The important thing

I voted on Saturday. Cast my ballot for a candidate who I know is just a person, who I don’t really know at all except for what has been reported about him, hoping he would be a potential good, smart, honorable leader of the nation.

I also attended the funeral of a sweet lady who is not known nationally. No one from D.C. was in the church with us. We were all there because we wanted to be.

In that home church, I was surrounded by people who knew her, and who know me, and who know my husband and children. When the family came in, I could feel the hearts of the entire assembly reaching for them, lifting them up, holding them, supporting them. Loving them.

I saw a church choir, all giving up a Saturday afternoon to come sing their friend out on her final journey. They sounded beautiful, even though I could hear voices crack occasionally, could see some of them stop from time to time, unable to sing, but carried forward by the rest who, for that moment, still had voices. I heard the pianist and organist play beautifully, though their faces showed their grief.

I heard her friends speak of her, and to her family, offering words of consolation and cheer. Memories of a life well lived, of a determination to have fun, to make sure children had fun, to put together Vacation Bible School out of nothing, to make music. Things she did when a Republican was in the White House, and when a Democrat was in the White House. Things she did with Republicans and Democrats, and more importantly, things she did for Republicans and Democrats.

I heard the minister give a eulogy for a woman he knew, repeating familiar liturgical words of comfort about a member of that church family, who had participated in the good things in the church. Nobody mentioned – so I will – that when the church used to put together a free Thanksgiving dinner for anyone who wanted to come, she made the most extraordinary gravy I’ve ever tasted. For several years, I’d cook a turkey to carry to the fellowship hall, and then make a cash donation so I could carry back home a pitcher of that gravy for my own family’s dinner.

People who have known each other, through good and bad, have sung together, played bridge together, broken bread together, laughed and cried together, worked for years to support the Boy Scouts, all celebrating that one life, in her honor and in honor of her extraordinarily decent husband and family.

The minister read, in that church, on that primary election day, “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.”

The place was full of love.

So, yeah. I voted. But that was not the important thing.

Fry is a frequent contributor to The Sun News Opinion Blog, at thesunnews.typepad.com/opinionblog.