Leatherwood's Pensieve

February 28, 2005

Sarah Tucker

Miss Sarah Tucker ... now this'll be an interesting eulogy to write. It's always been hard to find words for what I think about her. I suppose I could begin by saying that I think that Sarah Tucker understands me better than just about anyone else in the world. She and I understand each other. Though on the outside, we're very different people; on the inside, we're remarkably similar. Similar enough that often we don't need words to express what we're feeling or thinking to each other.

Now, how did I discover such a rare phenomenon? Quite by accident, on my side anyway. I managed to get myself appointed as one of the two Themelios leaders in charge of the Honors class of 2003, the third cohort. In the summer before you meet your team, you're supposed to send them notes and other things to let them know you're excited at the chance to be their leader, welcoming them to LeTourneau - PR stuff like that. Being a rather lazy person, I pretty much launched my entire introduction with this letter. Apparently, that was enough to signal Miss Tucker that here at LeTourneau was a kindred spirit. Not that she responded to the message, at least, not to my memory. My next memory of specifically her happened shortly after the first orientation weekend. I happened to see Miss Tucker and forgot her name (I'm horrible with names. That year I worked and slaved to memorize every name, and I did a very good job), so I asked her for it. The young lady refused! Piqued, I ran back to my room, went through a process of elimination, and returned triumphantly (at a run) and informed her that she was Sarah Tucker.

From that whole first semester, that's about all that I remember. I introduced her to the Underground Forums (which were dying out at the time, but were not wholly decrepit) and her first post immediately snared my attention. I hope she doesn't mind if I indulge in a bit of necromancy:

Caution: the punctuation is atrocious.

Quiet dark and lonely, like dunking your head and ... no more like lifting it out of the fuzz and for once having it shocked clear ... the cold ... It is like being submerged it is like finally being allowed to emerge. there is nothing else like it on earth.

And that's how I feel tonight. Happy and lonely, dark clear and bright, like I have been spoiled, yet there is one thing I need - A keen edge to the wind, something like the night birds seen half in shadow half in white glint of wing ... always alone. Always flying away. Always this longing to fly.

Felt it before, feel it often, always, one word longings that do not fit brittle language yet are every language ... home. More than home, not to live, but belong, or would that be like death, I don't know I've never tried either. And this dream and this hope and this fear that somehow the dream could be less than it is. And I don't belong, but I like it that way I don't fit, but I'm not confined. Unexpected maybe not yet I feel as though I'm not ... Incongruity mocks me and my efforts if everything is selfish then why ? there is none. No reason for joy and certainly none for happiness and yet I feel both. I am pulled out of myself ... out of my petty intrigues and worries ... and forced for moments sometimes minutes sometimes hours on end to focus on something outside of myself and for a moment I am lost and belonging to myself doesn't count for anything anymore ... and this makes me happy.

To this day, I wonder if we actually read each others' minds or if we just supply each other with the words we've always been looking for. When I read this the first time (actually, when I just re-read it), I was struck by the feeling that I understood. I understood the feeling. I understood the thought. And I felt less alone.

I also made the discovery that semester that here was a woman who loved to swordfight. Heedless of bruises and refusing to retreat, she was a most formidable opponent. Now she's just lethal. It is a rare occurrence to find a female who enjoys the gentle sport of beating one with sticks, and I'm grateful to have experienced it (and to have run her through repeatedly).

We became closer friends over the break that semester. She asked my advice on whether or not she should take Batts courses the next semester. We began an odd sort of friendship which has lasted to this day. It's been really special.

How can I write a eulogy for Miss Tucker? To some extent, I feel as if all I'd have to do would be to look at her and all that needs to be said would be. But that wouldn't help the rest of you. Miss Sarah Tucker is a very rare person. She sees so many more things that most people. She notices when the flowers on campus come into bloom. She has cultivated the gift and blessing of gladness and joy. Sarah Tucker is probably the most joyful, happiest person I know. Not, of course, to say that she doesn't have extreme lows as well. But her heart is open to God, and seems to be always thanking Him. She is one of the most grateful people I know.

She has a marvelous gift for finding the right words. She can express thoughts and feelings and ideas that tie me in knots. As I've said before, Sarah understands in a way few people do. I remember thinking, when I first began to get to know her, that I could follow this person. It's odd to think of her as a leader, but she is one.

Sarah Tucker is a very special person. There are few like her anywhere. And she loved God with more of her heart than I've ever seen in a human before. It's a blessing to know her.

As I just said, it's been a blessing to know you, Miss Tucker. It's been a blessing to listen to you, to read what you've written, and to watch you. In the borrowed words of Emily of New Moon,

THE LORD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU
THE LORD MAKE HIS FACE SHINE TOWARDS YOU
THE LORD LIFT UP HIS COUNTENANCE UPON YOU
AND GIVE YOU PEACE.