1. I'm in my late sixties. I lived for many many years in Eugene, OR and didn't have to drive on snowy roads very often. Likewise, I didn't drive on many wintry roads when living in Greenbelt, Maryland.
So, now, living back in North Idaho, I'm much more cautious about driving in wintry conditions than I was back in my late teens and 20s and I am much less brash about my winter driving skills.
So, this morning, being right in the middle of a three day winter storm advisory, I was unsure whether I would drive out to Whitworth University to attend the celebration of Dr. Rev. Prof. Ron Frase's life.
I decided to go.
Most of the precipitation in the valley was rain. Winds gusted. About half way up the 4th of July Pass heavy snow fell. The state required truckers to chain up. So, I joined the other drivers on the pass in a steady crawl over the top of the pass. All of us were traveling at about the same speed. No one got crazy. It worked out well.
About half way down the pass, the snowfall turned into rain and, for the rest of my drive, the roads were wet. Wind gusted. The driving conditions were benign and I arrived at Whitworth about twenty minutes ahead of the today's service in the Whitworth Chapel.
2. I didn't have a personal relationship with Ron Frase. Nonetheless, Ron Frase loomed large in my life while I was a student and an instructor at Whitworth and in the years that followed. He loomed large as an exemplar of the life of a Christian scholar who took his learning into the world and lived a life of letters and ministry on behalf of those living in poverty and oppression. After I left Spokane and Whitworth in 1984, Ron Frase never left me. Repeatedly over the years, whether in conversation and correspondence with fellow Whitworthian Deborah Gridley or in my friendship with Jeff Steve and Deb Akers or as I roam around Facebook and read testimonies by Ron's peers, his past students, or by participants in Central American tours, Ron Frase's legacy consistently comes up: his drive to resist injustice coupled with his passion on behalf of justice, his generous hospitality, and his encouraging counsel. He looms large. Over the years, in my mind, heart, and soul, Ron Frase has epitomized what I most loved (and love) about my years at Whitworth and the way my experience there has shaped my life.
All of that and more stirred within me during and after yesterday's service. For me, being back in the chapel, listening to Rev. Scott Starbuck and Drs. Michael Le Roy and Michael Barram, all Whitworth alums, eulogize Ron not only deepened my respect for Ron Frase and helped me understand his life more fully, the experience also became (for me) a celebration of Whitworth. During the service and as I drove home and as I had some time alone in the house, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. People came to mind. I relived some painful feelings I wish I didn't have, but I can't get around the fact that those two years (1982-84) when I taught full time at Whitworth were painful years. Divorce and eventual annulment left me lost, confused, and aggrieved. I'm ashamed of many of the ways I behaved (but, overall, proud of the work I did). But, there were steadying influences. Even though we rarely conversed, Ron was one of them, just by his presence and with the vitality he brought to his work as Whitworth's chaplain. The service's slide show showed Ron in pictures with other steadying influences: Jim and Linda Hunt, Phil Eaton, Lorraine Robertson, Don Liebert, Dick Ferrin, Bruce Murphy and others. I doubt they know how torn up I was nor would they know how much I leaned on their presence -- and sometimes our work together -- in my efforts to find some equilibrium.
During the service, an attendee had a seizure. Friends called 911. Paramedics arrived. The service stopped. The reception got underway with an understanding that the service would resume a bit later, followed by a more informal time in the sanctuary when Ron's brother, Wayne, Jim and Linda Hunt, and Rev. Susan Schilperoort would speak and Rev. Pamela Starbuck would read a message from Dr. Edward Miller.
It's December.
The days are short.
North Idaho and Eastern Washington are under a three day winter storm advisory.
If it was stormy on the 4th of July Pass in the afternoon, I wanted to drive over the pass in daylight.
So, exercising an abundance of caution, I left during the service's stoppage.
Pragmatically, I made the right decision.
The service was recorded on YouTube (here).
I can jump online and experience what I missed.
Leaving when I did meant that I didn't talk to anyone at the service and that I'm not really sure who was there that I knew. I saw Jim and Linda Hunt from afar, but didn't see anyone else, largely because of the limited view I had from where I sat in the chapel.
It turned out that I traveled back to Kellogg at an opportune time. Snowfall did not return. The roads were wet, but easy to drive on.
I returned home safely with my head and heart full of thoughts and feelings about Ron Frase, Whitworth University, and the many superb people I've known over the years thanks to having attended and worked there.
3. Back home, my head was a abuzz and my heart was bursting with thoughts and memories about my studies and work at Whitworth and the many many people to whom I owe much gratitude.
I ate chicken soup and dumplings Debbie made.
I watched a bruising and tight basketball game between Houston and Alabama (Alabama prevailed, 83-82).
After the game, Debbie and I wound down together.
We talked about the differing demographics of Eugene, Greenbelt, and North Idaho as a way of looking at the variety in the places we've lived. The differences are fascinating. They've kept our life together challenging and stimulating and helped us be more and more accepting of the different ways people see the world and live their lives.
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