On Tuesday I drove to Two Harbors for a walk and coffee with my friend Bruce. Bruce is 85 and a retired Presbyterian pastor. He made me a walking stick several months ago. The polished wood has beautifully carved leaves and a leather handle. He has several hand made walking sticks. So with our wooden poles in hand together we wandered on a path near the shoreline of Lake Superior. We walked around the many fallen branches from the previous night’s storm. We always just walk and talk. Bruce has been a bridge for me as I make my way in retirement. He knows the journey and that there can be more stuff strewn in your way than you might expect.
His wife, Ava was also a bridge for me. Ava was a lay pastor also in the Presbyterian church. She and Bruce met at a church camp back when they were both single parents. Ava’s first husband had died at the age of 31 from cancer. His cancer was most likely caused by agent orange which he was exposed to while serving in Viet Nam. Ava was alone in raising her two young sons on the Southside of Chicago. Magic happened at camp for Ava and Bruce, in part because they skipped the classes and took long walks together around the lake. Shortly after camp, Ava and Bruce truly took a leap of faith and were married. Bruce remembers being nervous as he and his son stepped off the bus in Chicago, but all was well when Ava’s son, Raymond, greeted him with “Hi Dad!”
After four years in Chicago the family moved to Duluth. Bruce served a small church just outside of town for awhile. After Bruce retired, and on the Sunday’s that Ava wasn’t doing pulpit supply, they would worship at the church I was serving. They came because we always had communion at our early service. We usually stood in a circle and served one another, quietly singing as the bread and cup made their way around. Communion was crucial to Ava’s faith. For her it was the bridge to the past and nourishment for the way forward.
Ava eventually had to stop working due to her sarcoidosis. Her faith remained strong despite the intense physical pain she was in. I was able to share communion with her and Bruce at the hospital one last time. She held my hand and just quietly said, “Thank you Jesus.”
As Bruce always said, Ava served with her love. At her funeral we closed with a prayer she had written in one of her many journals. It’s a prayer I still often use in my own personal devotions. Ava wrote, “I believe in Christ’s resurrection, and I believe in the resurrection of me. I know you have something better in store for us. I believe I have been saved through your grace and that everlasting life is your promise to me. My charge on earth is to glorify you, to share the good news, and to live a life that others can recognize as you living within me.”
Ava trusted that there was more on the path after the storms. And she showed us how to be bridges of love for one another.
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