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Yesterday I woke to a phone call from my sister asking me if I was going to come to Richmond for a lunch at the Friends Association.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “It’s tomorrow–right?”

“No, Jen. It’s today.” Oh shit. Someday I really must write these things down.

I threw on clothes, splashed water on my face, sent a couple emails and made instant arrangements for (all) my children and hopped in the car. Two hours alone in the car! What bliss! With every mile I felt my soul recharge a little bit. I didn’t even listen to the radio, the sound of silence was so completely soothing.

I arrived at Patience’s house just in time to jump in her car and make our way across town to the luncheon. I really had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Patience had been riveted by the stories about Friends told by her friend Jenna, and Jenna’s friend Julie. It’s my favorite way to hear good news–whisper down the lane–and then Julie kept sending great people my way, even though we had never met–another good sign that we might be kindred spirits. So when she invited us to the lunch, I instinctively wanted to go–even though usually I get all cynical and nervous when it comes to presentations about nonprofits.

I wish I had a video to just show you what that lunch was like for me. I’ve had this experience before–it kind of goes like this.

Jen has total radar on for any sign of Fake, Phony or the Contrived. One person (usually someone who is ancient, non-English speaking, poor or all of the above) speaks authentically from the heart. Jen stops listening and gets this wobbly feeling inside as she enters The Zone since radar is no longer needed. Person mentions something along the lines of Dream, Hope or Possibility. Jen tries to decide if she should just start heaving sobbing or bite her lip and try to decide if the organization made a good decision on choice of carpet. Jen mentally plans how she will sell all her worldly possessions so this person can have All Their Dreams Come True in the spirit of rich white housewives everywhere.

As soon as lunch was over, I dashed across the room to talk to John Purnell–the Executive Director of Friends. He is an elegant gentleman with looks that remind you of a chilled out Bill Cosby. I wanted to know what his dream for this organization was. Why doesn’t Oprah know about this?! Why aren’t you on the cover of magazines? Why is this little organization the best kept secret in Richmond? And why in heaven’s name, was there no ask at this lunch? You had me at hello.

He smiled at me the way people do whose souls are deeply intact–with kindness and patience. I took his hesitation to mean he probably needed me to pepper him with MORE questions and then he laughed–”Give me a second to answer that!” Then he took a deep breath and started to talk about what success means to him, and I realized that more money, more programs, fame or recognition really wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind. He didn’t need to be on Oprah, he just needed to know that the children and families who live in the most hellish neighborhoods in Richmond will continue to have a chance to become productive, happy citizens. He needed to know that the people who give their lives away to help those families wouldn’t always be underpaid and overworked to fulfill their dream of transforming communities. He needed to know that the children in those programs would continue to have a chance at achieving their dreams when they were beyond his organization’s scope of influence and care. He needed to know that individual people like me will support Friends after he moves on.

Talking to that man, I could feel years of commitment, years of kindness and a certain heaviness familiar only to those passing the mantle to a new generation of leaders. There’s something about that transition that stirs up something deep for me. At that moment, the weight of your life’s work hangs in the balance. Time compresses, and you hold in your mind’s eye all the fragments of your best effort, trusting that this will be enough, that it will carry on without you, and that the undone work is best finished now by your successors.

Or so I imagine.

I have more stories to tell about Friends, the amazing Julie and that Lucy who inspires her so. But for today, the story that grips my heart is that of John Purnell–protector, advocate and friend of the thirty-six years of little children who have flourished under his kindness and care. May every hope you have for Friends come to fruition, Mr. Purnell. And may you know deep in your heart that the seeds you’ve planted can only continue to grow and flourish.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 22nd, 2007 at 7:24 pm and is filed under Friends Association, John Purnell, Journal, Stories, hope, inspiration, love is all around, love thursday, richmond. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.