"Hold a Mirror to My Heart, O God" (Psalm 19:14)

(Psalm 19:14 has been my screen saver on my laptop for years. It is one of my morning prayers ... it is ever before me and is my compass in the manner by which I share and write and speak)

May this prayer never become rote, O God …

mechanical in the way that I pray these words …

assuming that if I pray this bit of a Psalm

I might persuade you

that my words and my thoughts

are aligned with yours

(even when they are not).

Hold a mirror to my heart as I pray.

May this prayer never become cavalier, O God …

careless in the way that I pray these words …

never considering that I might have allowed

those around me to change

my heart and my words

that in no way resemble you….

that are neither pleasing nor acceptable

in your sight.

Hold a mirror to my heart as I pray.

May this prayer never be whispered

in a common manner, O God,

less these deeply personal words

become diluted.

Hold a mirror to my heart as I pray.

May the words of my mouth

and the meditation of my heart

be pleasing AND acceptable

in your sight, O LORD,

my rock and my redeemer.

Amen.

"THE PLANS FOR ME" (prayer for Jeremiah 29:11)

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

It is I who dwells upon the word 'prosper' in ways that aren't of your intention, O God. You want us to 'thrive' in your ways, not ours. You have plans for us to thrive in love and peace, in hope and trust. Help me to live in the plans that you have for me, to be overjoyed in them, to be thankful for them, to be prosperous in them ... to thrive! 

Amen.

"I REMEMBER"

(Thoughts on the day and evening of  the 9/11 attacks)

I remember

the most beautiful blue skies,

white billowy clouds

and gentle breeze.

I remember

children rolling down a grassy hill,

hearts filled only with giggles and joy …

and I remember

the tears that filled my eyes

because their innocence

would soon be shattered

when they were told of the news.

I remember

a great desire to scoop them up,

shielding them forever

from things such as

fear and terror and sadness.

I remember

walking into a church that evening …

one that wasn’t my own …

a sanctuary filled

with strangers

and never feeling more alone

then I did among them.

I remember

and will always remember

the touch on my shoulder

and the whisper in my ear

from a stranger.

I remember

that he walked across the aisle

as the pastor spoke.

I remember

his words of compassion…

“I don’t want you to think

that you are alone.”

I remember seeking him out

so that I wouldn’t be alone

as I left the church that night.

He stopped

and introduced himself to me.

He smiled at his child

and then at me and said,

“My daughter’s name is Anna”

I will always remember his face

when I said,

“And I am Anna as well.”

I remember

that at that very moment

he realized why

he had chosen me to touch

and to offer words of assurance

to this other Anna, …

a stranger to him,

alone among the hundreds.

As I remember

18 years ago,

I hope to also remember

that others feel alone

in the crowds of their world,

for whatever reason.

O God,

point me to the one

who most needs

to know that they are not alone,

to the one who needs a touch,

to the one who needs a

reassuring whisper.

Gracious and Loving God,

help me to always remember…

give me words most needed …

nudge me to touch someone’s shoulder

so that you might touch someone’s

helplessness and hopelessness.

I remember … may I never forget.

.

OH, TO BE AN OXYMORON

Good Samaritan.

I searched 

and the word,

‘oxymoron’

doesn’t appear

in my Bible.

Good Samaritan.

It’s much like 

jumbo shrimp

or freezer burn,

you know.

The two words

don’t seem to go together

for we read

that there was nothing

good about a Samaritan.

But maybe, just maybe

Jesus asks us to be

oxymorons, 

described in the truth

of two words,

joined together

in ways that are

puzzling

to the world

around us.

O God …

help me to be 

an oxymoron.

One who looks

into someone's eyes ...

and heart ...

and pain ...

and sets aside

the need to know

what others think.

Help me, O God,

to be an oxymoron.

A generous giver.

A compassionate Christian.

A loving neighbor.

A “good Samaritan".

May I puzzle the world

around me

and, like any good oxymoron,

help others see 

your Truth

and Love

in surprising ways.

Oh, God, help me to be an oxymoron.

