Tug on My "Harp Strings"

As a pastor I have always known Hospice ito be an exceptional organization, admired and deeply respected the staff and extensive corp of volunteers. But now I have seen them at work on the front lines, and my admiration is hightened by the greatest gratitude. Hospice is providing everything to make it possible for Mother to summate her life as comfortably as possible in her own home. Not only do they provide excellent care, but equipment such as a hospital bed and wheel chair, support and respite for caregivers, and unexpected extras. Kysa Oja is such an extra. A college sophmore next year, she carries heaven in a case: her harp. Seeing her long red hair and delicate features my first thought was she was as celtic as the music she played. But, in fact, she is Finnish. Yet the melodies and chords she played were heavenly. Her gentleness and sweet disposition were as soothing as her music. After she played about five selections, she asked Mother if she would like to play. For seven years Mother taught strings and orchestra to grade school children. To watch Mother, with the wonder of a child, and the guidance of her young teacher, strum that beautiful instrument was a tug on my harp strings. Click on these two video clips for a musical treat and a beautiful picture of life long learning.

Ring My Chimes

As a former Glockenspiel player and viberaphone musician I fancy all things bell-like; door bells, school bells, church bells, and an occasional Parisian bell-hop (just spoofing). This past week we were treated to a glorious concert performed by the Evangelical Free Church Bell Choir in Bemidji, Minnesota. The choir was composed of twelve members, their director, and the church organist. From the high trill of the tiniest bell to the low resonanace of the base, one's heart and spirit was transported from the cares of this world to the aires of the next.

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For some reason the video of the Koi did not post. Try again.

Nope. No luck.

Happy Returns of the Day
Sometimes you have a day when you're jeans fit, you finish your coffee before it gets cold, and everything on your to-do list gets checked off....Sometimes, like today, the things you thought were lost, or have been forestalled for so long, return to you. While I was visiting my Mother in Minnesota, John called with despair and muffled anguish in his voice. "There is no life in the pond...nothing, not one Koi!" Koi are more than pond fish in our household, they are pets trained to come when we whistle and they're graceful schooling ballet is a soothing joy to watch. "Gone?", I said in near disbelief. "How can that be? Not one left?" Nope, and no floaters either, nothing, zip, nada, zilch. Upwards of 60 fish of various sizes vanished in twelve hours! They were there when he left the house, and when he came home and whistled to feed them, not one fin swished. So we postulated how so many fish could disappear: a flock of herons? an eagle? Had the guilty cormorant returned with his buddies? Did a neighborhood youngster think it sport to fish for fancy catfish? Or did a raccoon feast royally on a $2,o00 fish dinner? I tried to comfort John. "They have had time to lay eggs, maybe we'll have a whole new crop." Well, maybe, but John was pretty well resigned that our beautiful Koi were history, and advanced that we shouldn't try to restock the pond until he was retired next year and would be home everyday to watch over his finned friends.
My God is never too busy, to listen and attend the things that concern me: no matter how small or great, perplexing or joyous. So I prayed that somehow there would be Koi in the pond again. Truthfully, I was hoping we would have fry, babies, darting about in the next few weeks. But I wasn't prepared for His answer.
This morning, I was looking out my study window when I saw a ring of ripples in the middle of the pond. Too far from shore to be a frog. It had to be a fish. I went to the deck, whistled, and tossed a little food. After a little coaxing, I saw an orange shadow about 8 inches below the surface. Then little by little, two , three, four, darting beneath and around the food. They were terrified, but not having been fed pellet food for five days and subsisting on a little duck weed and water hyacinth roots, they were very hungry. Little by little they started to flit to the surface for food: all sizes, black Koi with silver bellies, gold Koi with white spots, and John's prize fish, a golden beauty with a lyre tail. Thank you Jesus. The lost have been returned. We still don't know what terrified them and sent them to the bottom of the pond for almost a week, but they are back - a happy return of the day!
Just before we moved to Correctionville, we contracted with Marlow Jepsen to rebuild and restore John's grandmothers baby grand piano. Considering that the piano had traveled the world with Colonel and Helen Huling, it wasn't in real shabby shape, but the finish was caked and blackened. Some of the ivories were chipped. There were scrapes here and there and small splotches where the Colonel had tried to touch up the finish. And so, we decided that this Story and Clark heirloom from the thirties needed more than just a tune -up: a frame off restoration.
Well, Marlow had some health issues which stalled the process. And one day in April, four and a half years after it was delivered to his shop, he calls, "You're piano is ready."
Today it was delivered! What a transformation! Refinished in mahogany you see all the wood grain that had been buried beneath the age-blackened walnut finish.

Just as we praised God for the return of the the Koi, so God be praised for this beautiful instrument with which to glorify him. I could not wait for it to be tuned next week, I had to play it. Flung open the windows and as I played favorite praise choruses, the birds sang many happy returns of the day.

