It’s never easy to hear that someone who played a significant part in your life passed away. Today I heard that Mr. Entwistle, who was the principal for a long time at my school growing up passed away. More than being the school principal who led weekly flag raising, gave announcements, and said these long prayers that we thought would never end, Mr. Entwistle was my dorm dad in 3rd grade for a little bit. I don’t remember a lot about 3rd grade and adjusting to boarding school, and have mostly neutral memories of all the dorm parents that followed. But what vague memories I have of Mr. and Mrs. Entwistle as dorm parents is that they genuinely cared about me, and were kind and compassionate as I navigated homesickness and grief (which wasn’t my experience with other dorm parents in future years). And even though they were only my dorm parents for a little bit, I always thought of them as my dorm parents first, and teachers/administrators second. I think if I ran into some of my dorm parents from elementary school & jr. high, they would have a hard time remembering me. Mr. and Mrs. Entwistle always referenced their time as my dorm parents when I ran into them as an adult.
I never had to sit in Mr. Entwistle’s office or get too deeply involved in his administrative authority. In fact, I think after 3rd grade I never had Mr. Entwistle as a teacher or supervising adult in any way. So even though I didn’t have to ‘officially’ cross paths with Mr. Entwistle much after 3rd grade, I always sensed that as one of his dorm kids he genuinely cared about who I was and how I was doing. When I ran into him in different places after high school, he always remembered who I was and wanted to know that I was finding my way through life with strength and faith.
Each time a staff member or relationship from Kenya dies–especially those who functioned as aunts/uncles/grandparents in their relationship with me–it feels like another strand to that part of my life and identity also dies…and that makes me sad. Each time one of the adults who were part of such a significant web of relationships and memories dies, it feels like my connection to those memories is weakening. It feels like walking across one of those rope bridges over a deep cavern–below you are these slaps of wood held together by rope that doesn’t always feel sturdy, and above you is an entirely different set of supports. As each of the supports under your feet falls away, you depend more and more on the supports your hands are holding onto. And that’s not bad–those supports will get you across the cavern. But there’s something about the support under your feet falling away that makes the whole journey feel just that little bit more overwhelming.
Mr. Entwistle was the kind of person who would use phrases like “The Lord gave me this verse…” So as I thought about his life and impact on me, I went searching for a verse. Here’s the one that came to me: Colossians 1:11-12 “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.” It’s not only what I imagine Mr. Entwistle might have prayed for the hundreds of students whose life he impacted, but also what I think he’d want to know many of us felt he modeled with his quiet but strong faith.