The Fab Five...and me
On this trip so far, I was brought into Bellingham, WA, by a large Protestant Church, the Boys and Girls Club of America to do a benefit in Las Vegas, a lecture series in Bonita Springs, FL, an Evangelical Seminary in Ashland, OH and a Catholic College in Sylvania, OH. But Grand Forks, ND, was different. A year ago, five women, who had joined together for times of prayer and a lot of laughter read The Shack, and it impacted them significantly. On a nudge, Kathy (whose husband is Todd in the story I told yesterday), Janet (who is your basic trouble maker), Linda (the sane one of the bunch), Connie (who lives in Fertile, MN – seriously – and sounds like Betty White), and Sandy (whose last name is Beach), decide that I should come and speak in Grand Forks. The time with these women and their husbands was so much fun. We ate a lot, told a lot of jokes, mostly ND and MN, and watched the Holy Spirit weave wonderful threads all around.
Joke from one of the husbands: “You know you’ve been married a while when your wife gives up sex for Lent, but you don’t find out about it until Good Friday.”
Another: “ND fella learning to parachute for the first time. Jump, Count to 15, pull the first cord, if nothing happens pull the second cord. He does, counts and pulls the first cord, nothing happens, pulls the second, nothing happens. He is free falling and suddenly sees a man approaching from below going the other direction. He yells, “I’m from Grand Forks, do you know anything about parachutes?” “No,” the other man yells as he passes. “I’m from Minneapolis. Do you know anything about lighting a Coleman Stove?”
Another of the husbands one time convinced some folks up north that he was a government inspector concerned about a chicken ranch that was having a problem with the chickens’ teeth falling out. It was a farm that raised biters, not layers. To make it funnier, he goes to a Mall the following Saturday, miles away, and the woman he had been talking to up north is the first person he runs into. She comes up wagging her finger, and not looking too happy. “I looked it up on the Internet. Chickens don’t have teeth, don’t ya know.” He’s the same guy, who at last night’s event was telling some of the women that they had to give up their cigarettes at the door, but they could keep their guns.
Taylor and Kyle Skovlund
In the afternoon, I do a book signing at B Daltons in the Mall, and I see this couple hanging the background, until Janet convinces them that it is no bother at all to come and talk to me. The husband Kyle had served in Afghanistan, and exactly three months after arriving home, their only child, Taylor, 16 years old (see pic), was killed in a car wreck. It was The Shack that rescued them from despair. This big, broad shouldered man stands in front of me, eyes red and face taut as he holds back the most powerful of emotions, his sweet wife afraid to even look me in the face as they talk. “This is kind of an answer to prayer,” he says tenderly. “I asked God if he could work it out that I would have a chance to meet you some day and thank you. We didn’t even know you were here, and would have completely missed you except that my wife had to come to the Mall to get something…and here you are.” I hug these two bundles of muscle and emotion and Kyle tells me that one of the greatest comforts they have is a poem Taylor wrote shortly before her death, put to music by a relative. I am going to ask him to send it to me, if that would be okay. I am so thankful for such little graces that smooth some of the roughest edges of circumstances.
Saturday night I spoke at the Chester Fritz Auditorium on the campus of the University of ND. It is one of the finest such facilities I have ever been in, and Mary and her crew took great care of us. The evening was full of life and laughter and heavy with Presence. I even sang, “Anchors Away”, dedicating it to Taylor, really to all those who have experienced the greatest of losses, a well-loved child. Someday, there’s going to be a great rejoicing!
Some of us live and some of us die
Someday God’s going to tell us why
Open your heart and grow with what life sends
That’s your ticket to the festival of friends.
Like an imitation of a good thing past
These days of darkness surely will not last
Jesus was here and he’s coming again
To lead us to his festival of friends.
Black snake highway — sheet metal ballet
It’s just so much snow on a summer day
Whatever happens, it’s not the end
We’ll meet again at the festival of friends.
Lines from Bruce Cockburn’s “Festival of Friends”
Today is Sunday, Day 9, and I am flying at 30,000 heading home to Portland. Tomorrow is a day of catch-up, especially family hugs and kisses. Tuesday, I head back out on the road, first to Houston for a Hospice Benefit and then points east and south. I will keep you posted. Thanks for coming along on this trip. I so appreciate the company.
