In memory of Charles

Having lost a high school classmate on Thanksgiving Day to a long fight with cancer, I am truly surprised at how much I've been touched by the loss of his life. That may sound a bit hard and even cruel, except please bear with me.

I hadn't really seen Charles in nearly 50 years and had only recently reconnected with him on Facebook. We reminisced on FB about having seen each other briefly, maybe 30 years ago, on an airplane departing Oklahoma City; that was the extent of our relationship, other than that of having spent growing up years in the same town, the same class activities, the same public schools.

Yet, the Facebook connection seemed to erase the years. I read with great interest and concern of his struggle with cancer - some through his telling briefly of it - and from another friend or two describing his fight against that dreaded disease. He was going into an upcoming series of drastic radiation treatments and he was on my prayer list for those treatments. Thanksgiving Day prior to his radiation beginning he succumbed to another un-cancer related illness - that being the final insult to his already weakened body. His sister thoughtfully had checked recent FB entries on his site and let me know of his death.

My thoughts have remained on the brief encounter through FB that Charles and I shared in just the past few months and even though I had not officially seen him in 50 years, how the act of remembering our shared childhood, looking forward to a 50 year high school reunion next July, and praying for him each morning had changed my life. Not in a profound, earth-shattering way, but in the way that reminds me that NO encounter with another person is wasted or left unremembered. The remembrance, the spark of recognition, may be deep, deep, deep in my brain, in my heart, in my soul and body - but it's there.

I believe that God places us here to fulfill the desire for human companionship and that it is God's wish that we do make connections with other humans that will make our lives and their lives and this mortal world in which we live into a tiny preview of the richness of our eternal lives to come. How blessed we are to have these connections and to recognize them even in brief encounters with a long lost schoolmate who is about to enter their eternal life.

I will miss Charles and am grateful to have even moments of his life touch mine. I know that many of you that read this post will have similar feelings. We will miss him when we gather next July and in our daily lives as we're reminded of our own mortality; I'm grateful for a renewed appreciation for the lives of friends and family that I see often and those I see not so often. May God's heavenly kingdom rejoice in the presence of their newest member, my friend, our friend , Charles Mugg.

Who holds the string - Part Three

Yearning for the sacred - as a baby, a toddler, a teen
Where and what was the pull, the attraction
The stories of heaven, a place in the sky
A place where God lived

Why did God live in the sky
Why not in the moist grass of the morning
The morning before anyone else was awake
My bare feet on the grass, surrounded by the not yet summer day's heat

They felt heavenly to me, those mornings, like what I thought might be a sort of gift
Granted the sky was blue and very beautiful and God could live there
But what matter did it make - the grass was green
Couldn't God be blue and green at the same time

The magic was in the mornings 'til the day I flew the kite
I looked up toward what might be heaven
And the kite seemed to rejoice in its fancy ballet
The kite thought it heaven and beckoned me to join in the dance

What was the string of God that I held from birth into childhood
The colors
The stories
Were they sky blue or grass green, were they true or made up

Was there another string
One attaching me to God and to heaven
It seemed a logical thought for an eight year old mind
Yet, was I holding the string or was the string holding me

Was I imagining God
Or was God imagining me
Did God cut the string or did I
Why did I think the kite was gone

I was and still am attached to the string and kite
To the blue and the green
To the stories
and to God

Photo SS - Colors and stones
Camp Cross 2008

Who holds the string - Part Two

So, I’m almost alone now flying my kite
Most of the other kids either got bored or ran out of string
Or their Moms shouted them home
Me and my kite – we’re still soaring

Except now my arms are getting a little tired and
I suddenly feel sort of funny - thinking, thinking, thinking
How am I going to get the kite down
It’s so happy and very insistent in its soaring and its way up there

Also, it actually feels as though I might lift off the ground
The kite is pulling, pulling me now, and more thinking
Thinking – am I holding the string or is the string holding me
The string and the kite holding me seems spooky

I begin to sniffle a little and try to rewind the string around the spool
But the kite’s so high now and it’s hard to wind
I sniffle a little more and maybe feel some wetness in my eyes
Where’s my “aide” when I need him

I’m feeling terribly alone and maybe even scared
And oh, thank goodness - here comes my Dad
Wow, how did he know that I needed him now
Dads are kinda like that, anyway mine is

He says that I have to come in now
We’ll have to start winding the kite down
I tell him I’ve tried but it’s too strong for my arms
Dad tries too but he says that it’s too hard for him as well

Dad says that “we’ll have to let the kite, go”
But I don’t understand what he means
He explains again that it’s late and the kite seems too high to retrieve
“We’ll just let it go – we’ll snip the string – and let it go”

Sucking in my breath and fighting back more wetness in my eyes
I understand and nod my head that I do
He takes out his pocket knife and cuts the string
My arms fall tired and limp but still holding the freed spool

My upturned head and teary eyes never leave the sky and the kite
Never leave the sky and the kite until I can’t see it anymore
As my Dad gives me a hug and we head for the house, I know the string and the kite have gone I'll miss my kite and I won't forget it

SS Collage

Poem re childhood memories summoned up by experiential Workshop - "Awakening the Creative Spirit" - May, 2009

Who holds the string - Part One

It’s a clear blue-sky afternoon
Perfect for the kite and me
My brother is here too but he’s a little guy, at least to me
I know well he can’t possibly understand the intricacy of flying

He’ll do as a launch aide though – he just has to stand holding the kite tip
I run ahead fast and lift the string and the kite,
Shouting, “Let go, let go!” Then the breeze of my run lifts the flimsy paper kite
Up, up, up - 'til the feverish summer air takes charge

There are other children around us, but no matter
It’s only me and the kite and the spool and the string
It’s hot and the sun beats scorchingly on everyone
Our mothers don’t know about suncreen yet

The kite moves higher and sways as though dancing
I feel the steps in my fingers and know that I am kind of in charge
The swaying connects me to the sky, it takes me into the blue of it
It smiles and sings - "higher, higher"

I shout to my “aide” – “I need more string, more string!”
I believe my Dad is here now cleverly adding on a new spool to extend my
Flight into the atmosphere
He knows how to do lots of things and string tying is one of them

The other kids have gone now and even my aide has grown weary
In retreat, he grumbles, “It’s my kite too!”
But, of course, he’s wrong
It’s just the kite and me

Childhood Memories prompted at
"Awakening the Creative Spirit" Retreat, May, 2009