Walls That Divide--Ties That Bind

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity! (Psalms 133:1)

The walls that divide Christianity are numerous—sharp bricks and weighty stones of doctrine which too frequently we use to build walls of separation or cast at one another in ignorance, fear or selfishness; and yes, even hatred. Jesus rebuked the scribes and Pharisees who sought to persecute an adulterous woman by saying “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” (John 8:7 NASB) He went one step further than most of us would by saying, “Neither do I condemn you; go your way. From now on sin no more.” (John 8:11)

Our Heavenly Father does not condone our sins, neither does he condemn us for our failures. Yet, how many stony words of condemnation do we throw at those of differing faiths instead of practicing godliness and sharing gentle expressions of compassion, tolerance, and understanding? It's a thought-provoking, teeth-clenching question for most of us. Recognizing the ties that bind us together as a unified community of believers is critical to help us move beyond our prejudices.

While not a staple in many Christian denominations, the Apostles Creed still provides a singular doctrine of faith which calls us to unity. While historians have researched its origins for centuries, most experts believe the creed dates to the first century – at least in some form, superseding nearly all of the modern-day churches, except the Catholic Church from whence it has its origins. The message of the creed is plain, simple, yet profound. It describes the trinity; the deity of Jesus Christ, His miraculous birth and resurrection; as well as the promise of eternal life.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.

And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty. From thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

Amen.

As children of God, do we truly believe in the communion of saints? The word “communion” infers we are in accord with other believers; that we have a deep fellowship, togetherness, union.

However, an intimate examination of our hearts reveals discord—deep-seated prejudices and long-standing fears of those within the body of Christ who adhere to differing belief systems. Needless to say, the body of Christ is not truly “in communion;” instead, it is fractured and broken.

Decades after his passing, the words of Martin Luther King still challenge us to live as one people in communion. His words speak to us, not only of racial unit, but of harmony among all brothers and sisters in Christ.

“When we allow freedom to ring—when we let it right from every city and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children—black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual “Free at Last, Great God A-mighty, we are free at last.”

Seeds of divisiveness and prejudice have been planted over centuries. Let us now uproot those obnoxious and prolific weeds and plant seeds of forgiveness and God's grace. Paul exhorted the Philippians to “be of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose.” (Phil. 2:2)

These are the ties that bind us together: the holy scriptures, God's merciful grace, and our common faith in one God, one Savior, Jesus Christ, and the power of His resurrection to save our searching souls.

"I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord entreat you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing forbearance to one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as also you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is over all and through all and in all." (Eph. 4:1-6)

Walk in a worthy manner – Preserve the unity – Remember your calling.

One hope – One Lord – One faith – One baptism – One God and Father of All.

52 Weeks of Writing--A Challenge for 2014

Looking Forward~

Around the first of every year, I think every pastor or priest I've ever known feels obligated to challenge his flock to set goals, to look at life in a new way, to start afresh for the coming annum. To make plans and keep them. Those sermons never cease to surprise me. While you'd think, who could ever say something new? How could I be challenged once again? What could I possibly learn? Yet . . .

Every year, I seem to hear life from a new perspective. I collect courage and hope as new companions along the journey. This year, however, was even more surprising for something special was heralded from the pulpit--and it wasn't only Pastor Pat's soothing, familiar voice--it was the voice of a caring Father. A Father who wanted me to know that what I had been hearing in my head for months on end was indeed His voice.

"O taste and see that the Lord is good . . . " - a simple phrase reverberating in my head and heart for oh so very long. But, what does it mean?

As usual with God's word, there are a multitude of meanings behind and within. Sometimes my mind wants to explode--wondering, analyzing. God's word is the breath of heaven--it breathes and heaves and declares and commands. Yet . . . all I need do is listen and rest and (that awful word) wait. Seems I've been doing a lot of that lately (years now actually).

So I'm sure you're wondering now, what did I take away from that December 29, 2013 sermon. Well, before the sermon even really started in earnest, here is what I wrote:

52 weeks of writings

Taste and see that the Lord is good

What verse did Pastor Pat share several minutes into his sermon? Yep, you guessed it: Psalms 34:8 O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him.

Personally, I don't like New Year's resolutions. They are trite, full of themselves, and under normal circumstances highly unattainable. Oh, and did I mention frustrating and downright demeaning?

Now that I've gotten that out of my system, I believe it's time to succumb to the triteness and get on with something that really matters. Writing. At least that's what matters to me and I believe deep down it's what matters to God because it is His gift behind and within. As Pastor Pat said, "we cannot change ourselves; only God can change us to the degree that we are willing to submit to Him." What will you do with your gift? Will you submit or succumb? Taste and see . . .

