L.A. Woman

Melissa and I always liked to listen to music in the car. She had her favorite songs, I had mine, and then we had some together. She got me into Guns-n-Roses a little more than I had been. She never got much into Rush and definitely didn’t like Primus, which was ok, as THEY NEVER PLAY THEM ON THE RADIO!!! But I digress…

Our favorite song together was no doubt Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold.” I preach a sermon called “Stranglehold—“ that’s how much we liked it! One evening about 6 or 7 years ago, we were coming back from something, and Stranglehold came on the radio. We were about 2 blocks from home, so we kept driving. Then “L.A. Woman” by the Doors came on (and I love the Doors, too. Influence of my old man, I guess.) So we keep driving. Then Skynyrd, I think “That Smell.” And then a double shot of Van Halen. When that ended, we were in Harrodsburg, KY! We always laughed about that evening. Such a good ride.

So last night, I was driving up to Louisville, to have dinner with my family before they left. “L.A. Woman” comes on. When you think that the Doors rocked that hard with no bass player… So there I was wondering—ok, what’s the response? This is a song we really got into. Just happy. So there I was, window down, doing my best Morrison impression—“we were rocking and rolling in the city of lights!....” What can I say, except that all day yesterday I felt ok.

It goes back to a few things: first, there was nothing left unsaid—about how we felt for each other, what we wanted for the boys, what to do if she died, etc etc. Second—I know her faith, her assurance, her peace. She was a Methodist Wesley would have been proud of. Methodists have been known for “holy dying;” that is, because we preach God’s grace, and the assurance of salvation through faith in Christ, there is little doubt in our minds where we’re headed. So, we die and it is going home. We can be happy for and jealous of those who go home. And when we mourn, it is not as those who have no hope. When you know someone like Melissa intimately, when you know how deeply she believed and trusted, it rubs off.

The visitation was unbelievable—it was so good to see so many people come to pay their respects—so many people whose lives she touched. People who did not know her, who maybe worked with people who knew her came. I can’t tell you the number of stories that were told to me about something she said or did that someone remembered. An off-hand kindness that stuck with someone. A few that are sticking out:

Karin Ceralde told me that she remembers a children’s moment where Melissa said you should not put your Nativity set away, you should always keep baby Jesus out.

A woman who was in her Bible study said that one day Melissa said, “I have this knot on my collar bone I have to get checked out, and Aaron is traveling, so remember to pray for him. That’s how she was, always concerned for you and family.”

Leo Bartlett, from the Rock, said something that maybe is her greatest testament. Leo greets people at the door on Sundays. Melissa came in one Sunday and Leo said, “You must be Melissa!” He said there was some instant connection. She stopped and talked to me and looked right at me.” See, Leo is one of these guys that in his life has been overlooked, walked past and stepped on. It was just like Melissa to take a moment and let him know she saw him, talk to him like he mattered.

I don’t know how many people came, but I was glad they did. It took a long time, but I was not really worn out as much as I thought I would be, because it was so energizing to see so many people.

And I am thankful for all the pastors who came. My brothers and sisters, you showed what we mean when we say we have a connectional system; folks there were pastors there I did not know personally.

Melissa’s funeral was what I think she would have wanted. No, I know, because we talked about it. It was great to see so many people there. Friends, family, all kinds of people from all over—from Winchester, Louisville, Lexington, Shelby County and all around; some of our Hispanic worshippers, our Congo families.

We sang the songs she loved. We had a worship service. Tim Jones has been a close friend to us, esp Melissa for close to two years. Howard was our pastor. Dan Stokes—what can I say about Dan—he played his heart out for her!

The eulogy was not as hard as it might have seemed. I feel a little weird about that, because I don’t want to seem like a Terminator, or some kind of machine that can just get up and do whatever without regard for the situation. I felt like somebody needed to get up and say something for her, to say who she was. And, really, folks, she was such an awesome person, the reason this hurts so much is because she was so wonderful and gave us so much.

Howard said something in his sermon that hit it right on the head—trust is planting a tree whose shade you’ll never sit under. Yikes, that’s who we are as a family. I have planted more trees than I can count; very few do I expect to see again. We planted apple trees at the church in Winchester. We may never eat the fruit, but we planted them anyway. It’s funny, we were ok with that. Ok and more, because we took a great joy in knowing that we could plant something—trees or faith—and trust God for the rest. And I guess the visitation and funeral were proof of that.

Our little parsonage at Dunaway—we worked to spruce the yard up a little. No one lives there now, and it looks a little wild. But—it is taking on a cottage look around the porch, which is what Sissy was aiming for. You know, a profusion of plants and flowers around near the door, something Hobbity—and boy did she love the Lord of the Rings story. So we planted lilies along the fence, around a small maple. Around the maple I think we got from Carol Parker. Along the fence from Hilda Kinghorn. We planted black-eyes susans, again from Carol. Hollyhocks and clematis. The clematis was blooming when I had Stephen and Kristy Horton’s wedding a few weeks ago. I went to the parsonage to look around. I took a clematis bloom back for Sissy. It kept its beautiful blue hue for a week or so by her bed. It really meant a lot to her. The apples had bloomed, and there were bees all over them! That’s the first time I have seen bees on them. Before, I think the flowers were immature—it takes the variety I planted a while to reach maturity. And then the frost hit, so I think we won’t see apples this year.

There was something else going on these past weeks. Ever since she came home from the hospital after transplant in June of 06, we were not able to sleep in the same bed. She pretty much always had some stomach problems associated with this, and I am a real thrasher and mixmaster in the bed. So I would put the boys down, and lay in bed with Sissy until she fell asleep, then I headed back to the room I had with the boys. When she came home about three weeks ago, she felt so much better (no stomach problems) and so we were able to sleep in the same bed again. For the two of us, that was huge, because we were always snugglers. We had a king-sized bed, but always ended up in the same little sliver of it. The four of us could actually sleep in a twin bed.

Sissy’s mom and I are going to build her a butterfly garden. Someone gave us a butterfly bush and someone else a tree that attracts them. So we’ll plant those and some others, set some chairs out, a few windchimes, have a meditative place, where hopefully we’ll see all kinds of butterflies.