I have an entire blog post ready to go, but I decided to go in a different direction. Hmm. I had something else I wanted to write about this morning. That fell through. Then, as I read some old posts, I wanted to review an old conversation. I went in yet another direction. But yesterday, I had a very interesting conversation with a friend that I found worth sharing. What can I say, but that I am a woman of reflection.
An Unexpected Favor
So, as I said, I was having a conversation with a friend this past week. I had called him to catch up on a project we’re working on. As we said our goodbyes—“Take care, talk to you later”—he said, “Oh, wait! I forgot I was going to ask a favor of you.” “Sure,” I said. “What do you need?” Turned out, it was not what anyone would call a usual request. He was slow in explaining what he wanted me to do. I listened, and then I was like, “An obituary?” He was like, “Yes! That’s it.” Then, he asked me if I would write his obituary. I was shocked. “Are you dying?” I asked. I was ready to break down in tears. But he said, “No! No! No! At least not at this moment.” Oh my gosh. He went on to explain that he and his wife have been going over their estate and burial plans with their eldest child. Their burial plan was purchased decades ago, so they figured they needed to make sure it was complete. As he reviewed their funeral plan, which is all paid for, he thought about his obituary. He wanted to write his own but somehow felt he would not have the right words to describe what he wanted to say.
He’s 86 now, and I imagine that, like many folks who purchased funeral plans early on, that day was in the far distance. I just experienced that emotional reality with my in-laws when my father-in-law passed in August. He was 94 years old. My friend purchased their funeral plans in the ’80s. And at a fraction of what it costs today. I was not expecting my friend to share his emotional reality with me. But his reality certainly evoked mine.
As the horizon approaches, no doubt for all of us—memories of yesteryear may come flooding back. These memories carried him through the years. He remembered all the changes he had witnessed in this land of ours. He had me thinking about my yesteryears. He began telling me about the world he was born into, a world vastly different from the one we know today. And yet, he could sense that beneath today’s political current was an unsettling echo reminding him of a world we thought we had overcome. The thought had me wondering if this country could indeed revert to its old nature. His experiences, like mine and those of many Mexican Americans (as we were called back then), are similar, but different in other ways, as well. He grew up next to a German community. He recalls that his encounters with people of German heritage, for the most part, were rather amicable.
I reminisced with him in sharing the changes I had witnessed in my lifetime. I was born in 1959, at the height of the civil rights movement, while Jim Crow remained in force. I can recall my older friends sharing their experiences growing up during Jim Crow in San Antonio. My older brother has shared his stories of facing racism in the military. He was of Mexican descent, but he too was called by any popular derogatory word to describe people of color. As I grew and changed, my community remained unchanged. Years later, while in college, my curiosity about this observation led me to my demographic professor. He explained my observations rather simply and briefly but admitted it was more complicated. In simple terms, I understood that communities do not change; people change. His explanation did help me understand why still today, the west side of San Antonio, the area I grew up in, hasn’t changed much. But that’s a story for another day.
Known Beyond Words
As our conversation unfolded, he explained why he had chosen to share these thoughts with me. We had known each other for more than twenty years, and he felt that, outside his family, I probably knew him better than anyone else in his life. The years had given him room to share a part of himself that most of his family had never truly been involved in—his political goals and grassroots advocacy, even beyond his personal views. His wife was the exception. With her, he had shared that part of his life; with the rest of his family, it had largely remained outside their familial experiences. His words brought our long friendship into sharper focus. He was speaking not simply to someone who had known him for years, but to someone he believed understood the hopes and convictions that were his driving force. As awkward as the situation felt, I was honored by this most unusual request.
The Stories We Leave Behind
So, as I thought about his request, I thought about my own life, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I share often the stories my mom shared with me, especially her Repatriation experience. My sisters and I have completely different memories of our childhood. And I wondered who would share my stories. When I reminisce with my daughters about their childhood years, we too have different memories. It had me wondering if anyone could write my obituary with a complete picture of the woman I became. I have no idea who I would ask to write my obituary. I could not think of anyone outside my family whom I have known for thirty-plus years who could write an honest, sincere word about my life, at least not that I would ask, much less trust. Everyone has different memories about a person, but is there one person who would know this woman?
Except, maybe my friend. I have shared my faith with him, which is something I have not even shared with family. I know a lot of people, many of them Christians. But they have been in and out of my life. They were around for short seasons. These folks are the same ones that were members of the first church I ever joined. Sadly, the pastor fell and the congregation disbanded. Everyone went their separate ways. We gathered one last time, last year, when a former member died suddenly. We called him the brother of Jesus. To this day, he is/was the only man I have known that could bring peace to any room. A few members stayed loyal to the pastor as long as they could, but eventually everyone felt the Lord was moving them elsewhere.
The Christian friends I see most often are conservatives, and our political views do not always align. I am okay with it, but they tend to be critical of mine. Not that I have political views, but my going about my Father’s business is too often labeled progressive. Therein lie great divisions among fellow believers. I am thankful that my heavenly Father knows my innermost thoughts. As scripture says,
“Let a man so consider us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. Moreover, it is required in stewards that one be found faithful. But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one’s praise will come from God. 1 Corinthians 4:1-5
In the end, I can write an obituary celebrating my friend’s worldly life. I can even write about his beliefs as he shared them. His faith may not align with mine in many ways, but his compassion and his forthrightness do in many ways. And his commitment to the betterment of society, he knows lies in a good equitable governence.
What will family and friends say about me?
I don’t know, but what they may say will be but a glimpse of what they remember of me, once upon a time. I am so thankful that my God knows all about me, and He knows me by name. To God be all the glory!
For circumcision is indeed profitable if you keep the law; but if you are a breaker of the law, your circumcision has become uncircumcision. Therefore, if an uncircumcised man keeps the righteous requirements of the law, will not his uncircumcision be counted as circumcision? Romans 2:25-26
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