We're Off To See The Wizard!

The morning jogger was bent over at the curb outside my house. I noticed her as I was picking up the papers on my driveway. Instinctively I went over to her, "Is something wrong?"

"Terribly wrong...!

Then I realized her plight. A small robin lay dying there in a smattering of blood and feathers. "Oh god," the jogger cried, "how sad."

Death is always sad. Especially when it seems so wrong. As in the case of our small friend here, likely the victim of a passing car. The two stark-still robins nearby seemed to sense the same thing, but then they like we moved on.

Death comes into our life in so many painful ways. On the ascending hierarchy of our pain: Robins...pets... neighbors ...classmates...family...friends....parents....children....mates. Oh, and somewhere in there, those fond convictions by which we have lived our life. Their wakes are only held in our hearts.

I'm thinking here, for instance, my childhood conviction that each new day or mail brought a happy little surprise. That Jack Armstrong secret decoder ring....the college acceptance letter....the date I hoped for or the job I applied for or the lottery I prayed for. Youth does that to you. It energizes you with hopes little and large. And so you rise each morning with the conviction of hope; and hope like that surely makes life worth living.

And yet, time happens in every life. And so in time you find yourself getting up in the morning thinking: "No surprises, Lord, please no surprises!" When that happens, you know you've lost something. Very much like you do when other youthful convictions slip through your fingers. Say the surety of your invincibility...of your capacity to change the world...of your beliefs about good winning over evil, friends standing by you, leaders knowing how to lead, and nature remaining forever beautiful and benign.

Still, none of these little funerals need be catastrophic. Just as we somehow manage to go through the pain of other funerals, so do we the funerals of our young convictions. Many things -- from robins to loved ones -- will die and we will live. The living know no other way. Call it evolution or God, we are programmed to survive every funeral until our own.

Let the record show that survival is a good thing. A courageous thing, really. What is particularly surprising about this courage is that we never knew we possessed it. But because we do, just like the Cowardly Lion we continue to trek the Yellow Brick Road in search of our own Emerald City.

The Lion learned something essential. Not even the many inevitable deaths in our past can stop our steps into the future. So sing it along with me in the key of C: "We're Off To See The Wizard...."