Timer

Yesterday, after a weekend of shuffling furniture and boxes, cleaning, and installing flooring in the last room in the house that really needed new flooring, I found myself incredibly exhausted, not to mention full of body aches. The room looked beautiful, but I looked bedraggled. Normally, I would preach the virtues of pacing oneself and working smart, but feeling as though I had a limited window of free time, I had thrown all of my energy into the job to get it done. My body soon let me know that hadn’t been the best idea. I was thoroughly worn out.

I could say that I can’t work like I used to because I’m nearly 50 years old. I could add that my body just has a lot of miles on it, from being so active for so many years, and doesn’t function as well as it once did. I could say these things. And I did. Out loud. I know that a lot of us who are over 30 tend think along these lines. Despite the large number of baby boomers who are over 65, and an average life expectancy of about 79 years, we still live in a culture that highly values youth and physical abilities. But, as I lay groaning on the couch, I remembered that some of us were never able to do at 25 what others are able to do at 60. Some of us never had the physical ability to run marathons, rock climb, or repeatedly lift heavy objects. Age doesn’t really have anything to do with the situation. So, if focusing on age is neither accurate nor useful, what’s an alternative approach? After napping for a while, the answer came to me.

Kindness.

No matter our age or physical abilities, we can think in terms of practicing kindness toward ourselves. I can’t imagine any good objections to this philosophy. It is certainly not a “sign of weakness” to be kind. How many times have we seen the classic example of a big, burly man or an armed soldier being kind to a small child, and thought that kindness, patience, and gentleness actually added value to that person’s strength, gave his character an important additional dimension? So, we should be kind to ourselves—body and soul. No more moaning about how we are getting older. No more cursing our limitations, or pushing too far beyond them in a misguided effort to make some kind of point to ourselves or others about our self worth. Only kindness.

Be ye kind one to another…and to yourself.

Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas? Yes!

Over the past few years, some Christians have taken up a cry against the use of the greeting “Happy Holidays!” In fact, I’ve actually seen people hiss through their teeth and mutter, “I hate that!” when wished holiday happiness. Some others loudly respond with a “Merry CHRISTMAS!” I’ve had trouble understanding such bitter rejection of a kindly phrase, and have decided to let these bitter responses remind me of the reason for the season, which is not strict adherence to any particular religious or social tradition, but is, rather, about an open invitation to walk with God and respond to God’s love with joyful, open-hearted generosity. After all, if I’m occupied with bitter disgust for people who wish me happy holidays, there will be little room in my heart for a meaningful, merry Christmas.

However you spend the next couple of weeks, may your spirit be uplifted and your heart opened wide.

Of Love and Bread

I recently read a quote from novelist Ursula K. Le Guin about the nature of love. She said that love is not a static thing, like a stone. It’s more like bread, which has to be made, and be made new every day. I like this description of love, because it recognizes that, just like life, love is dynamic. Nothing in our world can stay exactly the same for very long, so love must change, as well. And, like bread, love is one of the basic things that sustain life, that make it worth living.

So, what if we stopped thinking of God’s love as some moldy, old thing from the distant past, and started to consider how God’s love, eternal and expansive as we may consider it, must be dynamic, as well? Would that change the way we view God or experience God? Could that help us recognize God’s love as a daily, sustaining experience?

God’s love: The dynamic bread of life, remade fresh for you, every day.

Memories Happen

Tonight, I heard loud, jazzy Christmas music, so I went to the window to see what might be happening. I was treated to a Christmas light bicycle parade. A happy group of (probably freezing cold) people were riding bikes all decked out in strings of Christmas lights. The bike with the blinking lights on the tires was my favorite. Simply fun.

This tends to be a time of year that’s full of all sorts of traditions, some old and some new. And many of those traditions stir a lot of memories, some pleasant and some not so pleasant. This weekend I overhead a couple of people talking about all the stress and aggravation they’re experiencing as they try to uphold old traditions and make perfect memories for their family members. I had to wonder if, with all the freaking out they were doing, these two people would manage to catch and appreciate the less-monumental, naturally occurring, every day sort of memories that many of us cherish.

The best memories, in my experience, are the ones that aren’t manufactured or “set up.” For example, whenever I make the bed, I think of a time when my husband and I made the bed together, very early in our relationship. As we attempted to spread the top sheet over the bed, he flipped his side one way, and I flipped mine the other…and then we both flipped opposite directions again…we had it all twisted up. It was completely unintentional, and we had to laugh. A simple, pleasant, every day memory that I hold in my heart, along with countless others, that touch me more deeply than memories of big events can.

If this season finds you all wrapped up in big plans, stressing about how you’re going to make those great memories happen, or if you find yourself reminiscing and feeling blue, take notice of your simple, pleasant daily experiences, and let new memories happen.

Ramblings on Loss, Grilling, and Growing Up

The world is an incredible place. It diminishes and grows minute by minute, as some people pass from this life and others arrive as newborns. But if we happen to experience the passing of many people in a short period of time, be they loved ones or acquaintances, we’re likely to feel the loss very heavily and ask what we’re going to do without their love, inspiration, or generally exemplary way of living. Oddly enough, an answer to this came to me in a memory that still makes me smile.

A few years ago, Steve and I attended a family picnic. I found it odd that no one was stepping up to get the charcoal lit so that hot dogs and hamburgers could be cooked. I’d certainly never cooked for a large group of people before. Well, as Steve and I got a couple of grills going, since nobody else was, I told him that being responsible for the grilling never entered my mind because “the old guys” always did it. Before I could say it myself, he observed with a smile, “Now you’re one of the old guys.” As humorous as this realization was, it caused me to ponder things like the different roles we can find ourselves in as we age, changing expectations, and what sort of “old guy” I wanted to be.

I guess I’m still coming to grips with the whole growing older and growing up thing. While I sometimes feel that I don’t want to grow up, the truth seems to be that we are all repeatedly called to reach different levels or different types of maturity (responsibility, leadership, nurture) throughout our lives. So if the question is, “What do I do when I lose someone who has been a support or great inspiration to me?”, one answer may be to pay it forward, to honor that person by being supportive of, or inspiring to, others—-maybe not in the same exact way that person was, but in a way that’s authentic for me and my situation in life. In other words, though it may not feel like a familiar or comfortable position to be in, perhaps it’s time to light the charcoal and cook the food. Those who have passed on would undoubtedly be proud.