Oscar,
You know (at least I hope you do) that I love you. Have since nearly the beginning of meeting you on DeanforAmerica. I honor the path you have taken in your life, and honor the man who came to that place through, evidently, some very hard roads. I adore the honest man, the brave man, the caring man that I have always conversed with. The man who always had my back during the late night/early morning "to do"s with the anti-semites. I value beyond rubies the very funny man who's lifted spirits everywhere I've seen him. I value the watchman, who for the sake of our souls is willing to endure his own discomfort.
I grew up with souls like that. I love them still. It is ironic to me that their beliefs and yours, certain as they are, absolutely knowing with all that is in them, would disallow each the other. While they as Mormons can assume no place in Hell for anyone, since they have no Hell, they *know* you to be as wrong as you know them (and also me) to be wrong. They sorrow for your loss (and mine). For your stiffneckedness (and mine). They know that we would be happier, and on our way to the highest degree of heaven if only we would just listen to them, for they have exclusive right to the truth of God. In my missionary training classes when I was 16, we learned: "14 If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town." And debated if we would ever be brave enough to curse a person, or home, or town, in that way. . . . I could not. And will not. I have come far from that girl, on many roads and pathways, but I agree with her.
When I came home to care for my mother in her last days, after the believers of my family had given up, the president of the ward (parish) Relief Society (Women's Organization) called to make an appointment to meet me and thank me. Evidently she had not been apprised that I was they only one of my mother's children who was not a Mormon. I assume that she did become apprised of that fact, because she neither showed, nor called to apologize for not showing. A number of my nephews, returned missionaries, and cocky in the way of the young, took to opportunity to "have at" me once again vis a vis my non-membership in their beloved church. I listened. And finally had to tell them, that their God, their church, was to me, much like a very beautiful teacup. My god was like a pitcher, who when pouring quickly overflowed the teacup. I was sorry that was so, but had no intent to abandon the capacity of the pitcher for the capacity of the teacup, however lovely, however filled with friends and family. Because my belief included them, while theirs excluded me. And I feel sad for them. Sadder perhaps than they feel for me.
If I were a believer of their way, or yours, I would have to despair for the soul of the one whom I just lost. I do not. I rejoice in his path that lead him so far from his beginnings, to a way of light, and joy. I feel that joy daily, even as I mourn the loss of his actual physical presence. While I don't believe he's twiddling his thumbs waiting for me to join him, I do know he will greet and meet and enfold me when I come. That is as close as I come to testifying. That is what I know.
I hope, indeed I pray, that you will stay with us. We do need you. We do need your voice. And your love.
Amen.
p.s. This is a very interesting story: I listened to him talking on NPR on my way to Baltimore to join Thankful for Thanksgiving.
No comments:
Post a Comment