Herb

Tomorrow the “mortal remains” of Herb Brokering will be laid to rest. But this I know, neither he nor his “remains” will ever be completely at rest. Herb will continue to inspire, evoke a shake of the head, create a smile and stir a tug at my heart.

Herb was dubbed the “Leonardo DaVinci of the Prairies”. So when we see him identified as pastor, professor, or staff associate of Wheat Ridge we know that those titles don’t get close to describing him. When we recall him as poet, hymn writer, author, lyricist, “master of free association” or creative provocateur then we come closer.

Many others are writing official obituaries and well-deserved paeans of praise. For me it all becomes personal.

The first time I met him he had all of us writing poetry. When I told him that my teen-aged daughter was a better poet than I he encouraged me, but also insisted that I take to my daughter a poem he had written along with his encouragement for her to continue to write poetry.

Once when he was at my church with our very creative musician Stan Beard and they were doing a presentation together, Herb looked at Stan and said to him, “Play something orange!” Stan did and the two of them were off where previously only angels had made music and musings.

When we were in India together (running hours and hours behind schedule because Herb kept finding more immediate signs of God), he left behind those of us looking for traditional souvenirs. He went to the open-air clothes market. There he bought baby socks. He took them to the States and gave them to infants as a sign that all the babies of the world share a need for warm toes and hopes for a wonderful life.

When he and I were to have a planning session at a hotel 30 miles from Chicago he excused himself. The front desk had called and said someone whom he had never met before was looking for him. The young man had alcohol and other drug problems. Someone somewhere in Chicago had told him to find Herb. He did, came to the hotel and Herb lifted the man’s vision – and then most likely never heard from him again.

Just weeks before he died he telephoned me. We have a mutual friend about whom Herb was concerned. Herb said, “Mel, call him. He needs some advice and encouragement from you. So just call him and talk to him.”

So I muse with Herb as he writes “Cat Psalms” or “Dog Psalms”, or “Earth and All Stars” or “Thine the Amen” and I hope that with his unmatched vision to see what others cannot see, Herb is smiling and telling me to get ready for just one more surprise.