As the time passes in my stream of life on this side of heaven there are fewer and fewer responsibilities which I take upon myself. One of those responsibilities is the care and nurture of my two grandchildren. One is very close and I help teach lessons of life and nature. The other is across the country and I have little or no control to guide. I trust his parents to do their due diligences for my little one’s little one. Joe has expressed a interest in things spiritual like the Bible and church. His mother has taken my little man to church and I am overjoyed at the prospect of new understanding and burgeoning faith.

But there is a problem. My daughter-in-law disagrees with one of the teaching and seems to want to sever the church relationship. This is a letter I sent to her that both time and wisdom has impressed upon me.

“Dear daughter:

After much thought and personal study, I wish to address your concern about a specific teaching at the church you have attended. You point out a difference of belief between yourself and the church.  First there is no perfect church if they let people in the door.  Each has their own ideas, beliefs, rules, precepts, regulations, commands, and even prohibitions. But in reality they are just but small things compared the ultimate lessons of Love and acceptance.  There is no perfect theology (the study of God), each church creates a code of theology and try to hold it up as the best one.  But there is no such thing.  We are all just people with our own windows into heaven.  Do not give into the tyranny of stated do’s and don’ts.  Look for the best and you will find it.  Look for the little things that may separate you and you will also find them. 

Please don’t give in to the Nirvana point of view.  That view says, “I will not go to any church as long as it does not conform perfectly with my point of view.”  The Nirvana point of view would say, “seat belts do not save everyone in a crash, there for I will never wear my seat belt.”  Perfection will always get in the way of the good.  Don’t say to Joey or to yourself, “If it is not perfect, I am not going to do it at all.”  The Church will never be perfect as long as its measuring stick is doing, it must be about being. And the greatest part of being is Love.”

There is a therapeutic catharsis in the process of putting your thoughts into words. Sitting at a keyboard and placing phrases in an appropriate structure takes time and allows for introspection. But in the long run, there is a haunting, almost minuscule little voice that cries from deep down inside that is constantly asking, “Does anyone actually read this stuff?”

I made my way out to the little strip of lawn in front of my office, illuminated by my store front window light and one street light across the way in front of the local glass shop.  I really don’t remember how I got into a sitting position on the curb, but there I was. It was as if I had resigned to be picked up with the trash, I was on the curb and waiting to die fingering the keys to office. My chest pain had become almost unbearable. Each heart beat would cause a radiating pain down my arm.

I had been living in our little town for a while and had never heard a siren.  No police chases, no fire calls, and no ambulance runs had ever pierced the sweet serenity of our little town.  Well at least until now.  The hospital was about two miles away and I could hear the first blast of that industrial strength distress signal.  It was not one of those electronic sirens you hear today, but one that had to wind up to reach the optimal pitch and only wavered when a corner was turned as the sound bounced off walls and buildings. The siren was attached to the top of a station wagon style ambulance that had been re-purposed from being a hearse from the local mortuary.  I could imagine all the sleepy folks in town being awakened at the scream of the siren which most likely had been not heard but once in a blue moon.

As it got closer I was less and less concerned with my state.  The anxiety was going away. Help was almost here. Almost, in a surreal, out of body experience, I realized I could be dead in a matter of moments.

New thoughts entered my mind: I thought about my wife, of roast pork, kids, the little church I had attended last Sunday, and God.  All the things you would normally think about as you faced the abyss of an approaching blackness.  I also thought of the minutia in my life; did I lock up my office completely, were the lights turned off, were my shoes tied, tomorrow as garbage day and I wondered why the house next door had painted their screen door red. It was at this point I experienced an epiphany. It was a lesson to be learned.

It really didn’t matter.  The world would continue.  I thought I was going to die, but it really didn’t matter.  At that moment, facing the end, I understood the importance or rather the lack of importance of my life.  I was content in my home.  I was content with how my kids had been raised.  I was content with the affect I had made on this little town.  My life, while seeming so important to me was of little consequence to the bigger picture.  The phrase that kept coming to mind was that was quoted to me by my father, “don’t sweat the small stuff and it is all small stuff.”

I guess the lesson learned is not to worry about that future that much.  We all are going to come to this same place someday.

Oh, of course there is a concern about our loved ones and all that I would have missed, but in reality I had no control over that.  We are just who we are.  An in that moment of time I realized enough is enough.  It was not about my aspirations or my plans but it was about being who I was.

I cannot be you.  I cannot be even be what you expect.  I can only be me.  When approaching the end of life, it is not about a comparison between whom I could have been and who I ended up to be.  The only regret is not being the best me I could have been.  It is the lessons we have learned along the path.  It is the small nudges He has given me along the self-conceived path to move me to a better understanding of who I needed to be.  It is not up to you or anyone else to dictate or judge me.  If this is all there is, then so be it.  If there is something more then I was ready.

The two ambulance attendants placed me on the stretcher amid my pain induced fog.  The lights were flashing and out of the corner of my eye was my wife waving me goodbye.  I passed out.  No bright light, no special warmth, just darkness and pain.

By the way I didn’t die. “Lesson taught and a lesson learned.”

A teacher was testing the children in her Sunday school class to see if they understood the concept of getting to heaven.
She asked them, “If I sold my house and my car, had a big garage sale and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into Heaven?”
“NO!” the children answered.
“If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the yard, and kept everything neat and tidy, would that get me into Heaven?”
Again, the answer was, “NO!”
Now she was smiling. Hey, they’re getting it, she thought! “Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave candy to all the children, and loved my husband, would that get me into Heaven?” she asked.
Again, they all answered, “NO!”
She was just bursting with pride for them. “Well,” she continued, “then how can I get into Heaven?”
A five-year-old boy shouted out, “YOU GOTTA BE DEAD.”