When I make a sympathy card for Dad, I capture his memories. I study the picture. I listen to stories. But who is his friend? The friend who listened to my dad when he had to leave, and said, “I’m lovin’ on you.” This friend was a tall, muscular Navy man. They attended Covenant together. Because his friend served, he graduated later. He had a big laugh. He gave good hugs. He didn’t like photos. He was excellent at flag football. He lived on Catacombs. He was Dad’s RA. He was Dad’s roommate.
Covenant College means so much more to me than my friends and the education, it means Dad’s history. The buildings I walk past are more than my own, they are his: the laughter that spills into the hall, the tears that I cry in the chapel, the conversations I have in the dorms. This is our story. Walking on campus, I am comforted by my dad’s shadow that came before me. The leaks in the library, the moldy showers, and the layers upon layers of paint decorate our memories. But so do the sunset views, the creaky chapel chairs, and the vibrant faith spoken over the students again and again. Our lives intersect at these stained glass windows.
When I make a sympathy card for Dad, I enter our shared story. The story at Covenant College but more importantly, the story of God’s people. Joining my dad as a sister in Christ, I am enveloped in the story of God’s grace and an everlasting joy. A story that tells of friendships & communities God gives his people to drive them closer to unity with himself. In God’s story, God’s love for us overflows so much that Jesus’s Spirit lives in us, so that we can work alongside him.
Dad graduated from Covenant and lost touch with his friend, Jeff. Jeff went on to seminary and pastored three churches. As his health declined, he reached out to people he loved. He called my dad. They spoke only a handful of times two years before he died. Over the phone, they talked about their time after Covenant: their wives, their kids and their churches. I’d imagine my dad was taken back to his time on Lookout Mountain, the flag football games and the Piggly Wiggly runs. Dad prayed for a miracle, Jeff’s family and his church. But on that bright July morning, when the phone rang, it was Jeff’s wife.
When I make a sympathy card for Dad, I know I can’t say, “sorry for your loss,” “I’m praying for you,” or “with sympathy.” Because yes, their story includes sympathy, prayer and eternal hope. But, the story of great rejoicing is first the story of weeping. The story of new life begins with death on a cross. But their story is also about a place: Covenant College. Instead I say, “From the mountains to the valleys – we’re lovin’ on you.”
Jeff’s story and my story overlap. This life is not a promise; the next day is not a guarantee. It's a privilege to have friends who love Jesus. When we stop community here, at Covenant College, we take a part of that community with us. Then, at the end of our days, we are united to God and join all creation in worship.
This is in honor of Peter Baity (‘89) and his friend Jeffrey Godwin (‘90). Jeff died of a heart attack this summer. Dad described Jeff as kind and personable, even if he could snap you in half.