Dear George

I heard this morning that you have passed, and I wanted to write you.  I know that that might seem weird, and I surely have things to say and pray for sweet Muriel, but I also have some things to say and pray for you. 

I hope, first of all, that your passing was peaceful and calm.   I hope that, wherever you are, you have been released from pain and suffering, that your spirit is free to roam and travel through the world unencumbered by your recent illness. I pray that you are well, just have I have for these years when you were with us.

I wanted to say thank you.  Thank you for your strong faithful presence just ahead or behind me in the pews.  You taught me – in a quiet strong way – what it means to be quiet and strong. 

You taught me how to be happy, simply happy, to see someone you know.  Your smile, every time you smiled it at me, made me feel better.   Thank you.  Your way of greeting me made (and makes) me want to greet others that way…made (and makes) me want to show and share my pleasure for others.

I do not know if it mattered to you, (though it has to me), but there was one Sunday after church where we attended a luncheon together in Fellowship Hall.  I did not really just want to chat with you – talk about the weather or something inconsequential.  I wanted to ask you how you really were – what it was like to be sick, dangling on the ebb and flow of illness.  I did not want to treat what you were going through lightly or as if it did not exist.  So I asked.   I asked you what it was like.  And for a minute or two you talked to me (someone came to join us).  You said it was hard, you said you felt like you were always waiting for something to come.  You told me what you felt like – not your body, but your heart.

I so respected you for answering me honestly.  For trusting me to hear a tiny bit of your truth.   For that little piece of time we were totally connected, two humans caring for each other. Thank you, George, for that moment – so simple and pure and brave.

I want you to know that I will miss you.  I will miss sitting near you, feeling your good energy near me.  I will miss passing the peace to you.  I will miss your hello greeting.  That wide easy smile.

I am sorry I did not have a chance to say good-bye to you.  I just had a minute a month or two ago to give you a kiss on your cheek before church began.   I said, “It is so good to see you, pal.”  And it was.  It always was good to see you, George.

Peace to you.  Thanks to you.  Gentle grace to you, my gentle Sunday friend.