Monday, May 28, 2012

Always Remember

Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past. Ask your father and he will tell you, your elders, and they will explain to you. 
--Deuteronomy 32:7



(This is an admittedly selfish post, on this Memorial Day weekend, dedicated to the memory of my sweetie. May we always remember him in our hearts.)

In the States, this weekend marks Memorial Day, the time when we stop and remember, particularly those who gave their lives in service to the country, in the Armed Forces. It is a time to fly the flag, and it is a time for family to gather (usually for food, preferably cooked outdoors on a grill). We are proud of these friends and family who fought for our freedom, and we are grateful.

My father, John McKeever, fought in World War II, in the European theatre. He taught me a lot, in quiet remembrance conversations with my husband, about the ugliness of war and the compassionate witness of warriors. He made it home safely, and went on to raise five pretty amazing kids, if I do say so myself.

One of those kids is my brother Jim. He also served in the Army, but in Iraq during Operation Desert Storm. He, too, came home with sobering stories-- but of a different ilk.

Thank you, one and all, for your service and your sacrifice.

But for me and my family, Memorial Day now carries a different memory. 

On Memorial Day 2010, we bid my husband farewell. A heart so filled with love for his family and his Lord couldn't handle the load and gave out. At age fifty-two, Memorial Day went from an ages-old concept of remembering lives lost-- to a new reality of celebrating a life well-lived.

We will always remember his laugh, deep and resonating-- and genuine. He sang the same way, his baritone voice sinking into deep bass whenever he caught a cold. His was an amazing set of pipes-- and he knew how to use 'em.

My children will remember the "potato-masher," his goofy way of playing with them as he lay on the floor on his back. He kept it up until they were, seriously, bigger than was probably safe-- but they all loved it.

I will always remember-- always-- the joy on his face when he became a grandpa for the first time. Oh, how he loved that child-- and how he would have loved the ones who have followed!

But we would dishonor his memory if we stayed stuck there, in the past. So we lean on one another, love on one another, and little by little, remarkably, life has gone on. 

The garden has come back every spring, and I have not managed to kill it (yet). more weeds removed this weekend. Another battle won (for now).

The cats have decided it's safe to sleep on his side of the bed, although at some level they probably miss him grabbing them and pretend-chewing on their ears. Maybe.

And the sun comes up every morning, offers us the promise of another day. Whether we want one or not, there it is. 

Every day, a chance to remember. Every day, a chance to make new memories. 

This man, my husband, who loved Beethoven and sang along when there were no vocal parts, also loved this:


Yup. Now there's a memory. Don't let go!

Gracious Lord, thank you for soothing the pain, for holding us close even when we kick and scream and struggle to get free. Thank you for not letting us go. Amen.

Richard Bruce Denman (and Garrett)
April 17, 1958 - May 31, 2010

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Tango?

David, wearing a linen ephod, danced before the Lord with all his might, while he and the entire house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouts and the sound of trumpets. --2Samuel 6:14-15

Hi, my name is heidi, and I am a big fan of Dancing with the Stars.

I admit it: Monday night rolls around, and there I am, this woman who watches very little television at all, parked in front of the television, cross stitch in hand, ready to watch, to laugh, to boo Len-- the whole nine yards.

And then last week someone sent me this:



I mean, you would think it was like they knew me or something. Sheesh!

So, of course, I had to start thinking about life . . . and dancing . . . and me.

Lots of choices, really, of which dance to dance.

Some days are Viennese waltzes, smooth and flowing, head held high, neck elegant. The gentle yet firm hand of the Almighty steering me where he would have me go, our movements in perfect unison.

Yeah, some days. I love a waltz-- but those days are not as often as they should be.

Some days-- more like a tango. Focused, deliberate-- hand-in-hand with the One who would show me where to go and not just guide me, but lead me firmly and fearlessly. And we look so-- serious! 

There are other days, of course, rumbas and foxtrots-- and you can probably add to the list. Maybe even an occasional chicken dance or hokey pokey.

But here is what all these dances have in common:

God leads. Every dance, no matter how simple or complex, all I need to do is follow the lead of the Lord of the Dance.

And even more fun? In all my genuine years of "real" dancing, what the woman quickly discovers is that her partner is there largely to make her look good. Oh, sure, he has his solo moments. But when they are partnering? All about the girl.

