I write at length this week to
remember some remarkable friends. God teaches us through wonderful
people we have known.
We
hadn't driven west of our neighborhood for a while—east
is the route that takes us to
“town”--and were shocked by a gap just a block west
away. An old house in that block
was gone—torn down, most of the debris removed, only a derelict
“free” refrigerator by the sidewalk. A couple decades ago it had
been replanted there by house-movers who lugged it about a mile and a
half from a high-profile spot near the town's major health clinic.
Now, it was gone.
The symbolism of
that neighborhood loss was stark for me, as within days three dear
Christian friends died. Gone....to Heaven. But gone from
earthly contact. All were role models for me. As I have processed
their deaths—correction, their Home-goings—I have
reconsidered the words of Moses in Psalm 90 as he anticipated his own
death at age 120:
Teach us to number our days aright,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom....Satisfy us in the morning with
your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our
days....May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the
work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands.
(Psalm 90: 12, 14, 17)
Longtime friends
from our church, Al and Georgia Burgener were 95 and 90 when they
died within a short time of each other on Sept. 15. Their daughters
were with them as the end came in the comforting surroundings of
their neat, cared-for home. Al was a worker-bee who lived quietly and
diligently. After a career delivering milk, he went to work as a
church janitor, serving way into retirement years. He kept their
home's yard immaculate, even into this last year—with the
concession of hiring out the lawn mowing. He also loved
sports and sometimes shared watching games with my husband.
Georgia was the
complement to Al's quiet demeanor. Outgoing, social, she made friends
wherever she went. Neither she nor Al were Christians when they
married. Four daughters came in rapid succession, and in the busyness
of mothering Georgia felt her spiritual void. She visited a
church—daughters in tow—and had a follow-up visit that led to her
accepting Christ as Savior. She kept praying for Al, and in time, he,
too, decided to follow Christ. A quiet man, he honored the Lord
through his diligence and steadfastness.
As their daughters
grew into beautiful, talented teenagers, the boys came around. She
insisted that their dates be Christian young men. That meant that
some heard her present the “Four Spiritual Laws.” As a result,
lives were changed. Some ended up in ministry vocations. Her nest
empty, she still impacted her world and growing “grand” family.
Her outside-the-home interests—including “senior swims” at the
YMCA and a weight-loss group—became platforms for her faith. I
remember her joy when one of her swim-partners started coming to
church.
I was about a
decade older than her daughters, but she still scooped me into her
friendship circle after my marriage. She modeled good people skills
for me. She also modeled service. When I broke my ankle at a terribly
inconvenient time (I was care-giving my mother-in-law, slipping into
dementia), Georgia was among those who showed up with beautiful meals
to help carry us through the worst of being “laid up.” Later I
returned the favor a few times when they went through illness. By her reaction,
you would have thought my plain cooking was something a gourmet chef
whipped up.
More important,
Georgia prayed. She knew the burdens of my heart. She prayed and
checked up on the requests. About two weeks before her death, when Al
was struggling to live, I called and asked if we could have a “two
minute porch visit.” With Covid concerns (even though we'd both
been vaccinated), she sat in a chair on the porch and I had a chair
in the walkway. She, the encourager, now needed encouragement. Two
minutes went to fifteen. I broke the “no-contact” protocol and
hugged her when I left. I had no idea that in the next two weeks a
cancer diagnosis and major stroke would end her life. How sweet that
Heaven called both the same night.
Three days later, I
got word that an incredible friend, Dan Miller, died at 84, his
polio-damaged body just worn out. Some thirty years earlier, I heard
him speak at a banquet honoring church volunteers, and it was a WOW!
event. He was one of the last victims of polio in North Central
Washington in 1955, just weeks after he graduated from high school as
a decorated athlete. Yet, despite profound disability, he headed for
college determined to major in physical education! As he put his
dream before his college advisor, the wise man said, “Let's see
what you can do.” And Dan did it, becoming (like my husband) an
elementary physical education teacher despite significant paralysis. Plus, he
taught himself to play guitar (holding it backwards to accommodate
his disability) and played in a band. And, later, he got his pilot's
license and even flew an ultra light.
Finally, when post-polio
problems made his daily school-administrator-role harder and harder, he
retired early, transforming his occupation into “inspirational
speaker,” sharing through humor and honesty his life story of
breaking barriers. Mostly through word-of-mouth, his opportunities
exploded over the next twenty years. In more than 1,500
presentations, he spoke to thousands in 44 states and provinces. He
had major appearances:
*8,000 at the
“Million Dollar Round Table International Conference”
*6,000 at
back-to-back services at Schuller's Crystal Cathedral
*12,000 at
Gaither's 25th Praise Gathering in Indianapolis. (Plus,
featured in a Gaither Homecoming video.)
*13,500 at two
California Christian school teacher conferences
Besides the
mega-conferences, there were the smaller gatherings—like my
church's “volunteer banquet.” After hearing him, I told my
husband, I need to write up his story. Dan and his wife Judy were so
gracious in that process, which eventually resulted in articles in
major inspirational magazines. Then it went in a “Chicken Soup for
the Soul” book. And finally, gathering together our notes, I helped
him write his autobiography, Living Laughing and Loving Life.
He self-published, selling or giving away an extraordinary 72,000+
copies. (The cover--reflecting Dan's sense of humor--showed his son cradling a fish like a baby and holding a granddaughter like a prize catch.)
Because of the
friendship that developed through our interviews and contacts for the
articles, it was a natural transition to help him prepare his
autobiography—without charge. Asking for pay never was in my plan.
I was simply glad to help spread his amazing life message. But Dan
and Judy were givers. I needed a newer
computer. He gave me his when he upgraded. Then came
a traumatic year when we were nearly killed by a drinking driver. A
few months later, Dan was speaking in our town and called our home. I
was at the hospital with our son, who needed some treatment for his
face scars from the wreck. My husband took the call; Dan told him to
take me to a certain computer store. While in town, he had picked out
a new system for me, paid for it, and told the salesman who to call. I
wept over this extravagant gift—a boost to me and to our high
school kids as the technological age took hold. For several years,
they also sent unexpected/unsought checks of “appreciation”--sharing
the blessings of his speaking ministry.
In our life
journeys we will encounter difficult people and wonderful
people. God knows we need the latter's encouragement. And as we have
been blessed, we are in turn to bless others. How grateful I am for
these “senior-than-me” folks who lived out in winsome ways the
Lord's command to “love one another.”
I miss them. We
will meet again. The house has left the lot. There's an empty spot on
earth. But there's a new home, in Heaven.
