Yesterday, I drove the long road to Waynesville, NC, to say goodbye to my friend, Helen Ryde. It was one of those days where the miles felt heavier than usual — not just because of the hours of driving, traffic, or even the winding roads through the mountains, but because I knew the journey ended with loss, and perhaps could feel like finality.
Four days after we recorded our conversation at the Wild Goose Festival, Helen left this earth. I’m still trying to wrap my mind and heart around that reality. Sitting in the memorial service yesterday, I felt the deep ache of absence… and yet, woven into that ache was gratitude. Gratitude for Helen’s life, for their laughter, for their courage, and for the seeds of love and justice they planted everywhere they went. And the service reflected every bit of that! Joy, Laughter, Tears, Clapping, Cheering, and Love that filled the entire space!
The Gift of One Last Conversation
A few weeks ago, under a tent at Wild Goose, Helen and I sat down for what would unknowingly become our last recorded conversation. It wasn’t scripted, polished, or perfectly planned. It was messy — in the best, most holy way.
We talked about the hard work of inclusion, the struggle of loving people who see the world differently, and the courage it takes to show up in spaces where you might not be welcomed. We laughed about dodgy hymns and tricky conversations. We talked about faith, doubt, and finding God in unexpected places.
And we talked about seeds — the kind we scatter when we risk sitting down with people who don’t think like us, believe like us, or vote like us. Helen reminded me that sometimes those seeds bloom right away… and sometimes they sit dormant for years before breaking through the soil.
I have no doubt that when I can bring myself to listen back to the recording -I’ll receive a gift — one last offering of Helen’s wisdom, humor, and boundless heart. The Last night of Wild Goose, our little tribe gathered for dinner, Helen, and their wife Kate joined. I have tried to remember that conversation. I can’t. But I remember the feeling – love, safety in close friends, beverages, and laughter – so much laughter!
The Weight of Loss, the Work of Love
Driving back from Waynesville last night, I kept thinking about how much Helen gave — to the church, to the LGBTQIA+ community, to friends, and to countless strangers who encountered their brave, quiet presence.
Helen never shied away from hard conversations. They walked into spaces where others wouldn’t, sat down with people who disagreed with them, and believed — fiercely — in the transformative power of dialogue. And they lived their faith with an openness that was contagious.
Their absence leaves a hole, not just in my life, but in the lives of so many who loved them. And yet… I can still hear Helen’s voice saying, “Just keep planting seeds, Gayle.”
That’s what I intend to do.
An Invitation to Listen
I want to invite you to listen to this conversation — not because it’s polished or perfect, but because it’s real. It’s two friends talking honestly about life, faith, inclusion, and hope. It’s a reminder that even when the world feels divided, 
there’s power in showing up, listening, and loving anyway.
🎧 Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts.
I hope you’ll sit with us — laugh with us, wrestle with us, maybe even cry with us. And I hope you’ll carry a little piece of Helen’s wisdom forward into your own conversations and relationships.
Helen’s death is unexpected. The grief is real. But so is the beauty of having shared this one wild, precious life alongside them. I’m thankful beyond words.
Rest well, my friend.
I’ll keep planting seeds.