On Days Like These

On Days Like These

A Tribute to my Uncle Vernon Peterson and the Peterson Family 

 

 

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The text: On Days Like These

 

In the space of one month I lost the oldest living Uncles on both sides of my family. These events led me to write about getting through life on days like these.

 

This is entitled…

On Days Like These

A Tribute to Vernon Peterson and the Peterson Family

 

On September 30th, my Dad’s oldest living brother, my Uncle David Beal, passed away in Maine. On October 30th, my Mom’s oldest living brother, Uncle Vernon Peterson, passed away in Ontario, Canada. Now, I trust that these two men are among our heavenly family that has been growing steadily.

 

Despite the fact that I am only forty-fifteen years old, it seems that my childhood was quite some time ago. And I don’t remember anything in particular that prepared me for wading through life on days like these. For I feel perpetually unprepared for the earthly finality of so many things, ranging from ends of seasons and school years, to ends of life. 

 

Finality – the fact or impression of being an irreversible ending.

 

Before I grew old enough to be called a man, I was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, just a boy. But think about that for a second, for me to be those things there had to be others before me and then still others introduced along the way. And guess what, I didn’t choose any of those people before me or since I got here. God put those people in those key places all around me.

 

In my prayer times, I quite often thank God for my Mom and my Dad. I thank God for allowing me to grow up in the Beal and Peterson families. Some of the most amazing and wonderful people that I will ever know are my own parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and siblings. I chose none. This is just one indicator of how enormously blessed I am.

 

So, on days like these, I guess I want to hold on a little bit longer, for another visit, another conversation, or just to see another warm smile. I want the chance of those things to still exist, here on this earth, in my lifetime, in our lifetime. 

 

I guess, as the world might define it, I am now supposed to enter into a period of mourning or grieving, but I don’t see it quite like that. Let’s look at some definitions of words at play here. First, Mourning – a period of time during which signs of grief are shown. Then, the word: Grief – deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement.

 

Respectfully, while expanding on these definitions, a period of mourning could read like this. 

 

A period of time during which signs or stages of deep and sad, or painful, or heart-breaking agony caused by the loss of a loved one. 

 

With solemn respect to all family and friends, I stand by what I said about wanting to hang on a little bit longer. But mourning, spelled m-o-u-r-n-i-n-g, doesn’t hold up too long in relation to m-o-r-n-i-n-g. Once we take the “u” (and me) out of mourning, then, we have a morning (m-o-r-n-i-n-g) that I can get behind.

 

Morning – a period of first development – beginning. 

 

Yes, the gift of morning. 

 

Where would we be without Christmas morning? What would today look like and feel like without Easter morning? I like the simple lyrics in a song by Elevation Worship … Friday’s disappointment, is Sunday’s empty tomb… 

 

And if I am going to mention morning and beginning then I must acknowledge God. The Creator and Judge of the universe. This is the reason why I can cry, and let the weight and depth of emotions wash over me and still walk away with a smile. I may cry all the way to the smile, but I’ll get there, I’m only human after all. 

 

Eternal life in heaven through the Lord Jesus Christ, that is the Hope that I thank God for in so many of my prayers. It is that Hope that I cling to in so many moments in a given day, that allows me to smile, and think positively and creatively. It is such Hope that would unquestionably accompany the aforementioned ‘warm smile’.

 

So, perhaps it is that message, the Hope that I learned about and trusted in since my childhood that allows me to move through days like these even though I would rather not face them. But like me, we are all from somewhere. We all had childhoods that were molded by forces outside of ourselves, namely our parents, and our families.

 

Then, think on this, the one more visit, or one more conversation, or even the one more warm smile represents the cumulative passage of time, experience, and learned behaviors, known as life, that has led to such cherished moments along the way. Before me, before many of us, there was Vernon Peterson being molded into the person he became. Then others were introduced along the timeline of his life here on earth, where he too, did mold others. And so it goes, as one day someone will hopefully remember and write about us.

 

We wanted another visit with Vernon because of who he was, because of whose he was, and because of how he was. We wanted another conversation with him because of all that he could share, but also how he left us feeling when the conversation was a memory. We wanted to be present to receive another warm smile because of what that simple smile stood for. 

 

I can see the twinkle in his smiling eyes as he might have sat at the dinner table listening to one of his daughter’s stories. That twinkle in his eyes hinted that he might just be a little more content and having a little more fun than anyone else in the room. I can hear the fullness of his laugh as he would talk while sitting beside his wife of 67 years, but the true prize was found in the ease of his laugh, so easy, like the breath of air that moves a fallen leaf. 

