There are many interesting things about where I live now in Northeast Ohio. Heisley Park Senior Complex. Not assisted living. Apartment life, for folks 55 and over. Even so, I am one of the youngest people here. The place has many amenities, if you choose to participate. In fact, there are some who never leave the building except to go on doctor's visits, and yet still live very active lives. Even groceries and restaurant orders can be delivered right to your apartment. Personally, I can't see that. I am gone somewhere every day. Goodness, I haven't been to the Coffee Shop in the building in two whole weeks because they are only open from nine till noon and I am quite busy during those hours. But, if you are so inclined, you can stay put. Everything you need, including a workout room, is right in the building. Lots of activity, lots of enjoyments and lots of laughter.

    But along with all of that, just below the surface, is a sadness. Not a sadness of growing old, but rather a sadness of loss. Loss over a relationship that came apart, loss over a death that fractured a life-long commitment, loss over the failed love for family now gone astray. Since beginning our worship service, I am hearing more stories about the sadnesses that have marked lives. I suppose they now see me more as a pastor than just the guy who lives in apartment 227, which is something I knew would happen. My heart hurts for these folks.

    Years ago, I pastored a church in Geneva, Ohio, which is where my son grew up and where he lives today. Maybe twenty-five minutes away. I was there a considerable time and while there, I came to know Mac and Francine. Mac's first name was not actually Mac, but Mac was the first three letters, and the first syllable, of his last name. So, he was Mac. At 5'4", he was the tall one of the two. A very cute couple. Mac and Fran were very faithful in another church, but we got to knowing one another because of community involvement. He had retired early and, unable to sit at home, he became active in all sorts of community things. Especially the Food Pantry. I was the president of the board that oversaw the Pantry, so Mac and I saw a lot of each other. One of the first times we worked together was putting a rear axle on a hay wagon. (I don't remember why) My adjustable wrench slipped and I took some skin off my knuckles. Mac said, "Careful, preacher. Don't go losing your religion. Franny'll blame me!" Almost any time you saw one of them, you saw both. They were so close and so in love, even after five decades.

    Eventually, I resigned from the church and went to work at a large, local funeral home as staff clergy. I hadn't seen Mac and Fran for some time. I heard Mac had dementia, but Fran was determined to see to his needs. One night they walked into one of our funeral homes for a visitation. They both looked great and I gave Fran a hug and turned to Mac with my hand out. He took my hand in a friendly handshake, but his eyes were void of any recognition. Fran took him into the visitation room and sat him down, and then hurried back to me. "Pastor, I am so sorry! His dementia is so fast moving! It is like another part of him is gone every day. The doctor says he doesn't have long. When Mac goes away, will you handle the arrangements?"

    Well, of course I said yes. But his health was so good. I figured he would live for several more years. Three months later he was gone.

    Fran and their children came in and we worked everything out. It really helped that they had prearranged (everyone should) and we didn't have a great deal to do. Just some minor details. One of those details was the little poem or writing that goes into the memorial folder. Fran looked in the catalogue and looked and looked. "Nothing is right! Mac was my life, the light of my life. Nothing says that here." Then she turned to me and said, "Pastor, please find me something. Something that says something about our love!" I said yes and later fired up the internet. Still, having known them for years, I could find nothing that fit. I was as lost as Fran had been.

    Until about 2 AM. I can't explain how it happens. Maybe ask Miss Mary or someone you know who writes. But sometimes it will happen that your mind suddenly has a moment of clarity. So it was then. I got up and sat down at my computer and put together some words. It couldn't be lengthy because it had to fit the folder, and it had to say something. When Fran read it, she cried. Said it was perfect. I never told her it didn't come from a catalogue, that didn't matter. It spoke to her heart at her time of need.

    With my life in the place where it is now, that all comes to mind. Please, love your spouse, your children, your siblings, your parents with an unspeakable love. At some point it will slip away. One lady in my building told me of her great love and now her great grief, but I asked her if that love was worth the grief that followed. "Oh yes! To love like that! Yes, always."

    Love with an open heart. 

    I came across that little writing the other day. Marsha had kept it. It really isn't much, but Fran liked it, and that is what mattered.      

                                       The Light of My Life

When the winds blow,

I will think of you.

When the rains fall,

I will think of you.

When the snows blanket the land,

I will think of you.

And I will smile,

For you will be my calm,

On a blustery day.

You will be my sunshine,

On a dreary day.

You will be my warmth,

On a frosty day.

For you are the light of my life, even now.