Those Who Travel with Us
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Minneapolis, Minnesota
It suddenly occurred to me that although the book is written, it lacks a dedication.
I love those almost empty third pages of books reserved for a dedication. No text crowds the single sentence. No pictures compete with it. Instead the entire page is dedicated to a single purpose. That page, in my first book, held these words:
To my family
I meant my wife, our children, my parents, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and relatives I might not even know.
Such a dedication is common, of course. On my book rack I see the book, “Encountering God: A Spiritual Journey from Bozeman to Benaras” by Diana Eck. If you haven’t read it, do. The third page of the book is empty, save for these words:
This book is dedicated to my mother, Dorothy Eck,
and to the memory of my father, Hugo Eck,
and my brother, Laurence Eck.
These dedications are so simple, so elegant, and so utterly essential. They are the cornerstones of every book. Without the support, the care, the promptings, the love they represent, there would be no book, no journey from Bozeman to Bararas and, in my case, no healing.
So to whom should I dedicate the book?
The answer arrived in a single sentence:
To Those Who Saw Us Through
Were I to fully define the phrase the single page of dedication would turn into an entire book itself. The book itself will have to do that.
With each passing day I am increasingly aware of those who see us through. Last week my father and I went to the West Side Rotary Club in Middleton, Wisconsin. The club, he shared with me, is losing members because they keep dying. The big, younger, and more prosperous club is in downtown Madison. This West Side club is for the most part elderly. I could tell in an instant that the club members are aware of my father’s decline, as well as his pride, his reputation, and his life. They didn’t ask him to move too fast. They didn’t judge him as he drifted off to sleep as we heard an overly didactic lecture about the Black Hawk War if 1832.
“There will be a two-minute meeting of those who have rung the bell,” a speaker said. Dad raised his hand.
“We’ve got a meeting,” his friend said.
“I wonder just how important it is for him to be there,” I gently said.
“Not very,” he said, with a smile and a glance that said, “Don’t worry.”
Rotary has a place in his life, as it did in my grandfather’s life. It is a place that counts. It is a place that travels with him. It is a place that honors his presence, his ever so agile mind, his love of life, and his continuing need for community. I found myself so deeply touched by all that commuity represents to my dad. On the wall there was a banner I’ve seen before while attending that same club a time or two before. It said:
The Four Way Test:
Is it the truth?
Is it fair to all concerned?
Will it build goodwill and better friendships?
Will it be beneficial to all concerned?
I liked the question marks.
And I liked the questions. The world is so often spinning out of control. But there on the west side of Middleton, Wisconsin, a group of elders wonder what they can do, what they can learn, and what friendship is all about.
I’m impressed at the way my father sees them through, and the way they see my father through. And so, that’s what the dedication will be:
To Those Who Saw Us Through
Thank you.