The concept for the luncheon was to recognize that we all have a birth date and a death date. And while the dash-- the years lived in between the two-- could vary from just a few hours to many years, WE choose what to make of the dash.
It reminded me so much of a special post about Jack when he played MacBeth in his 6th grade play.
Some days I am not so sure I'm using my dash wisely.
I've already lived 33 more years than Jack got to, and next year I'll age past my mother, who died at 46. I know my days are already numbered in God's book, and this invites me to consider what my dash looks like. Honestly, most days I am content to putz around the house, doing a little of this and that, speaking to no one, and thinking about what I want eat next.
But there is an ever-present, quiet tug pointing me beyond the mundane toward greater meaning.
What could that look like? I know I want to help others. I want to use my stories, not just the ones about Jack, but whatever stories I may have, to somehow touch others and intersect with their own. For now that means writing and speaking, sharing Rare Bird, being a real, flawed, flesh and bone example of survival, and learning how to be a better listener.
A listener of the sacred stories people bring to me through this blog and in person, a listener to the gentle tug of God that leads me outside my cozy, insular self and points me toward others, and a listener to the reassuring whisper of a son who says, "I may not be at your dinner table, but I'll be your partner in whatever you do."