Poor Soles

They were a bargain: $2! They were a gift from my daughter. Wearing them reminded me that she could shop like her mom - that made me proud. So when I traveled last winter, I stuck them in my carry-on so I could trade off my winter boots for these next-to-nothing light weights for balmy weather Texas trompin'. It was a whirlwind trip forged from a desperation to see my grandchildren, our eldest daughter and son-in-law. Three days later I got home, unpacked, and my prize shoes were gone...! Looked through my stuff, couldn't find them. One thought raced on the heels of another. I've had things "disappear" in airports before. But who would ever want to steal such poor sorry soles as these? How easy it is to assume some one did something when we can't explain what we've done! People with alzheimers often assume some one has stolen their mislaid change purse, wedding ring, dentures! Nope, those shoes couldn't have been stolen! Two weeks ago I found them. Tucked away in the small zippered exterior pocket right where I had left them!
Sometimes, when people don't respond or act the way we think they will - or should - it's easy to assume the worse. These poor soles taught me a lesson: the culprit just might be me!

125 Years of Enduring Faith

Yesterday was HUGE! Only time I have ever preached at a two hour service! The reminiscing part done by a parishioner was twice as long as the sermon...well, maybe almost. I know he had twice as many notes as I did! To read last Sunday's sermon "Abide in Me" click here

The Miracle of Mission

In both churches, this Sunday was a wonderful celebration of ministry and mission. To read this week's sermon, click here.
(Hey, it worked - the link worked! Thanks Drew!)

The Flaming Barrel

Sounds like a pub, doesn't it? Like a local watering hole in some little back- woodsy village unknown by curious tourists and traveling vaccuum cleaner salesmen. But, in fact, it's what I did today. In the basement by the walk-out was a growing stack of cardboard boxes, old newspapers, and miscellaneous burnables waiting to be properly disposed. The air was crisp, the breeze light and hardly variable, and the ground cold and damp dusted with last weekend's first snow of the season. Conditions were ideal. So me and the little red wagon (stacked with the first load) took a walk to the far side of property. Newspapers and torn up boxes make a good fire. Weeks ago I had laid by the burn barrel a long dry fairly straight tree branch to serve as poker for the pyre I knew I would eventually burn. I stood there watching it burn, poking it now and then with the hand-picked tool and the mastery of a Girl Scout with ten years of experience and a solid sash of badges. This was not a destructive fire. There were no old records (well, except maybe a few mileage reports from the 1990's), no love letters from an old flame, no pictures from bankrupt relationships, just trash - useless bagage, clutter, good kindling for a constructive fire.
Standing there gazing into the blaze, leaning on my staff, I felt like Yoda from Star Wars and muttered to myself a half-remembered quote: fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. (Thanks Drew for giving me the exact quotation. Nice to have a Star Wars expert handy. The adjacent picture is of Yoda, not me - any resemblance is coincidental.)
As I poked and gazed, other thoughts came into focus: the heaviness I felt this moring; disappointment, grieving, uncertainty, sadness. It has been a heavy week. I had faithfully delivered and dispatched all that I was given. I had been wrestling with the questions of personal conviction and political compromise: the balance of righteousness and mercy. In fact, I had decided to burn the trash just to get outside, inhale crisp November air, clear my head, and accomplish something with tangible results. But I was also hauling out and burning the clutter in my heart as well.
As I cast into the fire a sappling tree that failed to grow last spring, root and all, I was reminded of Hebrews 12:15 Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any -root of bitterness start springing up trouble you, and therby many be defiled. As a wife, mother, and pastor my solemn responsibility to those with whom I am entrusted is to follow as closely as my best lights permit the teachings and promptings of the Lord.: There is no time or margin for the futility of borrowing fear, or stoking anger, or branding opposition. Now, more than any other time in our history, is the need for Christians to stand out in their love, their patience and their endurance - if necessary as a testimony to Christ, who died for all humanity.
I don't understand liberal thinking that tauts liscence to do whatever and taunts anyone who doesn't agree as being "narrow-minded". I haven't yet found Scripture supportive of teaching applauded by "the Christian Left". But I do know nothing escapes God's notice, His grace is available to all, and everything is under His Sovereignty. In the Spirit of God is the freedom to love.
This was not a destructive fire, but a cleansing flame. As the third load of trash was reduced to embers, my mind was clear, my heart lifted, and spirit restored. My "Yoda" staff smouldered. When I broke off the end, the whole thing broke apart. It was time to toss it in, and call it a day. Pray for the leaders of our nation.

