The Unclad Soul

And into the world are born those spirits, those souls, those persons, who light the way for us out of whatever darkness we are in. These can be mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, teachers and ministers, coaches and mentors. They can be the neighbor or the employer, the elderly or the young, the broken or the mended, the friend or the lover. These are people who do not do things for us, they show us how to do things for ourselves. They model. They instruct. They affirm and nurture. They live and love before us in ways that influence us to be our better selves. They are not always successful, well established, or even well known. They may be on the cleaning staff at the office, or the clerk at the grocery store. They may be the stranger we pass that smiles broadly and shares a sense of warmth as we walk by them. They may be the cop that pulls us over, gives us a calm warning, and sends us on our way. There is something in these people ...

When I was a boy, I was loved by the sweetest women in the world. My Mom, of course, beautiful in every way was one. Smart, devoted, lovingly and fiercely protective of her family. But then also, on my Dad’s side, there was my grandmother, Maude, whom I called Nana. Quiet and reserved, small and lovely, she was a tender presence. By my Aunt Laura, who was fun and beautiful with a contagious laugh, generous and open-hearted. By my Aunt Mary, tiny and petite, poised and gracious. By Aunt Florida, snow white hair and the most winsome smile, a deeply self-confident woman. On my mother’s side, there was my grandmother, Ruby, whom I called Momo. Quite simply, a saint. I adored her. My great-grandmother, Joanna, whom I called Gammy. A gifted pianist, the first female American Indian graduate in the school of music at Bacone College. Her embrace was arms of love. And there were my Aunt Emerald and my Aunt Jackie, wonderful women of grace and affection. These women taught me never to b...

I attended the funeral of an old friend this week. He owned the funeral home in the last town where I was a minister for the 14 years I was there. Several years ago he retired. I so admired him. He knew how to comfort people caught in some horrible grief. He had a calming presence. He was professional in every way. He chewed on these great dark cigars and one day I asked for one. He smiled and gave me three and from then on anytime I wanted one he handed them over. On the way back from cemeteries we often talked about God and death and the people we loved. He was an amazing father and grandfather. He taught me to listen, to observe, to not be so concerned with comments or answers for hurting people, but to just be a presence for them. He was my friend. I was not close to my father. He was a good, moral man. He provided for our family. But he was often indifferent to his children. I knew he loved us, but he seemed incapable or not interested in really knowing any of us. He shared s...