Great is the Lord...

Tomorrow is a very special Sunday. In some circles it is called “Christ the King” Sunday, in others, it is called “Reign of Christ” Sunday, but either way, it is the last Sunday of the Christian calendar. Beginning a week from Sunday is the First Sunday of Advent which is the start of the new liturgical year. So in keeping with the theme of “Christ the King” Sunday, I hope that you will enjoy this awesome music video featuring one of my all time favorite songs “Great is the Lord.” Have a blessed Sunday!

Blessings

The Yellow Shirt...

Something tells me that you may have all read this story, I know that I have received it, and read it, dozens of times over the past few years. But it seem like every time I receive it, I take the time to read it. There is just something special and compelling about this story that seems to draw me closer to those who I love and care about as well as the feeling that perhaps God’s love is a lot like that old yellow shirt that we can wrap up in and be warmed by.

Our daughter Terri is preparing to host her first Thanksgiving dinner next week, I think about each generation that has gone before and how the important things which make us a family, the stories, the traditions and the love are the things that are indeed passed from one generation to the next.

I thought that the story of “The Yellow Shirt” would be very appropriate to share with you as we prepare our hearts for the festivities of next week.

“The Yellow Shirt”

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"

"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt! And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."

I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.

Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.

Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."

Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.

Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."

That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."

The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
Blessings

Miracles Still Happen... They do! Really... I Can Prove It...

If you have followed my blog for awhile, then you know that we have had several conversations about miracles. Well, if there was ever a doubt in your minds as to the existence of miracles, I can prove today that they do exist beyond any and all reasonable doubt. Today, the 20th day of November 2008, something happened to me that has never happened before and something that can only be explained as a miraculous act of God.

I, your humble, modest, unassuming host of this Blog received an A+ on an assignment. I know what you are thinking, it must have been a mistake. Yeah, I know, I thought that too, but apparently it was not. Since I knew you wouldn’t believe me, let me also share the comment that went along with the grade:

Another thoroughly enjoyable and clearly superior job. You seem to enjoy this kind of thing in addition to doing it well. I thought you nailed both the key information and the memorable aspects of the chapter. You paid close attention to the parameters of the assignment and did not short shrift or fail to make explicit important points this time. You also took us well beyond the chapter yet kept everything pertinent. Thanks very much for you diligence and insight. Grade: A+

See, I didn’t make it up! I actually got an A+! Miracles do exist, and today I have received one. Now if only God would do something about that hair issue thing of mine, then everything would be in great shape. :)

Blessings

I Never Know What To Say...

What do we say when someone that we care about has lost a loved one? What do we say to someone who is hurting so badly that they aren’t even sure if they will be able to take another breath. This has always been a significant challenge for me, and I know that it is for many of you as well, because you have told me so in Bible studies, Sunday school classes and sitting together quietly in the funeral home.

I remember a Sunday school class once that was discussing grief and dealing with tragic loss. Each person in the class described the knot in their stomach and the lump in their throat as they approached their loved one or friend to attempt to find some words of solace or comfort. Each person described the desire not to say something wrong or hurtful which would only further the burden on their friend.

The interesting thing was that each person then turned from remembering their concern over what to say, to becoming critical of comments that others had said to them in times of loss. Comments like “It was God’s will” or asking questions about the deceased’s salvation.

The God that I worship is a loving God, a God of compassion and infinite grace. We don’t have to come up with the right words to say. Too be honest, there is nothing that we can say at such a time that will ease the overwhelming burden of pain. But there is something that we can do that will make all the difference in the world. I don’t really remember what people said to me when I lost my Dad or Mom or Brother, but I do remember each one of the hugs. I remember each person who was there, who sat with me, cried with me and held me for that extra second to show that they loved me.

It is in those times that we are called to bring the presence and light of God into a dark and difficult place. It is by simply being with that person that we can help in the healing. I believe that you can do more by simply holding a hand than you can by 1000 words. Grief is a long process, one that doesn’t end simply because the funeral is over, and the phone stops ringing. It is then that the real grief and healing begins, and it is then that they need you the most. Never hesitate to reach out in love, never think twice about placing a compassionate hand on a hurting shoulder and never be reluctant to embrace a fellow traveler in this journey of life.

Blessings

People Need The Lord...

Amen!

You Are Not Alone...

When I arrived on campus Monday, I received this rather cryptic email from the President of our Seminary Jay Rundell:

Friends,

By now, many of you have heard about what appears to have been a tragic murder-suicide last evening in Columbus. No doubt some of you have realized that Kevin Shults, the father of 7-year-old Kelli, was a 2002 graduate of MTSO. We are deeply saddened by this news and our prayers are with all concerned.

Grace and Peace,
Jay

I have since learned that Kevin Shults shot and killed his seven year old daughter Kelli before turning the gun on himself.