"I Loved You First"

It was Annual Conference in the Western NC Conference last week.  It's the one Sunday in the year that I offer the Sunday's message. I chose the sermon title from words that Mom began to say to us in her last months … “I Loved You First”. My brother said, “Anna, please don’t ask me to be there. I just can’t with that sermon title.” I was OK with that.

Then I found out that the first hymn would be “Blessed Assurance”. I sang that to Mom the Saturday before she passed away. Topping that was the song that our guest soloist would be singing .. “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”. That was the first song that Mom sang to my brother when he was born. I shared the song selections with him. He yelled (well, as much as one can "yell" in a text), “How are YOU going to get through the service?” I told him that I would be OK. He chose to worship in Charlotte at Myers Park UMC instead.

I found out that the liturgist for the morning was Duncan McCall (who was a pallbearer at Mom’s service, I might add). I once again texted my brother and said, “You won’t believe this ….” His response was, in all seriousness, “Anna, YOU need to call in sick.”

No, I didn’t call in sick. And I made it through the hour. The fullness of voices coming from visitors and our congregation that morning wrapped me up in the words of “Blessed Assurance.” The soloist sang “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” in a way that was far beyond a mom-rendition. And the liturgist read the scriptures with the confidence of Paul’s words.

And no, I didn’t select the music or choose the liturgist. It was an amazing morning of worship … pretty much God-planned, don’t you think?

“Filled with His goodness, lost in His love …. This is my story, this is my song!”

"Do This in Remembrance ..." (Maundy Thursday / Holy Week)

(As I think of this night so long ago, the night we now call Holy/Maundy Thursday, I realize that Jesus not only washed the feet of the one who would betray him, but he prepared a place at the table for him as well. It is the same today. He still prepares the table for all… even for me.  “Do this in remembrance of me”, he said. So, as gathered Christians, we remember Jesus’ great, unimaginable love and presence and the way of the cross. We actively participate in being the hands and feet of Christ as we wait for his return.  And we are reminded that God’s grace and mercy is for everyone for we all fall short of being who we are called to be.)

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

It was when you asked me to help,

O God, that I truly understood ...

or at least understood

in the way that you asked me

to understand.

You handed a chalice to me

from the table you prepared

and whispered, "For all."

I gulped.  "Oh God... really?

For all?"

You whispered again,

"Look into their eyes,

offer to them what I have prepared,

Some might be your enemies,

but none of them are mine."

And so I stood,

at the end of an aisle,

with chalice in hand

and wept at the thoughts

of my enemies welcomed

to the table

that was prepared for me

in such a generous way.

The table was not mine;

the guest list was not mine;

the chalice never ran dry ...

nor did the grace and mercy.

Once again, I heard,

"Do this in remembrance ...

and remember,

these are not my enemies."

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies,

and then you say, "All sit ... together."

And still the chalice never runs dry

for those around the table -

not even for me.

PREPARATION

Days before

my mother passed away,

I gave her a simple manicure …

I gently rubbed lotion 

on her hands

and feet 

and face …

I brushed her hair

and placed a hint of color

on her lips.

As I look back on that morning,

I see that it was 

Preparation.

She reached out 

for my hand.

I took it and began to slowly sing

“Blessed Assurance.”

Without a sound,

she mouthed the words

as I sang; 

she squeezed my hand

in time to the music.

I proclaimed with joy, 

“We are singing a duet!”

As I look back on that morning,

I see that it was

Preparation.

Preparation for her duet

with Another …

and my duet 

with Another

as well.

Blessed Assurance.

Yes, as I look back on that morning,

I see that it was all

Preparation.

(My mother, Betty Lazenby Murdock, passed away on 4-4-19)

"It's a Forever Thing ... This Love of God for You"

There is really no place to look in the Chapel of the Prodigal at Montreat, NC other than toward the altar wall, for it is covered with a fresco depicting the return of the prodigal son to his father. The permanency of the art of fresco itself says, “look this way… this is a forever thing.” The pigments have been absorbed into the plaster. The fresco has become the wall. For as long as the wall of this altar stands, the message of the Scriptures of the return of the prodigal is embedded in the plaster and will forever be seen.

This is truly a beautiful work of art by a man who may or may not have heard “this is a forever thing” whispered as he sketched and painted. But in his detail, others have heard the words of this parable.

