Oh, how easy is it to slip into! “Woe is me” The “Why me” syndrome! But you know, it’s actually easier to step away. Look at yourself sometimes openly. Why? Read on.

I cracked up my car two days ago. Drove over a divider; blew the engine out. Totaled. One of those really crazily stupid moves than sends you into shock … the second it happens. But there’s nothing you can do about it! Done … move on.

Knee replacement surgery followed two days later. Ever had one? If I had a rusty razor blade the first three days of recovery, I’d have amputated. Nothing you can do about it. Done … move on.

Nancy … “Bob, I was driving out our driveway and my rear-view mirror got knocked off!” $1,100 later? Nothing you can do!

Then there was my trip to my dentist. Front tooth knocked out. $6,800 later? Nothing you can do about it. Done … move on.

Down the road … I’m in need of a kidney transplant due to longstanding bout fighting kidney disease. Move on … too!

But no. Stop … here. Now! As my woes sunk in. This. Then this.
See the unique, beautiful picture above? My dentist’s young wife with her newborn child.

You see, amidst my angst over all my self pity. Was this. The dental assistant came into the room as my doc left to work up what treatment was needed. “You should know, Bob, the dr’s wife is in hospice with lymphoma.” A big exhale later? Jeff, my dentist returned. All I could do was put my hand on his knee, “Shit… shit! … shit!!” A brief, heart chat followed. I was prepped for work to be done later. And I left.

My “train wreck” of problems above? My challenges … all dissolved in my mind like an aspirin tablet in a glass of water. Julie, my dentist’s wife, age 50, died on March 1^st. I travelled to the funeral home, payed my respects to her husband Jeff prior to the service. I learned later there were three speakers at the funeral service. I cannot include here the letter read by Julie’s son, Reese. But let me just say. After reading it? What a gift he must be. Julie’s good friend and mentor joined the attending pastor as the third speaker and did this. Rather than simply refer to the usual glowing adjectives most eulogies offer. She painted this word picture.

And here’s what I came away with from a conversation with one who was there. She said, (some license here on my part) “You can learn a lot about a person by simply entering their home.” She apparently then proceeded to guide the attendees in a walk through Julie’s home. Pictures, mementos. Windows. Special things that defined who she was. What she valued, what she held dear. Julie loved animals, I was told.

What a beautiful way to visualize a life lived. So creative, so imaginative. Even though I’d never met her before, this imagery seemed to tell me so much about Julie. And in the process her family as well. There was a wonderful “symmetry” in all this. My laments, worries. Paled in comparison to the acute loss of Julie Ballard. I’ll long remember my feelings that day. It was as is said, “A God thing.”

I am in my late seventies. I’ve been called on to eulogize a few of my dearest friends. Others will follow. I will always be mindful of the beauty of the imagery shared this day. Simply walking through one’s home. Recalling the symmetry this experience created for me. The challenges I faced on one hand. Joined on the other hand by the reality the Ballard’s faced on March 1^st.

Lastly, Jeff shared with me that Reese was able to read his remarkable, loved filled letter to his mom before she died. Praise be to God.

Amen.