“Love is a friendship set to music” ~ Joseph Campbell.

The other day I reread something my father had written.  It was his tribute to and summary of his father’s life, on the 100^th anniversary of his birth.  This was a man I did not know, as he had died before I was born.  I knew my paternal grandmother well, for she lived to be almost 90, surviving her husband by 26 years.  But I couldn’t recall hearing stories of my ‘Taid’ (pronounced Tide, Welsh for grandfather).

Robert John Jones was, as was typical for working-class people of the time, not well educated and had to leave school at the age of twelve. His life work involved the transportation of food between North Wales and Liverpool, first on a horse and cart, and eventually on a truck, or as my father called it, a Bedford Lorry.  My father’s childhood memories of his father were limited to Saturday afternoons and Sundays, as he left for work before the children got up, and came home after they had gone to bed during the week.  Sundays were church days, and that was a very important part of their life together.

In my father’s tribute was evidence of the love the children had for their father, even though he was not there to watch their accomplishments at school or to take them to track meets and football games.  In the 21^st century we have coined the term ‘helicopter parents’ for those who swoop in to rescue their children from all of life’s adversities.  We forget that for our parents and grandparents, childhood was a luxury they could not afford.  They grew up early, aware of the challenges of life.

For my father and his brothers, their parents instilled in them a knowledge that education was the way out of poverty.  Despite their low income, my grandfather paid school fees for his three sons, and still helped to support them when all three of them went on to university.  In his tribute my father noted that he could expect ‘no financial security’ from his sons, as they all entered the ministry.  In those days ministers could barely maintain their own family on their salary, much less help out their parents.  And yet at the end of his life, a life where church (or in the Welsh tradition, Chapel) was his staple, Taid ‘declared his love’ for his wife, and his pride in his sons, his ‘good boys’. 

It so happened that last week I joined in a celebration of the life of a family friend, one who also grew up in the hills of Clarendon, Jamaica.  He came from a large family, and though he had no children of his own, he was a proud uncle to his many nieces and nephews.  This was one of those funerals where the personality of the one departed shone brightly for all to see.  Each tribute mentioned his loving nature; each person spoke of his generosity of spirit, his willingness to do anything for anyone in need.  And although he had not amassed certificates or awards, it was clear that he was treasured by those he loved.  He took pride in his work, and most unusual for Jamaicans (I am not breaking any confidences here), he was always on time!

It was not just that he loved his family, his friends became his family, absorbed and welcomed into his large embrace.  It was clear to all who attended, that this was a man who knew how to love unconditionally, to give of himself generously, to appreciate his life and his family sincerely.  And this despite severe health challenges.  He was a joker, awarding nicknames to everyone he knew.  Like most Jamaican nicknames, these were not complimentary.  They could mark a moment of severe embarrassment, one you wished to forget but which becomes memorialized in that name.  Yet all of those so named by him relished in the memory of their time together, their laughter together. 

In reflecting on the lives of these two men, one who died before he was 70, and the other who was 60, I realized how caught up we can get in our possessions and accomplishments, often losing sight of what is really important in life.  My own father, in his ministry and life, was very aware of where our priorities should lie.  His most memorable sermon (for me) was based on the question: ‘Who among these is great’.  He compared the lives of famous and accomplished men, of Biblical giants like ‘Herod the Great’, and compared them to simple people that he had met.  He himself was not ‘boasty’, never bragging about his own achievements, or of the achievements of his children or grandchildren.  He appreciated that greatness comes in unexpected places, in the sacrifices of hardworking people like his father; in the courage demonstrated by people facing health challenges; in the generosity of those who appear to have little to share.

At times we spend a lot of money trying to understand the meaning of life, striving to be enlightened, to be better people, or to ‘live our best life’.  In doing so we can miss the lessons that life puts in our way.  Although Ziggy is nowhere near my favorite Marley, he wrote the song ‘Love is my religion’, and perhaps it is just that simple.  We have forgotten, it seems, that we should love one another, and ourselves, and with love comes appreciation for our family, our friends, our connections with each other.

This Friday morning, as I think about the lives of those who have gone before me, I am struck by the fact that we often over-complicate things.  When we love one another, we are more forgiving, more accepting of each other with all our flaws.  When we love one another, we are considerate, and try to leave the world a better place.  Perhaps it is just that simple.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.