St. John's Presbyterian Church celebrated Reverend Victor Wilson's twenty years with us today—and said goodbye to a family it is impossible not to love as Victor gave his final sermon. Morning and evening were Victor's themes. The responsibility we all have to carry memory forward, not as a burden, but as a gift. The Wilsons will live among mountains now, birds, open air, artists, dulcimer songs. They will visit with their beautiful girls, walk Carolyn's children to school, bless Katherine's upcoming wedding to Sean.
Will you grow old with me? Victor asked Jane, his fabulous red-headed wife, at his sermon's close.
And I thought to myself that that is perhaps the most romantic question a man can ask a wife.
Health and happiness, Victor and Jane.
1) I will get to Body Combat because I have failed to Zumba all week long, because I have eaten too much, because I have been at this desk pounding, pounding, but even my fingers are fatter than they were.
2) I will see beautiful Katherine at her wedding shower, even though I couldn't resist and bought her something not on the shower list. Katherine, I had to, and I hope you love it. (It's just so
you.) I will also see, at this same event, Katherine's beautiful sister, Carolyn, and their mother, Jane, and the next day I will see them all again, at St. John's Presbyterian Church, where we will be honoring Reverend Victor Wilson, standing in our pulpit one last time before retirement. It is a very special weekend. Want to see how special this bride-to-be is? Read her blog
Newlie. Find out how to smash some strawberries.
3) I will be driving, mid-shower, lightning speed but hopefully sans lightning, to Books a Million in Exton, PA, where I'll be hanging out between 1:30 and 3:00, should anyone want to stop by and talk about Spain, weather, paella, mysterious boys, Katherine's shower (just kidding, Katherine!), or a novel titled
Small Damages. The exact address: 298 Exton Square, Exton, PA 19341. Perhaps I'll see some of you there. Laura Schibinger, Books a Million GM, I have one thing to say to you: Dancing will only make it better. That's how dancing works.
In the chill of this morning I drove to church and sat among people whom I consider to be dear and good friends—people whose lives and children I admire, people who make me laugh. I had been thinking, quietly, about the people who walk away from our lives, who no longer need what we have offered, who have found themselves moving past us toward something bigger, more enticing. I had been thinking, too, about the work I do for others, and how it can sometimes leave me feeling small, and I was sitting in the pews, my thoughts moving in and out, when Victor Wilson, our minister, began his sermon.
There, within his narrative about trust, were words I'd written years ago for a story in
Science and Spirit magazine. He'd mentioned, months ago, that he had found the piece, but I had no firm recollection of it, and so was surprised to sit within this echo of myself—the young me talking to the now me, saying these words:
It is so primal, this thing called trust. So basic to our survival. Without trust could we attach to one another, could we love? Could we forge societies and build institutions? Speak and believe that we’ve been heard? Would we set up housekeeping? Trade one thing for another? Lie in another person’s arms? Dare to procreate? Freely slip away to conjecture, to be curious, to dream? We’d be at war every day of our lives if we didn’t trust. We’d be anxious, jumpy people. We’d be on-guard, fenced-in solitaires — withered souls with narrowed eyes.
I don't want to live, I realized again today, without trust. I don't want the behavior of others to take it from me. I want, still, to believe in what is good, and I will, still, pursue that good, and if going forward some find me just a bit more guarded, a bit less eager to lavishly help, all it means is that I'm waiting for them to earn my trust.
So many emotions for you right now. Hope you're hanging in there. xx
"Will you grow old with me?" is indeed a beautiful question. Thank you for this.