How did he know???

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, 

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 

plans to give you hope and a future." --Jeremiah 29:11

Tonight I just want to share a story. I needed this. You might, too.

A couple weeks ago, I had something happen that left me puzzled. In the middle of the day, as I was going about my life, I had this sense. God seemed to pull me aside and place a name on my heart, someone I had not seen in a couple of years. I didn't understand why, out of the blue, this man's name was in my mind. I will call him Cedric. After puzzling over that for longer than I care to admit, I did the only thing that made any sense. 

I prayed for him. (And even that didn't exactly make sense at the time.) 

A couple days later, I received word that Cedric had been hospitalized. Needless to say, that led me, again, to prayer. 

A few days ago, I managed to go pay Cedric a visit at the hospital, and I am so glad I did.

He was in a common space when I arrived, and I am not sure I would have recognized him if I hadn't known it was him. He seemed even more slight than the last time I had seen him. His hair was longer and more scraggly, more grey than I remembered.

But when he saw me, he recognized me right away, called me by name, and his face lit up, smile spreading from ear to ear.

We spoke for a little while about him and his family, how he was feeling-- you know. The usual pastoral conversation. It was good to catch up. He seemed so very glad for the visit.

And we prayed. Cedric held my one hand between his two hands, and I rested my other hand on his shoulder. His hands felt dry and weathered, hands that had worked very, very hard in life. 

"Amen." "Amen . . . mmm-hmm . . . amen."

But it didn't end there.

Cedric kept my hand between his two workman's hands, looked up at me and said, "You know, when your husband . . . when Rich left us . . . you really started to find yourself. You are a very strong person, and you are really following what God wants you to do. And it's so good to see you. So good."

Did you see how that happened?

I went to visit Cedric. I went to offer hope, encouragement and love.

And in the blink of an eye, the blessing rained down on me instead.

The prophetic word of hope I needed. The affirmation that I was following faithfully.

Imagine that. 

How often that happens, that in blessing another, we are blessed ourselves.

You just never know, do you. Never ever ever.

The Lord Bless You

Amen. 

JUST what I needed

The Lord will guide you always;

    he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

    and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

    like a spring whose waters never fail. --Isaiah 58:11

(Have I mentioned lately how much I love the prophet/ poet Isaiah?)

Sometimes, the desert can seem particularly arid. The dust kicks up and stifles my breath, fills my eyes till they water. (Yeah, that's the ticket. It's the dust making me tear up.)

There are days-- and there are days. And sometimes, those days become weeks. Days and weeks when it just seems as though God has taken me to the curb, gone back inside, locked the door and turned out the lights. 

Places or activities that have brought solace in the past-- time spent in prayer or reading, hanging around the usual friends-- serve to mark time, but don't even begin to quench the thirst in my soul. It seems as if the harder I look, the less I see. Like straining to see in a really dark room, or trying to drive in a dense, heavy fog.

It feels cold and dark-- and very lonely. Even in August in Ohio. (Ever been here? I imagine you have.)

Then this amazing thing starts to happen. 

Suddenly, in the midst of life, new friends start appearing. Old friends emerge in a new light, or a new context, offering a fresh perspective (or a smack upside the head).

Those folks whom you've known forever, even though you just met-- or never met-- show up at your doorstep . . . or on the telephone . . . or across a crowded street. Their words wash over, refreshing, cooling, rejuvenating a parched soul. God is so good that way.

And yes, it's been that kind of week. Until today.

The climate had become a bit dry. Cactuses and camels were part of my spiritual landscape. I felt like I just wanted to pull away, take a break for me, but couldn't manage to do so. I needed to write. 

This morning, relief was in the air, the scent of long-sought moisture on the breeze. ("They" say that smell is ozone. To me, it smells more like hope.) A phone conversation with a wonderful Brother whom I have known, it seems, forever-- but just met, face-to-face, about ten days ago-- washed away some self-doubts that had been clinging to my heart like so much filth, helped me remember what this journey is really about. That was awesome. The prickly cactus began to bloom. I began again to glimpse the beauty of the desert.

