Cynthia

I was eight years old when I announced to my mom that we needed to go to church. Not as in, "We're running late, Mom. We have to leave now." But as in, "We have to start going to church or we're going to go to hell, because that's what sew-and-sew told me at school." So within the next Sunday or so, she drove me to the First United Methodist Church of our town.

My first Sunday school teacher was an extremely nice lady named Cynthia Wilson. We could call her Cindy, though. She had a sweet spirit -- even as young as I was, I could tell that. She was very well spoken. She had a knack for explaining the Bible to us children. I remember once trying to read my grandfather's King James Version, and none of it made any sense to me. But when Cindy explained the Bible stories, I understood them.

Cindy also had a very calming presence. One day she was talking to us about prayer. When she was finished she said, "...and you don't have to close your eyes if you don't want to." That was nearly 31 years ago, and TO THIS DAY, I do not close my eyes during prayer. [It makes me dizzy -- always has -- so I was relieved (and still am) that an adult I trusted said I could keep my eyes open when I prayed.]

Pretty soon I was to be baptised. It was Cindy who presented me with my first Bible. It wasn't from her, but from the church. Yet still, it was her face with her Bible-laden hands outstretched that remains emblazoned on my brain.

I stayed at that church for about a decade. Then I went off to college and was gone for nearly another decade. At some point, I moved back toward home. Experience had changed me, and though "on paper" I was still a Methodist, in my heart and mind I knew I was an Episcopalian. I visited the Episcopal church in town, and lo and behold, who should be there but Cynthia Wilson! Some time during those years I was gone she had found the Episcopal church as I had. Her presence was one of those outward and visible signs that let me know I was in the right place.

It was good to see her on a regular basis again. She was still sweet-spirited and well-spoken as ever. She stayed on at the Episcopal church for several years before moving away to live close to her daughter and grandchild.

Just recently, I learned that Cynthia died suddenly of a heart attack. The first things I remembered about her were that she was my first Sunday school teacher, and that she gave me my first Bible. I have come to realize that those were important events for me. They meant something. They were seeds planted. They were kindnesses given. They were generosities out poured. And all of that humbled me, and still does.

When I die, I wonder what will be the knee-jerk reaction of some that were part of my journey. Will they remember that I judged them unfairly? That I turned away when they needed me? That I lied? That I was harsh? That I didn't have the time, or more accurately, that I didn't take the time?

On this earth, we have but a small window to love relentlessly; to treat each other gently; to create fearlessly; to honor respectfully; to offer generously. Cindy achieved so many of those things, if not all of them and even more. I hope I can say the same when my time on Earth is done. I am certainly going to try.

Cindy, may light perpetual shine upon you.