I participate in a new blogosphere phenomenon known as #LetsBlogOff on Twitter, where word of each blog post is spread. Normally, I take the topic in a green direction and post it on the Original Green Blog, but I just can't find a way to do that with today's topic because laughing seems so far from me now. I thought I'd explain why on Useful Stuff instead, since it's my wider-ranging blog.
Why can't I laugh now? Because my father was taken to the hospital in a coma on Friday, and while he's regained some confused consciousness, they still don't know what's happening to him. And this low-hanging cloud over the days that followed has left me with an aching consciousness of his mortality and that of my mother as well. So this post is dedicated to two highly extraordinary people to whom I owe so much.
Dad, you taught me everything I know about craftsmanship and a care for detail, and also about a love for things and places that are beautiful. I remember helping you on jobsites as a child, as you built your cabinets, but you weren't just any cabinet-maker. I also remember when you were injured, and spent the next year in a back-brace and in bed; it's a wonder your back wasn't broken in the fall through a hole in the floor of a construction site someone had carelessly covered with tarpaper. It was during that year that Mother had to find a way to help pay the mounting bills; she started teaching sewing lessons, then became the first author in our family by writing a book on sewing. Years later, an old builder told me that you had been known all over north Alabama as the absolute best. He said "we didn't even call your father by his name; we simply called him "Mr. Perfect." We'd say "this is a job for Mr. Perfect," and everyone would know exactly who we meant."
Dad & Mother, I clearly remember the years that followed. You had each spent your young years in the ministry, so there had been no college for either of you... not that there would have been money to pay for it, as you grew up as the son of a dirt farmer and a coal miner's daughter. And so after the injury, with debts mounting, you found that with no education, the clearest path to income was sales. I remember each time you got into another line of sales, working together, you would soon become the top salespeople in the company... but then the company would fail. That's why, in my mid-teen years you opened a health food store so you wouldn't suffer anymore from the incompetence of others.
Dad, you supplemented income from the store by selling real estate. Mother, you found your real calling as a healer. Or rather, as a facilitator of healing. Most stores focus on the cash register. Yours focused on a circle of benches. Your customers would come in and spend hours sometimes, talking with each other and literally healing themselves. The healing that emanated from your store became so well known that several doctors in town would tell patients "I can't do anything with you, but go see Ruth, and she might be able t help you. Again and again, people would come in for the first time on crutches or in wheelchairs, walking out the door weeks or months later under their own power. Your healing effects grew legendary all across the region, to the point that tens of thousands know you today as "Huntsville's Mother Teresa." I remember wondering years ago how you might die, being such a healer of others. And then it occurred to me: barring an accident, whatever killed you would have to be something that takes your mind. And so you've been dying of Alzheimer's for ten years now.
But things like this, Mr. Perfect and Huntsville's Mother Teresa, as singularly extraordinary as they are, do not begin to tell the story. They say the light in the night sky from the stars you can't see is actually several times brighter than the light from stars you can see because there are so many millions you can't see and only a couple thousand you can see. We are fortunate to have so many family and friends who revere the idea of living for others, but I have never seen anyone live it like you two. Because of this, like the light from the stars you can't see, the magnitude of the good you have done will never really be known. Because it's good done for others in thousands of little acts you've probably forgotten about... acts of healing, acts of encouragement, acts of pointing people in the right direction when they have begun to lose their way... or maybe entirely lost their way. I suspect that if the truth could ever be known, the net effect of 53 years of Fred & Ruth has been more good and more healing than almost any of the great people who made names for themselves in the world's history books... precisely because your greater passion wasn't your own fame, but was making others well and making others better, and then they went and spread the good far beyond what you could have done yourselves.
To simply thank you for this kind of example would be a pitifully trite understatement, and I won't do that. This requires actions, not just words... "go, and do likewise." But none of us who have known you and watched you for years are that good... we're not nearly that good. But the real lesson from your years is the great lesson of life: spreading good like seeds by doing for others can have a far greater effect than any of us could have individually... because it can keep on spreading. And the rest of us can hope for that.
Posted via email from Useful Stuff