It is a mere portion of what the parable is about, for sure. But it is a “forever thing”, this longing by a parent for the return of a wayward child. The father watched for his son with the sharp, keen eyes of love. He watched for him with such intensity that he saw his beloved son while he was still a long way off. And as the artist depicted by painting a robe thrown over the railing of the rooftop, this father was so filled with compassion and joy at the first glimpse of his son returning to him that he ran toward him, leaving his robe behind. It would have been a disgrace in itself for a father to run, much less run to a son who had all but wished his father dead in his desire for the share of his inheritance.

“It is a forever thing”, God whispers to us. “I have seen who you were before you turned to me…and I have loved you in my waiting. I have seen you look my way…and my heart leaps for joy. From far away, I will see you take your first steps back to me, and I will run to you. Before you take a breath to confess your sins, I will smother you with kisses of forgiveness. It is a forever thing, this love I have for you.”

Human hands sketched the father holding the weak and filthy son. Human hands painted onto the wet plaster the figures of the father and son collapsed in the dust of the road…the father’s arms wrapped around his son…the son’s fingers clinging to the thumb of his father. But it is God who reaches out for us all as we turn around and return to him.

Turning around is part of our Lenten journey. So, this day, why don't we turn around from all that separates us from God and truly hear God say, "It's a forever thing, this love of mine for you."

"Stepping Out into Lent"

It is my wilderness …

a place to which I am being led.

These are my ‘forty days’…

yes, my ‘forty days’ 

to endure and to seek,

to trust and to pray,

to be surrounded by

very tending angels.

       

It is my aloneness,

and wilderness and ‘forty days’.

I would hope that

you too might allow it 

if and when it comes …

for there is a Holy Presence here.

      

 The wilderness is born

 out of a great silence 

 that hopes for a sudden glimpse

 of God in worship

 when all others around me

 are following their worship bulletins

 so carefully … so dutifully … 

 so worshipfully … so very well.

It is my wilderness.

It is I who sing the hymns,

with parched lips.

It is I who reaches out for the morsels

that the Spirit hands to me

when I am so malnourished.

It is my wilderness.

It is I who listen for shouts 

yet am satisfied

with holy whispers.

It is my response to God to live into,

not others to discourage.

The words, “Get thee behind me….”

are on my lips, on guard and ready

for one more attempt 

to change direction.

It was my wilderness, 

… my ‘forty days’

… my seeking, 

… my journey, 

… Your leading.

Holy One, you are in it all

and in that, I do trust

these unknown steps

during these forty days.

Amen.

"Here I Am, Such as I Am" (Ash Wednesday)

Here I am, such as I am …

Imperfect.

Weak.

Broken.

In need of forgiveness.

In need of your Presence.

Here I am, such as I am …

Confessing.

Repentant.

Hopeful.

Listening.

Here I am, such as I am …

Willing to be melted

and molded.

Wanting a newly-created

pure heart.

Here I am, such as I am …

Branded with a mark –

Your unmistakable mark.

Lead me, O God …

walk with me 

in these 40 days.

Amen.

SIMEON and ANNA (and you and me)

Luke 2:22-40

 May we be

hopeful,

faith-filled,

prayerful,

yearning,

certain,

and Spirit-filled

as we 

wait for,

recognize,

reach out

and embrace

the Promised One …

and release

the old life

that we have lived.

" ... THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE"

He came to visit my mother in the hospital not long after she was transferred from Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center to Iredell Memorial Hospital. He has always considered her his “second mother.” The evening of his visit wasn’t a good one for Mom. She slept throughout his visit. He finally walked over to her bed and whispered, “I love you.” She slurred, “I love you, too. I always have.” He left before she finished what she had to say to him.  Just after "I always have" came the words, “I always will.”

He came back to visit a week later. Mom was sitting in a recliner and being fed a little something akin to ice cream. She was given a thickened cranberry juice and, at her request, a thickened Dr. Pepper. She talked to him and listened as he told her about his upcoming trip to the Holy Land. She pointed at him and said, “Safe travels. I will pray.” And again, he told her that he loved her … and she said, “I love you, too.”

