March 7, 2007

SALLY’S FIELD

Read: Mark 1:16-18

My Aunt Sally’s house was a house of distractions and entertainment . . . distractions in the form of a bubbling fish tank near the front door (plastic scuba diver in distress!), a ginger-bread house candle over which I learned after the first time not to singe my eyebrows, a kitchen where chocolate cake mix was a staple. Her house was entertainment in the form of a pool table in the back room, toy boxes in the rec room closet, wide-set windows opening to the backyard. Her house was another home.

Aunt Sally was energy. She was the first person to pull out the toys, order a pizza for dinner, suggest a game. She was the first person to send an invitation for a party, to ask about my school life, to put my picture on the family picture board. She was the first person to teach me we all have people we can lean on in the dark.

Aunt Sally was one of Dad’s sisters. She was just across the field in the red-stained house. She would feed me dinner some evenings, visit with me, ask about life. She would see me safely zipped up, mittened, and ready to go. Looking just across the field – a hop, skip, and two jumps to Dad’s, I would tell her I could do it, no problem, but she would always call to Dad’s house, “Here she comes,” and then I would run through the dark, tripping on rocks, jumping over holes, leaning back to see the stars. Even after I became an adult and would visit Aunt Sally she would send me on my way with a hug or a good, long look and tell me to be safe. She stopped calling my dad but still, after I ran through the field I would look back to the house and there was Aunt Sally, waving from the doorway, light behind her.

She is gone now, swept away by cancer but she left so much good behind her. One sunny afternoon at a family party she went walking with a line of kids. She took them over the lawn and around the frog pond with a fishing net and her enthusiasm. “Here we go,” she said and the picture in my head remains. It was another great day of watching her lead by example. Sometimes it’s a matter of standing in the doorway at night and watching someone make it home; sometimes it’s a matter of taking that first step and leading people out for a daytime adventure. Sometimes, truly, it’s just a matter of sharing who you are by calling out in the darkness, “Here she comes.” You become a beacon of brightness, even in the daylight, no matter how bright the sunshine gets.

Prayer focus: Those who lead

Jenneth Wright