Paradise emerges around us in hints and glimpses.
For half my life,
with all my heart
and mind, I have cherished
being schooled, guided,
and loved, in return, by
an incomparable mentor.
In mid-March Associate Professor Emerita of Theatre, Pat Stien, and I celebrated St. Pat’s Day with buttery scones and Irish poems. In her ninth decade, her mastery as an oral interpreter of literature still shone.
A knock interrupted.
Two well-meaning young women, one dressed as a leprechaun, pushed through the door with a rolling cart bearing little sacks of candy. And . . . a very yellow, giant, inflatable, rubber duck.
Are you kidding? I wanted to shout. Do you have any idea who this is?
Pat, however, smiled. Listened carefully. No need to defend or assert her fine intelligence. No desire to establish her reputation or myriad credentials. She may have eyed The Duck but made no comment.
Mildly, she took the sweets they offered. “Thank you so much,” she said, with her trademark chuckle. “My favorites.”
The leprechaun and the keeper of the duck, noticeably calmed by Pat’s gratitude and luminous presence, left.
I remained. Gently instructed, yet again.
This week I read poems and scripture to Pat in Hospice House as she slept. I longed to connect one last time, to meet that clear gaze, to feel the answering squeeze of her narrow hand.
She slept on, peacefully, for which I give thanks. Sometimes we have to trust that the words we speak and the little songs we offer during a vigil register in our loved one’s spirit.
I’ve savored a long, vibrant relationship with Pat. But a role model’s influence on us may be fleeting in actual time — and inspiring, lifelong.
A mentor is a God-given largesse, often many-layered, always divinely timed. In my case, a second mother. Colleague. Friend. Director. Teacher. Sister in Christ.
“When the peaks of our sky come together
my house will have a roof.”
So wrote French poet, Paul Éluard, in Dignes de vivre (lit. “worthy of life”).
Am I a sheltering house of wisdom and encouragement for others? Are you, dear readers?
Pat Stien indelibly communicated God’s love. Every place and time we met, over almost four decades, brimmed with laughter, music, stories, prayers, and the communion of like-minded souls.
Here’s the last poem I read to her, one she loved, by Emily Dickinson. I hope it speaks to you as well.
“I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise – ”
Friends, have you flourished under the rich oversight of a teacher/mentor? The mention of their names and expertise in the comments below would allow us all to thank God with you for their influence in your life.
You might also enjoy my tribute to Pat’s husband, Howard Stien.
Photo by Suzanne Foust
What a tremendous treasure of a relationship. It is such an encouragement to read this honoring tribute to your mentor, teacher, and dear friend, Pat Stein. Thank you for sharing these precious thoughts and memories, including your latest lesson: “Pat, however, smiled. Listened carefully. No need to defend or assert her fine intelligence. No desire to establish her reputation or myriad credentials.” To me, that is such a beautiful example of refreshing humility and maturity. What a gift the overflow of her life has been.
Rarely do we come across someone who is both willing and able to support our growth, art, and heart throughout the years. What a phenomenal woman. Thank you again for sharing this.
I am praying for you as you process and grieve too.
Treasure, yes. My world feels dimmer without her. I was given a great gift in knowing Pat and being continually schooled, often without words, by her example.
Thank you, Bethany, for your honoring words and emotional support. It means a great deal to me. As do you.
Thank you, Laurie. I loved hearing the example you offered of one way she “schooled through example,” as you called it. Perhaps we will get to learn more of these lessons too as you share more stories, if and when the time feels right, of course.
I am praying for you today and will continue to do that in the seasons to come.
Bethany, thank you for your gentle curiosity (among other marvelous qualities!). A long day away with some tears now and then, so coming home again to read of your prayers is a wonderful gift. Thank you.
Oh my oh my, your words are a benediction, but the greatest joy for me was seeing your beautiful face, my friend. I’m glad your photo accompanied this tribute to such a lovely lady. And reading poetry to someone who seems to be sleeping speaks volumes about the power of words to minister to the soul.
Inspiring as always.
Jody, I am holding that word “benediction” close to my heart just now. Thank you for the gift of that. And for your ongoing friendship and encouragement. And for the affirmation of beautiful words read to the sleeping being a ministry. I am wrapping it all around me like a shawl.
This is so beautiful, Laurie, inspired by your beautiful friend. Those who are truly wise will never flaunt their wisdom as a banner or use it as a club. This comes to mind because I was recently the recipient of wisdom turned weapon. And your friend? What grace!! What insight to know that the hospice workers had no malintent. They were good workers, performing their assigned job. And your patron, Pat, with the narrow hands? She comprehended that, and opened her wide heart to show appreciation. I am so glad you have shared just a shining facet of who she remains to you, and always will (unless, in your contemplation of her, your good opinion of her widens, too, as I suspect it will, as you continue to contemplate her many and varied gifts).
