Faintly the voices are flying to me;
Fragments and snatches fall here and fall there.
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?
Pines of the forest are dark, yet I see
The light of a fire, all blazing and fair—
Faintly the voices are flying to me.
Strange is the melody, wild, and free,
Chanting of happiness, love, and despair.
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?
Softly I steal through the dim-lighted lea,
Earnestly seeking that uncanny air.
Faintly the voices are flying to me.
Almost I catch it; again it breaks free.
What is this song, so familiar, so rare?
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?
Finally I break through, the brightness I see!
Then blackness, and silence, and nothing is there.
Faintly the voices are flying to me:
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?
I always enjoy gaining insights into other cultures, especially through their own languages. I came across one recently that really made me think, and you may find it interesting, too.
On Facebook I “like” a Greek musician, Areti Ketime. And being one of her likers, her posts show up on my newsfeed. I enjoy reading them to practice my Greek, even though they usually consist of announcements for concerts that I can’t go to. But this time it was different: she posted something that alluded to the recent passing of an (apparently) famous Greek musician. What caught my eye, though, was not the post, but the comments that followed it. People said the things people usually say when someone like that dies—expressing how much they loved his music, etc. But almost every commenter also included the phrase “Καλό ταξίδι!”, or some form of it, addressed to this deceased musician. That’s the Greek way of saying “Have a good trip!”, or “Bon voyage !” if you please, and in this context it intrigued me.
Greece is known as one of the most religious countries in Europe, and while I don’t know what the Greek Orthodox beliefs on the afterlife are, it was apparent that these well-wishers had full confidence that this man was on his way to a new destination. I like this point of view, and perhaps we should remember more often that those who have passed on are not dead forever, but only gone to another place; and if they were faithful in this life, we may see them again if we follow the same path.
You never know when you’ll see someone for the last time. When Mr. Fred Russell squeezed my hand a month ago at Southern Oaks Assisted Living and said “Now, don’t forget to come back!”, I had no idea that it was the last time we would see each other in this life. Today as I sat among his friends and family at his funeral, I couldn’t help but think of things I wish I could have told him before he left: how much he meant to me, what a great example of Christian love he was, etc. I wish I had taken time to get to know him better—as it was, I only learned about his younger days when I read his obituary, and realized that he and I had a love of camping in common.
But as much as I will miss brother Fred, and as much as I wish I had done more while he was still here, I am not sad. As the preacher remarked at the funeral, “He was a Christian, and you can’t top that!” Even though he’s finished the last mile of the way, he was faithful in his life, and by the grace of God he will receive his reward, and I will see him again.
Even though we can be certain about our reception after death, life is still uncertain, and no one knows when it will end. I don’t mean to be morbid, but each interaction with a person may be your last. Knowing that, shouldn’t we be more encouraging, more loving, more focused on others? Encouragement is not something that should be put off. Opportunities come and go, and some may make an eternal difference. Also, I believe that every interaction either brings people closer to God or pulls them away, even if in the slightest degree. That’s something I want to try to keep in the forefront of my mind, so that I can try to do better to make sure my life does bring people closer to God.
We only have so much time allotted to us, but opportunities abound. Let’s take advantage of them before they slip away.
Looking back on my growing up years, I don’t recall any time in particular when someone told me it was disrespectful to wear a hat in the house. Maybe I just noticed it from others, or heard other people talking about it. Or maybe it was from mere utilitarian motives: In my mind, the purpose of a hat is to keep sun or rain off your head, and when you’re indoors, this protection is no longer necessary. But regardless, traditionally a man is considered disrespectful if he wears his hat indoors (ladies can keep them on, because theirs are mainly decorative).
I have had some conversations of late with people my own age who informed me that this is no longer a sign of disrespect in our society. I will continue to do it, because it is part of my nature, but is this the case? Has our culture changed in this point, to where no offense will be taken when a man wears a hat indoors?
Last week I was on a mission trip in West Virginia with 14 other Christians, and while visiting a nursing home a Christian lady remarked that she really appreciated me taking off my hat when we came in—I didn’t notice whether some of my team members may have neglected to remove their caps, but that is a possibility. She then went on to cite some male figure in her family—her father, perhaps—who had stressed the point in her past.
I think what my friends have said is becoming true: among middle-aged and younger people in the United States, no one really thinks about removing their hat when entering a building. However, it is also clear to me that there still exists a generation that holds to this way of showing respect, and out of respect for them, I believe that we men should be more conscious of that aspect of culture (even if it is passing away), and observe it when in the company of older people. As for me, I’m quite content to continue in all situations even if the idea disappears completely, since I like it. But the bottom line is this: Be thoughtful, and show respect!
From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander
‘Tis the children’s bedtime hour;
They are murmuring sleepy prayers,
While my thoughts go straying backward
Down the path of the vanished years;
And, evolved from their misty shadows,
One face and form I see:
A dear little boy, with serious look,
Saying his prayers at my knee.
With brown hands closely folded
And dark head bended low,
I hear again the murmur
That the childish lips o’erflow.
“Lead me not into any temptation,
From all evil deliver me,”
Was the nightly prayer of the little boy
Who said his prayers at my knee.
Ah me! with an aching heart beat,
I think how the years have flown
Since that time, and my firstborn
From his mother’s home is gone;
And to-night I pray: “‘Our Father,’
Wherever he may be,
Make him again the good little boy
Who said his prayers at my knee.”
