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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday February 3, 2003 Volume V Number 5 |
FOCUS - Kenny J
Emma Thomas (not to be confused with Emma Thompson) didn’t star in any feature length films.
Some might say she was an ordinary woman, but it seems these days that ordinary people are the exception rather than the rule and that an ordinary lady such as Emma is better described as extraordinary. This is a woman whose life was snuffed out, not even sixty years of age, far too young, succumbing finally to the cancer that invaded her life like a sinister and unwelcome guest, leaving a family and an entire community grieving and trying not to, because Emma’s life did not leave much time for grief.
For nearly six decades, she was too much alive for grief.
The sanctuary was packed. Cars and trucks and SUVs overflowed the parking lot. A line wound outside the main entrance; everyone wanted to sign the guest book. The family just arrived from the graveside, where, in a little country cemetery, a husband, sons and daughter, daughter-in-law, grandchildren, close friends and family, gathered to say a final farewell to the woman they loved all together. She left her mark on each of them, perhaps none more clearly than her first born son, my friend, Tom.
Many paid tribute to a community woman who raised a terrific family and then devoted her time and life to her grandchildren. To supplement the family income after her children were grown, she drove a school bus, primarily picking up special needs kids out on country roads and delivering them to class on time every morning. We learned today that she was much more than a driver. She was a counselor and encourager to these children and their parents who seemed as happy to see their driver behind the wheel as their friends. Her laughter and energy and greetings every morning made the long trip a daily pleasure.
But the most poignant words came from Emma’s oldest son Tom. He’s now a dad. He and Raylene have three; he’s a successful businessman in town and he’s a community leader. He talked about his Mom in a lyrical stream of little vignettes, we all laughed and cried with him, reminiscing and reflecting, and knowing the painful void this woman leaves behind in a family that only now realizes fully what they had. Tom’s wife, Raylene, bears the imprint of her mother-in-law: fun-loving, quick-witted, charming, teasing and prodding, pointing everyone around her towards goodness. Tom paid tribute to his mother, and then to his wife, and somehow we all knew that this tough, gritty guy with the rough exterior and the tender heart knows he’s blessed twice over. Their daughter is watching and listening and picking up the skills, and you just somehow know she will someday carry the torch and the light will shine bright and another family will someday rise up and call her blessed, just as Tom did today in that little country church to a standing room only crowd.
But my personal favorite story was Tom’s public disclosure of a less than proud moment. He was about to become a dad for the first time, an impressionable young construction worker trying to make ends meet and still hanging around afternoons with other guys who didn’t have a family depending on them and when they invited him one day to join them at the local Pub for a couple brews after work, Emma got wind of it. Tom tossed back his second or third, he couldn’t remember, when his mother stormed into the place, grabbed Tom by the ear lobe and informed him in no uncertain terms that he was a married man now with a pregnant wife who at that moment was home alone and this was no place for him to be hanging around and that that he’d better get his back side home where he belongs, and pronto.
Tom turned to his pals, a little sheepish, and simply said, “I guess I’d better go.”
They seemed to understand. One snickered. Another nodded. But in the presence of Emma, they showed respect. Tom went home to Raylene. And that’s pretty much where he’s been ever since.
And that’s why today he can stand up with pride, surrounded by a beautiful family who loves him, and talk unashamedly about the good lessons he learned from his mom.
* * * * * * *
It happened again. Untimely. Unexpected. Shocking.
This time, a white streak hurtling across the Texas sky on a Saturday morning. Thousands of Texas residents took their cue from local television and radio stations and with a steaming cup of early morning coffee, stood outside to watch an unusual phenomena. Some watched with the naked eye. Others through binoculars. Some with video cameras in the record mode. If the shuttle’s early morning approach had been a military secret, UFO enthusiasts would have one more evidence of alien activity out there in space. But it was no secret. It was, rather, a spectacular public sight as the Shuttle Columbia made contact with the earth’s atmosphere in its descent toward a routine landing at Florida’s Kennedy Space Center after a successful mission, leaving a white vapor trail behind. At a staggering speed of twenty-five times the speed of sound (Mach 25) the vehicle would slow to Mach 10 in the thick of high altitude atmosphere, some forty miles above the surface of the Earth, generating a white heat that would vaporize most anything, except for the high tech ceramic tiles carefully placed to shield the base of the space-craft upon re-entry.
In a flaming instant, mid-entry, something went wrong. Terribly wrong.
In a short time, the audience included much more than a Texas crowd of on-lookers. The world tuned in. An explosion could be heard across the largest State in the contiguous US. The single straight line separated to two, then three in a puff of white smoke against the blue. Shattered high tech debris showered the State in a terrible rain of destruction. Many who watched did not understand the gravity of the sight as it happened, until they stepped inside to hear the commentary on their television sets.
Seven of America’s finest were lost that day.
And a nation turned again to grieving.
Once again, we enter into a moment in time when leadership matters.