Election Reaction

Posts that contain sermons can be identified by the logo to the left.
This has been a heavy week. Our four children have four completely different responses to the election results of last Tuesday - from the Left to the Right. Being Mom, my heart always yearns to listen and love our children: as diverse as they may be from one another. How could all four have the same parents! We tried to impart to our children three things:
1. Love and faith in Jesus Christ and moral life
2. Being Good Citizens and loyal Americans
3. Being themselves, developing their unique gifts, and making their own decisions.

To read my response to the election that I am sharing with my congregations click HERE

For the sermon on Sunday November 9, Street-Smart Stewardship click Here

It Started Out as a Walk

I had spent the latter part of the morning and the better part of the afternoon working on Sunday's message; I prepared what was a difficult statement to be shared before prayer that would bring encouragement and hope to my people. After lunch, I took on tomorrow's sermon for Stewardship Sunday. I still had the childrens sermon and confirmation materials for a special needs student to prepare. So to sweep the mush of my brain, I decided I'd go for a walk. Stepped out of the front door and saw the angel at our doorstep sporting a sparkling set of icicles on her wings. Interesting accessory. Went back in the house, messed with my cameras till I found one and batteries and SD card that would all work, and snapped the shot for posterity. (Not often you get an angel photo op.) First I thought, "How incongruous!" I was so accustomed to seeing this poly-resin Tuesday Morning clearance special serenely surrounded with green hostas gracing her feet. Last summer I decided that this coming spring I would plant a Madonna Lily beside her.
But I had never imagined icicles.
Then I remembered the Scripture, from Ephesians 6:13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil come,s you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm, then...Regardless of the season, this angel at more doorstep stands firm -even in the cold dark wintry blast when icicles cling from her wings. I had always thought that in ministry, a pastor should never let grass grow beneath her feet, but there comes a time for icicles on the wings of prayer. Contented by this unexpected lesson, I continued on my intended walk around the South of the house past the parked station wagon and big oak tree when I saw our flag wrapped and tangled up in itself on the pole. "I better fix that." The long narrow PVC pipe we keep under the deck for pond maintenance was too flexible to free the flag. The light weight easy-to-port step stool was too short. No, I had to drag the big heavy construction ladder clear out of the basement, around the cars, up the hill and out to the flag The first step I climbed with the prayer that it and I wouldn't topple over. Up three steps in the sharp west wind, my prayer became earnest. Tug here and a pull there freed the emblem of freedom, but the grommet was upside down in the latch. OK, now the gloves were off. Finally it was straighten out and the latch in place. One more struggle with the secret handshake to close up the ladder, and I hauled it back down the hill, around the cars, and back to its final resting place. This was more walk than I intended! Tomorrow morning my muscles will woefully remind me.
But I thought, this too was a parable. Our nation is all tangled up in itself. Oh that a ladder and a prayer might set it free again. Maybe it will -when icicles form on angels.

It Started Out as a Drawer

Fridays have been my excursion days. Last week I joined two dear friends, Denise and Sheryl at a small town cafe I frequented for a number of years. It was wonderful to be in that town again and see folks I have known and love. The three of us ordered our favorite breakfast food. None of us had oatmeal. I oredered French (of course) Toast, a magna cum orange juice and two demure sausage patties with maple wannabe syrrup. I had coffee. Sheryl had hot chocolate. Denise had both - alternating first one, and then the other, then back to coffee. The food was good...but it wasn't the food that made the day memorable. The weather was perfect. But it wasn't the weather that made the drive worthwhile. It was the laughter -the pull out all stops, no holds barred, laugh-till-you-snort, rib ripping, eye rolling, rollicking soul rocking joy between good honest friends.
We had chuckled here and there with one-liners and quips from our lives. Then Denise shared about wanting to decorate an upstairs room. It, she confessed, was her junk room -an accumulation of all sorts of dislocated things that could find other home. After a reflective pause, she added, "It started out as a drawer!" All heart broke loose! Laughed so hard I couldn't see. Then I couldn't breathe.
After we all nearly laughed-up breakfast, each of us headed out for the next item on our respective agendas. Denise had cards. Sheryl was heading for groceries at Walmart. I continued down the road to the home of a good friend and her apple orchards. As I drove, I thought about how all of us have a drawer full of dislocated stuff. We laughed with Denise, because it is so painfully true:t we stash stuff with the promise we'll sort, organize, and someday fulfill that elusive dream of having it all together where it rightfully belongs! My study started out as a drawer. My house started out as a loose-leaf notebook. Little by little, as need demands (or out and out guilt and shame, or injury from tripping on stuff), things find a home, order is attained, and sanity is restored - well, maybe except for the basement!
(study before decorating)

If My People

A friend forwarded an e-mail to me that persuaded me to preach a follow-up sermon to last Sunday's sermon. With our son's wonderful help, the sermon is formatted as Google document and accessible to you by point and click here.