Dying in Real Time

Terry Megginson Walton

by Rev. Laura Barclay

Last week, a beloved former employee of CBF named Terry Megginson Walton passed away from a long battle with cancer.  I didn’t know her very well, unfortunately, but she made me feel extremely welcome at CBF National events. She was warm, quick with a smile and a laugh, and was easy to get to know. From what I observed, Terry was keenly interested in making everyone she met feel like a beloved child of God.

Over the last few months, I noticed that more and more people were calling for others to pray for her over Facebook and email. But then something even more intimate happened. Last week, people began sharing their favorite memories of her on her Facebook pages, attaching pictures and last messages to Terry. Dozens and dozens of people were saying goodbye in the most touching of ways, which created an amazing memorial to her and a fitting tribute to a life that was clearly well-lived through her love of others.

Tears sprang to my eyes as these messages to her swallowed my Facebook feed and I realized that her life must have been coming to an end. And, a few days ago, her family relayed the news that she had indeed passed on.

As someone who knew her only briefly, I was overwhelmed with the sentiments of her friends to share their best memories with her to send her on her way. Look how many people she had touched! What a beautiful tribute!

Before Facebook was available outside of the world of college students, one of my professors, Dr. Paul Weber lost a long battle with cancer. Like Terry, his impact on the world is immeasurable. He was a former priest who married a former nun and taught political science. He always strove for a high ethical standard in whatever he pursued, and he loved mentoring students. Dr. Weber was a huge reason why I decided to go to divinity school. Before he passed, his family encouraged people to write letters of their favorite memories to him without saying goodbye or focusing on his illness. I wrote to him about his classes, my favorite lessons, and his encouragement and care outside of the classroom. I never heard a response, but this gave me an opportunity to not let anything left unsaid.

My takeaway from the lives and deaths of Terry Megginson Walton and Dr. Paul Weber is this: there are amazing people in this world who touch us deeply. We would not be the same people without them. While we can, we must let these living saints know what they mean to us before they pass on into the cloud of witnesses.

Who has loved, cared, sacrificed and mentored you? Are there friendships that have transformed you life? Don’t wait until tomorrow to tell them how much they mean to you. Let them know that their lives are well-lived, and that they have made a difference to you. 

Kairos>Chronos

Rev. Aileen Lawrimore

“Where has the time gone?” I say to just about anyone who will listen. “Don’t get me wrong; I want my children to grow up (the alternative is unthinkable). I just want to know: Where has the time gone?”

It’s baffling. I can’t figure out how my brown-eyed girl (born just yesterday), is today a young lady looking at colleges. Or how, overnight, I went from buying my little boy light-up Batman sneakers to shopping for size 15 Nikes. And how–how in the world–did my baby girl get to her last year of middle school already, when just last night I was sneaking her ragged pink blankie into the laundry?

Where has the time gone?

I don’t know, but I think I’m looking for it in the wrong zone. In Greek, there are two words for time. There’s Chronos—time that is measured, ya know, chronologically. And then there is Kairos—time that is measured by experiences. Chronos dissolves into seconds, days, years. Kairos, though . . . Kairos remains.

Chronos counts birthdays by ordinal numbers: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, . . . . But Kairos thinks back to a ballerina party that blended over the course of chronos into a makeover session, a Firefighter party for preschoolers that ended as a pick-up basketball game for teenagers in the church gym, and a ladybug piñata in our backyard in Sanford, NC that exploded into one surrounded by teenagers in our Asheville garage.

Chronos sees the seasons come and go and checks off another year. But Kairos sees differently. Kairos sees the Queen of Hearts, Angelina Ballerina, and Thing 1, all with curly blond hair; a puppy, a robot, and a number of clowns, all making lots and lots of noise; a pediatrician, Hermione Granger, and Toy Story’s Jessie, all of whom were far more grown-up than they should have been. Kairos remembers . . . the ball dropping, its year changing in that chronos way all the way down; sandcastles washed away one year and built back up the next; trips to Houston, trips back home, & trips back out again. Kairos smiles remembering all the games of Barnyard Bingo, Blink, & Bananagrams; all the books we’ve read—from Dr. Seuss and Sandra Boynton to Brian Jacques and J.K. Rowling; all the hours of Veggietales, American Idol, and Psych. And Kairos weeps, weeps as faded faces and sharp memories come to mind: Wayne, Paxten, Matthew, Caleb, Cliff . . . . Chronos, distracted by the clock’s ticking, the days passing, just can’t keep up.

Chronos says things like, “How long’s it been . . . .”

Kairos says, “Remember when . . . ?”

Chronos, nervous and fretful, checks its watch and marks days off the calendar.
Kairos flips through photographs and artwork, videos and mementos.

Chronos grows anxious.

Kairos becomes nostalgic.

Where has the time gone?

Chronos doesn’t know.

But Kairos does.

Kairos says, “Look around you. It’s all right here.”

Aileen Lawrimore is a public speaker, freelance writer, and editor. This article originally appeared on her blog, Aileen goes on…and on.