It’s hard to call up the memory. But for the first six months of our President’s term of office, we barely knew we had a Commander in Chief. A solid half the nation believed firmly that he did not belong in the White House. And now, this week, he will address the grieving families and the traumatized NASA family and a watching nation and world, and as he has become a kind of chaplain President, he will be called upon to articulate some kind of context, some kind of meaning which will bring perspective and solace and comfort and hope to listeners who are hurting.
Like his hero, Ronald Reagan, George Bush will once again, be living proof that character matters in leadership. One commentator reported that our President excused himself on the news of the tragedy to spend some time alone in the Oval Office. We know what he did. He got down on his knees in humility to ask the God of all creation for wisdom and strength and courage to be the person he’s been called to be; and more than a prayer for himself, he lifted the families of those seven American heroes up to the throne of grace asking for mercy and comfort, and that their example might inspire us all to new levels of bravery and resolution. They may not have died in vain.
A week ago, we wondered if our President would succeed in convincing the American people of the just purpose in rallying the military against the menace of Baghdad. We now know – he did. The State of the Union Address, solemn and strong, resulted in the acceleration of global momentum, building throughout the week. And as the world closed in on a tyrant, a second untimely shuttle disaster, unrelated to global terrorism, seemed to distract us all from a laser focus on the task at hand.
But will it?
I don’t think so.
We will contemplate the courage and self sacrifice that takes an astronaut into the dangers of space exploration will inspire us all to greater commitment. The admiration that galvanizes our attention to this high level of achievement will be readily transferred to the tens of thousands of fighting men and women poised to take care of business in the Middle East. And the man who will again make the case will be our Commander in Chief who in a mysterious way, expresses our complex feelings of grief and loss and hope and confidence and resolve and determination all at once. The speechmakers assist in the creation of memorable words and phrases – but they are a reflection of a man of character who must and will deliver those lines in an extraordinarily public forum.
Some may cynically charge that in a Machiavellian way, our President will exploit the moment for personal advantage. They will be out of step. And they will be wrong.
Those of us who believe in leadership ought to take notes this week. Watch and listen and learn. These are momentous times.
* * * * * * *
In the context of a world in turmoil, the telephone rang early Monday morning, and the voice of our son-in-law brought the news.
“Well, we’re at the hospital. Kristyn’s in labor,” Ben told us.
It was a day early. Carolyn and I looked at each other, and didn’t have to say a word. We just started laughing. Then we hugged. Finally, I just smiled and said, “Grandma.” And she smiled back and said, “Grandpa.”
And then we hugged again.
By Monday evening, we were in the hospital room, just around the corner from the Perinatal High Risk Unit where we anguished over the loss of little Isaac just one year earlier, but this time, high-fiving and hugging and shedding tears of joy over the safe arrival of a new little boy, healthy and strong, and finally in our arms, the picture of perfection.
I wish I could find words to tell you what it’s like to see your daughter in a hospital bed, with memories as fresh as yesterday of the day her mother lay in a similar bed, with that same post-delivery glow; the relief, the wonder, the joy, the giddy marvel, when her mom held her close, now she is the mother and she holds the little one and her man next to the bed looking on as happy as she and it triggers something primal, a connection to the generations and the fathers and the mothers through all of time who use the word miracle a lot because as much as we know of science and as detailed our description of the grand processes of reproduction and as sophisticated as we’ve become in the technology of health care delivery we are struck at that moment in time as perhaps no other time that there is a Master Designer whose work is beyond description and ever will be.
The next part… well… it’s almost embarrassing to say. I’d rather someone else tell you. But I’ll tell you anyway.
I had no awareness, not even a moment’s anticipation or foreknowledge. Our grandson’s parents surprised us. Entirely.
His name has been a carefully guarded secret. But not anymore.
The little card on the cart transporting the tiny crib for newborns in the Maternity Ward reads Kenneth Jacob Duncan.
The news rendered me speechless. I slipped into a kind of introspection, feeling affirmed in a way I had never felt before.
It’s a humbling thing, really, to be so honored. I’ll have to say, it is a priceless gift.
And it is, in addition, a fine motivation to finish well.
Little Kenny.
I like the sound of it.
* * * * * *
It’s Monday morning, you are a leader.
Our world is in a fragile state. But here’s what holds it together: families serious about building something that will last through the generations. Leaders who have the courage of their convictions, and will take a stand. Adventurers willing to take the risks to build a better tomorrow. Support personnel who understand that theirs is more than a job – more than simple time in exchange for a paycheck. In every case character. Not an arrogant claim to entitlement, but the persistent pursuit of that which is noble and right and good.
Maybe a fond farewell to a beloved Grandma Emma and the exhilarating welcome of a long awaited grandson in the same week bring it all home.
Consider the example of a President alone on his knees. Because we need a strength that goes beyond our own capacities. Because we need the perspective of the ages. Because grace and mercy are freely given but in our fallen world, peace comes at a price. Because wisdom is granted to those who ask.
Kenny and me.
We’ll take walks and play catch and chase dogs and climb things. We’ll talk about what was and what can be. I’m planning to tell him all about a God who knows his name.
That’s the way it’s going to be.
I’ll keep you posted.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2003
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
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