God does this one so well. You can just feel the love in that gaze, the deep affection in that touch. God just loves when we come to the dance. And God makes us look soooo good when we let God lead.

How can we not be filled with joy? Because even when we misstep-- and we do misstep-- when it comes time for the scores, when we stand before the judge-- it turns out we have been dancing with the Judge all along. But instead of pointing up each foot fault, each raised shoulder or teensy rhythm error, God sees how well we have followed, how committed to the dance-- and scores his followers with a single word:

Perfect. Perfected in love and grace by the one who is, himself, perfect.

How. About. That.


Thank you, Lord God, for giving us a reason to dance through life, with joy in our hearts and peace in our soles-- er, souls. Amen.


Sunday, May 20, 2012

26.2

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 
--Hebrews 12:1

Today was the Cleveland Marathon, a world-class running race. I knew it was today, but for some reason I just failed to really internalize what that was going to mean as I journeyed downtown to my new church, University Circle UMC (OneCoolGod on Facebook). I allowed an hour, but didn't really think my usual thirty minute drive would take a whole hour!

Well . . . it only took me 50 minutes.

My usual route: closed for the marathon. 

Wind my way through some side streets, get back to the highway. Second choice: closed. 

Then it got interesting. I really had no idea where I was supposed to go, but I knew I just needed to point my nose in the right direction and keep going that way. So I did.

And I saw some parts of my city I never saw before. Places where I was glad it was daylight and Sunday morning.

I saw some very rundown homes, and some very rundown people. I saw grocery stores with iron bars across their windows, where the lights were so dim, I don't know how you could see what you were about to purchase.

No major grocery stores, no discount chains. No one would actually choose to risk their hard-earned money here. 

And the whole way, I just kept plugging along, pointed east.

And eventually, guess what? I wound up right by the church! I knew where I was, after all that wandering. And it felt so good to be thee!

So. Do I really need to spin this one out for you, or did you get it already? 

The letter to the Hebrews, and other letters, as well, write about life as a race. Reminds us that we need to fix our eye upon the prize, and run full out to win, as only one person brings home the trophy. 

That's really what it's all about, isn't it? Living full out, keeping our eye on that which matters in the long run? 

Even when we may be stymied as to just what we are doing, exactly where we are going-- still, we know that at the end of the day, we are called to love God, and to love one another as we were first loved. That is the goal.

And if we run that race well, at the end we rejoice to hear the voice of the Father:

"Well done, good and faithful servant." You have run a good race.

Where are your eyes set today? Are you seeing the path ahead of you? Have you been distracted, set off down a rabbit trail inadvertently? (Squirrel!

It is never too late to find your way back where you belong, back pointed in the right direction.


Welcome back. Come, have a seat at the Table. Amen.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Learning the language


If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you. --Exodus 33:13


Think about this for a moment:

A baby comes into this world, weak and helpless, unable, really, to communicate much of anything at all.

She (or he) is fully dependent on someone, whether mother or another grownup, for everything. And as these important "others" in our lives act and react and interact, the baby learns.

The baby learns inadvertent lessons, like whether the baby or the cell phone comes first when it makes noise and cries for attention. 

She learns to understand when her grownup is happy, and that sometimes the grownup cries, too, just like she does.

He discerns, too, as he gets a little older, when he just needs to leave his grownup alone for a few minutes.

And that baby learns, as well, how we feel about things. About school. About each other. About God.

My granddaughter is a toddler now. She is at that age where whatever she hears, it comes right back out of her precious little mouth-- for better or worse. My children had the embarrassing experience of having her accidentally repeat an unsavory word uttered in pain. You know-- like when you stub your toe and all of a sudden those words spew forth like Beetle Bailey-- &%$#!!

Oops.

Now, we've become more intentional in what we are teaching her. She will lift her arms to me, look at me with those ginormous blue eyes and say, "Up pleeeeeease!" And we will walk around the house and look at things, name them.

And at some point, she will spot my necklace, take it gently between her fingers.

My necklace is a very plain silver cross, about an inch high. She has been fascinated with it since she was very small. She fingers it carefully, and now, she will look at me and say, "C'oss."

