Where our word is good and our children are safe

It’s Saturday night about 6:30 p.m. and my last appointment is finally over. I have spent the day listening to people, most of whom are trying to move to the country from city areas. I don’t know, it just seemed so different to me today.

Maybe it was because I left my last appointment in Milford and had a chance to reflect during that long ride back to my home in Eldred. Maybe it’s just because so many people are out there searching for those things that are missing in their lives that can’t be found in a building or a structure. Or maybe it’s just that my day is still not over. I have to go up to the school for the season’s last football game. It’s our first night game and I promised a bunch of teens that I would be there.

During the week, a friend’s father passed away. I couldn’t help but shed a tear when I listened to him share a memory with such reverence of a good man’s life. A builder by trade, passing on quietly with dignity, clutching in his tired well-worn hand a piece of wood. I felt fortunate to have known this man. He conducted his 82 years of life with simple honesty. His word was always good.

I remembered back to a conversation that I had with him. How proud he was of some of the homes he built, and of his life.

I came away that day smiling and thinking of how much he reminded me of my own dad. How he, too, passed on this time of year leaving his legacy to his children. For him, a successful life meant that his children would grow to be loving people—that they would be good to each other and respect each living thing that surrounded them. To him, it was never about the size of your house or how many things you could accumulate in the end. It was about the life that you built and the lives that you touched along the way. His word, too, was always good.

As was mine. I dragged myself up that long hill to the Eldred football field, desperately trying not to grab onto a tree while anyone was watching, catching my breath between steps.

I was happy for a moment that it was for the last time. But as I approached the top, I saw a few moms busy making funnel cakes and selling hot chocolate, as they had done so many times before. Some of them came from the school craft fair; others came from the girl’s soccer game in Newburgh. All were gathering together to listen to our football coaches’ voice on the microphone.

This night, under the lights we had fundraised to use for the special occasion, was different for us all. Some spoke of watching the northern lights from the top of the field the night before and  a profound moment of students readying a field. Some spoke of parents lending time, and a hand, where needed. Others watched the line up of kids under the goal posts. The coach called down to the field the parents of the seniors who walked that final walk with their senior sons.

I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks and I remembered back to my daughter handing me my flower only days before at her last soccer game.

Little girls and boys, who had grown up before our very eyes, made their way into that well-lit night. I looked around at the parents and community members that I have sat next to, laughed and cried with. I am gathered with these people who I have come to know and love to watch our very grown-up children on the chilly night field.

We’ve all collected at this place, where our word is good and our children are safe.

This is what those people are all trying so hard to find—this sense of pride in our communities, sharing with our friends and living in a place that we try to make better. Where we all hope that even if it’s just for one night, our word is good.