Aloneness

Frazzled, frayed, spiked points of uncertainty.

Standing out amidst the green jumble of prairie plant life, solitary against smooth life-filled leaves.

How have I been found in such dryness? Scratchy stems, withered from a barren life.

Inverted – upside down - opposite to the oasis in the middle of a desert - my life is much like this frayed pom-pom plant--dried out, solitary, yet somehow, surprisingly standing upright surrounded by the flowing river of prairie grasses. Yes, it's the dryness that creates this unbendable, sharp-edged spike.

Flexible, living, chlorophyll breathing round about, yet here I am withered, out-of-breath, desperately clinging to lifeless roots. Will the gardener come and, with one gentle tug, pull me from my fragility – making room for new growth and green life? Will he blow my wispy top knot, spreading seeds on the prairie wind?

I'm not so sure I have a chance this season. Will Spring be my salvation? Did the seeds find their destiny--their root? Like wild salmon fighting their way upriver, must I die so others will live? Is the prairie song the song of a Savior?

Aloneness . . . yet never really alone.

Ode to Poison Ivy

Ivy has been my constant companion these past several weeks. And, I'm sorry to say that despite the many times I try hard to avoid her, she pursues me like a true friend. She really gets under my skin – literally.

I've known Ivy for some twenty years now and she usually plans her visits in the heat of the summer when I'm most likely to sweat and swell. We meet in the cool of the forest while enjoying the prairie paths and then she follows me home. In her carefree, breezy manner, she also tags along with my little dachshunds, following them home, bringing an unseen presence into our lives. It's almost magical the way she appears and re-appears.

I'm amazed at my dear friend's stick-to-it-ness, her ability to love on me through my daily work schedule and then, oh how she keeps me company in the wee hours. When I'm having trouble sleeping, there she is spurring me on to more challenges.

My latest conversations with Ivy began about four weeks ago out on our little road that travels to the back pasture. I have to admit most of our discussionss are a bit one-sided with me ranting and raving while she demurely turns red before my eyes. The objective that Saturday was photo opportunities on the prairie. It was an enjoyable outing, winding my way through the prairie grasses, the trees, and all those little stands of jagged leaf green plants. Ivy followed right along, teasing me with her abrasive humor once we returned home.

Yes, that's my dear friend Ivy. I've come to respect her place in my life . . . and accept her annoying nuisances. She reminds me again and again that to be a friend we have to be vulnerable and willing to accept the good with the bad; the beautiful and the ugly. In sickness and in health . . . friendship, like a marriage, is about the coming together of two forgivers. Right?

Well, I don't think Ivy got that memo. While I'm willing to forgive her discretions, despite how tiresome they may be, I've heard no apology from her all these many years.

God is in the Details

Cicadias are deafening.

They seem to drown out the other evening noises. A tractor/mower, a weedeater, the rainbow colored power parachute guy who throttles by overhead nearly every night, the drone of I-70 several miles to the south, crunching gravel on the road, a barking dog in the distance.

As I sit alone on the patio, gazing out to the prairie hills, it's easy to appreciate the Monet glow of a pink sunset behind me and the early evening stillness.

This past week, leading up to the birthday day yesterday, I gave much thought to writing a blog for my birthday. But that would be a bit too much self-aggrandizement. I really don't like to be pretentious. It's not too cool, me thinks.

So instead, here I sit the day after pondering life on the prairie . . . and wondering really what is it all about. A cacophony of cicadas . . . burnt orange prairie grasses preparing for autumn . . .

. . .a beauty unappreciated by many . . . surprises every day if you look for them. And, that's the ultimate gift of the prairie . . . touching . . . seeing . . . feeling . . . movement, change, wonder. Much like life . . . we have to be open, we have to look for the wonder - seek opportunities to be amazed.

Details, details, details . . . they say God is in the details. And on the prairie . . . it is indeed evident.

August 3, 1918 - A Mother Remembered . . . and Much, Much More

Ninety-four years ago my mother was born in St. Louis--the only child to a couple (one Irish and another French/Austrian--both first generation Americans).

I remember her today, and as always, try to spend the day reflecting on who she was as a person, how her character impacted mine, and how she influenced me. Earlier this year, I wrote about her in memory of the day she died (March 16, 1998).

Today, however, as I reflect on that special relationship between mothers and daughters, I would be remiss in not mentioning the greatest blessing to my life--my three daughters. My mother and I were only daughters--only children. It's not easy being an "only." You grow up playing alone, make-believe games with imaginery friends. And, now, as an adult, with my parents both gone, I feel it even more--the aloneness of no siblings. On the flip side, it also makes you more independent.

