Halcyon Days

The whole sequence began with a doorbell ringing.

I opened a door to find my editor standing there. After asking me to step out onto the porch, he looked at me with a serious expression and said, “I’m sorry, but your mother died.” Then he turned and walked away.

Then I was walking into the newspaper office, ready to start a workday like any other. Except, as I was getting settled in at my desk, another person in the newsroom said the editor wasn’t the editor anymore. Whether he’d been fired or resigned, no one really knew. On top of that, a news clerk had gone missing and no one had been able to get in touch with her.

I just rolled my eyes about all of it, sat down and began writing a baseball story.

It only got weirder after that.

I was alone, driving through the darkness on a trip that seemed it would never end, crossing through towns and countryside, over rivers and farmland.

After that, I was in a small house filled with people. It was St. Patrick’s Day and everybody had big steaming bowls of corned beef and cabbage. Some of the people I recognized as relatives, but it was as if I hadn’t seen any of them for over 20 years.

And suddenly, I realized I had become a spiritual minister.

Soon, we were all in a small chapel. I was standing near the altar and proceeded to speak about every deep subject you can think of: The importance of loving and being loved, friendship, mutual encouragement, the divine plan behind everything that happens and why we are here – really, why any of us are here. After the service, a woman walked up to me and wanted to know where my church was located because she wanted to hear me speak another time.

As I returned to my car, I saw my best friend from Texas sitting in the passenger seat.

“Need a lift?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” she replied.

We took a long highway that stretched out of the city into the country, all the while laughing, talking and singing an Irish song we both knew.

Then I was alone again, standing in the middle of a vast cemetery – and clutching a boombox in my left hand.

I felt disoriented. I looked around for a moment at a swirl of monuments, markers, trees, the warm morning sun. Then I heard the soft peal of church bells ringing out.

I walked toward the sound and eventually spotted an ornate white chapel, and everyone was waiting for me a short distance in front of it. I pressed a button on the boombox and a gospel song played. When it was finished, I began speaking about the eternal dance of life, death and love. As I was saying these things, a hawk descended from the sky and began flying in circles above us.

And that was how it all ended.

 

If this sounds like a truly bizarre entry from a dream journal, I can only hope you’re sitting down as you read the rest of this column.

It wasn’t a dream.

Not a single word of it.

Ever had one of those dreams so intense that, for a few seconds after waking, you think it all really happened? On March 15, 2005, and the days that followed, I found out just how well it can work in the opposite direction.

I wish I could tell you it was a unique experience, but it wasn’t. About five years earlier, my father died and I served as the pastor at that funeral, too.

The circumstances that led to my sudden expertise at delivering parental eulogies aren’t important, not as much as what I’ve realized from the experiences.

The fact is I’m not a minister, a priest, or a pastor. I’m not a theologian, a philosopher, or a social psychologist, either.

But for two days of my life, I suddenly had the answers to questions people have wrestled with for centuries – and what follows is the best interpretation I can offer.

The reason each of us is here in life is to be a blessing and a guide to one another. This can be accomplished in ways you wouldn’t think about, but which can have the most profound impact.

You don’t have to be a wealthy philanthropist handing out $10,000 donation checks to charities. You can save a life or change someone for the better simply by spending 10 minutes listening to that person.

Along the path of life, you will come to identify certain people who matter most of all to you – the people you love – which should always include those who brought you into this world and those you bring in.

Never dismiss or take for granted the time you spend with those you love most. Sip the moments with them as if they were a most excellent wine: something savored, cherished always, and like nothing else in the world.

And above all else, never miss an opportunity to tell them just how much you love them.

One day, you will wake up and discover you can no longer tell them.

One day, they will wake up and discover they can no longer hear you.

You will find something else along the way through life: Certain moments that will define who you are and the reason you’re here – moments of self-realization.

Don’t worry about trying to find them on your own. They will find you, and usually when you least expect it.

But when the moment arrives, everything – all the crazy twists and turns your life has taken, all the struggles you’ve endured, all the hurt you’ve suffered, all the happiness and joy you’ve felt – all of it will suddenly make perfect sense.

Maybe the moment will find you sinking the last-second shot that brings your school a state championship. Maybe it will find you typing the last line of code for the next great software application, or playing the last note of a concert that inspires 20 kids in the audience to want to play music themselves, or leaning over a person whose life you just saved with CPR.

It could even find you standing in literally the last place you could ever imagine yourself: next to a coffin, in front of about 100 people, talking about the best friend you’ve ever had and answering questions that are supposed to be unanswerable.

Recently, I came back to Van Zandt County, Texas, the place I called home for seven years. The first morning, I awoke and, for just a few fleeting seconds, had the strange feeling I had been asleep for a very, very long time.

Friday…November…well, I’ve got to go to the office and wrap up a few things, run by a few schools and pick up news items…basketball tonight, so I guess I’ll run home before that, eat dinner and give my mom a call and tell her about….

Oh.

Right.

I guess it really wasn’t just a dream.

But there are days when it’s difficult to know for sure.

 

On several occasions, Terry Britt has been mistaken for a member of the clergy – by members of the clergy. You can reach him at terrybritt@hotmail.com.