Yes, I had such a mentor, a beautiful, wise woman named Esther Goff, whom I knew and loved (and still do) till she drew her last breath at 104 several years ago. She had been my high-school English teacher. Perhaps I will send you the essay I wrote about her, titled “Circle of Her Embrace.” All her “kids” visited her, and kept her apprised of what *we* were doing, because that is what such a generous lady wanted to know. She cared more about us than about herself. We, her former students, authors or journalists or English teachers, all, also honored her every August, when she turned over another leaf in her long and storied history. Sadly, I missed the second-to-last birthday party, when *I* had offered to bring the *only* dessert–a scrumptious fresh-creamy-buttercream-frosting-to-die-for BEST BIRTHDAY CAKE EVER in all of St. Louis. Of course, I remembered her. Of course, I knew it was her birthday party. Of course, I bought the best. BUT somehow, I got sidetracked in our usual Saturday routine, and that the party hour came and went. I didn’t even realize it until we returned home from shopping to many flashing lights on our answering machine–all REMINDER calls from the bakery, each more desperate and irritated than the last. I won’t say more here, except that I was able to get the cake on Sunday and deliver it in person to the retirement center. As she brushed away tears beading my cheeks, she gratefully, enthusiastically exclaimed that it would be THE best cake the residents would ever taste. And that is who she was, as well as who was vivacious and vibrant. She interested us in all manner of literature. She was exciting, knowledgeable, dynamic. That we all excelled in English (and hopefully from her life lessons) speaks so well of Esther Goff, just as you and your accomplishments (and persona) do about Pat Stien. I think that she has enlivened the “dwell-in- possibility” imagination of one of THE most talented lyrical authors whose work I’ve risen up to hail as “blessed,” indeed speaks well of the narrow-handed woman with the wide heart and wide eyes, open to the wonder of life and possibility and to God. Thank you so much for sharing and inspiring my own meandering today down Memory Lane! When I remember Esther, or I will remember Pat!
xo
Lynn
Dear Lynn, as ever, your words are “apples of gold in settings of silver”; they simultaneously encourage and transport me.
Thank you for extending to us all the luxurious pace and candor and detail of this story. And this woman I can almost hear and picture now, because she lives again, in your words.
Esther is the second English teacher mentioned in the comments. Actually, I think Pat taught English for a while as well, in a small school back in the Midwest, so that makes three. Being introduced to possibilities changes our lives. Deepens the narrow places, lets in the light. Widens our hopes and, hopefully, our influence on others.
Belated yet always timely, in Christ, we open our minds and mouths and hands. Somebody, please, pass the C.A.K.E.!
What a privilege to have had such a relationship with such a wonderful Godly mentor. I haven’t ever had such a one and I am sad because of that. I have had wonderful people who have been a part of my life who have encouraged me over the years in different seasons and I thank God for them all. But I would have loved my own Pat ….
Dear Sally, exactly the word, yes: a privilege . . . and a gift, of wondrous continuity. I’ve always felt undeserving of such a blessing. Could I but wave my wand I’d give everyone their very own lifelong mentor to walk alongside them. I don’t understand the comings and goings of heaven, can only trust we meet those we need at the moments of most need, for the appointed season, and, sometimes, by God’s grace, also become the sent ones. Thanks for being “a sent one” in my life.
Our church Sunday class on Hospitality chose a group project of “adopting “ a widow or widower to befriend. How could I have known that I would be paired with someone who would enrich my life in so many lasting ways. Bea Adams gave the best hugs. Her wisdom for the trials in my life were born of her own struggles. She listened and prayed with me. I listened and prayed with her. She made me laugh, taught me to find joy in everyday places and always left my heart full. She has passed now. But I still call out “hello Bea, I miss you so much “ whenever I drive down Division past her apartment. She carved a place in my heart, as I did in hers, so she said. It’s hard to lose those lovely people in our lives!
Dear Cris, it is wonderful to hear from you (BTW: I just opened your lovely card yesterday, thank you; and thank you for subscribing to the blog!). What a treasure, your Bea, and what meaningful times (and hugs) you shared. No wonder you miss her. Your gentle ritual of greeting her while driving down Division touches this sentimental heart. I will think of a similar way I can call out my love to Pat. Thank you, friend.
Forgive me if I wrote too soon about Margaret. I neglected to chime in about your Pat. I knew her for many years. She was deeply respected by her colleagues and dearly loved by her students. Her narrations brought The scripts to life. And she loved you dearly , Laurie. I am deeply sorry for your loss, dear one…
Not at all, friend. You responded to my question. I so wanted this post to be about more than Pat, more than my experience and loss. We can be so incomparably strengthened and heartened by the people God brings into our lives for a season, or for years. Then there are those that dance across our paths in fleeting encounters. I have been thinking about you and Margaret even as I think about Pat. How rich we are to have been loved by these women!
