Stories that Changed My Life: Preparation
When I was a young man, the preachers would often talk about finding God’s will for our lives. I found that to be beyond my comprehension. I had no idea who I was, so how could I even begin to know what I was supposed to be or do with my life. I am not sure I ever solved that riddle. I seemed to just stumble into my life and careers and somehow ended up doing work I could never have dreamed of until I was doing it.
Looking back, it is easy to see the hand of God putting the puzzle together without me having a clue to what it was all going to become. Now, as I look back, I am convinced that God never asks us to do anything He has not already prepared us to accomplish. May I share the story about when my training began?
I was a fifteen-year-old sophomore and Alberta McBride was a senior. To me she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her warmth, vivacious nature and smile added to her beauty. She was older and far out of my league so all I could do was worship from afar and dream.
As her graduation approached with all of the activities and events involved, several of the senior girls had a slumber party to celebrate. As Alberta drove home the next morning her car was hit by a train, and she was killed. The whole city was in stunned disbelief.
This was in the 1940’s. In those days no one was ever supposed to call the name of the deceased. Doing so did not show proper respect for the person and hearing the name might cause the family to grieve. Evidently, we locked families in a prison of silence and expected them to hide their grief behind wearing black for a year and never showing a tear.
Alberta’s parents walked into the grocery store where I worked and before I could stop myself I blurted out that I thought Alberta was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Then I stood in horror realizing I had just committed a terrible mistake. I had called the name of a deceased person in front of her parents. It seemed like time stood still as the other people in the store stared at me in shocked disbelief.
Then Mrs. McBride hugged me and that was a further shock. We did not hug each other very often in the forties.
The McBrides started stalking me. I began bumping into them on a very regular basis and that had never happened before. Finally, they found me eating alone in a restaurant and asked me if I would come to their home and see pictures of Alberta. As a result, I made what I remember as more than one visit. They would get out the albums and show me picture after picture of their daughter.
I do not know how I ever got enough courage to go there. Death scared me and I had no idea what I was supposed to feel or say. Since they often shed tears as they showed the pictures and talked about Alberta, I thought I was causing them more pain and wondered if I was stirring up their grief, but there was a strange warm feeling of somehow connecting with each other in our grief for Alberta.
I never forgot that experience but never could figure out why they asked me to come to their home. Mrs. McBride was a teacher in my high school, and I was just a dumb kid. Why would they seek me out? Why pick me?
Thirty years later I became obsessed with trying to understand the grieving process and discovering how to companion people on their grief journey. One of my first discoveries was that people long to hear the name of a loved one who has died and that is particularly true when the loved one is a child. Hearing the name helps to establish the significance of the life and provides the hope that the loved one will never be forgotten.
People in grief need safe places and safe people to walk beside them in their grief. When I discovered that, I finally understood why the McBrides chose me. The only person who would call Alberta’s name or listen as they talked about her life was a fifteen-year-old kid who worked in a grocery store.
And that was step one on my journey.