"The Reminder"

(Matthew 5:13)

"You are the salt of the earth,"
 he said.
 What curious words ...
what can he mean?

 And then I remembered
 the teachings of my grandmother.
 "Anna, always say
 'Yes ma'am' and 'No sir.'
 Say 'I enjoyed my supper;
 may I be excused?'
Say 'Please pass the salt.' "

 And now I understand
 the curious words.
 He is reminding me to
"Please pass the salt!"

"Last Night's Dream ... A Beautiful Creation"

He was just a child, maybe 11 or 12 with a sweet, peace-filled face. A gardener was there, standing near an established bush, giving the boy room and freedom to help him with plantings. It was a curious sight, this young boy whose face was smudged with black dirt and the gardener whose face I never saw. The boy planted soft ground covering in dark soil and, when finished, brushed his hand ever-so-gently across the tops of the greenery, as if touching the softest of down. He raised is head and smiled at the gardener. From the nod of the gardener’s head, I knew that he must be smiling in approval. The boy planted flowers and kissed each bloom. He breathed in the fragrance and his face was that of pure joy. Again, the gardener nodded. The boy dug a hole in the black dirt and planted a small tree. When he finished, he stood back and looked at it. He then put his arms around the tree trunk and hugged the tree for a moment. The gardener motioned for the boy to come to him. He put his arm around his shoulder. The boy looked up at the man. The gardener glanced my way and said, “Isn’t this creation beautiful?” I looked the way of the ground covering and flowers and tree and said, “Yes, it is beautiful.” He said, “I’m speaking of this child. Isn’t he one of my most beautiful creations?”

I went to bed last night hoping that I would sleep later into this morning but I woke myself up from unusually good sleep so that I might remember this dream. I wanted to remember the one with the sweet, peace-filled face and few skills … but skills that he did so well … with such care and love. I wanted to remember the gardener/Creator’s demeanor and voice and words as we stood and watched this child. And I wanted to feel the hope that even in those days when I fall way short of this child's love and care and gentleness and skill in the one thing that he did so well - when I fall face-down in the dirt of my day - still I might hear from the gardener/Creator, "You have a little dirt on your face, but you are still a beautiful creation to me."

(c)2013 anna murdock

'A Tip-of-the-Hat Sort of Morning'

Sitting at the stoplight,

she found herself

glancing at her watch

and drumming her fingers

on the steering wheel. 

Sigh… late for work again.

The elderly man rode his bicycle

on the sidewalk,

heading toward the intersection.

His white t-shirt billowed

as he pedaled.

His hat was shade

for his weathered face

on a very hot summer's morning.

The bicycle must have been

in the wrong gear

for he was pedaling furiously

and moving slowly.

“Oh please don’t cross in front of me,"

she whispered.

She knew, with her luck,

the light would turn green

if he did

and she would have to wait

even longer.

Just as he was moving

from sidewalk to intersection,

he looked directly at her.

She smiled,

nodded her head

and waved.

He stopped …

stopped in front of her car.

The man smiled

and tipped his hat.

It was worth the wait

at the intersection

that morning.

She couldn’t remember

the last time that a man

tipped his hat at her.

She wondered if he could remember

the last time a woman

smiled and waved

at him.

It was indeed a

tip-of-the-hat sort of morning

when two strangers,

both with places to go,

dared to look

into faces

instead of turning

heads away.

Yes, it was a

tip-of-the-hat,

kingdom-come-on-earth

sort of morning!

(c)2013 anna murdock

Prayer for Pastors

In these many silent days
of weariness and retreat,
of vacations and work,
of new callings and retirements
or stepping away to exhale from sameness,
of placing one foot in front of the other
in energy-draining heat
or in lingering cold,
of seeking a quenching moment
in the midst of great thirst,
of births and deaths
and baptisms and funerals,
of laughing so hard
that there is a gasping for breath
or weeping with others
until there are no tears left,
of both thanksgivings of good health
and prayers for healing,
of time spent
with friends and family
and mentors,
of conferences and denominations
and decisions …
LORD GOD,
Be with these silent pastors
as they remain silent for a little longer…
as they withdraw from their silence …
as they pray to be filled with your Word …
Grace-filled in all of these times
so that they might share your grace
in our not-so-silent world.

Amen.

"Ash Wednesday"

  She asked a very legitimate question.  After all, my friend had never attended an Ash Wednesday service.  Ashes had never placed on her forehead.  She had never truly journeyed through Lent other than to give up chocolates for a period of time ... "just because." 

     "Anna", she said ... "What is the proper etiquette for the removal of the ashes from my forehead?  Am I to wipe the cross off during the service?  On the way home?  Before I go to bed?  Do I sleep with the ashes on my forehead?  I just don't know what I am to do."