Surprise Visit

Any one who knows how much I love being a pastor knows how much I resist doing Charge Conference. The obsequious forms, the additional meetings (times two churches), and extensive preparation to satisfy the Company Mandates distracts and derails my time and attention from the real work of ministry: making disciples, calling on the sick, home bound, planning and celebrating worship, and being attentive to the direction of the Holy Spirit. In fact, the only way I can make this bureaucratic bazaar palatable, is by accepting and approaching it as a spiritual discipline. What did Sister Joan used to say? "Offer it up."
But God never ceases to amaze me with His sense of humor. This year, Charge Conference was hosted by my Church in Early. OY! Bunches of people were coming to my Church. Bunches and bunches. The ladies prepared lunch, Ann, my strong right hand technician prepared music, and Bev and Anita, two accomplished secretaries (really "administry" assistants) prepared the final copies of the "sacred writ": Forms A, B, C, D, etc. etc. etc. I even made little favors; pumpkin and apple scented votive candles wrapped in gold and red tissue paper, with a business sized card attached which read "Welcome, pass it on!" for each attendee. I was prayed up and ready!
What I wasn't prepared for was, in the midst of our conferencing, was the unexpected joy of the Presence of the Lord. As people shared the ministries of their respective churches, there was a lightness and brightness in the atmosphere, intangible, but unmistakeable! Once again, the Lord showed me that He can show up anywhere and redeem anything - even Charge Conferece! Ok, so now I have hope for Annual Conference this June. Maranatha!

Fall Is My Favorite

Fall is my favorite time of year - I grieve when it passes. Not that I have anything against winter, snow and sub-zero temperatures because those too have their virtues, beauty, and of course, Christmas.
But the light in Autumn lingers as if to wring out the last drop of glorious color from late roses, reluctant mums, shivering aspens, flaming maples and staunch oaks. Unhurried, yet aware of the warmer days slipping into the night of winter, I soak up long shadows on fading grass, the corn rows rustling in the wind, flamboyant early sunsets, and red glazed diner plate moon. This is the season of wrap ups: The pond water drops too cold to feed the Koi. There's one last bike ride along the trail before hunting season begins. One last road trip before the snow flies. One last tour of the garden, pulling up tomato cages, coiling hoses, discarding dead vines, and remnants of summer's rich bounty before the earth is adorned in its white winter coat. One last intoxicating gaze upon all the jewel tones of this crowning season, to inhale the brisk crips air and earthy scent of harvest before nature beds down for fozen slumber. Autumn is my favorite time of year because the earth peacfully falls to sleep in complete confidence of resurrection.

Back in the Saddle

It has been too long. I realized last Saturday, how much I have missed riding. My friend Jennifer and I went to a retreat Friday night, and Saturday I headed off 50 miles in the opposite direction of home to go riding with her in sunlit pastures.
The owner of the stables also joined us. I rode Jennifer's Joe: a 16.3 hands gentle thoroughbred retiree from the track. Although he was not a Tennessee Walker, he had the color, height and breadth of Ledge, the Walker that whisked me into horse happiness. To me, Joe was just like Ledge -a skyscraper with four legs. Just the therapy I needed to get back riding again. Sunday late afternoon, I went to see my own Lida, armed with tack box, wormer grooming gear, and three Delicious apples. Tomorrow, Lord willing, I hope to ride her - even if only for 20 or 30 minutes. She will be twenty three in a couple of weeks, but when I ride her, I'm seven years old. Nothing like a good horse to keep you young! Nothing like a good friend to remind you of what you truly love. Thanks Jennifer!Yesterday was the first time my young friend successfully recorded the entire worship service.In the future, I hope to fathom how to edit and publish a video clip from the service. To read this Sunday's sermon, the second in the series The Afterlife entitled "For All the Saints". click on the angels:

Another Gift, Another Blessing

One of the loveliest gifts of God is receiving anew the friendship of those you knew long ago. Through the wonders of Facebook, I located a sorority sister, who - surprise of surprises - had been trying to locate me. Messages flew from "wall to wall" and as the Lord would have it, I was able to visit in person with not one, but two of my long lost sorority sisters. Well, they thought I was lost. And no wonder, we had not seen one another for nearly 35 years! We talked, laughed, cruised the the main drag of our former college campus, and even rapped on the sorority house door begging for an impromptu tour - at 9:45 PM. The house is no longer a sorority, but a student residence hall whose occupants were curious about its former occupants: the sisters of Delta Zeta.
What surprised me the most was that we didn't spend a great deal of time talking about the "old glory days", but mostly shared about our lives, our experiences, and where we have come. Before we called it a day - and what a good time it was - we perused the local Target store (not my favorite but the company was exceptional) and celebrated our reunion by buying hats: each of us a different hat that was as unique as the wearer.(Sorry, the hat picture didn't turn out.) Even though we were sorority sisters and had those years in common, sorority was not the main course of conversation, but one another's lives, joys, struggles, lessons learned.
Thirty-five years were as nothing. We simply picked up where we left off and the "sisterhood" continues.
How much that is like persons who know the Lord and gladly share the journey.

Started a new three-sermon series last Sunday: "The Afterlife."
For last Sunday's sermon "Carried or Buried" please click on the sunset.

I Dig This Drill!