And I will repeat it back. Yes, cross

And she will turn it over in her fingers, never tugging or rough, always gentle. Again, she will say it. C'oss.

It's a good thing to hang on to.

And as she grows a little older and a little older, we begin to talk more, about Jesus, about the cross-- about God.

But beyond my words, this sweet child is, I hope, getting another lesson.

She is learning what it feels like to know love. To be the apple of my eye (and her mommy and daddy's eyes, too), to understand that MaMars (that's me!) will always do her best to make the world a safe place.

And to really, truly understand that there is a place where she is beloved best of all, where there is always a hot supper waiting for her when she returns from the land where the wild things are.

The world can be a wild, crazy, angry place sometimes.

We grow up, we think we no longer need that safe place any more-- and then something happens that just kicks our legs right out from under us, makes it hard to catch our breath.

I hope and pray that the message we send through these early years becomes deeply ingrained, in two ways:

First, that she can always count on her family.

Second-- that she can always count on God. Even if, at some point and for some reason, she can no longer count on her family.

I believe this is the single greatest thing we teach our children, this language and lifestyle of love. 

And it is something they are always learning, always figuring out-- possibly most when we aren't even teaching on purpose.

Listen to your words, and just as important, look at your actions through the eyes of a child finding his way in a strange and unfamiliar place.

Speak love. And especially-- live love. Practice love. Daily.

Enjoy this beautiful clip.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuE3_GN1gSY&feature=related

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

A perfect reflection?

Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. --Matthew 5:48

Today was a perfect spring day. Absolutely perfect. So I took off to visit one of my favorite places, Holden Arboretum. This time of year, I figured, the azaleas would be finishing up and the rhododendrons would be in full bloom.

I was right.

But what I did not count on was the stillness of the air, and the beautiful reflections in the ponds-- the ones that didn't have gunk on them, anyway.


Beautiful, isn't it? In some ways the reflection is even more beautiful than the original. The "sky" is bluer, the "trees" greener. 

And I began thinking (again) about this verse. It can be troublesome, this single verse of Jesus' recorded words calling us to be perfect, just like God.

Or maybe-- be perfect because God is perfect. We are, after all, created in God's image; we are the Imago Dei.

Tough stuff, this. How can we possibly be a reflection of perfection?

John Wesley believed it was possible to achieve perfection in this lifetime-- but not perfect the way we usually mean. Most simply put, Wesley saw perfection as a journey of the heart. Along the way, every now and again, one's heart falls so deeply, perfectly in love with God-- that one's life becomes wholly, fully dedicated to serving God.

And the reason it's a journey? Because it's so darned hard to maintain such a state of holiness. But that, again, is where God's unfailing love and grace come in.

Thank God.

I can only speak for myself here, but sometimes, it seems, even on a day when the winds are calm in my soul, it is still just so very hard to completely focus on and be in love with God. 

Oh, it happens some days, and it's an amazing, overwhelmingly peace-filled space.

But then the phone rings, or someone cuts me off in traffic-- in other words, the world shows up. 

And like >that< a big old stone is chucked right smack dab in the middle of my perfect reflection. The "reflection" becomes difficult to recognize.

So-- the point is, we cannot do it alone. We simply must rely on the grace of God. Every morning, refreshed and rested, we set off again pursuing this relationship. And the Good News is, God is already coming after us, in hot pursuit. Wooing and pursuing, the God-of-all-that-is speaks softly to the God within each one of us.

Are you listening?

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Aesop's got nothin' on me!

Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field. -Genesis 2:19-20

( Lovingly dedicated to Maurice Sendak, who continued the art of creation through his wonderful, wild imagination. Let the wild rumpus start!)


Over the centuries, many wonderful fables have been told about how certain animals came into being. How, for example, the giraffe got his long, long neck like a tree trunk, or how the elephant got her long, elegant trunk.

I believe the two just might be related. 

You see, when God finished up the work in the garden, while things were still new and perhaps still a bit soft and stretchy, the giraffe's neck was not nearly so long. This giraffe, dazzled by the wonders of this new creation, was just like a two-year-old, asking question after question-- after question.

Why, God? Why are the trees so tall? What are those leaves for? And are they tasty, Daddy? Are they yummy to eat?

