Today we think of Sharon as she attends to final services for her beloved husband and closes a link within the chain of life.
You see, it’s rare when we are able to witness a link close within the chain of our life. Usually we can only see the individual links in hindsight.
We hear a familiar song, or stumble onto a reminder, and we recognize all that existed within that memory has changed completely. Perhaps we live in a different place; perhaps we hold a different job; perhaps we are surrounded by entirely different people than those who exist within the stirred memory, within the previous link. We can see them clearly in hindsight, but never actually see the closing as they are forged.
It’s profoundly rare to be cognizant of the moment the link closes and a new link begins. It is more rare, still, to participate in the closing.
For many beautiful reasons Sharon holds a very special place in all of our hearts; so instead of presenting a story of time remembered perhaps you will pause with us for a moment – and join us in sending your thoughts, prayers and heart across the miles.
To borrow from Fulghum: Giants, wizards and dwarfs was the game to play.
Being left in charge of about eighty children seven to ten years old, while their parents were off doing parenty things, I mustered my troops in the church social hall and explained the game. It’s a large-scale version of Rock, Paper, and Scissors, and involves some intellectual decision making. But the real purpose of the game is to make a lot of noise and run around chasing people until nobody knows which side you are on or who won.
Organizing a roomful of wired-up gradeschoolers into two teams, explaining the rudiments of the game, achieving consensus on group identity–all this is no mean accomplishment, but we did it with a right good will and were ready to go.
The excitement of the chase had reached a critical mass. I yelled out: “You have to decide now which you are–a GIANT, a WIZARD, or a DWARF!”
While the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. A small child stands there looking up, and asks in a small, concerned voice, “Where do the Mermaids stand?”
Where do the Mermaids stand?
A long pause. A very long pause. “Where do the Mermaids stand?” says I.
“Yes. You see, I am a Mermaid.”
“There are no such thing as Mermaids.”
“Oh, yes, I am one!”
She did not relate to being a Giant, a Wizard, or a Dwarf. She knew her category. Mermaid. And was not about to leave the game and go over and stand against the wall where a loser would stand. She intended to participate, wherever Mermaids fit into the scheme of things. Without giving up dignity or identity. She took it for granted that there was a place for Mermaids and that I would know just where.
Well, where DO the Mermaids stand? All the “Mermaids”–all those who are different, who do not fit the norm and who do not accept the available boxes and pigeonholes?
Answer that question and you can build a school, a nation, or a world on it.
What was my answer at the moment? Every once in a while I say the right thing. “The Mermaid stands right here by the King of the Sea!” says I. (Yes, right here by the King’s Fool, I thought to myself.)
So we stood there hand in hand, reviewing the troops of Wizards and Giants and Dwarfs as they roiled by in wild disarray.
It is not true, by the way, that Mermaids do not exist. I know at least one personally. I have held her hand.
Sharon, it is your sense that stands firm, and yet with great decency has quietly tugged us with the same profound Mermaid resonance.
Your sense of place amid a world of increasing fury has been, and continues to be a gift you give to us all. By tugging at our minds, and our hearts, you have delivered more good and righteous pause than all others combined.
Our hearts are heavy yet full as we send our love to strengthen you today.
Yes, you are our Mermaid gift, and we are proudly holding your hand.
Steadfast.