Now as a 50-something mom, I can sit back and realize that there is no greater honor and privilege than knowing my three daughters. Because His plans are true, God placed them here on this earth at their perfect time in history - He created them each with special and unique qualities like no one else on this planet. Their laughter, their warm hearts, their beauty inside and out humbles me like no other.

Each one was created for a special purpose . . . and they can do nothing to disappoint me--ever. I am so proud of the beautiful women they are becoming.

And, despite my insane nature right now, my three daughters are treasures sent from heaven. They are shimmering gems--lighting up my darkness on this day when I remember my Mom and our short 38 years together. I so wish that my Mom was here to see her darling grandaughters and experience the joy I do each and every day knowing they share life with me.

Side note: At the grocery store tonight, I made an impulse buy in the frozen food aisle--Stouffer's Mac & Cheese. I think it was sub-conscious, but when I got home I realized that my Mom loved Stouffer's Mac & Cheese. After my Dad died, she didn't cook as much and it was something easy for her to prepare to share with Meghan & Aubrey when they came to visit. Cheers to Mom--Brinna, Ron & I indulged in this sinful, carbohydrate-drenched side dish tonight. Just sad that Meghan & Aubrey missed the pre-celebration.

Where Have All The Servants Gone?

"Do all things without grumbling or disputing; that you may prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, . . . " (Phil. 2:14-15 NASB)

Three weeks since a hard crash into a rocky gravel driveway sent me into a comatose, dependent state of being. Not literally without consciousness, but figuratively it would seem.

It's been a state of grief - aloneness - and helplessness. And, it's also a wake-up call to the feelings I'm sure will surface when I'm 108 and can no longer feed myself or perhaps walk to the bathroom unassisted. It's a sobering thought - this growing older, tables turned topsy turvy.

One shining star, though, brought light and encouragement from a very unexpected place--one of my co-workers. This young man, born the year I graduated from high school, is a breath of fresh air in my workplace. In the two years I have known him, I have rarely seen him not grinning wide, full of exuberance for life. He's a former New Yorker from the Bronx with Midwestern ways it would seem.

His tattoed visage, rough language, and dubious past mask a servant heart that seems to know no bounds. He is a rare gem among the litter of this ugly world. And, while he's no church-goer, it doesn't matter because he lives the life of service. Paul writes in Philippians: "Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others." (Phil. 2: 3, 4 NASB) That is his mantra.

The Saturday after I broke my arm, this young man called our company owner to get my phone number so he could "check up on me." Our owner's wife called me as well and their two calls meant so much to me--concern, love, honor.

Just about every day or so I receive the privilege of watching him in action--serving customers, helping out in some way and he continues to make it a point to ask me how I'm feeling. He blesses my soul.

Have you blessed someone's soul today? Taken time to smile? Shared a story or your heart with someone? Said "thank you"? Offered assistance? All it takes is a few simple lines in a text message, a phone call, or simply a smile to brighten this world and be a light in someone's darkness. You CAN make all the difference.

Why not try it?

Pain of This Earth - Things Above

Yes, that is pain. I'm really tired of the pain and suffering of this life. Some days I just want to give up on everything and everyone. How did Jesus do it, dying, being tortured, and suffering for our petty sins and selfishness? He was the God-man, though. That's how. Then we, selfish humans that we are treat one another with little regard. We are so full of ourselves, our own pettyness, that we disregard the feelings of others. We shamefully think of our own pain, our own supposed suffering without seeing the pain of the Cross, the pain of our neighbor, our friends, our family.

I shake my head in disbelief at the lack of caring, the behavior that eats away at our very souls. Pain is a vast feeling of nothingness, an endless, mindless chasm of tears and suffering. Maybe pain is like hell only its right here on earth, every day surrounding us, engulfing us.

Like a fire – it consumes us – destroying the very fabric of our souls. Crackling, spitting, scorching flames that suck the oxygen from us leaving us breathless and stunned.

Yes, that is pain. A violent brush fire that destroys and then leaves us with nothingness. The aching, the internal hollow feeling that lingers is wretched.

That is indeed the pain I've been feeling for some time now. It's inexplicable--yet somehow so tangible I can feel it, see it, touch it, smell it.

I apologize to my readers for this foray into the deep darkness of the human soul, because I know it's somewhere many dare not venture. Some hide in silence, while others hide in shadows, hoping no one will see their pain. I hide here in words on a blog that very few read. So, it's safe to say that my pain will remain virtually undiscovered. And, do not worry over me because the writing is a way through the pain. And, beyond all this there is a higher hope, a confident clarity and a purposeful journey ever pulling me upward.

