My family and I have been touched by many kind words about my father received over the past several days. Thank you. My favorite was offered by a close friend, Ellen Failor, who said, "to have known Gus Nelson was to have argued with Gus Nelson."
Christmas is coming. It's almost here. Our trees have been decorated. We are in the midst of finishing our gift shopping. Next week, our kids will be out of school, college students will return to their parents' homes, and we will start to plan holiday meals. In only 10 days we'll be singing familiar carols and lighting candles. Our children will go to sleep in eager anticipation of Santa Claus making his annual visit.
My father liked all of this very much. Well, almost all of it. He did not like trying to get the tree to stand straight in the stand. Nor was he particularly adept at getting the tree to stand straight.
For my father, the shopping was never quick work. Why run a sprint when you can run a marathon? For the one perfect gift for my mother, he would travel from one mall to another and back again, then to Mr. B's, then to Reichardt's, then to Badowers, then to a downtown shop, then stop for lunch, then start the circuit again, thinking maybe new inventory came in while he was eating. If my sister or I were available, he'd ask for our advice, then take us to all of the aforementioned stores once again to review his options. My sister and I made a point of looking busy.
When we were young children, my father had a sadistic tradition of forcing us to read the Christmas story from the Bible aloud on the stairs of the house before going downstairs to see our gifts. Then when we finally got downstairs, he had taped off the living room with old newspapers so that we wouldn't be able to see our gifts until after we ate breakfast.
My father liked holiday music, too. Last week, in the hospital, music seemed to bring my father some comfort. We placed an iPhone on the pillow next to his head. We listened to a lot of Christmas music. We had "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as performed by Sinatra, Dexter Gordon, and Gerry Mulligan. To my sister's great displeasure, we even had a recording of Bob Dylan singing this Christmas standard. My father may very well have thought he was stuck in a particularly quiet department store, with a particularly limited play list.
The promise of Christmas -- the sacred promise of Advent -- is that "a light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it."
For my father the light that shines in the darkness -- the fulfilled promise of Christmas -- was reflected in the love, support, and laughter of all of you -- his friends, family and colleagues.
Gus Nelson reveled in his breakfast meetings. Wednesday mornings at HyVee, Friday mornings at the Drake Diner, were not to be missed. He was drawn to his lectionary group. Perhaps like a moth to a lightbulb, but drawn all the same. He enjoyed engaging in the lives of church members
-- understanding their work and meeting with their families. He savored opportunities to see friends from the other side of town and other parts of the country. He loved informal gatherings of neighbors (especially if there was popcorn involved). He was thrilled to be in Boston or Beloit or Minneapolis or Bristol or Chicago or Washington, DC or Blowing Rock or Hilton Head to be with his children, brothers and sisters, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, friends and loved ones.
My father kept small company with his own personal theological beliefs. He did, however, share something with me that was telling of his faith. He told me that "the love of Charlotte Bowers Nelson was evidence of God at work in his life." It was all the proof he needed.
Well, that ... and maybe an occasional national championship from the Duke University basketball team.
Christmas is almost here. A light does shine in the darkness. The darkness does not overcome it.
Thank you, God, for the life of Gus Nelson. Amen. Merry Christmas.
mom and dad in my kitchen, April 2010
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