Sunday, as she listened to the live-stream of Broad Street UMC’s worship service, she sang the “Gloria Patri” and “Jesus Loves Me” when she heard to congregation sing. Her eyes were closed, but she sang her love and praise. “Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.”

Last night, my brother called me from Mom’s hospital room so that I could say “Good Night” to her and give her a phone kiss. Steve told me of how Mom had said earlier in the day, “Let’s pray for Jimmy.” So, Steve and Mom prayed for safe travels to the Holy Land and a good trip for the one who calls Mom his “second mother.”

And as she grew weary during my phone call, I said, “Let me give you a phone kiss, Mom. HMMMMMMWAH.” I heard a soft “’HMMMMMMMWAH” coming from her.

In the midst of all that Mom is going through following her massive stroke on Dec. 4th, she continues to example to me that “the greatest of these is love.”

"SHEMA ... HEAR!" (Day 4. Deuteronomy 6)

Day 4. Deuteronomy 6.  Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC chapter-a-day reading

In a recent sermon, Dr. Ken Broman-Fulks, Sr. Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in High Point, NC, quoted the words, “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.”

Life has its potholes. How will children cope if the road has always been prepared for them? Shema (“hear”), is the first word of the most important prayer in Judaism and is found in our chapter-a-day reading for today. SHEMA… HEAR, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. SHEMA… HEAR. Keep these words in your heart. Recite them to your children. Talk about them with your children wherever you might be, whenever you can. Bind them to your hand, in your mind, and in your home. SHEMA … HEAR. “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child” by telling them of the LORD our God, the LORD alone.

"If Only ..." (Deuteronomy 5)

Day 3. Deuteronomy 5 is the reading from Broad Street UMC/Statesville, NC's Chapter-A-Day Bible reading.

IF ONLY. Yes, that is what the LORD said. The LORD said to Moses, “If only they had such a mind as this, to fear me and to keep all my commandments always, so that it might go well with them and with their children forever!”

Too often, we read the 10 Commandments in a check-off manner. On a scale of 1-10, how good am I (or how bad am I)? IF ONLY … if only we would see that when the LORD our God says, “You shall have no other gods before me,” the other commandments will fall into place as a means to a relationship with the one God. IF ONLY we would see that this one and only God, in placing these commandments before us, is removing the stumbling blocks that turn our eyes and hearts from his Holy Presence. There is joy in knowing that.

As you read Deuteronomy 5, know that these words are not from an oppressive god but from the One who IS love.

"Take Up Your Ministry With Courage" (Day 2 ... Exodus 1)

Day 2 from the Broad Street UMC/Statesville, NC Chapter-A-Day Bible reading is Exodus 1.

A pastor and friend of mine sends out the congregation of the church where he serves with a benediction each Sunday that includes the words “Take up your ministry with courage.” As I read today’s Bible chapter selection, I can’t help but think of these words. Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives, took up their tasks with courage.

It wasn’t easy for the task that these women were given to do became the PLAN B of the king of Egypt. Kill all Hebrew male babies. Unbeknownst to the king, Shiphrah and Puah chose not to become a part of the king’s PLAN B. They chose to stand in the ever-lasting Covenant between God and Abraham and in the Presence of God Almighty.

Shiphrah and Puah, and their courage to silently refuse to become active participants in this powerful king’s PLAN B, is a reminder to us all that we too can stand and act with courage in the midst of a Plan A, B, or C that is not of God. When standing in this world where an agenda becomes PLAN A, fear becomes PLAN B, or power becomes PLAN C, may we remember God’s promises and presence … may we too take up our ministry with courage.

"In the Beginning ... God's Lavish Love" (Genesis 1-2:3 Day 1 reading)

Welcome to the fourth month of Broad Street UMC’s Chapter-A-Day Bible reading! During the month of December, I will be offering the introduction reflections to the day's chapter-a-day selections that have been chosen by Dr. Mary John Dye, Sr. Pastor of Broad Street UMC in Statesville, NC

Day 1.     Genesis 1-2:3

If you haven’t noticed in your previous readings of these scriptures, Genesis 1-2:3 is beautiful poetry that tells of Creation, beginning with the very breath of God Almighty sweeping over the face of the waters. Each moment of Creation sustains the next. Slowly read these words aloud. Out of darkness and chaos, we step into the daylight of God’s Presence and Love. The story of Creation and Sabbath is just the beginning of the Bible’s account of God’s lavish love for all of creation, including God’s lavish love for each one of us. Perhaps once we read the chapter today, we should break into song. “For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies; LORD of all to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise!”

