Living Lessons

 

I knew a girl in high school. I didn't know her as well as others. A good friend of mine loved her. 

She lit up the room, the stage, my good friend's face. She was talented, bright, funny. She was one of a kind, but you know others like her.

One night she got in the car parked in her garage, turned the key, set down a couple letters next her, pressed play and sat back. The garage door was closed. 

I don't remember the rest of the story. I don't remember who found her. She had been dead for a while. I don't even remember how old she was. 

But this isn't about her death. 

25 years later I knew another girl. I didn't know her as well as others.  A friend of mine who doesn't do handshakes with students had a special handshake with her. 

She lit up the room, the hallway, her friends' faces. She was talented, bright, funny. She was one of a kind, but you know others like her.

One day she was in a car, the back seat. We think the impact killed her immediately.

But this isn't about her death.

This isn't about tragedy because neither of them are about that. 

This is about carrying the light. This is about dancing. And singing. Laughter and tears. It's about cool water on hot summer days, warm fuzzy blankets under colored leaves in autumn. It's about late night talks about mystery and the universe. It's about blaring music, speeding down country roads, poetry and paintings and prayer. 

This is about living with joy and abandon, awe and wonder, compassion and courage.  

This is about the young woman we are burying today:

How she helped a friend recover from eating disorders and self-harm. How those two friends sang and danced on stage.

How the thank you note three teachers received from a student for uplifting, happy hallway banter was inspired by her, the girl who had a special high five with her English teacher and always, I mean always, brightened the hall with her smile.

How she talked a young man through a romantic defeat. Calming depressive tendencies, self defeating thoughts and emotions. Reminding him that the darkness doesn't get to win.

How she drove friends to the Y in the morning to work out. Friends that needed a friend to illumine a different path.

How she encouraged friends by going to youth groups, coffee shops, trips across the state.

But this isn't just about that, either. This is bigger than that even. 

This is about the fact that when I saw her last night in the church, it wasn't her. She wasn't in the dimmed light in the chapel; she was in the sunshine outside. She wasn't in the sight of a coffin, clouded by tears; she was in the life after death, the laughter and tears, the cool breeze and the warm sun, the words of encouragement and faith. I'm telling you, man, she was there. But she wasn't her body. Never was.

So this isn't about turning our eyes toward the ground we are buried in. This is about lifting our eyes and our hearts to those around us. It's about the courage to live in the light, to share the light, to carry the light. 

This is about, "Why are you crying, woman? The man you seek is not here." 

This is about "Missing me one place search another / I stop somewhere waiting for you."

This is about the will to live.

Here. Now. After.