You never know when generosity will strike. Today I had to take my once very familiar one hour, sixty-one mile, drive to Greeley. I was heading to a memorial service for a very fine man, Bill Rusher. I had known Bill since I was just out of the 6th grade. We met at my first year of church camp in 1961. He grew up on a ranch outside of Ordway, Colorado. We spent five years going to camp together and then reconnected at Phillips University.
When I went to interview at FCC Greeley in March of 2017, I noticed a guy in the choir who smiled at me immediately. After services he introduced himself to me, “Remember me, I am Bill Rusher”. Other than the fact that he had exchanged his very curly head of hair for a polished, shined bald one, his radiant smile, and bass voice were timeless. I am at that time in life when attending the services of long time friends has become all too familiar.
I was on the phone with a Phillips U friend when I decided to do a quick detour through the Starbucks drive—thru. About eight other cars had the same idea. It seemed to take longer than normal, perhaps because I was feeling a bit of anxiety about attending another friend’s goodbye. Finally I got to the drive—up window. The young gal serving me handed me my coffee and said, “The car two ahead of you bought your coffee”. “Wow, what a kind thing”. It seemed symbolic on the day of Bill’s goodbye that this act of radical generosity would bless me.
Somewhere back in the archives of my writings, I wrote about the joy I have in occasionally being the guy who picks up the tab for a complete stranger. Today I was the beneficiary of a coffee angel. In a world that seems a bit off its axis, all was well today.
The very familiar drive was like hanging out with an old friend. Thousands of geese have moved in from Canada and flocks were moving all over the place. The farms had given up their bounty and the mountains for 100 miles to my west had new snow—capped perfection. I listened to classic Christmas music and savored the morning.
Bill knew his heart was failing. He even wrote his own eulogy, in the third person. There was a choir that sang “You Lift Me Up”. I got to sing with them. It was a combination of the Greeley Chorale and the FCC church choir. Bill sang in both. He was a great bass and my security blanket for my six year stint singing with them. I once heard that when you sing, you pray twice—it is true.
Bill’s service was a gift, and being with that remarkable church brought back over six years of memories.
When I left the coffee in my console had grown cold but there were at least two good swigs left. Even though it was cold, it tasted like grace.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 