Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,

I wish I could say that I believed you are looking down on me, seeing every word that I type, and that you are smiling knowing that I still think about you. I wish that you could still know how much I appreciated knowing you.

I wish I believed, like so many others whose lives you touched, that I will see you again one day. Then I could share their sense of comfort and hope. But actually, I know that I won't be let into heaven. (lol) I remember how I could share those thoughts so openly and comfortably with you. You understood that me saying I wasn't going to heaven didn't mean that I thought I was going to hell. You understood that as an ex-Jehovah's Witness my concepts of heaven and hell were completely different from what many religions teach. You understood that I was different, and there were times you were the one to remind me that was okay.

But I don't believe. I won't say that I never believed, but by the time you showed up in my Orlando chapter of life, at best, I struggled with believing. And before you left this life, I had abandoned any notion of a good god, which is a core belief of most churchgoing persons. Yet we could still have fruitful conversations that left me feeling unjudged. You did not hesitate to use this confused, conflicted, angry woman in your ministry. And I stepped out of many comfort zones because you were so present, active and relevant.

But what I loved most about you had little to do with church. I loved your authenticity. I loved that one of the first things I learned about you was really who you turned out to be: you love connections. Connection was a big word in your life. Heck, your churches and non-profit from the time I knew you all carried that word (different spelling: ConneXion). But what's in a spelling, right? Truly, if I didn't know it when you were alive, your funeral proved that you truly lived out the word "connection". You used to love to say "love is a verb". Well, you may not have ever said it, but for you, connection was a verb too!

So, why am I taking the time to write to you if I know that you will never see these words? Well, it's because I am not writing to you. I am writing to everyone who ever knew you and loved you. I am writing to everyone who thinks about you and misses you. I am writing to everyone who started a project with you, but was unable to complete it before your unexpected passing (such as me with my poems that you encouraged me to compile). I am writing to comfort myself and to let your family know you continue to exist in my heart as I know you do in the hearts of so many others. Man, if you could have seen your funeral!

Two things were said at your funeral that touched my heart deeply and it has always been my intention to write a poem about one of them. I still have not completed the poem. I am hoping to finish by your birthday this year. I was actually hoping to finish the poetry book this year and to release it on your birthday, but as that clearly was not going to happen, I took on a lighter project -- this letter & the one poem.

You always knew that speed was not my strength, but you never focused on my weaknesses. Not mine. Not anyone's. You looked for the best in people, even in the middle of their worst situations. And sure, people can reason that it's because of your own life story, but that wasn't just it. Too many come out of difficult situations and forget where they had been. In fact they then judge that if they could turn their lives around, others should be able to travel a similar path. But that wasn't you. You met everybody where they were. No. You did better than that. You went looking for them!

I alluded to two things that were said at your funeral. It pretty much summed up your entire life in my eyes. I don't remember who said it, or even if it was a he or a she, but they said (maybe not an exact quote), "Even though Oliver had so many friends, you truly felt like you were his only friend." I felt in that exact moment the veracity not only of the statement, but of the depth of the connections you fostered. You talked about connections, you preached about connections, but most of all you lived that life! Honorable mentions: Your passions for justice, knowledge and redemption!!

And then, in his eulogy ...

When Dave said, "... Oliver was no irrelevant negro." ...

I felt the fullness of his words and the size of his pride
And I felt a poem bubbling up inside*
I knew that I was part of a large community
Who understood your worth and your value
All of which was earned, none of it undue

*This is not the poem.

You taught me to see connections in a new light. You taught me to start any tasks and worry later about how it would progress and finish. Lessons I'm still revisiting.

Well, this letter-article is the start, Oliver. Next, will be THE poem: No Irrelevant Negro. [https://hubpages.com/literature/no-irrelevant-negro]

The poem will not be to you. The poem will be to all of your family, it will be to the friends who knew you, loved you and miss you, to persons who crossed your path, to those who benefitted from your projects and passions, to those who attended your churches or were beneficiaries of your charities, to anyone reading these words.

In and out of church, you will always be my Forever Radical Pastor!

Good-bye, Oliver.