Saturday, January 13, 2018

One Final Broadcast: The Love and Kindness of Mister Rogers and Grandparents



Last year for the April meeting of the board, I was asked to give the opening devotion. I get terribly nervous in these instances where I am surrounded by highly educated (many of them theologically trained) people, but for this one, the timing was well suited in that I truly had been thinking a lot about my grandparents. Today would have been my Grandpop's 88th birthday, so I again find myself thinking about him more than usual. While there are days marked on a calendar where I can anticipate that I will be thinking about my grandparents, but truth be told not a day really goes by where they don't float across my thoughts. It may be something sensical like my sister taking me to see The King and I  stage play as we grew up watching all the Rodgers and Hammerstein movies (except South Pacific which was a one-time showing). Or it could be something more random like a visit to the grocery store's deli department and thinking how Grandpop would have approved of their selection and the person who cut the meat (or disapprove as the case may be). It is in these moments of grief that I am reminded of the fragility of life, and try to tell myself not to squander time or opportunities. We can give ourselves a lot of things, but more time is not always one of them.


One Final Broadcast

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about grandparents, mine specifically. On Easter Sunday my grandmother turned 90, and this past Tuesday was the third anniversary of my grandfather’s death. Many people knew my grandfather as Alice Killmer’s husband of 64 years, father of two, a veteran of the Korean War, an employee of Acme markets for over 40 years, a life-long Episcopalian (let it be known, however, that he had Presbyterian leanings), but to his five grandchildren he was Grandpop.

My Grandpop retired at 55 and has encouraged us all to do the same. Since most of us will not be lucky enough to follow that lead, the life lesson regardless is that he knew how to live life to the fullest. Even in his last years when dementia took his mind, he was always in good spirits. There are times when the grief washes over me, and my only solution is to put on one of his shirts. He had a quality collection of flannel shirts, and everyone in the family went home with one. I also have a terribly scratchy wool sweater that I wear at times when I miss him an extra lot. In fact, I am wearing it today. I am convinced it is real love if you are willing to wear an itchy wool sweater that also gives off a Mr. Rogers vibe (a direct quote from my youngest sister).

I see a lot of similarities between my Grandpop and Mister Rogers, each with their own gentle spirit that the world needs more of. I would now like to read a short section from the book, The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers: Spiritual Insights from the World’s Most Beloved Neighbor by Amy Hollingsworth.

"The very last time I saw Fred in person, I asked him a question for no apparent reason, except perhaps out of idle curiosity. It didn't fit with the rest of the interview or even the context of what we were talking about at the moment. In fact, I didn't even remember asking it until I looked back the interview tape years later. Hearing his answer again, after his death, I found that his words had a 'quality of eternity' about them, as if they were spoken from eternity and not from the conversation we happened to be having that day.

'If you had one final broadcast,' I asked, 'one final opportunity to address your television neighbors, and you could tell them the single most important lesson of your life, what would you say?'

He paused a moment and then said, ever so slowly:  

Well, I would want [those] who were listening somehow to know that they had unique value, that there isn't anybody in the whole world exactly like them and that there never has been and there never will be.

And that they are loved by the Person who created them, in a unique way.

If they could know that and really know it and have that behind their eyes, they could look with those eyes on their neighbor and realize, "My neighbor has unique value too; there's never been anybody in the whole world like my neighbor, and there never will be." If they could value that person -- if they could love that person -- in ways that we know that the Eternal loves us, then I would be very grateful.

"And I think that from where he sits in his new neighborhood, Mister Rogers is just that, eternally gratefully."

Eternally grateful. I am eternally grateful for my grandparents, as well as many people. I truly hope you have someone (or someones) that you too are eternally grateful for having in your life.
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