Today the sun shone! Praise the Lord. It's been more than two weeks since we have had some serious sunshine! And in this morning's mail was my order from Breck's - no not shampoo, bulbs! 100 watt tulip bulbs: double pinks, purples and creamy whites fringed with fire red. All summer I looked for a bulb planting drill bit and long last my search was rewarded with a winner!
Twenty four inches of "drill-a-bility" to make digging planting a snap. Seven bucks for saving back muscles and knee bones! Not bad. So this afternoon in the not-so-warm sunshine (after all it is late October in Northern Iowa) I dug in and drilled to my fill - until every bulb was tucked in the ground for winter.
Funny - how when you plant something totally new in the garden, you fantasize how it will look in the spring. As I buried each promise of spring in the cold damp black earth, I imagined the creamy white beauties floating above my periwinkle, the pink doubles rioting in my rock garden, the lavender ladies dancing on the slope of the terrace, and eye-popping powder puffs of allium dwarfing hostas in the courtyard. I worked until the temperature and my muscles reminded me it wasn't Spring, and I'm not thirty any more. This may well be the last planting day - a gift so late in the season by God who loves gardens almost as much as those who tend them.
A full week prevented me from posting the sermon from Sunday October 18th. It is the second half of the two sermon series "Surrender and Self-Denial." To read it, click on the piece of pecan pie.

Mini Two Series

Finally after four weeks, I laid King Solomon to rest. It was a fascinating sermon series to research - but it was time to move on. One of the members of my Worship Team in Odebolt mentioned how much she liked the hymn I Surrender All, and could we possibly sing it. We had that month's themes pretty sown up, but I promised that this month, I would design a service around that hymn: Surrender. Well, it mushroomed (as sermons often do) into two sermons. The first was indeed Surrender. You'll have to wait until next week for the second. To read Surrender, click on the white flag.

Upstairs, Downstairs

Ok, this is the 12th of October (Happy Columbus Day), and the second time it has snowed in three days! I expect snow in North Dakota in October, maybe even in September, but not in Iowa before Thanksgiving! In 1991 we had a blizzard on Halloween. That was surreal! Even the jack-o-lanterns shuddered! But today was a good day for the transmutation of summer clothes to winter clothes. Our elevator is not working at the moment, so John helped me by hauling five tubs of woolies up the stairway, and five tubs of light weights back down! I am so indebted to that man. Without his help, I would be hauling clothes up until June, and then I's have to haul them back down again.
I love changing over the seasonal wardrobe. It's a little like a shopping spree with no finance charges. I try on things, sort, and hang my new "old finds". When I get done with the slacks, skirts, blouses, sweaters, suits, and dresses, I move on to the shoes. Not so many for winter. I pack my favorite barbie doll heels, the stroppy little sling back numbers, the formal, informal, and sloppy sandals, all the cool stuff, and barely fill my vacant shoe rack with the pilgrim stoppers, thick heeled sensible pumps, and my navy blue quilted velor flats. Not much exciting there. Then there is always the hunt for the runaway left shoe, mates to orphaned gloves and lonely single socks. Finally it comes down to the purses. What I lack in winter shoes, I make up in winter handbags: red, turquoise, purple, dark brown western, light gold western, black, brown and all with multi pockets. No wonder I never know where to look for my keys! All in all, though, it was a good day. Cleaned out three of my four dresser drawers. They don't bow anymore! Well, at least all but one. And my closet looks like it was imported from California, all neat and organized - for now. I organized my slacks from the nearly fitting on the top, to the "when I loose 30 lbs" size on the bottom of the pile. I figure I have all winter to weigh my way and work my way down.

The Crown was the weakest link!

Somehow I failed to properly link the sermon with the crown. Try it again on this one.

King Solomon's Mind: The Folly of Solomon

Years ago (let's not count them), John gave me a book for my birthday. It had a quirky blade of grass cartoon character on the cover. The title was "Make Friends with Your Lawn". I read the book, but my yard didn't. Maybe I should have found the sequel, "Make friends with your landowner!" I was reminded of it this morning because I had to make friends with my checkbook.It was a bit of a balancing act, but by mid afternoon I was on my way to visit a dear woman in the hospital. Frail and at risk for surgery, being with her put my yard and checkbook in perspective. Back on the highway I headed for my church in Early to meet with two friends to simply sing and worship. All three of us had burdens to lay down first before we could raise our voices in song. It was wonderfully uplifting and deeply moving. Three of my four prospective confirmands and their parents met for dinner and orientation. I have a class of four boys. I'm looking forward to our first class next week. Hit the road again for my other church and preparation of the bulletin for worship service for this Sunday. E-mailed the finished product to my two secretaries. Checked my e-mail, and facebook messages. That brings me here. A long, full, and productive day brought to a restful close by a random blog. Last Sunday was the last sermon on Solomon...at least for a while. If you would like to see how the story ends, click on the crown. Solomon had it all,and was the be all and end all of his time. But he blew it.

King Solomon's Mind: The Passion of Solomon

Solomon was a wise-guy, and he had a way with the ladies - at least a 1,000 of them. To find out more and learn from this amazing monarch, click on the crown.