Polly was a beautiful human being. There was something about her that exuded quiet strength; she was a bright light — but easy to overlook because she let it shine on others. She did not toot her own horn and she was an utter delight to visit even toward the end, when, as I now know, she was far more riddled with cancer than she ever led me to see or understand.
My enduring memories of her are of her sitting quietly, often with a lovely smile, in the midst of her people — at home, in a pew toward the back on the pulpit side, during Circle II gatherings in the basement, and in our Wednesday morning Bible Study. These are enduring memories because they are so real. She may have been quiet, but she was always present, intensely present. You had the sense that while you were talking or together, you were her guest.
We’ll celebrate her life on Sunday, in a service held in our sanctuary, of course, at 1 PM. We’ll be reading from Isaiah:
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come
down from heaven,
and do not return there until they have watered the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and
bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.
For you shall go out in joy,
and be led back in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.
Perhaps Polly’s favorite place to be quiet was the garden. There she also recharged her spirit and reconnected with God’s spirit of beauty and wonder. There she found her joy.
And we can be sure, those of us who had the pleasure of knowing her, that she spread that joy, just as surely as her eyes twinkled when you spoke with her or as surely as her heart swelled with pride when you talked with her about her beloved family or her dear church.
We will miss you dear Polly. Rest in peace.