And then, a scant few hours later, an encounter with someone I hadn't seen in months (or longer), and almost the first words from his mouth were, "I read your stuff sometimes. Keep it up. It helps. Keep stickin' it to 'em." (I admit: I am not completely sure what that means. But it sounds like a good thing, wouldn't you agree?) 

More conversation. More discussion of what's broken, not just in the church, but in education. In the world. Cool, cool rain on my parched soul. Arms open wide, head tilted back in gratitude.

And suddenly, that sermon I am writing for next week has a direction. The "stuff" that was clouding my mind has mostly cleared. Oh, sure, I still have an extra furry granddaughter who doesn't want to hang around me or go home with her human mama-- but it's okay. She won't stay forever. (Seriously. She won't. lol)

So the moral of the story is . . . hang in there. Jesus went willingly into the desert, knowing the Spirit was with him, guiding and comforting him in the dark and difficult days. 

All forty of them. Hang in there. Or maybe-- let go. Just let it go. Let Love reign (and rain).

Cool Cool Rain 

Sixty seconds? Just a minute!

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

    your works are wonderful,

    I know that full well. --Psalm 139:14

One of the many wonderful pages to which I subscribe on Facebook offered this Sabbath activity: 

"Take one minute and ponder the wonder of you."

What a great idea. As pastors everywhere offered lectionary sermons today on Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42), many of us have stopped and thought about how busy busy busy our lives have become, and where-- or when-- could we ever find time to simply spend time in Sabbath, in restful presence of the Lord?

Hmm. How about . . . now. Take just one minute (or more) and ponder the creation that is you and no one else. 

Start there. Think about the fact that there is no one just like you, and never will be. You are unique among all the humans ever created. 

* * * * *
Look at your hand. Notice the lines that crisscross your palm. Slowly bend and straighten your fingers and feel-- really feel the muscles working together. Don't focus on the pain or stiffness that may come with age (there, I said it), but on the way the palm muscles fold as the back-of-the-hand muscles stretch.

Your fingerprints. One of a kind. No one else has ever had those exact whorls and swirls that identify you. Years ago, I cut my middle finger quite badly, and the scar is still evident-- but the fingerprint remains. 

A palm reader could tell you about your lifeline and your heart line-- each special and unique (and I am pretty sure each palm reader's analysis is special and unique, as well)! The secrets of each one of our identities, carefully enswathed in the palms of our hands. 

Pretty amazing, eh?

* * * * *
Your legs. Your feet. The way those bones and muscles operate, allowing us to walk and to skip and to run (and sometimes, to fall flat-- but to get up again)! Every element of your body, in perfect design.

Oh, sure, there are times the design seems less-than-perfect. And I have no explanation to offer. So ponder for a moment the "real" you, the essence of who you are. The indomitable expression of your true self that goes beyond any physical appearance. Some would say . . . your soul. 

And a beauty it is, too. Designed to love, perfected in creation by the Almighty. Even if you have an identical twin, no one has your smile, your laugh, your sense of humor.

No one.

* * * * *
Take a look at your hair. Straight or curly, blonde, black, blue or grey-- or missing-- the Almighty took inventory of every hair on your head-- he cares that much!

And if you are at all like me . . . there will be days when there is very little about my hair that makes me happy. God, it's so humid today-- my hair just goes flat! Lord, when did all those grey ones show up? Ack!!

And I will walk outside, and a gentle breeze will grab one of those droopy, grey strands and move it around a little, and on my best days, that breeze will remind me of the Spirit that blows where it will, loves me no matter what kind of hair day I am having. (You, too.)

* * * * *
And your face. Your beautiful, perfect face. Maybe it bears the lines that tell of a life well-lived: lines from tears wept in heartache or loss, creases from spending time in laughter with good friends. Maybe, over the years, acne or injuries have left their mark. Still-- you are beautiful, inside and out. 

Perfect.

People look at a newborn baby and exclaim, "Oh she looks just like Aunt Martha!" "He has his father's nose-- and those ears! Just like his dad at that age!"

