“They say that one of the reasons for tragedy is that you learn important lessons from it…appreciation for your normal life for one thing….a new longing for things only ordinary…the feeling is that we are so caught up in minutiae, slicing tomatoes, and filling out forms and waiting in lines and emptying the dryer and looking in the paper for things to do. That we forget how to use what we’ve been given. Therefore we don’t taste the plum. We are blind to the slant of the four o’clock sun against the changing show of leaves. We are deaf to the throaty purity of children’s voices. We are assumed to be rather hopeless. Swallowed up by incorrect notions divorced from the original genius with which we are born. Lost within days of living this distracting life. We are capable only of moments of single seconds of true appreciation and connection. That is the thought.”
~ Elizabeth Berg, Range of Motion

Recently, our girl’s book club at church, asked the women’s book club to tell them our favorite beginning paragraph of a book. These words by Elizabeth Berg from one of her many novels continues to be one of my favorites. Of all the ‘great books’ this might not appear on people’s lists but for my money this opening paragraph nearly says it all. I have used these words in sermons, as a meditation and continue to return to its inherent truth.

This past week I read it once again and allowed the words to seep into the crevasses that had been made by the death of a dear person in my life. For the past four months I, and so many others, have followed the tragedy of her journey with ovarian cancer. Each day her husband religiously(and I do not use this word lightly) wrote of her struggles, her triumphs, her joys, and the tragedy that was gripping their family. he also wrote of the deep wisdom that grew out of this rich soil. Each day I logged onto her Caringbridge  site to electronically share in the journey. I was privileged to witness her pictures and her family’s pictures as they traveled this difficult road with grace, faith, sorrow and a immense joy.

Each day, after sending up a prayer for them all, I would remind myself of the gifts of my own life. I tried to remember to be present to the beauty around me, to really look at the food I was eating and notice its colors and savor the tastes on my tongue. I looked into the eyes of the enormous black dog that lives in our house and saw the unconditional love there. I welcomed the pleasure of walking with my husband, having dinner with my sons and talking with neighbors about mundane things. I tried not to live the distracted life. Always a challenge, don’t you think?

This is, as Berg points out, the gift of tragedy. Of course, I did not experience this in the deep, powerful way those much closer to my friend had. But its wisdom was not lost on me and, I hope, my attention to living was somehow a testament to my friend’s grace-filled passing from this earth.

The first day I met her, I pulled my mini-van up behind hers for what would be countless soccer games to follow. Her bumper sticker read: ‘Have You Thanked God Today?’ It is odd that nearly ten years have passed and I still remember that. Today, the answer is yes. I thank God for her life. I thank God for the reminder. I thank God.