Present Over Perfect

wholeness.
The video shoot came and went, then a road trip and
out-of-town meeting came and went, and I arrived back in
town just in time for small group. Blaine and Margaret had
just moved into our neighborhood, and once our boys were
settled with their favorite sitter, Aaron and I walked over,
boots crunching the snow and ice, holding hands, our breath
making clouds in the light of the streetlights.
Margaret made my favorite pork ragu over pappardelle,
and after dinner we sat in their new living room. I wanted
their advice—I knew what I wanted, and I knew what I’d
always been doing, what I’d been trained to do. I knew what
the right thing was ideologically, but I’m a good soldier, and
I wanted this team to know that.
And then Margaret told us about a dear family friend
dying of cancer. This is the very end—a month, maybe.
Earlier that week, he asked Blaine to come over and record
a video.
When Blaine arrived, he was shocked to see that Robert
was in a tuxedo. The video he wanted Blaine to capture was
his toasts for his kids’ weddings. Because he won’t be there
for his kids’ weddings. He had written his toasts word for
word, and he spoke those words right into the camera, voice
garbled by his sickness. He was, Margaret told us, using
every remaining second, leaving nothing unsaid, giving
love and words and stories and wisdom, spending the last
moments he has with great intention.
They turned to me. You said you needed advice? they