This is Good: Your Memorial

In honor of our friend and mentor Rick Woolworth, who passed on to two years ago today.

Rick was the first to say he’s not perfect.

That humility is one of his attributes that made him so damn perfect.

That said, I have to call it as I see it. Rick’s character was conspicuous. He did not boast. He was not proud. He did not envy. He was not self-seeking. He was not easily angered. He rejoiced with the truth. He protected, trusted, hoped, and persevered.

Rick was the embodiment of love.

He was a coach.

He preferred the term Mentor.

Rick wrote in his HBR article , “Of all the ways you can spend your time, mentoring has one of the highest returns on investment”.

In this regard, Rick was the Warren Buffet of mentorship. The compound interest of his investment is and will be astounding.

When I heard the news two years ago that Rick had passed suddenly, I experienced grief like I had not expected.

His passing made me consider many things. It made me consider what a life well-lived really is. To be honest, it made me consider my own death and memorial.

Many gathered to remember Rick after his passing.

There’s something strangely wonderful about a memorial where the person who passed had a life well-lived.

There is grief. Deep and painful. A grief that is really just starting. But in this particular setting, there’s also hope and joy that surpasses understanding.

That is the hope and joy I get when I remember Rick.

We don’t like to think about our own memorial. For most of our lives, we avoid its inevitably. But reflecting on our death (and our memorial) is immensely helpful. It can be clarifying and freeing.

The Stoics called this practice Memento Mori which simply means remembering we are going to die.

Marcus Aurelius said reflecting on our death can help us determine what to “do and say and think.” Our death is a reminder to live a life of virtue now.

Rick’s life is the kind of life which demands I consider my death. It demands I think about what is said by those I love at my memorial.

THIS IS GOOD: YOUR MEMORIAL

Here are some facts. We can’t choose when we die. We are going to die. Gulp.

At some point in the future, whether grand or small, there will be people in a room together remembering you. What will they say?

Many of us have been prompted to write a eulogy. Maybe some of us have. What a wonderful thing.

If you have written a eulogy, pull it out. Read it. If you haven’t, what a gift to consider this question afresh.

What do you want those who love you and know you to say about you at your memorial?

I mean specifically.

Stop now. Don’t do anything else. Write for 5 minutes.

Trust me, it is what Rick would want us to do.

(If you don’t know by now, you don’t say “no” to Rick!)

Go ahead. I’ll wait. This is so important to you. 5 minutes will tell you so much.

Now, look at what you wrote.

Read and consider it carefully.

Ask yourself these questions:

Am I stressed about anything today that has no correlation to what I want said at my memorial? Is there correlation? Act accordingly.

Am I drifting towards or away this reality? Rick always reminded us mentees that trajectory is so important.

Is what I wrote primarily about what you did or who you became? Take note of this.

Keep this memorial vision handy.

Reference it often.

Thinking about our future memorial can bring us clarity and freedom in our present. An ongoing and expanding return from Rick’s investment. This is very good.

POSTSCRIPT

The Last Battle is the final book in C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia.

In its closing passages Lewis depicts the end of old Narnia and entering the new Narnia: It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different — deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can’t describe it any better than that: if ever you get there you will know what I mean.

It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then he cried:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that is sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!”

There have been moments in Telemachus retreats in Florida and Sunday Supper evenings hosted by Mentors Doug and Suzi Pitts where old Narnia looked a little like New Narnia…on earth as it is in Heaven.

Rick, obediently help create these Moments.

If I know Rick has been getting busy setting up mentorship and community in The New Heavens and New Earth. The only difference is this version is somehow deeper, more wonderful. Further up and further in.

Telemachus is a character in Homer’s Odyssey. Odysseus searched his community for a man who could provide guidance and wisdom to his son Telemachus. The man chosen was named Mentor.

Part of Rick’s mission in the second half of his life was creating as many Mentor/Telemachus relationships as possible.

According to Rick, a good mentor is intentional, present, and cares deeply about the whole person.

Rick is now face to face with The Great High Mentor. A Mentor who has always provided Rick guidance and wisdom. A Mentor who, at great cost, took on every imperfection so that His mentee could be given His perfection.

This Mentor looks at Rick and wipes away every tear, puts His hands on his knees, and with deep glowing eyes (the kind of eyes that Rick has) gives a declaration Rick has known but now experiences fully:

“Well done good and faithful servant!”