What do we need rain for? And why are those raindrops so cold when they fall on my ears?

Daddy, what's that? And that? And-- that? What IS it?

After a bit, even our patient God became a wee bit-- annoyed with all those questions. God could have said, "Because I am God and I said so!" But he didn't.

Instead, God took the giraffe aside and said, "Child"-- because giraffes are God's children, too-- "Child, you ask so many questions! I will tell you the answers to every question you ask. But you will need to stretch out your neck, bring those cute, fuzzy ears w-a-a-a-a-y up close to Me, and I will whisper the answers in your ear. Then you will know-- but you cannot tell the other animals!"

So of course, the giraffe promised. He was so eager to hear the answers, he promised never to tell another soul.

So God helped the giraffe to stretch his neck longer and longer until he could reach a-l-l-l-l-l-l the way up to where God could whisper in his ear.

And God told the giraffe everything he wanted to know. And the giraffe thought God must love him best of all.

As God watched the giraffe's eyes grow wider and wider, God knew: There was no way this creature would be able to keep secrets like these!

So God did two things.

First, he made the giraffe's neck stay long like a tree trunk. And then-- just to be sure-- he took away the giraffe's voice. So even if the giraffe could manage to get his head down to speak with the other animals (or with us), all he would be able to do-- is whisper. 

And that is how the giraffe got her long, long neck like a tree trunk.

What a great solution.

But pretty soon, the poor giraffe began to feel lonely. And he began to wonder if God really did love him-- at all! 

Enter the elephant.

(Now, if you have read this blog for any time at all, you know, of course, where elephants spend their time when they are not in the jungle or in the zoo. They spend their time-- in God's attic. They are close to God in a very special way.)

When God saw how sad the giraffe was, he knew he needed to do something completely different for this inquisitive creature to remind him just how much God loves him. 

So God called on the elephant (who did not always have such a long, elegant trunk as she does today). And God gently stretched the elephant's trunk longer, and l-o-n-g-e-r, and made it extra flexible, so she could do many things with it!

And every now and then, God would send the elephant over into the corner of the jungle where the giraffes hang out, and would give the elephant a special message of love to speak to the giraffe.

And the elephant would s-t-r-e-t-c-h her long, elegant trunk up, up, up until she could reach the giraffe's cute, fuzzy ears, and she would whisper, very quietly, just how much God loves his little giraffe. 

And that is how the elephant got her long, elegant trunk.

And God does the same for each of us. 

Whenever we begin to feel like God has forgotten about us, whenever God's love feels distant-- God still sends elephants. 



Father God, thank you so much for the wonderful gift of creation, for planting us smack dab in the middle of such a marvelous plan and allowing us to play our part. Thanks, always, for giving us the ability to create new "worlds" for our children, through words, through prayer and through listening to your whispers of love. Amen.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Impossible Freedom?

Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey. . . ? You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.
--Romans 6:16, 18

Ah, freedom. Such a difficult thing, really, to understand.

Many years ago, when I was teaching, there was a little boy in my class named John. John was the one who, when we made Goop, a wonderful mixture of water, Elmer's Glue and borax that resembles Silly Putty (only way cooler)-- John was the child who, when we said, "Now be careful you keep the Goop away from your hair"-- immediately his Goop was on his head. 

And the next day, John had a new haircut. 

But John and I had a special friendship. He trusted me; I was able to "rein him in" with love.

Towards the end of that school year, we planned a trip to the zoo. John's dad took me aside as we were getting ready to get on the bus and gave me a leash. You know the kind, one of those halter leashes for children.

Dad said, "John's never been to the zoo before. When you get to the zoo, you will want to put this on him. It's the only way he will stay with you."

I smiled, mentally remembered how experienced I was with these kids and  especially with John, thanked Dad-- and knew I would never need the leash for him. 

I was younger then.

So we got to the zoo, got off the bus and made our way to the gate. The zoo in my city is huge, wild and wonderful, over 3500 acres of animals and coolness.

John held my hand, his eyes grew wide with excitement at the wonder of it all. I could feel him begin to twitch, to barely squirm under my grasp.

At the first opportunity, I let go of his hand, but reminded him he needed to stay close at hand, where he could still see me.