"MY EARS HAVE HEARD OF YOU, BUT NOW ... "

(An offering based on this week's lectionary scriptures: Job 42:1-6, 10-17 and Mark 10:46-52).

We can be found

along life’s road …

disciples who have seen,

followers who rebuke, 

one of many in a 

muttering crowd,

overlooking (or stepping over)

the one, the beggar,

whose only possessions

are faith and hope

and a name 

that is covered

with the dust 

of his or her days.

A dusty faith whispers,

“My ears have heard of you, O LORD …

my ears have heard of you.”

How many cries 

from the roadside

have been the cries

heard that day …

“JESUS, SON OF DAVID,

HAVE MERCY ON ME …

SON OF GOD, 

HAVE MERCY ON ME!”

A stepped-over hope whispers, 

“My ears have heard of you, O LORD..

my ears have heard of you.”

There is no contentment 

in hearing alone.

The implications are great

and costly for us all

in the one answered question …

“What would I have you do for me?

I WANT TO SEE!”

And the one 

who has answered the question

declares,

“My ears had heard of you, O LORD,

but now my eyes have seen you!”

Let those who have sight

be beggars no more

for there is great wealth 

to be found 

in such witness.

"A Life Reduced to a Piece of Paper?" (I think not)

It would do us all good to celebrate the plain, quietly courageous, doing-the-best-they-can sort of people more often.  Sarah M. Johnston is one such person. 

She was the third wife of my paternal great-great grandfather. Sarah Mathilde Jones (born 1863) and Henry Talley Johnston (born 1840) had corresponded for a while before she arrived on a train and married him just one day after they met face to face for the first time. He was much older, a Civil War veteran, a father of 11 children, and a widower. She was a writer from Alabama (she wrote for the Atlanta Constitution at a time when women columnists were few and far between); she had never married and was very alone …her immediate family had died around her. After Henry’s death and having lived with his daughter (Anna, after whom I was named) and other members of his in the family, she quietly and secretly made arrangements to move into the Confederate Women’s Home in Fayetteville, NC. Even though all in the family seemed to have a soft place in their hearts for Sarah, she felt it was the loving thing to do.

The Confederate Women's Home is no more … torn down … reduced to a cemetery and 6 boxes of papers in the North Carolina Archives. In the boxes are notations of complaints by the residents of sub-standard food, poor nutrition and miserably cold rooms. I have letters in my possession from Sarah voicing these same complaints. In one of the boxes in the Archives is also confirmation of such issues found in a report written by the Home Administrator during Sarah’s years there. How sad for these women.

My Great-Great Grandmother Sarah’s end- of-life was reduced to a few words found on a piece of paper in one of these boxes in Raleigh … “Sarah M. Johnston: Died October 8, 1949 3:00AM”

She was much more than a few words on a piece of paper in a box in the North Carolina Archives . She was a writer … a risk-taker … a wise and gentle woman. Sarah was one who was immediately received into the family and one who found love to offer this man and his children. I would have loved knowing this woman.

So, on this date of her death, October 8th, I think of Sarah M. Johnston, a woman who was much, much more than a piece of paper in this world.

"You Are What You Eat"

Ponderings on John 6:51-58

The brass tray was held briefly in front of the little girl as she knelt at the altar. Her dimpled hand reached out for the most perfect cube of bread that she could see. It was such a tiny bite.  She tried to carefully lift a small glass cup filled with grape juice from the next tray.  Sigh, she did it again.  She tapped the cup against another one, making a noise that turned her father’s head toward her. It reminded her of what she had always been told … that she had never really been a very careful child.   She tried to drink the little bit of grape juice but always, ALWAYS there was some left in the bottom of the small glass cup.  She never felt nourished, never satisfied.  By the time that she went back to the pew, she had forgotten the taste of the bread and juice.

