Several years ago my friends had a relative die way too young, like middle twenties. Roughly the last third of his life was really hard: substance abuse, arrests, mental instability, unstable housing. When he passed, it was no less sad for not being a big surprise. When we gathered to remember his life and mourn his death, though, a strange thing happens for me. I saw pictures of some idyllic times in his youth. It occurred to me then, and has stuck with me since: those years counted. His childhood wasn’t just preparation for adulthood later. So his life wasn’t all dark; there were whole years of light. The realization opened a window to celebration and gratefulness even amongst such sadness.
One of the things that has stuck with me from that moment, is a sense of presence. The Apostle Paul encourages the church in Philippi to think on whatever is pure, lovely and admirable. That could mean lots of things. This week for me it has meant asking my kids about their week with genuine curiosity, taking a bit of extra care making dinner, prioritizing time to hang with good friends.
Life is not something to only reminisce upon, or look forward to…it’s happening now.
‘Those years counted’ stayed with me. Recovery ministry has made me more aware of how easily the hardest chapter of someone's life can become the story everyone uses to explain the whole person. Your reflection resists that reduction beautifully. A life is larger than its collapse, and learning to receive the ordinary goodness happening now is part of remembering that.