Live Like That

Saturday I went to my friend Arlene's funeral. I hadn't been to a funeral in years. Viewings, yes. Funeral, no. And this one was a blend of excruciatingly hard and overwhelmingly beautiful.

We sang a lot of songs...because she loved songs. But what I loved most was hearing what people had to say about her life.

I only knew her for about a grand total of four years. Met her when I started attending that church. But you could tell by the people filling the sanctuary and overflow space...and the people who sent messages because they couldn't be there in person...that this had been a life well lived. A life cut short, from the viewpoint of the 200-300 or so of us sitting there...but nonetheless, a life well lived.

Arlene was in her 40's when she got married, but it was obvious she'd spent every moment before that time...and after...pouring all of herself into everyone around her.

I heard from more than one of her nieces that she was the kind of aunt that every girl needs. The aunt that sees the value in a life and says to a girl in her formative years: the person you are is not only okay...she is good. Love her. Be her. She was the aunt you told your secrets to and knew they'd be kept and you wouldn't be judged. She tried to keep you from making mistakes, but if you did, she loved you anyway.

She would make a pot of coffee at midnight and wasn't afraid to start a long and hard conversation at that hour, because she knew you needed to talk.

That was her life. PEOPLE were her life. People of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Broken people, messy people, confused people, happy people...people, people, people.

I didn't stand to share out loud that day, but if I had, my words would have been similar. She's the one who came to me at the beginning of my desert journey and with sincere love, said to me, "I don't know what's wrong, but I know something is. My heart is heavy for you and I'm praying for you." And that was that. It wasn't a subtle way of getting me to bare my soul. If I wanted to talk, I could. But if not, I was still so loved and prayed for, and the lack of details didn't offend her.

And so it was, that Saturday morning, we stood to sing the final hymn and then we walked outside the church, sorely missing our friend. But I walked outside finding myself aching to live like that. To be the kind of girl who loves people until there just isn't an ounce of love left to give.