Living Your Legacy; What will you Leave Behind?

I barely had time to indulge in a cup of coffee last Thursday before running out the door. By 10am I was seated in a choir loft with members of the funeral choir at St. Joseph Catholic Church. While I didn't know the man being memorialized, I knew others who did. Like Sue. 

When six-year-old Henry finished his piano lesson last Tuesday, his grandmother, Sue, was waiting on my covered porch. For the last several years, I've taught Sue voice lessons (along with other St. Joe's choir members) on Thursday mornings. Since we often talk as much as we sing it was quite natural to ask, "Are you having a good week?"

"Yes," Sue replied, "But there's a funeral Thursday morning that has me nervous. The man who died had a stroke fourteen years ago and his family is very special to a lot of people. I want it to go well and they're bringing in a guest organist, named Ari."

"I know Ari!" I interrupted, "She played for Jason's service. I love her. She's fabulous. There's no need to worry. She'll be great."

"But she's not Catholic," Sue countered, "And I'm supposed to cue her during the service. Plus, we never know who will show up to sing." 

She paused and then continued, "Could you come sing with us? The funeral is right before our Thursday lesson."

Hmmm... 

Right before my first husband's memorial service began, I was led through basement rooms and up a flight of stairs to the large doors in the back of the sanctuary. Only then did I realize I was expected to process down the very long middle aisle of the large Methodist church with my boys. Emotions paralyzed me. But right before I fell apart Ari started an upbeat, southern gospel version of Victory in Jesus on the massive organ. My. Heart. Soared. Dressed in a bright purple skirt and black heels, friends later said I looked like Ms. America walking the aisle. 

Little did they know, I've always owed Ari. 

Knowing Ari was offering her services to her grief stricken neighbors I battled the notion I should help out. But I'd been sick all week and wasn't sure I was up for the 9:30 call time. So as Sue left with Henry trailing behind, I allowed reason to dictate and declined her invitation.

Five minutes later, my other kindergarten student (and granddaughter) arrived for her lesson. Having invited them for dinner, when Hazel and I finished studying quarter notes, she ran off with her sister while I chatted with Misty. 

"So what's been going on with you guys?" I asked as chicken nuggets warmed in my oven.

"Well," she started, "I went on a woman's retreat this weekend, which was fun, but while I was gone I found out a friend's dad died on Saturday. He had a stroke fourteen years ago..."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted, "I know this story. Sue just filled me in."

Misty went on to explain that her husband's best friend is married to one of the deceased man's daughters. Did you follow that? My step-son, Kelly, is good friends with Matt who is married to Rachel. And Rachel's father was the man who had died after living with severe disabilities for over fourteen years. 

When I knew Kelly and Misty would attend the funeral, it didn't take long to cave to the inner nudge.So after a quick cup of coffee Thursday morning and two handfuls of morning medicines, I entered the choir room to rehearse. 

In case you don't know, Catholics sing a lot during funerals. I sipped my power juice, trying to ramp up. But my legs still got shaky after I sang a few descants and stood through song after song. But it was worth the effort because we're only alive for about ten minutes. Or that's what Beth Moore asserted on a video I watched last night. 

Ten minutes. In light of eternity, we're a blip on the radar. A speck of pollen on a high count day.

"He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he blows on them and they whither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff." (Isaiah 40: 24)

There were many things I could have done that morning but sitting through Ron Lamb's funeral enriched my soul. When his daughter spoke, it was clear how much he impacted his family's life, even from a wheel chair. While his speech may have been slurred, his heart spoke volumes. 

After the Baltimore riots, the loss of nursing students in South Georgia, and the news that ISIS slaughtered another round of Christians, celebrating a life well lived in difficult circumstances calmed me. It's not about how fast I walk or how many days I survive without a nap. It's about maneuvering the day to day grind with integrity and grit, making the simple difference my life is intended to make.

So I didn't get much writing done last week. I relished family, made some good memories, and took a few much needed naps. 

The Atlanta Symphony Orchestra premiered a commissioned work by Christopher Theofanidis titled, Creation / Creator. Nathan and Mom sang with the chorus while Dad and I tried to make sense of the artistry. When the applause began, Dad leaned over and said, "It was not a night for the left brained."

 

The following morning, Sam ran his first Triathlon at West Point Lake. While he placed 62nd out of 272 entrants, his knees swelled and turned red during the bike ride. His knees have never tracked well due to muscle imbalance, but he didn't quit. He rode 26 miles through pain and then ran a 10K. 

There are times I accuse him of being a bit crazy. But deep down, he inspires me.

 

 

Having placed 62nd in the overall competition, he doesn't cherish is very cool trophy as much as I do. But since he placed first in his age division, it now sits on a shelf in his room. Combine that with his 4.0 at the end of his junior year at Tech, and all I can say is, I'm really proud of my boy who pushes through, rallies in a crisis, and doesn't give in to pain.

 

 

Sam and Courtney leave for Washington, DC in a few weeks. So I spent time last weekend helping them pack. Sam will be training to run an Ironman in the fall while Courtney works with Wycliffe Bible Translators in their DC office. I love how their figuring out life together.

After packing, I drove north and attended Nathan's chorus show. Tradition dictates the choral directors join in one of their class performances, so Nathan shaved at intermission, put on a crazy wig, and blended right in with his women's ensemble. Watch the transition below!

 

When I drove in my driveway after the funeral, these flowers were in full bloom. When they blossom every spring, I think of Donna, my husband's first wife. She planted them. She's the reason flowers still grow in our yard. I can't weed or handle the heat enough to maintain the natural beauty she once cultivated. 

So when the flowers bloom in spite of my limitations, a wave of thankfulness washes over me. And I think about the color she left in this world. Not just in our yard, but in the hearts of her friends and family. 

Do you get that? Right now, this very minute, you're planting seeds that will be left when your time is up. Donna's flowers grow in spite of neglect. Ron Lamb's legacy reaches far beyond his wheelchair. My heart bursts with the simple possibilities.

A piano student arrived early so I'll finish what's taken me days to craft. Cause leaving a little music behind is not such a bad thing.

What's your legacy? What will you leave behind?


photo credit: Costa Coffee 450 by Richard Carl Pearson via photopin (license)