Just a Suggestion

by Donna Poole

Independence Day weekend 2022 is almost history; soon it will be a fading memory.

As soon as my husband John finished his Sunday sermon, Kimmee pulled out of the parking lot of our old country church. As always, I took a wistful look back at the door; family and friends were inside laughing and talking, and I wished I could be with them. But parking lot church is good too, and I counted my blessings.

We took the long way home, down two dirt roads, and Kimmee stopped often to take pictures of wildflowers for me.

We got home, but instead of pulling in the driveway, Kimmee asked me, “Do you want to go to the bridge?”

Oh, the bridge! Memories came flooding back. How many times had I walked to the bridge with Kimmee when she was a little girl? I was the fast one then; she had to hurry to keep up with me.

One September day during homeschool I taught her about Rosh Hashanah, the festival for the Jewish New Year, as we walked to the bridge. I can’t remember how old she was, perhaps third grade.

Rosh Hashanah begins with the blowing of the shofar, a hauntingly beautiful sound. A neighbor blew one for us once. That sound marks the following ten days of penitence that end with Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement.

On that long ago homeschool day, I told Kimmee that on the afternoon of the first day of Rosh Hashanah Jews went to a river, lake, ocean, or anywhere with water. They turned their pockets inside out, shook out any crumbs, and recited Scripture. It symbolized casting away sins to start the new year with a clear conscience, a fresh start. Kimmee and I got to the bridge over the small stream that becomes the large St. Joe River.

“I’m glad Jesus died on the cross and took our sins as far as the east is from the west, but let’s do what the Jews did. Let’s shake out our pockets over the water and pretend we’re shaking out our sins.”

Kimmee objected. “I don’t have anything in my pockets.”

“I don’t either, but let’s do it anyway. Maybe it will help you remember this.”

She shrugged, looked at me like I was part alien, and shook out her empty pockets.

I think she was about the same age when she begged me to stop acting out her history lessons. “I think I’m old enough now so we could just read the book.”

And here I’d thought I was an entertaining actor! Apparently, only one of us was amused. Still, Kimmee grew up to love drama and acted in many productions in college; I take credit for that!  

Yesterday’s Kimmee, now in her thirties, took more wildflower pictures for me at the bridge. I wanted to get out of the car and listen to the water. She came running and helped me stagger to the railing before I cast myself, sins and all, right into the water!

That evening Drew, Kimmee, John, and I went to the fireworks. We parked a distance away from the fairgrounds. Because I’m still in my required cancer bubble, I stayed in the car while the three of them hiked to the fairgrounds to buy the traditional food; can it be the Fourth of July without Fiske Fries?

Life passed by me as I sat in the car in my bubble. I saw young couples with baby strollers, groups of teens, older couples, and a single man with headphones hurry by on their way to the fairgrounds. Most people wore shorts and t-shirts or sundresses; the thermometer said it was warm. I sat wrapped in my long, below the knees winter sweater and chuckled at how I must look. Perhaps like an old lady with cancer?

Family and food arrived back at the car, and we sat our chairs outside, away from people—my oncologist would be proud. The fireworks display was amazing, one of the best I’ve seen. I looked up at the sky and thought about all my family and friends in heaven. I smiled at the thought of being with them forever. I looked to my left, and John smiled back at me and took my hand. I looked to my right.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Kimmee asked.

I thought about all my other wonderful family, not with us at the fireworks, but always nearby if I need them.

With pops and whistles the grand finale was over. I struggled to get out of my chair as John helped haul me up.

“When I don’t move, I forget I’m not normal,” I whispered to him.

When we got home, Drew had a surprise, a box of fireworks.

Sidebar: Today our son John sent his dad this text: “You know you’ve bought the right fireworks when the salesmen gives you a high four.”

Drew let me pick out which one I wanted to see. I chose one called “Summer Vacation.” It was beautiful. After our own fireworks display, we went inside to eat the pies Kimmee and I had baked.

If I told you the pies were perfect, it would be a lie. The berry pie was runny and had clumps of sugar you could chew. Still, it was tasty. It was kind of like life; not perfect, but good enough. More than good enough. I’m grateful.

Gratitude is, don’t you think, the secret to a good life?

I went to high school with Mary; I don’t know if she’d want me to use her full name, so I won’t. She’s a grateful person, even though she can no longer glance over at her husband, Jerry, and have him take her hand. Today I read a Facebook post of hers that touched my heart. She wrote about going to a concert with Jerry and asking Vance Gilbert to sing “May I Suggest” by Susan Werner.

Mary posted, “When I listened to it today, the song had a totally different meaning of the words, especially the last part. It has more meaning now than it ever did before. Thank you, Vance Gilbert. I miss you Jerry, thanks for the great memories we had.”  

Here’s the song.

            May I suggest
            May I suggest to you
            May I suggest this is the best part of your life
            May I suggest
            This time is blessed for you
            This time is blessed and shining almost blinding bright
            Just turn your head
            And you’ll begin to see
            The thousand reasons that were just beyond your sight
            The reasons why
            Why I suggest to you
            Why I suggest this is the best part of your life

            There is a world
            That’s been addressed to you
            Addressed to you, intended only for your eyes
            A secret world
            A treasure chest to you
            Of private scenes and brilliant dreams that mesmerize
            A tender lover’s smile
            A tiny baby’s hands
            The million stars that fill the turning sky at night
            Oh I suggest
            Yes I suggest to you
            Yes I suggest this is the best part of your life

            There is a hope
            That’s been expressed in you
            The hope of seven generations, maybe more
            And this is the faith
            That they invest in you
            It’s that you’ll do one better than was done before
            Inside you know
            Inside you understand
            Inside you know what’s yours to finally set right
            And I suggest
            And I suggest to you
            And I suggest this is the best part of your life

            This is a song
            Comes from the west to you
            Comes from the west, comes from the slowly setting sun
            This a song with a request of you
            To see how very short the endless days will run
            And when they’re gone
            And when the dark descends
            Oh we’d give anything for one more hour of light

            May I suggest this is the best part of your life

Tonight, we’re invited to our son and daughter-in-law’s home, where we’ll be loved by Dan and Mindy and four of our wonderful grandchildren. I think there might even be a bonfire.

The loved ones lost this past year remind me I may not always have my family and friends to love. For the ones I still have today, I’m grateful. This is my hour of light with them; this is the best part of my life.

Of my earthly life, that is. Because of Jesus I can say and believe with all my heart, the best is yet to be. No sins to cast out of my pockets, darkness gone forever. After the darkness comes light.