Sunday, February 26, 2017

Remembering Pamela Johnson

Pamela Johnson, 1957-2017


You moved to Penfield?
From California?
Why?

I had questions for this gentle visitor, Pamela.
She had chosen our church,
Bethany Covenant in DuBois,
because she had loved her Covenant church in California.
I learned she was a graduate
of Parsons School of Design in Manhattan,
the number one art school in the nation,
then the artist became a psychologist
who left her Mount Lassen wildflowers
and moved to Penfield to be closer to her mom
who lived in the eastern part of the state.

I teach in Penfield,
a tiny town nestled at the foot of the continental divide
and volunteered to take her jeeping
through the mountains surrounding her new home.
We splashed through puddles,
explored abandoned mills,
looked for opsrey at a mountain impoundment,
walked to rock outcroppings,
and watched the beech leaves turn from green to burnt sienna.
She loved her neighbors, the elk.
Pam came to Bible study,
helped decorate the church for Christmas,
sat around the fire with us.

Soon after the move to Pennsylvania,
her mom died
and Pam missed California's scenery and working conditions.
When the weather warmed,
we helped her pack for her move back to California,
to a new town, Alturas.
We kept in touch via computer
and continued to enjoy her artist's viewpoint
in photographs of landscape details
and pastels of western wildflowers.

Frost feathers! A gift for those who observe


Paintbrush. Pam knew both the literal and the botanical


If I am interpreting what I've read correctly,
last week Pamela visited
an artist she had befriended in Alturas
who, unbeknownst to her, was a felon.
Things went wrong
and he turned on her.
We read of her death on Facebook.

If God is a god outside of the realm of time,
perhaps my tearful prayers
that God comfort her on her transition to heaven
made a difference.
She was, and is, His child
and perfect love casts out fear.
Say her name in remembrance:
Pamela Johnson.
Pamela Johnson.
Pamela Johnson.
There is joy in the morning.
But now it is night
and we continue to cry.