A Life Well Lived

Reflections on a heaven-bound soul

Image: Linda Laing

A friend died yesterday. Cancer. Glioblastoma. The details aren’t important. But his passing prompts me to write because his way of being in this world created a powerful impact on others. It’s worth reflecting on. Especially in these tumultuous times.

Unlike many people who knew and loved Karl, an odd fact our friendship is that he and I only met once: we only ever had a single in-person conversation. That was less than two years ago, shortly after his diagnosis and initial surgery. But we’d become friends on Facebook in 2013, having crossed paths in numerous fraught political conversations on mutual friends’ timelines. Despite our very different political orientations, we ended up forging a friendship through many sporadic back-channel discussions that were amiable and thought-provoking, examining our differences at the intersection of our shared spiritual values.

He was also one of my earliest subscribers and most earnest cheerleaders when I started my blog a few years ago. That’s one reason I want to honor him here: his enthusiastic and constant encouragement of my writing (sparse though it has been) has meant, and means, a lot to me.

The biggest reason for devoting a blog post to Karl, though, is that throughout the decade I knew him—the final of his nearly seven—he lived with an uncommonly courageous heart. In a nutshell—

He shared the messiness of life with signature humor, warmth, and humility.

He was unafraid—or at least willing—to honestly acknowledge his failures and weaknesses, to show his vulnerability to the world.

He adored and celebrated his wife, their marriage, and what she brought to his life.

He lived his faith openly and deeply, for although it had taken many hits, it upheld him through cataclysmic upheavals: the end of his first sacredly-held marriage, and a beloved career, the tumult of addiction and recovery, the grueling reconstruction of his life after surviving a near-fatal fall, the harrowing destruction of “The House That Love Built” (their beautiful home, literally—and lovingly—built by hand) in one of the 2015 California wildfires, along with the painful loss of everything precious inside and around it.

And then, finally, his terminal diagnosis with its unescapable goodbye to his beloved wife, cherished children, and grandchildren.

It’s a pretty shocking list of hardships to beset a single life—a lot more tragedy than we might imagine one person could bear. Yet what’s most impressive about the magnitude of it is that rather than crushing his spirit under the weight of his sorrows, the accumulated adversity molded Karl, forged his heart in the Refiner’s fire and honed his reflex for gratitude, for living in joy and optimism, for seeking bonds of connection. The graciousness with which he moved through life and his fearless open-heartedness became his superpower, and his legacy.

To the very end, after multiple surgeries and rounds of chemo and all the suffering those entail, he still sought to meet the day with curiosity, to show up in the moment and be thankful for it. And he continually looked to his Maker and Redeemer, trusting the path home to Him. “Life on life’s terms!” became Karl’s rallying cry.

In the last couple years he and I had only a few conversations as his life and focus were taken over by health concerns and more immediate priorities than pondering the ways of the world with an online friend from across the country. We stayed in touch about his desire to start blogging, which he’d begun to pursue in earnest when his diagnosis dropped so suddenly into his reality, his days became so abruptly numbered. That dream was never formally realized, though I did remark to him once that his daily writing on Facebook, which was prolific and reliably inspirational, served as a blog regardless of the format. He certainly had the subscriber base if his friend-count is anything to go by.

Today, scrolling back through our conversations, I happened across a little story he shared, now perfect for this moment of goodbye. He was making the point that we can help the Big World Out There become a better place by making our own little worlds better, and how significant it is to leave this one with ripples of kindness in our wake. I’ll re-share his words here to end with the truth that even though we’ve lost sight of Karl—the path he is walking has curved around a bend—he’s with us, alive and present. We will find him still here in his legacy of courage and compassion, in the warmth of our hearts and memories, in the wisdom he shared so humbly, eloquently, and generously, always championing the power of love to heal.

Here is what he told me in a message on April 17, 2021, a few short months before his diagnosis, and exactly two years before his final walk through the redwoods:

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I was recently called upon to do a grave-side memorial service for the wife of a former congregant... a wonderful person who touched many lives with cards, notes, calls to support and encourage others. Many sweet and moving stories were shared by people who had been blessed by her thoughtful kindness. What came to me to say to draw the service to a close was a reflection on how death serves us. Every day we have an opportunity to touch lives and bless others -- often in ways that might seem small and inconsequential at the time. What stories will we leave for others to share when it is our turn to leave this life?

~ Karl Parker (April 9, 1954 - May 4, 2023)

Karl ~ April 17, 2023

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