Sail home (Mondays, with gratitude #22)

Posted by on September 26, 2011

I’ve never met Sara, but in the past two weeks have come to know her in her dying. Her story, her words, her blog has alternatively moved me to tears, lifted me, made me laugh, felled me. She has sailed on home now and I regret that I never knew her while she laughed. She had much to teach in that regard. In fact, I know so few who have grasped the art of living and laughing with such immense wisdom and celebration as she. She, who seemingly had so little to celebrate, but chose joy in each moment. But her infectious, graceful spirit remains on her blog, not diminished in the least because she is no longer there to craft new words. I urge you to spend some time there. You’ll not leave the same.

Another life sailed on last week, closer to my home. A gifted, 27-year-old high school teacher from my community, Trevor Nason, was killed when a truck collided with his motorcycle.  While I also did not know Trevor in his living, the outpouring of love expressed upon his death, carries an indication of the many ways the exuberant way he lived his life influenced others. Whole communities mourn when a brilliant life is extinguished.

As I consider each of these tremendously gifted individuals and how they crafted lives for themselves that honoured their gifts and passion, I feel ashamed that I have not done more with my own.  But on this incredibly beautiful Monday, with warm breezes beginning to tease golden leaves from their branches, I give thanks for those who show us the way…and wish them joy and peace as they sail on home. (Note the name on the boat…)

Grateful for…

231. sparks fanned into flames

232. the encouragement of trusted friends

233. copper-winged dragonflies, diaphanous in the light

234. summer’s balmy nights and beach walks in late September

235. God’s presence, strolling through our plans for an upcoming women’s retreat

236. just a little help from our friends

237. a second late bloom of my favourite Linda Campbell rose

238. the inspiration and enthusiasm of new writers (now I know why I teach)

239. tomatoes, ripening faster than we can eat them

240. the heavens above….glowing just a little brighter.

 

9 Valued Thoughts on Sail home (Mondays, with gratitude #22)

  1. danelletony@aol.com

    Death always has a striking way of reminding us to really live. You are right to say that whole communities mourn (cyber communities as well as locals, in the case of Sara) when a bright light is extinguished.
    I dropped over from Ann’s today. You have a beautiful blog. Love and rich blessings to you as you find such beautiful ways and reasons to be thankful in all.

  2. Tabor

    This is so true and we frequently forget it. There are those leaders in life that can teach us such great lessons and blogging brings them to our quiet corners.

  3. Jeanne Damoff

    I never met Sara, either, but like you, I was among the gathered ones, assembled in the final hour as witnesses to this amazing story. I feel honored and humbled and, like you again, inspired to live well. May our lives be the gift even as hers was and will continue to be.

    Love to you, friend.
    Jeanne

  4. altadenahiker

    Your words and photos moved me. I’ve always liked this passage:

    “It is so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun,
    to have lived light in the spring,
    to have loved,
    to have thought,
    to have done.”

    Mathew Arnold

  5. Leslie

    thank you for linking to sara’s blog. her life inspires me to continue in faith, despite the daily difficulties of my chronic illness. the world has lost a bright star, and i weep for this, but as you say, the heavens are much brighter.

    • Deborah Carr

      Oh Leslie…it amazes me how many lives Sara touched with her wisdom and willingness to share her life. As limited as it may have seemed to some, I think she lived larger than most of us could ever dream of living.

  6. Relyn

    Deborah,

    I keep telling you how much I love these posts, but I really, really do. I so appreciate you. (And your patience with me, by the way.) I went over to meet Sara as you said I should. I actually had to stop. I’ll have to spend more time later. At home. In private. I can feel the tears coming already. Thanks for sharing this.

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