Remembering Roger

One year ago today, my friend took his life. A month before, we wouldn't have been so surprised. Then, he had been really struggling, truly suffering. But we thought he was getting better, and he was--until . . .

It was his favorite time of year. The grass was growing like mad, trees were leafing out, and the flowers--oh the flowers! Gardening was one of Roger's passions. He loved to plant a seemingly lifeless seed in the ground, grinning mischievously because he knew a secret: Within that apparently void pod hid a spark of life.

He--the gardener--rode the roller coaster of life with ferocity. Whatever he felt, he felt fully, and whatever he did, he did wholeheartedly. His yard was a jungle of life, his workshop a maze of projects, and his truck a rolling tool shed. You see, Roger never knew when a project may sneak out of the shadows and attack him; he had to be prepared.

And his voice! No one who ever heard him sing forgot it. A deep, booming bass, his voice reached out with authority and confidence, a commanding tone of wisdom and assurance. The old hymns were his favorites, and he worked them with the same wholehearted devotion with which he did all things. He planted at least as many seeds of life with his voice as he did with his hands. God only knows the number of souls who were touched, and even pulled from the depths of darkness, by that voice.

But Roger had his own darkness, a battle which raged within him from early in life. No one can say for sure what that darkness was, and it matters not one bit. What matters is that my friend was embattled in a war against an enemy only he could see--and dimly at that.

Knowing how it ended, many would say Roger lost the fight.

But not me.

A year ago I was mad. I couldn't believe, after all he had been through, after all we had been through, that he had surrendered. I couldn't understand why, when things were just beginning to look so bright and full of life, he succumbed to the darkness. I couldn't believe he didn't come to me, that I wasn't there for him. I was angry. I was hurt. I was ashamed.

But what happened wasn't my fault, or yours. If there was indeed any fault to be assigned, that has been dealt with between Roger and God. Because, you see, Roger had an ally. The most powerful ally in the world had his back the entire time. With someone like that on his side, there was no way Roger was going to lose the fight. So what happened?

I don't know.

I do know this: God did not turn his back on Roger. God did not fail. God was not uncaring, without compassion, unprepared, or unknowing. God was not taken by surprise, overpowered, or incapable. God was, and is, perfect and right; above all else, that I know. A certain gardener with strong hands and a powerful voice taught me these things.

What I don't know--and I guess it doesn't matter--is what took place in those final moments. Darkness attacked, and Roger was taken to Glory to be with his Savior. An earthly loss took place, but not an eternal one. Do I think God was pleased with the ending? No. Do I think God wanted it to go that way? No. Do I think God allowed it? Undeniably. Do I understand? No. No, no, forever no.

Perhaps one day I will. Perhaps when I'm with that gardener again, when even I can sing without hurting his ears, I'll see more clearly. Maybe then I'll perceive the truth, know God's plan, and understand. Perhaps.

Until then, even in his untimely end, my mentor taught me many things. Never stop fighting. Never give up. Trust God. Have faith. Reach out to those around you. Sadly, he taught me these things not by what he did, but by what he didn't.

So I remember Roger today not with anger, but respect. I put aside the one day, the one season in his life, and remember all the others. The wood smith. The musician. My mentor. The Gardener.

He was a good man whom I still miss greatly, but his wisdom will be with me always.

I'll see you there, Roger. We'll sit on God's porch, talk things over. I'll learn from you again. I'll listen and watch intently as you show me how to do something. Perhaps we can plant a seed or two, sit back in a couple of old wicker chairs while sipping lemon tea, and watch them grow.