The Restless Wave

I’ve just finished reading John McCain’s (and Mark Salter’s) book, The Restless Wave.  I commend it.  I’ve been reading it, chapter by chapter, for the last four weeks.  It  is that kind of book—a book to be read slowly, leisurely, and thoughtfully.  It is a holy story—a sacred story—as all life stories are.  John McCain and I disagreed politically on many things, but I always admired him.  After reading his book, even though he has graduated to a new place, I still disagree with him on many political points, but admire him even more than I did before reading about  John McCain as “The Restless Wave.”

There were many passages in the book that increased my admiration for John McCain, but since I can’t quote them all, I must choose one.  Perhaps “this one” will suffice.

“Before I leave I’d like to see our politics begin to return to the purposes and practices that distinguish our history from the history of other nations.  I would like to see us recover our sense that we are more alike than different.  We are citizens of a republic made of shared ideals forged in a new world to replace the tribal enmities that tormented the old one.  Even in times of political turmoil such as these, we share that awesome heritage and the responsibility to embrace it.  Whether we think each other right or wrong in our views on the issues of the day, we owe each other our respect, as long as our character merits respect, and as long as we share, for all our differences, for all the rancorous debates that enliven and sometimes demean our politics, a mutual devotion to the ideals our nation was conceived to uphold, that all are created equal, and liberty and equal justice are the natural rights of all.  Those rights inhabit the human heart, and from there, though they may be assailed, they can never be wrenched.  I want to urge Americans, for as long as I can, to remember that this shared devotion to human rights is our truest heritage and our most important loyalty.”

Always, when we lose a loved one, or someone admired, we tend to attribute to them more than they were in life.  We make them larger, more heroic, more admirable, more loving, more fully human.  I think this a very natural thing and as long as we are conscious of it, it does no harm and may, in fact, do us and others much good.   But I wonder, if that is true,  why we  don't make those we love and admire larger, more heroic, more loving, and more fully human while it is day?  “For what to closed eyes are kind sayings, what to hushed heart is deep vow?  Naught can avail after parting so give them the flowers now!”