Calendar

• Tonight — Kid’s singing @ 4:30.
• April 8-13 — Clarksville.
• April 15-20 — Eastview (Salem, IN).
• April 20 — Taylorsville Rd (singing)

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I grew up with practical parents who had been frightened by the Great Depression in the 1930's. A mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a Name for it... A father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.  

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now: Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other. It was the time for fixing things a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep.

It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-pairing, eating, renewing — I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more.

Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away, never to return. So, while we have it, it's best we love it; and care for it; and fix it when it's broken; and heal it when it's sick.

This is true for marriage; and old cars; and children with bad report cards; and dogs and cats with bad hips; and aging parents; and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away or a classmate we grew up with.

There are just some things that make life important, like people we know who are special. And so, we keep them close!

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Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, “I love you. I wish you enough.” She in turn said, “Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy.”

They kissed and she left. He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, “Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me.

So I knew what this man experiencing.

“Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever goodbye?” I asked.

“I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral,” he said.

“When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, “I wish you enough.” May I ask what that means?”

He began to smile. “That’s a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone.” He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more.” When we said ‘I wish you enough,’ we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them,” he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

• I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
• I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
• I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
• I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
• I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
• I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
• I wish enough “Hello’s” to get you through the final “Goodbye.”

He then began to sob and walked away.

My friends, I wish you enough!

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Let us receive the light
Let us receive the light
For he promised the Father:
In the midst of the congregation

Sing, O Word, his praises
Your words will save me
Until now I was going astray
But ever since you enlightened me,
Him who is my God as well,
I become his heir with you,
(circa 3rd century AD)

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