 

Each of us probably have a different definition for these things and perhaps even many definitions. But I see a smile buoyed by loving parents and a big loving family where just enough of life didn’t come too easy. Where the character and work ethic were taught by example and inclusion. This allowed the members of this family to close the distance between hardship and comfort and each was better for it.

 

Years and years, too many thoughts to count, and thousands of words later, I write, and have written about the impact that this family, and by the boundless grace of God, my family, has had on not only me, but countless others.

 

I think about this often, but more so on days like these. There’s a song by The HighwayMen, The Last Cowboy Song. In that song I’m always struck by these lines, (they roll by his markings and don’t even notice) (Like living and dying was all he ever did).

 

I know we’re all busy. Life has grabbed us by the tail and billions of dollars worth of timely words and images pile the message on top of us, that we must be busy. There is always something to think about, another destination to get to, a story to react to, or to be distracted by. Time passes either way, and we are present or we are not.

 

But think for a moment about those words, Like living and dying was all he ever did. This is where I chime in with a line like, “well, he lived a full life”. Seriously, imagine the countless thoughts, moments, and encounters that Uncle Vernon experienced in his lifetime. Many of them are known, but many are not known to any of us. There is so much to a life lived.

 

God has blessed me beyond my ability to measure such things. As I said earlier, before I was a man I was many things, including a nephew. And in those growing up years, I never contemplated the death of a family member or anyone else for that matter. I was just a kid who went where my parents took me, and I interacted with the people that were there when we arrived. 

 

But, my oh my, the people, the people were family. The people were, and still are, the best part of every single visit. Mom and Dad brought our family to visit aunts, uncles, cousins, double cousins, grandparents, and so on. But God is the one who lined them all up, like a roster of godly, loving all-stars. Had I figured this out a long time ago, I should have collected autographs like I would a ballplayer’s. See, these were the best of people, still the greatest folks I have ever known.

 

Then, I grew up. But the sweet smell of clover and perfectly, clear, cold water straight from the ground framed the experiences that were ingrained into the very fiber of my being. And although there is a part of me that always longs to be at the kids table when we get together, the last 15 years have truly been my pleasure and a gift that could only be awarded by and explained by our Creator.  

 

Over these last 15 years an extraordinary, supportive, family here at home has allowed me to make trips to western Canada, Ontario, and dozens of trips to New Brunswick to spend time with my Mom, my Dad, and the Peterson family. I cannot begin to illustrate what this has meant to me. Yes, I am still the kid, the nephew, but fortunate seems too small a word to equal the sense I feel. Maybe favored is the word. 

 

Yes, favored, that’s it. For whatever the reason, God has shown me abundant favor especially in these last 15 years. I don’t like to use the word lucky, but I think to myself sometimes, that I am the lucky nephew. Because I have had the opportunity to visit with, and spend time with so many of my heroes as a grown man.

 

This includes one of the funniest and most fun road trips that I have ever been a part of, when Mom, Aunt Barbara and I drove to Ontario to visit Uncle Vernon and Aunt Phyllis back in May, 2017. We laughed until we cried. We smiled until our cheeks hurt. We ate like there was a small chance that we might not ever see food again. 

 

It was like we all were home. We kicked our feet up and sat back to relax. We visited. We talked. We remembered. It was such a warm and easy place to just be. We cherished each passing minute. The true love for one another was multiplied by the pure joy we shared in being there together. It was impossible to miss. 

 

If there was ever a moment in time to be captured into the dreamy scene inside an ornamental snow globe that is featured on a stand somewhere reflecting the glow of a warm fire that draws people near while softening the hard edges of a cold world, with a fire’s light that holds shadows and memories close, this would be one to keep. Truly this one experience was one of many trips to see the Petersons that I would value as priceless.

 

So, we are the fortunate ones (in a sense) that we get to smile and remember. We get to carry our experiences with Vernon forward from here. We all had a part in his full life, and he in ours. That is pretty awesome to think about. 

 

I say that, in a sense, we’re the fortunate ones only because as fortunate as we are, it pales in comparison to our loved ones walking together on streets of gold while relishing in the brilliance of the one true Light of the world. One day, with our price paid by the Lord Jesus, may we all walk the streets of gold, with Vernon and other loved ones who colored our lives like the most vivid autumn scene you ever saw along the St. John River.

 

I love you Uncle Vernon and I love your entire family. Yes, I will cry, and I will smile. I look forward to meeting you one day again. And I can’t wait, to again, learn of experiences you’ve already lived before I have. 

 

With my deepest love and respect, humbly, from the kids table, Thank you.

 

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Pictures in the slide show: On Days Like These

 

 

 

 

 

One of the older pieces I have written about my experiences in the Peterson family. Destination Homestead, 2012.