Or not.

Truth is, you do have your Father's eyes. And his sense of humor. And that nose-- well, your heavenly Father designed it, for sure. So yes, you even have your Father's (or Mother's) nose.

And no matter how much it resembles someone else's-- it's all yours. You are a unique, wonderful, perfect creation. Unlike any other, ever.

And the same is true for every person you will ever meet, regardless of race, or religion, or gender-- or anything else. Each person, deeply and wholly beloved of God.

That. Is. So. Cool.

So the next time life is beating you up (or down), stop. Take a breath-- there's another wonder-- and reflect on who you are and Whose you are. Rest in the knowledge that you are God's own beloved.

Psalm 139

Gracious, ever-creating God, thank you for each person, for their beauty and uniqueness. Help me, Lord, to love and appreciate myself-- and each Child of yours-- for the wondrous, fearfully made creation we are. Amen

All better now.

The heavens declare the glory of God, 

the skies proclaim the work of his hands. 

Day after day they pour forth speech; 

night after night they reveal knowledge. 

--Psalm 19:1-2

I have had one of those days. Not a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. More like a mediocre, lackluster, when-will-the-tides-ever-turn day. It started early, and was long in letting up.

My wonderful cat Maizie was going through her entire repertoire of annoying things designed to make me get up and feed her. Sitting on my chest. Bumping her teeth on the gooseneck lamp and making a really lovely sound. Licking the plastic bag in the bathroom trash can. Gah! A mom can only take so much.

Megan's cats joined in. Feeding them all (yes, there are now four for a couple more weeks) is a circus, anyway. This morning-- ack! I couldn't get it down fast enough, and there was yowling and prowling and rolling around on the floor. (The cats, not me.)

And "somebody" apparently was unsure she would get her fair share, so she ate really really fast-- and promptly upchucked on the window sill. Ugh!

I tried to psych myself up to take a walk. I really needed it. I decided for a change to drive down to the Metroparks and walk along the river. It should be interesting, I thought, in light of all the rains we have had.

I suppose it was fine. But there were lots of speeding bicyclists and road crews making noise. And my twisted ankle from a few weeks ago started barking again. Instead of three or four miles, I barely made it one-and-a-half. Grr.

Oh, and speaking of noise-- the neighbors continued with the power-washing and power-mowing and power-tooling. So many grinding, grating noises to make me want to close the windows-- but then I would lose the cool breezes. 

Sheesh.

So it went, for a good deal of the day. I just felt-- cranky. Off kilter.

Then tonight I was out running an evening errand, just before sundown. And suddenly, all the junk just washed away.

There were mare's tails and mackerel scales, contrails and puffy clouds, all tinged in various shades of gold and purple and pink and even mauve. Divine brush strokes highlighting the western sky.

No, wait-- that's not right. It wasn't just the western sky; it was the entire contour of the heavenly realm. Every direction, every corner tinged with color and light-- and of course, all just for me. 

All I had to do was open my eyes to see.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. (Julian of Norwich)

I didn't need a rainbow to see the promise of God. There it was, laid out before me, brilliant and perfect in the evening light.

Thank God for happy endings.

Shake it off. . . .

“The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few." --Luke 10:2

(Full passage: Luke 10:1-11)

In case you hadn't noticed, Jesus loves a good metaphor. Sometimes, given the way our lives barely resemble those of his original audience-- or even the audience of a hundred years ago-- we need to slow down and look at what Jesus is saying between the lines (or sometimes, right in front of our faces, but while we are so busy looking for a deeper meaning we miss it!).

So here's Jesus, sending his disciples out two-by-two. And he compares the mission field to a harvest. Plentiful harvest, he says. Few workers for the harvest. 

Some people read that and decide it means we really need to get on it, already, and work really really hard and fast to save these souls. And yes, I think that may be a part of it. But let's look a little closer at this harvest metaphor.

Jesus does not tell his disciples that the whole field is ripe and in need of immediate pickin'. This is important, because from here, he goes on to explain how his followers are to determine the "ripeness" of the fruit.