John ran off, about ten feet from me. He looked around, anxious and wiggly. So much to see! So much to hear! So much to touch!

He ran back to me, looked at me with those wide, brown eyes and said, "Mrs. Denman, could I please have my leash?"

John couldn't handle "real" freedom. He couldn't understand what it meant to be free. Not like that. John still needed something to hold on to-- or to hold on to him.

We can be like that, too, when we begin to question what we learned as children. 

Maybe one day something happens and we realize:We don't have to believe what we'd always been taught in Sunday school if we didn't want to. We were free! Free to believe or not to believe, in whatever fashion we saw fit!

But sometimes, as we turn away from our upbringing and decide we no longer want to be slaves to those "elementary school beliefs," we find ourselves getting all tangled up and anxious in our new-found freedom.

Truth? I am not convinced that it is possible to be completely free. I think it is possible to change the ideas and beliefs to which we are enslaved.

And over time, with careful thought and examination, we discover what is really going on-- for us-- in our relationship with the Almighty.

Like John, we look around and realize there is just too much going on. And we seek to tether ourselves to someone we can trust, someone we know will keep us in line-- with love.

Are you wandering or wondering what you believe these days, as politicians try to tell us what is "right" and "wrong," and the words attributed to a supposedly loving God sound mean and angry?

Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater. 

Listen to your heart. 

Listen to the Lord, and taste what is good-- and your soul will delight in the richest of fare (Isaiah 55)! 

And in this new freedom from what has bound us, may we be loosed and tethered afresh to a new leader, a new lover. 

Loving Lord, thank you for showing us a better way. Thank you for keeping us bound by your love, leading us to feel truly free in a whole new way. Amen.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Shout Out, Part Deux.

[The father said,] "If you can do anything, help us! Show us compassion!”
 Jesus said to him, “‘If you can do anything’? All things are possible for the one who has faith.”

At that the boy’s father cried out, 
“I have faith; help my lack of faith!”
--Mark 9:22b-24 (Common English Bible)

God's goodness just never quits, does it? And just in case, in your own life, you are struggling to see the Divine Hand in your life? Let me tell you another story:

Last week I received an email from a friend I will call Joy. Joy was requesting prayers for her husband Max.

Max had gone to the doctor for a somewhat routine examination and wound up getting called back: A PET scan revealed an abnormality on his lung, and Max would need to have a biopsy.

Joy outlined the possible diagnoses:
  • Best possible outcome: the abnormality would be benign.
  • Second-best diagnosis: "normal" lung cancer, treatable with a lobectomy.
  • Not-so-hot-on-the-list: "small cell" cancer, which would require aggressive, IV chemo treatment begun as soon as possible.
Joy, obviously, asked us to join her in praying for "Option Number One." So we did.

I petitioned others, friends I have known who understand the power of prayer and the might of our God, who have witnessed healing in their own lives or the lives of someone they love. (see "Shout It Out" for an example.)

We joined Joy in praying for the Best Possible Outcome. 

But I have a confession to make.

Even as I have witnessed so much, even as I know, at some deep level, that God is mighty and all-powerful yet loves each of us intimately-- I could not keep the "what ifs" completely at bay.

Like the father of the boy with an unclean spirit, I doubted. Lord God, if you can do anything. . . .

Lord, I have faith! Help my lack of faith. In the times of waiting and fearful questioning, Lord Jesus-- help my lack of faith.

Please, please tell me I am not alone here. (I know I am not.)

We prayed, we waited. The day before the biopsy, Joy emailed us that she and Max had been filled with a sense of unshakable peace in the face of the surgery, and in their hearts, they knew it could only be attributable to the power of prayer.

We prayed some more. We waited some more.

And then it came. The answer we had waited and prayed for:

"Not cancer! Words cannot express my relief!!! I can hardly breathe!!!" 

(See why I named her "Joy"?)

Our ever-faithful Lord has taken our breath away again. God is mighty, God is good, and our God is mighty good. 

All praise, all thanksgiving to you alone, infinitely immense and lovingly intimate Lord of all creation. In our hesitancy to believe, you continue to show us the love you have for your children. Help us, Almighty Father, to trust and believe, to have faith in your plan. In all things-- thank you. Amen, amen and amen!