Dr. Margaret Taylor Doane.. The mother next to my own, my teacher of sacred dance and my mentor of life. My sweet dancing sister in Christ and my instructor of resilience and grace and history. My link to centuries past and my golden gift from God. You and Pat had much in common. Even more , now. I miss you no less than 20 years ago. Your imprint remains deep and real.
Judy, I love being reminded of her title as well as her name. What an incomparable gift in your life. A timeless connection. That word “imprint” is beautifully chosen. The touch goes deep, deep. The ripples go on . . .
“Resilience and grace and history”— a profoundly remarkable spectrum!
I’ve been incredibly blessed by a string of mentors over the years as we moved from one pastorate to another during my husband’s ministry. What they’ve all had in common: strong relationships with God, wisdom, listening ears, the gift of encouragement, and caring hearts. Now it’s my challenge and privilege to offer those things to others.
Golly, where would we be today without the “sent” ones?! You’ve navigated many transitions, friend. It’s so encouraging to hear about mentors emerging with each new location and calling.
And if I may chime in, your writing and your interaction with readers ever-embody those qualities of God’s love, warmly and wisely.
Challenge and privilege. So well said.
I’ve just connected via Facebook to my pastor during my teens and into my twenties. He married my husband and I almost 41 years ago. So much wisdom, support, and love came from this man then and now with our reconnecting, I’m gleaning more from him. He’s the dad I wanted to have and I am forever grateful for Pastor (hasn’t been one for over 30+ years, but he’ll always have that title in my mind) Stan.
Thank you for sharing your story with your mentor friend!!!
Tammy, first of all, congratulations on the forthcoming anniversary! And how marvelous for you to reconnect with (pastor) Stan. God is so kind to send us extra fathers and mothers along the way. From what you write, Stan sounds deeply caring, open, and wise. May there be more rich encounters ahead.
I’ve had a few.
None as deep like yours.
I try not to land on saying, “my mom.”
But if I had to choose one in light of your story, its her.
A whole lot different, a whole lot the same.
Thank you for sharing, and I’m sorry for your loss.
r
Well then, I am celebrating your mom, Rick, for all she invested in you, and all the ways that initial love continues to prosper and grow, in God, right up to here and now.
Thank you for your empathy and encouragement. Deeply appreciated.
Forgive me if I previously sent this to you by email… can’t remember if I did.
These are two newspaper articles re: my mom.
The reason for sending?
In all she did within the community, two things I consider, as I too, sit, reflect and wonder… 1. her faith is what sustained her and she was known and respected for it, 2. we as children never lacked in love from her at home because of community work.
Thank you for spurring this afternoon reflection.
https://notllocal.com/2020/03/12/mills-considered-generations-of-children-her-family/
https://notllocal.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Local_081821_Issue33_pg1-20-WEB.pdf
Rick, I look forward to reading these soon and getting to know a little more about your mom. In my experience, the examined life is always a richer one. You’re spurring me on as well to stay open to pondering God stirred up last week. My sister and I waited 12 years before feeling ready to scatter some of our mother’s ashes. We did so after fixing, then feasting on, foods she loved, then poring over old photos and retelling stories. And surprising one another with new details unbeknownst to one or the other, until that day.
I long to live more fully in the present, but I also love this quote from Eugene Peterson:
“The now is only a thin slice of who I am;
isolated from the rich deposits of before,
it cannot be understood. . . . Every detail
deepens comprehension and therefore deepens love.” —from Run with the Horses, p. 36
Stop.
Sit.
Sip.
Good for the soul.
Love Eugene.
Thank you for sharing.
Rick, these were a pleasure to read. Vi equipped so many people for safety, success, and joy! What a pillar of practical caring and skill building in the community.
ps Great to see your clan gathered to honor and celebrate her legacy.
You know who it would be, although there have been many, the one that shines through was/is Susie Kroseberg. It is the chuckle, the riveting gaze, the encouragement, never are far from my mind. Early on, she had no idea what was going on in my life. AND SUBTLE! The first year I knew her, (she was also a paper route customer) , That first Christmas, when others were leaving envelopes with $2 or $5 or even $10, and it ended up being more money than I had ever seen in one place, Susie gave me a comb and brush set. Very masculine, and mildly disappointing to an unkempt 12 year old, at that time deeply enamored with a certain 12 year old girl . . . And there have been many others, who saw potential, and somehow dragged it out of me. I sit and reflect, and wonder whom I have even offered a glimmer of hope to compared to what Susie and Bill did for me.
Dear John, it is such a pleasure reading your description of Susie. I hope she’s reading it, too!
She was not only our amazing English teacher, she was the movie star guest that visited the next door neighbors.
What a great paper route story!
I am convinced you’ve inspired and cheered and encouraged (and continue to do so) more lives (and outlooks) than you know, my friend. Mine, being one of them.