Later, there were times in the girl’s life when it seemed too hard and too much to ‘eat’ and ‘drink’.  Times when she dreaded going through the motions (would she go to hell for doing that?).  Times when the bread was no more than a wafer that had no taste.  It stuck to the roof of her mouth.  Yes, it was too hard for her to eat something that was not palatable and drink that which did not quench her thirst.  Too hard.

The young girl who felt as if all things were too difficult and too much, relaxed as she grew older.  The little child who yearned to be careful (but who never really was) and who wanted to remember the taste of the bread and juice, is now a woman who has heard “Eat my flesh … drink my blood.”  She smiles as she remembers the words of her
mother, “You are what you eat.”  And with that, she is handed a chunk of bread. She soaks it in the juice of the chalice and becomes as messy as a child might be.  If the juice drips on her hand, so be it.  If she must chew the piece of bread on her walk back to the pew and chew even more as she is seated, that is OK.

She has grown into savoring the moment, smelling the juice, tasting the bread, feeling the stickiness on her hand, looking at the crumbs on the floor. It is a not-so-careful thing for sure.  Messy, in fact.  It can be too hard for some and too routine for others, but her silent prayer is that she might become more like the One who has said, “Do this in remembrance of me…”, even if the thoughts of what she is asked to eat are, at times, hard to digest.

"Compassion Gauge"

(You gotta stick with me on these ramblings!!!!)

I carry a band-aid with me in my pocketbook. Always. You know, what if someone needs one? Well, last Friday, someone needed a band-aid and so I gave it to him. (Note to self last Friday: Put another band-aid in my pocketbook. I’ll have to wait until I’m back in High Point to do that).

I always keep my gas tank, at the very least, ½ filled with gas. It is an assurance for Mom that if she needs me to make the drive from High Point to Statesville quickly, I can do so without stopping to fill up an empty tank. So, keeping my gas gauge showing at least ½ full is standard practice for me and comfort for Mom.

(These two observations will eventually come together… I promise)

Dr. Mary John Dye, in last Sunday’s sermon at Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC, asked us to consider our “Compassion Gauge”. Was it ½ full … almost empty … filled to the brim? Are we just as concerned about the level of love and compassion within us to offer to others as we are with the level of gas in our cars? After all, love and compassion are reflections of Jesus Christ. Jesus’ spiritual refueling for himself and the disciples was to go off to a quiet place and pray … to be still … to be filled with the love and compassion that was that of Jesus’ whole being. I can’t help but think of those times when “Anna” steps in front of Jesus and, as a result, I find myself lacking for that which fills up my “Compassion Gauge.” (Lead me to that quiet place because this gal can’t always seem to find it alone).

I left the worship service last Sunday thinking that my Compassion Gauge might just be ½ empty (as opposed to ½ full). As I walked toward the doors of the sanctuary, I whispered to Mary John that I needed to hear the sermon … that it, perhaps, was for me.

Children were standing at the door with baskets. One child handed me a band-aid! It was to remind me not only that Jesus healed but also that I am to be a compassionate healing presence for others. AND OH, I NOW HAVE MY BAND-AID BACK TO PUT IN MY POCKETBOOK FOR SOMEONE ELSE!

Another child handed me a heart to remind me that the compassion of Jesus Christ flows through me. I drove back home thinking that I should have asked for a 2nd heart for Mom. As I looked at the heart several days later, I saw that there was that extra heart to give to Mom! I could push on the center of the little green heart and another one would pop out of it! One to keep … one to give away … and one isn’t lessened by the giving away of the other!

My “Compassion Gauge” is moving in the direction of FULL! A child replaced my band-aid to remind me that a healing presence was much more than something that I pull out of my pocketbook. Another child handed me a heart and, without a word, whispered “Give some love away and keep some for yourself. The shape of it all remains the same!” And a pastor reminded me of those moments that have LOVE and COMPASSION written all over them when Jesus says, “Let’s go away to a quiet place and get that Compassion Gauge at the level it should be.”

Sunday was a good day for me … I am filled!