This Star Won't Go Out

Esther didn’t have regrets; some of us live with lots of regrets, you know. “Oh my goodness, I regret the shoes I wore today! I regret that I just yawned! Oh no! I regret that . . .” Esther was like, “Pfft, Dad, this is life, let it wash over you.”


She died so well. I used to say to her—in the last year especially—I’d say, “Esther, when you . . .” (I believe, when we’d talk about heaven, I’d say I believe that life is more and she agreed and she said . . . she believed that . . .) I said, “When you die, would you just give me some kind of sign? Let’s just work that out now so that I don’t have to wonder if I got this wrong. Can you just tell me somehow, give me a sign?” And I had my last conversations with her, and I told her I loved her and I said this is very serious, but one of the last things I said to her was, “Esther, let me remind you, if you’re going to go home tonight, would you just tell me?”—we had talked about this a lot—I said, “Maybe you could open your eyes and tell me that you see the angels and that you see heaven.” This was a yearlong conversation; we never hid from death; we embraced life.

And she fell asleep. For all those hours we were by her side knowing that she wasn’t going to come back. Then finally, right at the end, she opened her eyes, and she breathed out her last. And I just said, “Esther, you’re going home! I am so happy for you!” And then she was gone . . .

But our relationship with Esther doesn’t stop there. You think . . . the relationship goes on. It goes on! Esther’s in your heart. Your relationship with her is unique. It goes on, it continues. If she isn’t able to guide your life in terms of looking to her as an example of how we should live; if you don’t have that hope in your heart that there’s some other place, some other meaning. Believe me, Esther’s life was almost entirely this world focused, as it should be. She believed that we are called to be here, to make a difference here, to be alive here, and to love here well and leave heaven with God. Let him take care of those details. She had her eye there too, she knew. But she believed in making a difference now. That’s the only way, it seems to me, to live a meaningful life. She did justly, she loved mercy and she walked humbly with her God.

Dr. Seuss said . . . (I figure I need to quote an authority here), Dr. Seuss said, “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.” Right? I don’t know about the first steps in a geography of loss, and I know that it’s unmapped. I know that we all have to go by ourselves, but there’s something bigger than us at work here. And Esther represents that and she’s lighting the path and God is using her in amazing ways. The Star lit up over our hearts and she poured out Grace.

Now, is the story over? Come on as a congregation:

Is the story over? [Congregation responds, “No!”] Will this Star ever go out? [Congregation responds, “No! No!”] Will this Star ever go out? No? In memory of Esther, will you pledge to live a Life of Awesome? You’re supposed to say yes right there. Is Esther alive now more than ever before? [Congregation responds: “Yes!”] Amen.



I got a front-row seat to her wonderful life. She’s my Star. She’s my muse. My kids know that. I’ve always been easy with Esther. She disarmed me. She brought out the best in me, she reminded me of the worst, because I could see it so clearly, but then she welcomed me into her heart. And so many times, like Monday, I said, “Esther, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you when you go. I don’t know how I can get along. What am I going to do?” And then I just expected her like always to say, “Well, Dad, let me tell you; here’s what you do, A B C.” But she said, “Come here.” She just hugged me; held me close, didn’t say anything, didn’t say anything. And I realize now that that was . . . that’s the best way to love someone. Hold them close, know that you’re loved, let it wash over you.

We got to love her and she got to love us. Amen?





Monday, September 20, 2010 12:57 AM, EDT

“I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair

And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders

And a leaf on your hair”

“Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments” by Archibald MacLeish




Friends,