ReImagine

Last year Dieter had a sudden stroke that left him significantly
disabled with a speech impediment and some physical paralysis. Known
and loved for his ability to teach and inspire, with an exceptional
gift for making people aware of God’s presence through music, this
stroke, as you may well imagine, has been simply devastating.

“What does the second half of life look like when so much of
what you have known and been identified with has taken from you? And
how do I comfort a friend who has suffered and lost so much?”

I pondered these questions as I drove up to Dieter’s home. When
he got into my car to go to lunch he turned to me and said, “Mark. Talk
slow. We go slow. Talking with me will be relaxing– we take our time
O.K?” I took this as a gentle chastisement for my hurry and wordiness–
and as an invitation to be present and still.

I reflected to Dieter that I am now the age that he was when we
met– and that I spend a lot of my time with people much like I once
was–young, ambitious and idealistic. Over the years my respect and
appreciation for Dieter has grown as I move through the various
passages of adulthood.

We sit across from one another at a local brewpub, talking
slowly, sometimes eating in awkward silence and with eyes full of
tears. Even with his limited capacity for speech Dieter finds ways to
convey his love, concerns and affirmation. I’ve come here today to pay
my respects to a mentor, to receive his wisdom about the struggles and
seasons of life, and maybe to offer some encouragement and comfort.
“Mark, I’m in the winter, ” he says, “The spring. The summer. They were
new and exciting. The fall was still colorful– even when you feel the
chill of winter coming. But the winter, here it is dark and cold. You
are in the fall, headed towards winter, where I am. We don’t know when
or if spring and summer will come again.” I tentatively ask Dieter how
he is learning to make sense of the unfolding story of his life. “It
would take a long time for me to explain,” he says, “Its hard to talk
about. Maybe you and I will go on a retreat someday and I will tell
you. For now I will say– I know that God loves me more than I ever knew
before– and that my family and my friends are so important– and I love
the small things– the food and drink, sunshine, sleep, and walking with
my dog. To love and be loved is what really matters to me now. It took
me along time to learn this.”

On our way back from lunch Dieter asks me to stop by Costco so
he can pick up some photo prints– a new way he has discovered to
capture the beauty he finds in God’s world and the faces of people.
Back in the car he flips through the small stack of pictures with great
delight. And they are simple and lovely scenes. At great cost, Dieter
and Val are teaching me, and many others, how to embrace hope in the
seasons and sufferings of life.