Ten Years
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
It was very strange to think that after nearly ten years, Bing and Carrie-Bri would be singing at their very last choir concert that night. All those years of solfege and candy, soccer in the spring, baseball in the summer, tag-football in the fall, sledding in the winter… the friendships and laughter and jokes, madrigals, competitions, ice cream, music, music, music, and the red-haired spit-fire director with the “eyes of Texas” upon them… If it wasn’t for the pull of Texas, Collette figured that Mrs. South would be their fearless choir director till the day she died. And even then, she would be watching the choirs from her window in heaven, ready to scold the tenors for rough-housing or the bases for pulling pranks, the sopranos for talking… and to praise the altos, of course, for behaving as usual.
It had been ten full years of fun for Bing and Carrie. It was odd to think that out of all the hundreds of kids that would go through the choirs over the years, only those two would have been in the Concert Choir that long. They began when they were only nine, before the choir had split into three levels. How time had flown. Collette knew that Mrs. South would have trouble sending them on that evening. It was easy to fall sentimental to the good old days, and choir had been one of the pinnacles of those years, a place where everyone gathered together, to share thoughts and ideas, to sing and plan… It was more than a choir. More friendships had been built there than anywhere else over the years, and all because a fiercely red-headed lady from Texas, moved to Saint Louis all those years ago.
Collette had just read a journal excerpt from Mr. and Mrs. Christmas (a lovely couple who had accompanied the mission team to Budapest, Hungary, those four summers ago – now missionaries to Croatia). They were two wonderful people – even had a son-in-law from Finland. And although they were in their sixties by now, they were full of fun and energy. Just two years ago, or so, they had been called to the mission field. Mrs. Christmas left her job as an elementary school teacher in Augusta, for so many years. And off they went. Collette hadn’t seen them for over three years, but she still received their email journals several times a month or so.
Mr. Christmas had just written of a wedding there, and had sent one of his snapshots of the bride tossing the bouquet. They were enjoying life so very much, on the other side of the world in a much poorer country, serving God, and loving it.
It was amazing how much that trip to Hungary had changed all of them. Junior Cobble, just about one of the friendliest most enthusiastic guys they had ever met, came home and became the director for CEF (where Diana, herself, and all the others kids had already been volunteering every summer for a few years). Cherry Seabud (although Diana had never heard anything new), was seriously considering the mission field upon leaving. The Christmas’ had gone. Everyone had been touched in a different way, it seemed. Collette left Hungary with one of the best experiences in her young lifetime.
The old memories were good. Often they left her somewhat sad, thinking about the friends, the good old times, the events and surprises and trials, and childhood… While they were good memories, it couldn’t be helped but miss them in a way. She would never rewind time, if she could, but there was something strangely sad about the past.
Collette often wondered if, when in Heaven, they would be able to see the old days on earth, remember them fondly without the sadness, and laugh them over with friends… She wondered if she would know everyone personally there as friends and brothers and sisters. Perhaps everything would be so different, there would be no such things as memory or laughter or thought or dimension. Perhaps the perfection would be so holy and right, that the wonder and brilliance of it would replace anything she could ever possibly think of on earth.
The image of blinding white, streets of burnished gold, row upon row of worshiping saints, and far-off castle spires often clouded her vision of heaven. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Heaven was a place she could not even hope to imagine. It was something outside the mind’s comprehension, and she could only dream from time to time of what might happen and when, when life on earth was ended. It was an exciting thought, a frightening thought. For all Christians had a fear of God, a healthy fear – perhaps never healthy enough. Not a fear of being tossed into hell, but more the fear of knowing that they deserved it, if it hadn’t been for His mercy. And sometimes there was the fear of losing people she knew weren’t saved. It was a scary thing for them, and how they lived being so unsure, scared Collette herself. It was a very sad thing, and every day she hoped beyond all hope that the ones she knew in particular would finally see what lay right in front of their eyes. But while she hoped for them and prayed for them, she knew that being sorry would not help. She would have to think of other ways. What good would being miserable about it do? There was a good life to enjoy.