     I assured her that it was a very good question.    I suggested that she remember the actual touch, the very action of the ashes being placed on her forehead.  "This, my friend, is the moment of reminder of who we are ... a person who has become very 'sooty', a person in need of forgiveness and renewal, a person who is truly a beloved child of God even in the light of our sins."  I told her of what is important to me and that is to look into the mirror at this mark of terrible beauty and be reminded that this is the brand I choose to wear forever ... each day ... in some way.  "You will wash it off when you are ready, and yet, you will wear it forever." 

     Tonight, the ashes will be placed on my forehead as they have so many times before.  Perhaps they will for you as well.  For each of us, there is great news in the midst of the hymns-in-a-minor-key, the dimness of lights, the whispers and prayers and ashes and quietness.  We are beloved children of God, branded forever by this mark of terrible beauty. 

"The Day Before Ash Wednesday

Neglected,
it rests on the corner,
visible to all,
yet ignored by most …
for it has been empty
far too long.

This morning,
this day before
Ash Wednesday,
the front of the building
has been painted
a brilliant white
and the windows
on each side
of the entrance door
are now adorned
with new, royal blue awnings.

Yet the “For Sale” sign
is still posted,
weather-worn
from the years
of begging
and pleading
for someone to look…
just look and consider
the property’s value.

If one dares
to look closer,
beyond the brilliant white paint
and the royal blue awnings,
the other sides
of the building can be seen.

Three other sides
are a dingy beige
with peeling paint
and windows broken
by those who think nothing
of doing damage
to something that is not theirs

The flat roof
can no longer withstand
the weight of
years of debris
or torrential rains
that only accumulate
and puddle
in its flatness.

The property is
overgrown with weeds
and littered by those things
that others have so carelessly
and thoughtlessly
thrown its way.

What are we to think
of an appealing façade
of fresh paint
and new awnings?
What are we to think
of neglect
and damage …
of brokenness
and litter …
of weeds
and debris
and puddles?

Perhaps this is exactly
what we will bring with us
tomorrow …
on this day we call
Ash Wednesday.
We bring with us
freshly painted facades
and new awnings,
hoping beyond hope
that those around us
will not see the
neglect and damage,
the brokenness and litter,
the weeds and shattered hearts.

The black soot
marks the façade
with a cross …
and the ash
falls onto the awning.
The difficult admission
that there are
other sides to be seen
are whispered in prayer
and are heard by the One
who has clearly seen
all four sides
of each of us.

This is our tomorrow.

Holy God,
we come to you
in need of repair …
not in part,
but throughout
our whole being.

Create in us
a newness in our days,
a wholeness and healing through you,
a purpose in your kingdom,
hope in your love
and a pure heart before you.

Amen.

"It's All Right, Sweetie" (another moment of Grace)

My timing must be perfect on Tuesdays for my lunch-and-reading time to be what I want it to be at the nearby cafeteria. I leave work at 11:00am and walk through the doors of the restaurant at 11:08am. 99% of the time, there is no one in line in front of me.

The 1% happened last Tuesday. Four elderly ladies and one elderly man were in front of me. They moved ever-so-slowly, choosing their salads, their meats and the vegetables deliberately and carefully. Two of the ladies changed their minds several times. My lunch hour was ticking away and I must admit, I found myself becoming impatient with them. Then it happened. The gentleman reached out for his ticket from the cashier and knocked his iced tea over. His fish and vegetables were covered with iced tea. His cloth napkin was soaked. The tea that didn’t find its way onto his tray fell into puddles on floor.

He began to apologize … over and over and over again. The look on his face was that of distress. The cashier softly said, “It’s OK. We will get you another plate.” Again he apologized. “I can eat the fish. The tea won’t hurt it. And the green beans, I can eat them. My napkin isn’t very wet. I can use it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made such a mess.” The cashier smiled and said, “Honey, let me have your tray. She turned and asked someone to fix another plate of food for him. Again, he apologized … over and over and over again. Still his face was a mixture of sadness and distress. The new tray of food was brought to him. He tried to apologize once more.

It was then when I saw something mysteriously beautiful. The cashier leaned forward, looked directly into his eyes, gently touched the man’s face and said, “It’s all right. It’s all right, Sweetie.” His aged face took on another appearance, almost as if he was a little boy again. His eyes sparkled. Perhaps, just for a moment, he remembered his mother’s gentle touch and heard her loving whisper, as in his childhood, “It’s all right. It’s all right, Sweetie.”

My impatience left me for I had witnessed yet another moment of grace.