On March 19th, the phone will ring.

 On March 19th, the phone will ring and I will answer it. The caller will be Bonnie who lives in Michigan. She calls on the Feast of St Joseph every year since she moved away. .She will ask for John and I will  not be able to get the words out.

She calls on this day because John's middle name is Joseph and she choses this date each year to thank him for all the times he took her to appointments when she was unable to get there herself. How comforting to have a strong man by her side as she went in for treatments, a stranger but a kind one.

Somewhere in his mid life John decided to turn the pilot's seat over to the One who he had done without for many years. I have read somewhere that one's life is their Art piece and I think that is so. Here, Dag Hammarskjold speaks of this:

"Thou takest the pen and the lines dance.

Thou takest the flute and the notes shimmer.

Thou takest the brush and the colours sing..

So all things have meaning and beauty

in that space beyond time where Thou art.

How, then, can I hold anything back from Thee."

John held nothing back from the Creator as he shopped for groceries and played chess with an oldster. As he worked any job to keep his family afloat. As he found a final resting place for a dying woman. As he cleaned leaves from the gutters on a tenuous ladder. As he went downtown each year for the celebration of the sobriety of one of his employees. As he slipped quietly into the room where my writing group meets to bring my table out and take it home.

He deserved so many accolades but ducked when he saw them headed his way. He knew what he did was Godly and that was enough.

John, your colors were bright and your gifts many. You were God's best piece of Art. I love you.