Siyahamba ekukanyen' kwenkos.
We are marching in the light of God
We are marching in the light of God
Last Sunday evening, 3 nights ago, in the brisk North Texas night, it was the last night of November. Jupiter and Venus were at their brightest and closest over the sliver of the early evening moon; a celestial trifecta occurred. Inside, four year old Skyler was belting out the tune of the Zulu hymn as he marched around and around the dining room table, lifting each knee high as he reciprocally beat the rhythm on an imaginary drum. In the crowded home, his was a solo performance. Bill, his father, was graciously bidding farewell to the tearful guests, "Thank you for coming. Thank you for coming. Thank you for coming" as they filed out into the crisp night air.
Kathleen sat on the couch with an afghan draped across her lap, the windows open behind her and the oxygen tube recently re-aligned so that both nostrils could access the supplemental air. She was warm and had asked for the windows to be raised. "That's a first; she's never been warm before," Bill said as he hurried to comply with her single request. Then she asked for a chicken quesadilla from Taco Bueno and a red-eyed parishioner rushed away to bring her a bite of Tex-Mex.
Her "glorious Sunday" included baptising 36 babies, hosting the youth choir in her den, then hosting innumerable friends, parishioners, and loved ones - like me - as we hugged and said whatever we could.
Siyahamba ekukanyen kwenkos
We are marching in the light of God.
It was on a steamy Sunday in the summer of 1994, Jackson and I sat on a pew at Greenland Hills and listened as Kathleen preached her first "Glory Be!" sermon. He was 12 at the time - and about a month away from entering 7th grade at Long Middle School. Elena was sitting in front of us with her high school friends. At the end of the service, I watched Jackson tap and count off on his fingers starting with his thumb, "7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th - will she stay here for 6 years?" he asked.
She stayed at Greenland Hills for 7 years and we all loved her dearly. She was the most powerful influence on Jackson's coming of age - outside of our family. She stayed until the summer after his freshman year at college.
Kathleen died yesterday.
On Sunday evening, I sat on her couch and hugged Kathleen and tried to put into words my gratitude for her presence in our lives. How do you thank someone for helping to raise your children? We laughed and hugged and told stories as love reigned over us.
Siyahamba ekukanyen kwenkos
We are marching in the light of God.
