Sybil MacBeth: “I could tell you about Phyllis Tickle… but I won’t”

Last updated on: October 5, 2015 at 9:09 am by Phil Fox Rose

Sybil MacBeth: “I could tell you about Phyllis Tickle… but I won’t” 2015-10-05T09:09:40-04:00 Phil Fox Rose

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[Sybil MacBeth, creator of the amazing book and workshop series Praying in Color, wrote this post about her friend and mentor, Phyllis Tickle, who passed away several weeks ago, as many of you already know. Phyllis was a driving force and conscience behind Paraclete Press, where I have recently become editor. While I knew Phyllis, we were only acquaintances. So I’m happy to be able to share with you the reflection of a real friend of hers. –Phil]

I could tell you about Phyllis Tickle… but I won’t

by Sybil MacBeth

Phyllis Tickle–author, religionist, scholar, Christian, mother, wife, and friend–died on Tuesday, September 22. As one of Phyllis Tickle’s 1500 (or maybe even 15,000) best friends I have unique experiences and stories to share–as do all of her other 14,999 close friends. She loved both lavishly and deeply and personally. So here are a few teasers from my treasure chest of Phyllis stories. The format I’ll use is:
“I could tell you about ______________, but I won’t.” *

I could tell you about emailing Phyllis to tell her about our potential move to Memphis in 2004 and her generous three-page response with the history of the city… but I won’t.

I could tell you about how I showed my notebook of doodled prayers to Phyllis at our first lunch together in Memphis and she said, “You’re going to write a book.”

I could tell you about not having had a mentor at age 15 or 25 or 35…or until 55 when Phyllis became one for me.

I could tell you about how Phyllis mothered me through the process of writing Praying in Color.

I could tell you about the instructions she gave me to get rid of the Imposter Syndrome when I felt like a loser and thought I had no business writing a book.

I could tell you about my husband Andy and me going to the Farm at Lucy (her home) for 4:30pm dinners so she could be in bed by 7pm.

I could tell you about how her husband Sam kicked her out of the kitchen when he retired saying, “I never liked your cooking anyway,” and cooked the meals from then on.

I could tell you about eating Sam’s weird concoctions of squash and tomatoes and okra from their garden on the Farm.

I could tell you about the hundreds of books on the shelves in Lucy that have dedications and acknowledgments to Phyllis Tickle written in them.

I could tell you about how every time I look at my dining room table I picture Phyllis and Sam seated there for a dozen Christmas, Easter, and Birthday dinners.

I could tell you about substituting portobello mushrooms for ground lamb in a classic moussaka recipe so vegetarian Phyllis could eat it.

I could tell you about how she would read any manuscript sent to her and respond to every email and text.

I could tell you about our visit with Phyllis in late April at the Farm and the strawberries, glasses of sparkling water and wine, and goodbye kisses that (unknown to us at the time) would be our last ones with her.

I could tell you about how she emailed Andy and me the following day to say she hadn’t wanted to ruin our visit with the news that she had only four months to live.

I could tell you about our shock at the news because she looked so vital and radiant when we saw her.

I could tell you about a woman who was unafraid to die because she had done that in her 20s and had seen the Light.

I could tell you about the first ever unanswered text and prayer I sent to Phyllis on September 19.

I could tell you about how infinitely grateful I am that she shared herself and her wisdom with so many of us in her four-score and one years.

I could tell you about how different my life would be without Phyllis Tickle in it.

I could tell you about how I am less afraid to die knowing that Sam and Phyllis have preceded me into the Kingdom of Heaven… but I won’t.

For about 15 years I have been an InterPlayer. InterPlay, founded by Cynthia Winton-Henry and Phil Porter, is a set of playful practices and structures/forms that build community and reunite us with the wisdom of our bodies and our stories. One of those forms is called “I could tell you about…but I won’t.” It’s a great way to tell a story or relay information and not bore the listener with too many details.

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