Go to a house, he says, and offer peace. If the peace is returned, if hospitality is offered, then stay. Stay and enjoy the fellowship. And as you fellowship with one another, as you develop relationship, teach what Jesus has taught you. Offer love, healing-- hope. If you are feeling welcomed, stay awhile. 

On the other hand-- if you are not greeted in love, move on. Shake the dust from your robes and move on. 

Perhaps this fruit is not yet ripe. This is not the only tree in the orchard.

But here's something else: In both cases, with those who welcome and those who do not, Jesus' message to be delivered is the same. 

"The Kingdom of God is at hand."

I think some people use this as a threat. Repent now, or God's a-gonna get you. But that's not what I hear. (I could be wrong, but in this case, it's a chance I will take.)

The Kingdom, or Reign of God is at hand. Our God is a God of love. So the love of God is passing nearby. In the person of these disciples-- and in you and in me-- the message of "Love God, love one another" is made flesh. For those whose lives are ripe for belief and those who are still a little green and hard, perhaps a bit sour yet.

Everyone hears the message. We plant seeds for a future harvest. There may be no yield-- ever-- in our lifetime. But we plant and we plant and we plant, offering the message of a loving King to all who have ears. We never know when those ears may be ready to actually hear the message. (Works better still if we are living the message instead of just speaking it.)

And here's another thing I think is important about this harvest imagery:

One bad apple will not spoil the entire harvest.

One surly greeting should not deter us (for long) from continuing to offer the love of Christ with our very lives. 

And for those still struggling to believe-- one person whose message of "love" seems off-base or insensitive or excluding or ugly should not cause you to color all who follow Jesus with the same brush stroke. 

Harvest time. Much work to be done. And let's try not to bruise the fruit in the process.

Lord, you have loved us with an endless, perfect love. Help is, in our humanity, to offer the best love we can manage-- a kind word, a sandwich, perhaps a pair of shoes-- to all who cross our paths. Amen

A choice you must make.

This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. --Deuteronomy 30:19-20

(If you are expecting this to be a political post, you don't know me very well. Just sayin'.)

Spring has come at last to this neck of the woods. The irises have bloomed and gone, the grass is growing much faster than I wish. I even decided this year-- believe it or not-- to see if I can keep a few extra plants alive. But the best part about spring having come is that along with the warmer temperatures and cerulean high skies, strawberries are in season.

Strawberries! Decades ago, when the kids were little, we would go out to a local farm and pick our own berries. They would give us a five-quart box and tell us that we could fill it as full as we desired, for one price. 

We became quite adept at tucking berries in corners, getting every last berry for our buck. And they were so good!

Then the fields became more popular, and the plants grew older along with our children. It became more like "work" than "play." The berries were scarcer on the plants. There were more thistles in the rows. I would come home with my forearms on fire with itching, because I hadn't worn long sleeves and the thistles were in charge.

I hadn't picked strawberries in over ten years, I am sure of it. Until yesterday.

Yesterday my daughter and her two children and I went in search of a new place to pick strawberries-- and we found one! Oh, sure, they charge by the pound now, but that meant we could quit at any point, without feeling like we were not getting our money's worth. 

It was early morning. The day was cool enough for long sleeves, but these fields had no thistles. It had been rainy two days earlier, but the fields were well-couched in straw, just muddy enough.

Just muddy enough that at one point I almost walked right out of my shoe.

And then there was the little girl in blue. I have no idea her name, but I will call her "Joy." 

Joy looked to be just a little younger than Avery, probably about two. She still had that flyaway blonde baby hair, a few strands trying to escape the ponytail her mother thought would keep her hair under control. She was dressed top-to-toe in pale blue.

And when I first spotted her, Joy was standing next to her mother, a red, ripe strawberry in each hand and a big smile in her face.

When we had finished picking-- Joy was still standing next to her mother with a red, ripe strawberry in each hand (not the same ones) and a big smile on her face.

