UP AHEAD
Beautiful people don’t just happen.
__________________
I have carried these five words for decades, essential and weighty as my college textbooks, my favorite among them [On Death and Dying] written by Elizabeth Kubler Ross.
In dorm rooms and down concrete-corridors lined with musty lecture halls I contemplated them, haunted and changed by their intent, from teenage girl who found her kindred in their meaning, to the woman who has [most-recently] lived the stark reality behind the phrase:
To become beautiful is to be survivor of a certain unloveliness, a going through of the hardest of hard things.
“The end wasn’t like in the movies,” my grieving friend softly whispered.
It never really is. There could be no sanitized depiction of loss that could ever match the sublime mystery that inhabits the actual going through—
The never enough whispered, I love you’s,
The bringing in of cumbersome hospital bed,
The awkward intimacy of omnipresent helpful strangers,
The slowed, uneven last breaths.
This collision, of the world we know and then the next. The transition often too long, too unbearable, too unlovely. It leaves us wondering where He is.
In our humanness, we search the scene for evidence of His mercy—
In the portioning and pace of the suffering,
in the unexpected poignant moments in quiet darkness shared.
Fifty-four times the Bible mentions Heaven, even the first verse and the very last.
This Unknown that we’re obsessed with. Our Creator’s greatest mercy is giving us a glimpse.
But what of living as if Heaven is not only a place to ‘go to’
but a place to experience by how we live?
The friend I lost today had a particular twinkle in his eye. It brought people close, drew them in. And in the process of getting to know him, they were introduced to Christ.
I wonder of the lives he touched without ever knowing the depth—the hand offered to the family in the next campsite over, assuring another biker having a difficult ride, the smile given to the new face one pew over, even the words of loving assurance to his shattered, stoic bride.
Beautiful people don’t just happen. They are forged.
“The best of the best,” his daughter describes him.
I believe that he was.
I think today, those who encountered him briefly along the journey would join in the grieving if they knew. But he kept it mostly secret, and I understand more than others why that is—the ‘going through’ takes a certain focus that requires solitude and a private soldiering on.
Still, those of us who are believers, believe until the very end. No matter how difficult or disappointing, we focus on what’s ahead.
What is ahead? This is the question I’ve asked myself many times since that October he and I began to commiserate just three short years ago. And then the title came to me, “Wild Ride.” Every single part of it is.
I imagine him riding through his beloved desert, the hot colors of summer painted like a life lived with firey passion magnified in the sky. He races toward something we can’t name or imagine, too fast for those who love him, but he already has a glimpse of what’s ahead. And the wheels can’t turn fast enough, the speedometer stretching to meet his eagerness as lightning streaks across the dappled clouds.
We are here. And then we are not. In an instant who we were once disappears into the desert’s starry night. We are missed. But only for an instant. For in an instant, we are there, we are His. There is no missing in Heaven, only the stroke of seconds on the clock. We are here and then there, in the arms of those we love…
In the arms of a loving Creator, a Savoir who redeems what is lost.
Up ahead is everything. And. It. Is. Breathtaking.
NOTES:
On the morning of September 12, Keith Keyeski went to be with Jesus.
Though I wrote this about him, it’s really for his bride, Sheri, who I love with a huge portion of my heart. Sheri, along with daughters Kristen and Kheri, have endured more than seemingly humanly possible. I feel their ache.
At the beginning of Keith’s journey, I wrote a piece called, “Wild Ride.”
[the link is at the very end].
He and I shared a path that has been closely aligned. And we’ve learned from one another along the way. Or at least I learned from him.
There was a point in one of our conversations when Sheri admitted, “I’ve tried to protect you from this because it’s too close to home.” I quickly replied, “This is where I live!” To be more specific, my meaning is I am straddled between this world and the next. But this is no fresh phenomenon brought on by something gone through these past many months, but a life-long disposition, a fascination with what happens when we take our last breath.
In re-reading what I had written in Wild Ride, one particular line stood out—
Be careful not to fear the path, to define it within the framework of your own limited understanding of what may be around the bend.
I think Keith, with his Heavenly new perspective, would agree.
I encourage you to read the entire Wild Ride story. Not for me but for yourself. It is meant to bring hope, which is something Keith always did.
As an avid Harley enthusiast, he had much to teach…not only about riding, but about life and a Heavenly point-of-view.
MASTERING THE ART OF THE WILD RIDE
MATTHEW 7:14—Narrow is the road that leads to life.
~The mistake is getting too far ahead of yourself. Will your mind to ride in concert with your body, to remain focused on the here and now.
~Committing to the turn too early can have devastating consequences. Pace yourself. Trust the timing. No need to rush ahead.
~Counter steering often takes you exactly where you want to go. Sometimes doing what feels strange or opposite to the goal is precisely what needs to happen.
~Make sure you have a clear view. Never make rash decisions when obstacles [whether in your head or on the path] are in the way.
~When you look into the turns, plant your eyes on where you want to go. Where your gaze is, there is the prize.
~Getting to the destination requires consistency in reaction. Smooth and steady. Not too fast. Not too slow.
~Listen to the bike. Awareness of what the bike [and your body] can do creates a confidence that can withstand what’s ahead.
For Keith…and every single one of you:
Keith Keyeski: 6/15/57-9/12/24
Peace, my friend. Resting in His arms.