“Being in the Way is My Spiritual Gift”

Note: This blog post was written in mid-February 2024 the evening of my Aunt Marilyn’s home-going. 
This one’s going to have to be short. (Ha ha ha—I can hear my kids laughing now.) But truly, I do need to pack soon—I am taking a road trip the day after tomorrow to honor the memory of a beloved aunt who is somewhat of a legend to me. Her eight children, my Eastep cousins, are living legends.  
Eight children! That many cousins running around the North Branch Farm always filled me with wonder and thrills. I remember older cousins swinging from the rafters in their log-cabin-style family room, and when I was lucky, they’d swing me too. And I still remember the smell of monster cookies wafting from the open, adjoining kitchen.  
I was reminiscing with my children on the way home from their basketball games tonight about the Eastep’s: their garage where I kept a pet snake and their room outdoors devoted to nothing but ping-pong! The epic treehouse that perhaps neither my Aunt Marilyn nor my Uncle Jack knew existed, but all of us cousins survived the wonder of amateur engineering—even the sway as one single board teetered in the treetops, with no railing to cling to as I looked down…down…down! 
Those older cousins seemed so daring and awe-inspiring, yet they included us pipsqueak younger cousins. Didn’t we ever seem “in the way?” If so, they hid it well, kindly leading us on horse rides and pushing us “just one more time” on that trapeze-high rope swing in the hayloft.  
I smile softly as I think of my introverted aunt surrounded by such loving mayhem (with countless litters of kittens to boot). Did any of those children (or pets) ever seem in the way to her?  
She had a no-nonsense yet welcoming spirit. A dry sense of humor, too. I think Aunt Marilyn might forgive the slight bit of sacrilege in my next statement…claiming that “being in the way is my spiritual gift." (Chuckle, chuckle.) More precisely being in Phillip’s way is my spiritual gift. And that is exactly what I intended this “super short” blog post to be about in the first place.  
How often I find myself literally in the way--blocking the path of my patient 16-year-old Phillip. I am in the way as the last person eating breakfast surrounded by kimchi and condiments for my egg sandwich. He patiently wipes “around me” since cleaning the table is one of his kitchen chores.  
Or how many times after cluttering the counter, have I hollered in hysteria, “What? Who put away all my ingredients?!” And with a calm but somewhat blushing face, Phillip, the culprit confessed “I was just clearing the counter.” Just business as usual, and again I was in the way!  
I sit sipping my coffee, buttering my toast as he shuffles items into the fridge or finds the perfect sized container to fit the left-over-crock-pot contents (maybe it’s taco rice, Sloppy Joe’s, or some other grass-fed beef specialty).  
And there he is. Phillip Franklin. With his dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes. Standing next to me. Tall, lean, strong—with timeless features—and that handsome, “Grecian-looking” nose. Working, listening, making a suitable remark at the right time, or offering the gift of companionable silence.  
I’m glad to be in the way as he scrubs the island top and keeps the washcloth fresh. A scent of lavender and citrus essential oils is a telltale sign that “Phillip was here” just doing his job again…in his timely manner, wiping down the surfaces till they shine, with his sense of excellence, and his listening ear.  
He’s a bit of a stoic—a very polite one—cautious with his own emotions yet one of the most curious human beings I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s what makes my un-talkative son willing to listen to his chatty mom tell just one more story from the past.  
Or one more “Yoda–Moda” (a.k.a., piece of unsolicited advice). I coined this phrase to describe a moment when I am bestowing Yoda–like wisdom upon one of my young “Sky Walker’s” in training.  
Eventually, my thorough son is finished and slips out the entryway of the kitchen, into the adjoining living room, and onto the next event on his agenda. Mom, still chewing her last morsel, always misses him when he leaves.  
He’s quiet but pleasant. Dutiful. Yet in his absence, I am reminded of the next thing I need to do.  
The next schoolbook to crack open with my grade schoolers or science experiment to watch Danny conduct with our “olders.” 
Soon enough there will be another meal to prep for my hungry brood. I think lately I’ve grown to appreciate these lingering moments in the kitchen more than I realized. I picture myself seated at the table, lifting a plate or saucer so Phillip can scrub underneath it. Maybe subconsciously, I start fixing that second slice of toast with three kinds of toppings just to get in Phillip’s way once again.  
Because, you know, 16 will become 18 before we know it. And I know what happens to 18-year-olds or 19-year-olds in our household. They slip out of the kitchen entryway, up the stairs, out the front door, and onto that next event on their agendas. Sometimes several cities away or perhaps states—or even another planet! (LOL! Like our daughter in New York City!) 
In Phillip‘s case, he dreams of North Dakota, where my sister and her large family live, where he too could live the life of adventure in big sky, big cold, big oil country! 
Being in the way…is it really a spiritual gift? (If it’s not actually a spiritual gift, then it is indeed a gift.) I think of people like my Aunt Marilyn or my son Phillip and how precious it is for loved ones to be in their way. 
Because they won’t be there forever, making those kitchen counters shine or baking those monster cookies—divine! I know that soon Phillip will leave the “room” for his next adventure in this life. Aunt Marilyn has already left the “room” for her next adventure in eternity. 
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