I didn’t know Kevin, but yet I am deeply troubled and moved by this tragedy. It must be a devastating thing to find yourself all alone and no where to turn. The sense of despair and devastation that must have been felt by Kevin prior to committing this act must have been profound indeed.

What is scary to me, is how alone we are truly becoming in this society. We no longer reach out to each others. Groups such as Lodges, fraternal organizations, even the PTA (I know it’s PTO’s, I’m just showing my age) continue to decline in membership until one day they may be gone forever. Even our churches are feeling the effects of this shift in society. People are too content to send out an email rather than pick up the phone. Actually physically going out and visiting someone is almost unheard of. Texting, the most impersonal of all, (I know I'm just getting old) is the new way to keep in contact, but when it is used in place of actual human contact and conversation, then it is wrong.

Our houses are all built with back decks instead of front porches which further emphasizes our desire for seclusion. We no longer play family games and board games, instead we play video games against the computer, or X Box games over the phone lines with strangers halfway around the world, or next door. (Does it really mater where they are?)

My challenge for you this week is to reach out to someone/ anyone. Pick up the phone and call someone that you haven’t talked to in a while. Stop by and see your neighbor. You might even take them a plate of cookies, it’s ok if they are store bought. Tell someone/anyone you know that you care about them, that you are interested in them and that you are concerned about them.

The world that we live in is a difficult place. People are facing challenges everyday that no one knows about, except them. Reach out and make a difference to someone today, you will never know what difference that plate of cookies may have made in their life. You may never know that a simple act of kindness may have averted a tragedy like Kevin and his daughter. Only God knows.

Blessings

Facing Giants

Saturday night was a very insightful night for me. We went out to Cana for movie night to watch the movie "Facing the Giants." First of all let me say that the movie was excellent, I thought that it truly helped me to see what has been unclear to me. I mentioned in an earlier post that I thought God was trying to tell me something about Giants, but I wasn’t really sure what it was.

Well, Saturday, after watching the movie, it really became much more clear what I was feeling and what I needed to do about it. I have told you that I have been feeling a sense of being overwhelmed here latly, and that I have looked ahead and not had any idea how I was going to get the work done that needed to be done. I have also shared my fear/concern, that I have absolutely no control over what is going to happen to me in the future. I don't know what is going to happen financially regarding school over the next few months, I have absoulutly no control over my future with regards to the Board of Ordained Ministry, and I have no sense of what I will be doing a year from now in ministry and that complete lack of control has left me feeling very helpless at times. In reality, I have been coming face to face with giants!

The movie "Facing the Giants" helped me to put several of these feelings into perspective. There was a scene in which a story was told about two farmers, each needing rain, and each one praying for God to help them. One farmer simply sat back and waited for God to bring the rains, while the other farmer went out, plowed the field, prepared the ground and planted his crop anticipating the rain. The question was asked, which farmer do you believe God would bless? Then it dawned on me, that is what I have been doing. I have been plowing the fields, preparing the ground and planting the seeds. Each of the countless list of papers that I have to write and books that I must read are a part of that process of preparation, stepping out in faith and putting my trust in God.

Another important lesson from the movie was the idea that all I can do is the best that I can do, work as hard as I can, and when I am though, be sure that I have left everything on the field. Just as I preached this morning, consider the servant who buried the single talent entrusted to him. When he is asked by the master to give an accounting of what he has done with his talent what does he say?

Master, I knew that you were a hard man and that you harvest where you have not sown and gather where you have not scattered seed, so I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.

The servant was afraid and so he took no risks, he buried what he had to keep it safe and ended up doing nothing. The judgment of the master falls upon the servant after he hears what the servant has done:

"You wicked, lazy servant. You knew that I harvest where I have not sown, and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have had received it back with interest."

There is no sin in failure, there is only sin in not attempting to succeed.

The parable of the talents is not a lesson about our degree of ability or productivity. It is a lesson about our attitude and responsibility. It is about stepping out with God's treasure in our hands and risking it all for the sake of others and risking it for the sake of God.

The servant was afraid, and so he did not try...

So, as I have put all of this together, I am beginning to understand that I am, to the best of my ability, being faithful to God’s will for me. I am taking the risk that was asked of me by giving up the comfort of my life as a chiropractor, stepping out in faith and following the call that God has placed on my life. And, the sometimes overwhelming work that lies ahead is nothing more than preparing the ground for the rains to come. In addition, I must never forget that when I am facing the giants, I will never be alone. God will always be at my side.

For now, it is enough for me to know that I am being faithful, and that the future is firmly in God’s hands, and as in the movie, whether or not we win or loose we will still praise God. I think that this is all that God asks of any of us.

Blessings