It always fascinates me, the things that jog and stir memories. The catalysts that can launch us into the seemingly insignificant, yet vivid details of our pasts. I was just heating up some leftover orange chicken (with rice)...
The engineers were discussing a recent funeral for one of the workers' great and distant aunt. A woman who lived to 97. But in doing so had outlived the people who knew her. And as a result, the worker had to be a pallbearer at her funeral even though he barely knew her. For some reason that reminded me of Marjorie Blundell. Struck to life an occurent memory: I was a pallbearer at her funeral.
Marge was a tall, thin woman. She wore vintage horn-rimmed glasses and had jet black hair that flared out over her ears. Small eyes; a round, sharp face. I don't remember ever hearing her speak, and if she did, her voice was too soft, too frail and unsure to leave an impact. Marge just had an air of lightness and simpleness about her. She could've walk on top of a snow drift, if the wind didn't carry her over it.
Then there was her husband Earl. The church's janitor. A grumbling curmudgeon with a large face, weighed with jowls, had heavy, hunched shoulders, the type of walk that made you wonder how he got anywhere before the day expired. Earl mumbled, seemed always to be talking to himself about something. He was a simple man as well, a simple, short man with giant hands and a massive heart. He was could've been much younger than he seemed. But at the same time, the aspects of devotion and loyalty he showed to Marge and the church couldn't have been learned in a hundred lifetimes. I knew that then and I know it now.
I remember my dad telling me to always respect Earl. To help him carry bags of clothes to the back. To tear down tables and put them back up myself if I wanted to use the gym; or the gym needed to be set-up for church functions I needed to do it for Earl. And anytime I could help Earl, I needed to help Earl. Even though his temperament scared me as a teenager.
And from that memory came a haunting piece of Scripture. A verse my father told me Earl expressed to him when asked why he continued to work well past retirement. A verse that was his life's verse. One that made him happy and summed everything up about Earl. And I remembered that verse.
My heart, for the rest of the day, was reheated by those memories of Earl and Marjorie.
The engineers were discussing a recent funeral for one of the workers' great and distant aunt. A woman who lived to 97. But in doing so had outlived the people who knew her. And as a result, the worker had to be a pallbearer at her funeral even though he barely knew her. For some reason that reminded me of Marjorie Blundell. Struck to life an occurent memory: I was a pallbearer at her funeral.
Marge was a tall, thin woman. She wore vintage horn-rimmed glasses and had jet black hair that flared out over her ears. Small eyes; a round, sharp face. I don't remember ever hearing her speak, and if she did, her voice was too soft, too frail and unsure to leave an impact. Marge just had an air of lightness and simpleness about her. She could've walk on top of a snow drift, if the wind didn't carry her over it.
Then there was her husband Earl. The church's janitor. A grumbling curmudgeon with a large face, weighed with jowls, had heavy, hunched shoulders, the type of walk that made you wonder how he got anywhere before the day expired. Earl mumbled, seemed always to be talking to himself about something. He was a simple man as well, a simple, short man with giant hands and a massive heart. He was could've been much younger than he seemed. But at the same time, the aspects of devotion and loyalty he showed to Marge and the church couldn't have been learned in a hundred lifetimes. I knew that then and I know it now.
I remember my dad telling me to always respect Earl. To help him carry bags of clothes to the back. To tear down tables and put them back up myself if I wanted to use the gym; or the gym needed to be set-up for church functions I needed to do it for Earl. And anytime I could help Earl, I needed to help Earl. Even though his temperament scared me as a teenager.
And from that memory came a haunting piece of Scripture. A verse my father told me Earl expressed to him when asked why he continued to work well past retirement. A verse that was his life's verse. One that made him happy and summed everything up about Earl. And I remembered that verse.
My heart, for the rest of the day, was reheated by those memories of Earl and Marjorie.
3 comments:
Your story brought tears to my eyes as I foundly remember both Earl & Marge. Marge was Promoted to Glory (Salvation Army term for a soldier's transfer, via death, into the presence of Christ, His Promise) this month in 1995 after a long fight with cancer. Earl was PMG some time in 2002-4, long after we left Lowell.
What you did not know was that Earl and Marge cared and prayed for you and your siblings, always asking about school.
If I could write a book entitled 'Trophies of Grace' they would have a long and inspiring chapter. Earl always cleaned the corps because he called it the Lord's Temple. As Marged was in her last days, Earl was her pastor with prayers that I could never pray and a faith in Jesus that now has been well rewarded.
Thank you for this memory as I spend a few days in Chicago!
What was the verse?
Post a Comment