Her chin was red with berry juice. Tiny strawberry seeds freckled her cheeks. Sweet juice trickled down-- or up-- her arm as she bit into the fruit. The smile grew even brighter as her hands . . . then her arms . . . then her sleeves took on a decidedly pink tinge.

This is how I want to live my life. 

I want to be so eager to enjoy what's out there that I just can't wait. I want to grasp what is sweet and wonderful with two hands and smile when the sweet taste of springtime fills my mouth. I don't want to worry about getting a little juice on my favorite shirt.

I want to be like the little boy who, despite his mother's suggestion, chose not to walk around the mud puddle, but instead jumped right smack dab in the middle of it, sending messy splatters everywhere. 

I want to be like my own granddaughter, who was a real helper with the picking. But for every three berries she picked, at least one needed to be "taste-tested" before she added it to the box. (I would be surprised if some of the berries we brought home didn't have a bite out of the side. At least we know who was doing the biting!)

I don't want to be content dipping a toe in the waters of life, or simply grabbing a drink from the fountain. I want to be unafraid to jump full in to the fountain, and if I am lucky-- you will be close by and the joyful waters of life will splash on you, as well.

This time, this season of life will never pass by again. There are no "do-overs." And if we live a full life, we should have few regrets at the end of the day.

Choose life. From the first day to the very last, choose to enjoy what the Creator has done-- and continues to do-- in this amazing place we call home. Choose to make friends, to love one another, to rejoice together-- to weep together. 

And as one season comes to a close and we enter a new one, open your eyes wide and see that this new season has so much to offer, just like the last one. Different. (Maybe better.) 

Make this time, this day-- this season-- the time of your life. The best, the most it can be. No regrets. Life is too short.

Time of your Life

Amen.

Because I said so?

I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. 

I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” --Luke 7:8b

(full context:Luke 7:1-10)

Authority. I wonder what that word really means. We hear it all the time. 

On the evening news, stories of "the authorities" stepping in. Soap opera weddings show beautiful couples standing before the judge, waiting for those words, "By the authority vested in me. . . ."  And in Scripture, we see many examples of authority tested or affirmed, as in this passage about the Roman centurion whose beloved servant is dying. 

This centurion understood many things. He understood that there was no way he, a Roman, was worthy to be in Jesus' presence, let alone ask Jesus to heal his servant. It simply wasn't the way things were in his world.

But he had another perspective, as well: Because he was a leader and had men under him who "took care of things" when he was not there to do so himself, this Roman centurion also knew what it meant to have authority.

Kind of like, he says, "Jump!" and his servant says, "How high?" And the Centurion knows this will happen, because it always does.

And now there is this new rabbi in town. Some are claiming he is-- different. More. Maybe the Messiah, the One come to save all of Israel. He is performing all sorts of miracles, healings and-- more.

For the centurion, it doesn't matter whether Jesus is Roman or Jewish-- or Martian. All this centurion knows is this: His beloved servant is ill and dying. And this "Jesus" comes, they say, with the authority of the Almighty. 

Jesus says, "Believe and be healed," and healing happens. It's that simple.

It's still that simple. Believe, trust in the authority of Jesus and he healed. Be given fresh sight, stand up and walk--no, dance! Let the pieces of your broken heart be made whole, through the authority of Almighty God.

And notice-- in case you didn't already-- the centurion is not one of Jesus' "insiders." He is not Jewish, not a disciple. For all we know, his request comes solely from the rumors he has heard about this man who is doing more amazing things than have ever been seen-- until now.

It really is about faith, isn't it?

Faith and trust-- and believing that God really does love each one of us that much. So much, God would do anything to heal our broken hearts. 

Where will you allow the Spirit of the Most High into your life? Is there a place that could use a Divine touch? 

What are you waiting for? You have heard about him. You may even have seen his Spirit at work in the lives of others. Listen for the whispers in your heart. It's your turn. Time for healing. Time for peace. 

Deep Peace to You

Gracious, ever-loving, ever-living God, lead us into a space of deep peace, safe in your Divine embrace. Remind us again just how precious we are. Amen