I find it is interesting that tonight ushered in a full moon – so appropriate with all its connotations of disaster, predators hunting the weak and werewolves baying. Despite all the pain and suffering in this world, both physical and psychological, there is one thing that remains – I AM. The beginning and the end; Alpha & Omega.

"Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth." (Colossians 3:2)

"And so, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you. And beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity." Colossians 3:12-14

Our Little Wise Owl

July 1, 1992, 2:32 a.m. Overland Park, KS Humana Hospital

A little sprite of a girl was born this morning 20 years ago. From the very beginning, I knew this one would be very special. Many times, the second child lives in the shadow of the older and I believe she did for a time.

But her own personality came out early one - a determined spirit, but one that above all is sensitive, loving and caring.

I can remember many times her coming home from school with stories to tell of classmates who had been wronged by another. She would grieve over their pain - and it wasn't something she could let go of very easily. Such a testimony to her caring spirit - her empathetic nature. And, her sense of moral justice. Quite an unusual characteristic for one so young.

My husband and I had this crazy idea to try to choose Irish names for our kids and when the second one came along, we debated over several different names - landing on Aubrey Shannon. Now for those of you who may know, the name Aubrey is not Irish (oops). No - its roots are Germanic/French and it means "blond ruler" or "king of the elves." At the time, we didn't even really look at the meaning too closely - we just liked the name. The middle name was a bit easier - (like the River Shannon in Ireland). It's origins are Irish and the meaning is "little wise owl."

But those who know her best know her independence and determination shine forth. There are "deep waters" within Aubrey that are yet to be tapped and I look forward to watching her continue to grow and develop as she now enters her 20s.

From early on, we suspected chocolate would be a large part of her life. And, that has definitely proved itself out as we have experienced first hand her love of pastry and baking.

The last five years, Aubrey has immersed herself in what she loves best - the hard work and joy of baking and culinary arts. Her creativity blossomed in this endeavor because she flourishes when she can work with her hands and create something new. She loves to try new things and her newest endeavors with raw desserts has been a joy to watch and be a part of.

So, Happy Birthday, Daughter #2! I am so blessed and honored that God chose me to be your Mom for a short time on this earth. I'm so thankful that our Heavenly Father has known and will know you for an eternity. Love ya!

The Commitment Garden

The garden analogy is probably nothing new to my readers. However, Saturday as I was weeding out in the 96 degree summer heat, several truths hit me again over the head.

Several years ago, our family spent a long Mother's Day Sunday preparing a garden bed around our patio. We worked and worked to get that bed ready, sprayed, dug, and laid down the landscape fabric - confident it would do its job and there would be no more weeding. The next year, though, the weeds were rampant, making for a lot more back-breaking pulling and chopping to assure our beautiful new bushes and flowers had a chance to take root and grow again.

Years later the bushes are big, the flowers showy and we regularly enjoy visits from skittery little butterflies and zooming hummmingbirds. Was it worth all the effort? Is it still worth the effort each year to prepare the bed, trim the bushes, lay new mulch, pull the errant weeds?

It seems to me that the gardens we plant and nurture are much like the relationships God brings into our lives. Developing a God-designed relationship is hard work and to do it right requires a lot of effort. As broken people, we all have shortcomings, fears, struggles--those weeds that want to choke out the beautiful, the mercy, the grace.

Last Spring I put a lot of effort into a small flower bed in front of the house. However, I neglected some key elements and when I returned from a short trip the weeds had overtaken it. Sadly, I watched in dismay as all that work was ruined. If I had been faithful and weeded the moment I returned, things might have been different. I gave up too soon - I lacked endurance, faithfulness and commitment to my dear friends.

Looking back on those two different plantings, what made the difference? Last year's planting succumbed to the overwhelming heat and dryness, but I can't blame it all on the summer sun. Unfortunately, it was my lack of devotion and care that also contributed to the sad outcome. Yes, it takes work to grow a garden . . . it takes patience, love, and devotion to grow a relationship.

And, what about those instances where the other person is stumbling, weeds are growing up in their life. What do I do then? Do I have the faith not to give up on them even when they've given up on themselves? It's all about commitment - indeed family and faith. Much like the fruits of the spirit - a garden of relationship thrives through the Spirit. The herb garden is thriving through the heat. Why? Love and commitment.

It's a lot to take in - this garden life. Am I up for the challenge? Are you? I'm determined this year will be different. My herb garden is now flourishing; pretty flowers dot the front landscape . . . and the waters of life will sustain them, along with a little help from me. They've got a good start, but it's up to me to maintain our relationship, nurture it - persevere. Love believes all things. (I Corinthians 13:7)