I wish I could be there to share today with you. But please know that while I may not be physically with you, I have noted the hour and, even with the adjustment of different time zones, I am there with you in thought and prayer. What has made it easier for me to miss this gathering is to imagine what Shelly would have said if you posed this question to her: "What would you rather be doing today, singing in a medieval cathedral in St. Petersburg, Russia, or hang out in a backyard in Temecula, California? For Shelly, there would be no question...but still my heart aches. The Watson family has been so important in the life of the Dexter family, and Shelly has always held a little piece of my heart captive. I have asked the Quire of Voyces to dedicate our first concert in memory of Shelly Watson.
I first met Shelly when she was a chubby little girl who was simply a lot of fun to be around. I called her "Shelly Belly," because she knew how to laugh and play, a gift which she never outgrew, and one she inspired in those around her. She may have grown up, but she retained a Peter Pan heart. The games we played at youth group, on reatreats at Loch Leven, or whenever we got together, found Shelly right in the middle, egging us on. I remember so well how, when Pennie and I needed to find a babysitter for the evening, Stephen and Michael always wanted Shelly, because, they said she played with them instead of watching TV. One of her greatest joys in the recent years has been playing with her niece and watching her grow.
Shelly grew to become a lively teenager who played an important role in shaping the character of our Church Youth Group. She could, and would, without fail, inspire the silly and playful side in all of us, but then just as easily enter into discussions where she added a depth and a healthy respect for the thoughts and opinions of others. As her faith matured, I heard her ask good questions, searching questions, sometimes even questioning the unquestionable. She never understood cruelty or prejudice, or anger which only fed hatred. She was a peacemaker, grounded in a healthy respect for the differences of others, a character which continued to mature and grow throughout her life.
I visited Shelly several times in the past few months and each time came away feeling that it was my spirit which had been fed. We talked about many things, we laughed as we remembered the silly and fun times, and we cried as we talked about the scary and difficult things she was facing. I wanted to help her talk about those things and perhaps, I did help at some level, but I always left those visits feeling that I was the one who had been cared for.
Thinking back through those conversations, there are two affirmations about her life which Shelly talked about, which I want to share with you.
The first affirmation came one afternoon as we were sitting there on the patio behind the house. i wanted to know how she was dealing with that first question which everyone who knows and loves her has been asking ever since the first diagnosis three years ago. So I asked her, "Why did this happen to someone so young and beautiful? Why someone so full of love and life? Why this disease? Why Shelly?" I asked.
She was looking out toward the hills beyond you there, and was silent for a moment. Then she turned and looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and said, "Because this is my story." She explained that if she were to spend her days and nights asking questions which have no answers, lamenting that her story was not like that of others, she would have nothing but despair and sadness to fill her days. But by accepting the fact that her story was uniquely hers, regardless of the plot twisted, or how it turns out in the end, she believed that she still had the freedom to enjoy those things which make life so beautiful each and every day. Of course she wanted to be well, she wanted to travel and hike and do all those things she loved to do so much, but she would not allow despair over her losses and disppointments break the joyful spirit which gave so much meaning to her life.
The second affirmation Shelly shared with great conviction. She said that there is nothing in this life that is more important than the relationship you have with your family and best friends. Nothing in life comes even close to it. Shelly idolized her older brother and sister, she loved her mother and worshiped her father and through this illness she discovered that those relationships had become even stronger. She told me that when you have lost your health, your independence, and even facing the end of your life, it is the love which you share with others which becomes your anchor.
But then, after that powerful affirmation, she began to ponder one of the great ironies in life. Why is it that the closer we are to someone - the more we love them - the more we express that love, why is it that we experience an even deeper pain when they are gone? Shelly's greatest fear was not for herself, but for the pain and sorrow her illness and death would cause her family.
Shelly was my hero because she never gave into an easy answer. She asked tough questions and went searching for answers. She wanted to live her life to the fullest, even when we, and she herself, alll agree it was a life which was much too short. Yet, she lived this short story of her life with grace; a remarkable and graceful acceptance, which even now, whether we know it or not, is helping us to heal.
I have a picture that I took many years ago while standing on top of a hill overlooking a cove on Lake Mead. It was taken during our annual High School Church Youth Group houseboat trip. I had hiked to the top of the hill late one morning, just to be by myself, to enjoy the view from up there, bu probably for the most part out of a need to escape from the press of eighteen youth and adults crammed onto the houseboat below.
The picture I snapped is of a calm and beautiful morning on he lake. The day was pristine and clear, the water still and flat, but if you look closely you can see the "V" shaped wake of something moving through the water away from the houseboat toward the deep blue beyond. It is Shelly out for her morning workout. She had promised her swim coach that if she could join her PYF friends on their annual houseboat trip that summer, she would workout every day. And she did it with no one to spurn her on, other than her promise and dedication to follow through on that promise. Swimming alone, she looked so small and vulnerable, my first impulse was to run down the hill, grab the ski boat and take off after her. But instead I watched as she swam away, stroke after stroke, confident and graceful, swimming away from shore, toward the only goal she knew.
You can't tell by the photograph that it is Shelly, but it is, and it speaks to me now more about Shelly's character than it did when I first took the picture. It is a picture of freedom and independence, of strength and dedication, faith and trust, appreciation for nature, a hunger for adventure, and a life lived to the fullest.
Shelly-belly, you taught us well. Swim on.
I love you, and I always will.
Love, Nice Mr. Dexter
