Mark Johnson

February 20, 2015 – Debra came with me today to my first therapy treatment, but she was not the only one here.

A few weeks back, Mark Johnson, Jocelyn Johnson’s husband, left this planet to return to our other, less familiar home. As one of my favorite childhood Jesus-movement musicians, Larry Norman said, “We’re only visiting this planet,” and Mark’s tourist visa was up.

During the final weeks of Mark and Jocelyn’s time together here on The Blue Wheel, a ladybug parked himself in their bathroom. It was cold months, and he stayed there for a long time. Jocelyn told me that she and Mark agreed together that once he went on to his next phase, he would send her messages through ladybugs. No moving chairs in the middle of the night. No blown hair without breeze. No mysterious empty cereal bowls in the sink. He would send ladybugs. There will be times when the ladybugs just show up of course. They are naturally occurring after all. But this is the agreement between these two soul mates.

I didn’t know Mark well during his full life. But I did know Mark when he had cancer. We would run into each other at “Cancer Camp” in Houston. He would have made a great Santa Clause later in life because of the way his eyes crinkled and flashed when he laughed – which was frequent. We talked several times in the halls and cafeterias at MDA, and we talked when he was in the room there just after Thanksgiving. Ultimately I spent a few more minutes with Mark talking about fishing. He had on a very cool Simms fishing belt, and after we covered the Snake River and its various trophies, he asked me how I was feeling now that my first chemo and radiation were behind me. We shared common ground. He had it worse than me. But we connected and talked and laughed. I am jealous of those who knew him better. 

At his send-off, his brother and several close friends talked about him with rich content borne from long miles of intimate relationship. From their words, clearly he loved deeply. He cared deeply. He made himself and others laugh. Others were better with him than without him. He was sharp. He loved a jeep under his tush, a breakfast taco in his hand, and wind in his hair. He loved to talk. And he loved to connect with people. He wanted to make sure those left on this globe took care of his family, and helped them to know what kind of person he was.

He was a special person. He is a person I would have loved to have known better. I think he could have saved me a few times, and my life would have been richer to have invested time around a grill and a dinner table with him and his lovely Jocelyn.

At his eulogy I will never, ever forget the video of him dancing in his bed just a few days prior. Watching him emphasized how much we as a species love music; how important it is for us. But as I sat there in the hard seat of the stone house of God watching Mark wave his hand, dip and swing his head, and sing with the soul of the music coursing through the room where he would leave this earth a few days hence, my heart felt him wanting to leave. It felt like he was already very close to “gone up yonder.” He was moving and rejoicing in his damaged body. He was carefree in those moments, completely unabashed in his musical rapture.

And at Mark’s request during his send-off service he shared the song “Goin’ Up Yonder”. It was a cappella with two African American singers, both towering in the balcony and of impressive height to begin with. The man set the tone with only his voice, a rhythmic basso in eight count. The woman joined and the song soared above us like a sunrise. If Mark had not already joined the heavens, at that point he entered the city and the place erupted.

I listened to all the available versions on the web in an effort to share this song. Nothing compared to Mark’s send off. Then I found this version which approaches it… The audience is an evangelical white church filled with somewhat distracting church goers. Their clothing and hair is 1980s. But try to ignore them. Focus instead on the singer, Lamie. She is entrancing, much like the woman who sang for Mark. 

The bottom line from Mark’s dancing, which was inspiring and inspired, and from Mark’s tribute song is that they were transcendent moments for me in a life-changing series of minutes.

On this planet, constrained in our bodies, we move them and make noise when music inspires us. In what way will we rejoice when we are no longer captive to the inconceivable but limited workings of our earthly bodies? Will we create giant white scars of comet light across the dark face of the universe? Will our souls turn to churning stars, erupting with cataclysmic joy and bending light millions of years into the past and future? We will be so powerful we capture and hold energy’s spectrum within us, creating darkness so absolute it is literally filled with light? What will we do? How will we rejoice?

Mark knows.

On Friday, February 20, when I arrived at my first session of therapy, I chose a non-descript tan seat two in from the end. For reasons that are unclear to me, I moved to the identical tan seat one over, closer to the nurses’ station.

I sat. Deb sat. Our nurse, Pat, came and sat. She was confident and reassuring. We talked through the drugs to be infused in my physical shell. We talked about my “power port”, a plastic bulb just under my skin that can take 300 pounds per square inch of liquid pressure and has a long catheter snaking its way into my superior vena cava just above my heart. Pat began administering the drugs to coat my brain’s nausea centers for 72 and 120 hours. And then it was only Deb and me sitting together, absorbing and coping.

I looked down at the linoleum beneath my boots, hanging loose beneath my jeans. In the sterile, intentionally isolated world of the second floor of the Texas Oncology Center, Mark Johnson had left me a ladybug. Thank you Mark. Debra and I deeply appreciate your message. This blog post will hopefully help your family know what kind of man you are, and what kind of ethereal messenger you are. Thank you for taking time out of your busy dancing schedule to drop me a line.

My boot. Mr. Johnson's koan is directly below the heel in the image, on the green tile. 

This guy didn't get here by accident. And I didn't find him by accident.

Going up Yonder video - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKQGqoLWGI4

Going up Yonder lyrics

If you want to know

Where I'm going?

Where I'm going, soon

If anybody ask you

Where I'm going

Where I'm going soon

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

To be with my Lord

I can take the pain

The heartaches they bring

The comfort in knowing

I'll soon be gone

As God gives me grace

I'll run this race

Until I see my Savior

Face to face

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

To be with my Lord

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

I'm goin' up yonder

To be with my Lord