A Friend I Met on Saturday

After spying a rack of navy BYU shirts at 25 percent off, I parted ways with my wife and her mom; they headed up the Macy’s escalator to women’s clothing and I began the hunt for something bigger than a large.

Behind me came a high voice, full of personality, “Do you like BYU football and basketball?” I turned with a smile as the tone and inflection reminded me of the animated way my dad used to read The Wide-Mouthed Frog.

My new friend stood about 5 feet tall, a bit portly, a short crop of hair, glasses . . . his bus pass proudly displayed on a lanyard hanging from his neck. I said, “Yes, actually I love BYU basketball and football and I watch all the games. In fact, I love BYU so much I even work there.”

“Really, what do you do there?” “Well, I’m a writer.” “Really?! My mommy’s a writer, too. She was published once in Seventeen magazine but it’s mostly a hobby for her. . . . How do you get to be a writer? You must go to school… how many years of school do you have to go to to be a writer . . . a lot, huh?”

It continued like this for a few minutes, him asking questions, me answering, then asking him a few. He lives in a group home, it seems, and travels by bus to the mall so he can walk around and, obviously, make new friends wherever he goes. When he was ready to move on, I asked him his name. “Justin,” he said. I told him mine, said “it’s nice to meet you,” and reached to shake his hand. Unexpectedly, he reached out with both arms and gave me a monster hug. I smiled as I watched him turn and head out of the store to the rest of the mall.

I’ve never really had much tolerance for strangers inserting themselves into my space but my new friend had such an innocence and sweet personality and . . . let’s face it, he started with BYU sports. Also, I am working on the lesson from my own blog lecture on being kind, and I had recently met my brother’s friend Raymond and he was a cool dude, and, well, to be honest, I always cut guys a lot of slack if their name is Justin. So, really, being open to making friends when you least expect to, can be unexpectedly inspiring.

While I still have a ways to go to fulfill my goal of being kinder (and of acquiring more Polynesian friends), I’ve now added one more to my “other” category. And now I only have to hit the mall to see my new special friend. His bus doesn’t leave until 8:30.

I Went to Kansas City on a Friday, By Saturday I Learned a Thing or Two

I just returned yesterday from a trip to Kansas City, Missouri, where we attended a funeral for Lin, my oldest brother Lorin’s wife. It was a somber and reflective trip but also a time to reconnect with family, to laugh, to cry, and to share stories.

Even though years may pass between Walker family gatherings, I do not feel like a stranger. We’re are close, even with, in this case, 1,105.9 miles between us. Everyone at the cottage welcomed our arrival—it also helped that a goofy adolescent photo of me hangs on their “family wall,” which is described in my eldest brother’s blog here: http://walkerswalkabout.wordpress.com/2011/01/17/family-wall/

The room where Lin spent her last days felt peaceful . . . and sacred. Birds continued to fly in to the bird feeder outside the picture window. Lorin was also there and everywhere, comforting each visitor who was in need of comfort. (I also got hugs from my sister Charlotte and nephew Austin . . . two of many who had gone the extra mile to care for Lin as her cancer progressed.)

At the Saturday funeral, as Lin’s life sketch, eulogy, and a letter to her children were read, and musical numbers played, it emphasized to me that each life is a collection of memories and experiences. And when life ends, whatever relationship we have at that point is precisely what we are left with, at least for a time. This added perspective and motivation for me.

It was good to hear the stories; many I had heard before through the family grapevine but a few were new because each speaker had a different perspective and different interactions with Lin.

Her life is an excellent pattern we can use as we add stitching to our lives. In all of my experiences, I can honestly say that Lin was never unkind to me. I can be annoying and at the age that we saw each other the most, I could be truly unbearable. But she never broke.

Back in the day, her young son Austin and I had been running and splashing through the deep gutters of Orem; a system for watering the orchards that used to dominate the landscape there. Of course we were barefoot and eventually Austin’s small foot found a sharp piece of glass. I carried him on my shoulders the blocks back to the house, blood dripping down my t-shirt.

When we arrived home, there was some concern but there was also a calm, and once the injury was deemed not life-threatening, there were smiles. Admittedly, I was and can be annoying, always looking for attention, finding buttons to push. But I never recall hearing an unkind word from Lin. I am impressed with Lin's ability to let boys be boys, to “let him do him own thing.” Unflappable, calm, classy, but more than these, she was kind.

She accepted imperfections and she radiated kindness. I am not always kind… and that gives me something to work on. How we treat the people around us is more important than we realize. The funeral reminded me that we will be remembered for our words and deeds forever—be they kind or otherwise. Did I mention we should be kind? It's really important. That point made I can move on.

What I initially planned to share here is a story that wasn’t told at the funeral but at my mom’s 80th birthday celebration in the Sawtooth mountains where Lin made a dramatic surprise appearance. . . mentioned here in my mom’s blog: http://vwwalker.blogspot.com/2010/08/of-woman-of-courage.html

I had previously solicited stories about my mom (Verna Walker) for the birthday party and Lin predictably responded with a true gem. I feel that I must share it here for anyone who might have not heard it.

A Texas Christmas Story

by Lin Walker

Mom and Dad came to visit us in Texas for Christmas one year.  Micah’s #1 desired gift that year was a pellet gun and that fact got mentioned in the course of conversation with Mom. She seemed a little taken aback at his request but, as it so often goes in households with lots of little kids, the conversation was soon on to something else and we didn’t pursue it.

So on a particularly bitterly cold Christmas Eve, Mom asked if we had gotten Micah’s gift yet.  We said “yes” we had.  She asked where it was and we said we were keeping it in the trunk of the car until after the kids had gone to bed. She looked a little concerned but didn’t say anything.  A while later as the Texas winds howled, she asked very politely if we didn’t think it was a little cold to be keeping Micah’s gift outside. Now what was that all about—never heard of a pellet gun that was picky about its environs!

On further questioning we realized that she thought we had gotten Micah a pelican rather than a pellet gun. To this day, I have this hilarious mental image of a poor bewildered pelican shivering in the trunk of the car!

And the really telling fact is, she knew our family was probably weird enough to buy a pelican!