Sing Me to Heaven

Those of us who have had responsibility for children’s programming understand the need for an emergency plan when the special guest doesn’t show up, the internet is down, or the carefully constructed activity flops. My go-to activity is a penny hike, where the group’s direction at each corner is determined by flipping a coin. Heads to the right; tails to the left. Sounds like a line-dancing refrain. There is plenty of opportunity to talk about life choices in that adventure, especially when two groups start at the same place but end up in totally different neighborhoods.

Flipping a coin for major life choices may not be the wisest method of decision-making, but life brings us to corners where we must turn one way or the other. The world-renown philosopher Yogi Berra understood those defining moments: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” I’ve been pondering Yogi’s counsel this week, as word of the deaths of Lloyd, Debra and Dorothy have drawn me back to the corners where our lives first intersected, when the choice of a fork or two in the road was influenced by their presence.

Lloyd Larsen, affectionately known as PL, was a Tonawanda, New York pastor who was the area director of Young Life in the 1970s. At Young Life, hoards of teen-agers would sit armpit-to-armpit in a local funeral home, singing “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” and celebrating Jesus. At the club meetings, I’d pray earnestly that I wouldn’t be chosen for the goofy stunt or skit of the night, but in the early morning campaigner small groups, the scriptures came alive to me in ways that transformed my path of faith. Lloyd opened the door for a sacred turning.

When I graduated from high school, I moved into a counselor room in a cabin at Long Point Camp, a picturesque spot on the shores of Seneca Lake. I shared a living space about 8’ by 10’ with my co-counselor Pat and the camp office aide, Debra. Feisty and friendly, Deb and I clicked. With responsibility for a dozen twelve-year-olds, it surely was a memorable summer, culminating with Debra proudly claiming responsibility for my budding relationship with the young man who would one day become my husband.

Our subsequent marriages and relocations intervened n our friendship, and it wasn’t until the advent of Facebook that we reconnected, if only briefly. That’s how I learned of her recent death. Scrolling through Debra’s Facebook posts, I’m recognizing how connected we still were in spirit, even though separated by too many years, too many miles. A passion for TED Talks, women’s opportunities, Ignatian spirituality, grandbabies, Pope Francis: that’s us. Her quote of Mary Oliver’s words speaks deeply: “I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.”

A third influence appeared in the form of one who came alongside. We’d been assigned to inner city Cleveland, where our family integrated our congregation. Dorothy Lykes, aka Major Mom, was at the neighboring Salvation Army center, and her example and encouragement walked with us through many challenging days. When she died last week at the age of eighty-four, she’d just finished ministering at the Salvation Army Harbor Light Center in Cleveland.

Lyricist Jane Griner gently instructs us: “If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem, sing me to heaven.” For PL, it’s likely that echoes of a raucous rendition of “I am the light of the world” were heard at his home-going. For Dorothy, her calling card, “Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King,” accompanied her transition from this world to the next. And for Debra, Marty Haugen’s refrain resonates: “Shepherd me O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”

I’m grateful for the nudges of companions who have been there, as Griner explains, to “sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.” Now, with a catch in my throat, I sing my companions to heaven, knowing that their presence wasn’t a lucky penny crammed in a pocket, but instead, a gift of discerning grace.