"Hear My Prayer"

O God, we all have moments of joy and grief and fears and peace but sometimes we forget that “we” includes pastors. God of Comfort and Peace and Presence, I pray that you will surround my poet/pastor friend who is grieving a son’s death, my wise spiritual sis/pastor friend who is facing health issues and my own pastor whose mother has passed away. This week has been hard for them. Wrap these, your servants, with your love and comfort and peace. I pray for them and all other pastors I call friends in their unspoken needs. Love them with the depth of love that they have been called to share with us. Make their continued testimony to your Great Love first-person in ways that are only yours to do.

AMEN.

"Insulting the Maker"

A dear friend shared the Moravian Daily Text with me this morning . The first verse in the text was "Those who oppress the poor insult their maker." (Proverbs 14:31)

My first inclination, my knee-jerk reaction as I read these words, was to point fingers at others. Then, the words turned on me with lightning speed in my own silent accusations. Just as Atticus Finch in 'To Kill a Mockingbird' said that there was more than one way to make a person a ghost, there is more than one way to oppress the poor (and there is more than one type of "poor").

And so my prayer is this ...

"O God, take me by the hand, teach me to truly see others, help me to be one to lift up, not oppress. Forgive me when I oppress others and insult you. Sigh, I said 'when', not 'if', didn't I? Even when I
consider my personal oppression, I still fail others in so many ways.  Every hour, I need your guidance and help for me to see the many shades of oppression and respond with your Son's compassion and love.   AMEN."

"Holy Subtleties"

A portion of my wonder in God’s creation comes in the holiness of subtlety. The early-morning light at 6:30am last Sunday wasn’t the same as this morning’s dawn … and this morning’s dawn-light won’t be the same as next Sunday’s. The seasonal changes, just as the ocean tides, are wondrous to me in such spot-on consistency, loving details and great faithfulness.

It is as if our LORD whispers a reminder in each subtle change … “I AM in each second of each minute of each hour in your days. I AM in it all.”

"The Secret Garden"

She called late on Saturday afternoon and said to Mom, “Come as you are. I want you and Anna to see my flowers before it is too late.” We had never been to her home. Ahhh, it was a secret garden filled with 15-year-old hibiscus with red blooms the size of saucers, black-eyed susans growing anywhere they could find a place to grow, trumpet angels, rose bushes and flowers that bloom only at night. There were flowers of all colors and names I shall never remember. There were bees on blooms and surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous about their presence. A hummingbird drew sweet water from a feeder. We sat in the garden and she told of the times when hummingbirds came near or lit on the arm of her chair or perched on her hand for a second or two. Secret gardens that grow freely are the best and such invitations are cherished.

And then, as we sat there and she spoke of not just the flowering plants but spoke of who had given them to her and why, she said, “I want two songs sung at my funeral.   One is 'In the Garden'.  The other is 'Where the Roses Never Fade' ”.

The true gift in the garden was the moment when she paused and sang “Where the Roses Never Fade”…

She called late on Saturday afternoon and said to Mom, “Come as you are. I want you and Anna to see my flowers before it is too late.” We had never been to her home. Ahhh, it was a secret garden filled with 15-year-old hibiscus with red blooms the size of saucers, black-eyed susans growing anywhere they could find a place to grow, trumpet angels, rose bushes and flowers that bloom only at night. There were flowers of all colors and names I shall never remember. There were bees on blooms and surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous about their presence. A hummingbird drew sweet water from a feeder. We sat in the garden and she told of the times when hummingbirds came near or lit on the arm of her chair or perched on her hand for a second or two. Secret gardens that grow freely are the best and such invitations are cherished.

And then, as we sat there and she spoke of not just the flowering plants but spoke of who had given them to her and why, she said, “I want two songs sung at my funeral.   One is 'In the Garden'.  The other is 'Where the Roses Never Fade' ”.

The true gift in the garden was the moment when she paused and sang “Where the Roses Never Fade”…

"Can i go with u ... ?"

I almost missed the penciled words. The offering envelope was a hymnal bookmark during last Sunday’s worship service. As I stood to sing the recessional hymn, I held the envelope in my hand … and as I sang, I glanced down and saw the words. They silenced me in my singing.  Someone had scribbled on the envelope, “Can i go with u cauz I’ll be left alone!?”

In some way, we are all psalmists, aren’t we? We whisper breath prayers … words of praise, of lamentation, of wonder, of waiting and of desiring to be in God’s presence. Was I holding the very words of a psalmist in my hand? “Oh God, my cries are but a hollow echo in the thoughts of your absence. Can i go with u cauz I’ll be left alone!? In this aloneness, my soul waits for you … in your assurance, I trust that I will never be apart from you.”

As I read the penciled message over and over again, I could almost hear these words whispered in a garden called Gethsemane. “They have all scattered and I am alone. Can I go with u cauz I’ll be left alone!? Abba, Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.”

And as I held this offering envelope in my hands a little longer, now knowing that I would take the words home with me and keep them as a precious gift, I realized that it was on this very pew and in this spot where I gave my life to Christ. There was a deep aloneness in that moment … and then a holy assurance that I was no longer alone. In a way, these penciled words scrawled on an offering envelope and noticed by me on Sunday were my own words so very long ago. “Can I go with u cauz I’ll be left alone!?

It seems right that these words were written on an "offering" envelope. God's answer to this question is and will always be “YES, COME WITH ME!”

"Less-Than-Perfect'

As a child, I used to love to watch my grandmother prepare the vegetables from her garden for her Sunday meal.  She gathered in everything that was ready to be harvested, whether they be perfect or bruised.  All vegetables were washed, even the ones that I thought to be questionable.  If it had been me, I would have set some of the less-than-perfect harvest aside or tossed them back into the garden.  But it was not me, it was Grandmommy Lazenby and she knew better.  Each squash, each bean, each tomato had some value. With her paring knife, she would carve away bruises until all became elements of a delicious country feast.

In a way, I looked at these bruised vegetables much like I remembered team-choosing on an elementary school playground.  The less-than-perfect children waited in hope yet were reluctantly chosen last.  My little-girl attitude was to choose only the perfect vegetables and leave the others behind.  Grandmommy’s attitude was that of finding a delicious worth in all of them, bruised or not.

This morning, as I cut around a couple of bruises in the banana for my breakfast cereal, I smiled and gave thanks for those times of watching my grandmother’s hands and the worth that she found in all things and, more importantly, in all people.  You see, when I buy a few apples or bananas or squash, I will now pick up one that has a bruise on it.  It’s easy enough to find a delicious worth, as Grandmommy did, in less-than-perfect vegetables or fruit … just as it is easy enough to find a beautiful worth in someone who is bruised by life, who has been made to feel less-than-perfect and who is usually chosen last, for whatever reason.

Blessed are the bruised-by-life and the less-than-perfect … for the last shall be first!

"Making Ghosts of People"

I know that it is a bit nerdy to be so anxious to get my hands on "Go Set a Watchman" by Harper Lee, but I am. "To Kill a Mockingbird" offered so many life lessons for me and showed me how a man of integrity and wisdom, through Atticus, walks through his day. The book had not one wasted word, in my opinion.

One of my favorite passages in a book (EVER) is from "To Kill a Mockingbird". I will share it with you ....

"Nobody knew what form of intimidation Mr. Radley employed to keep Boo out of sight, but Jem figured that Mr. Radley kept him chained to the bed most of the time. Atticus said no, it wasn’t that sort of a thing, that there were other ways of making people into ghosts."

It's so easy to do, I'm afraid ... making people into ghosts. I hope that I never choose a form of intimidation, no matter how subtle or veiled, to keep a person out of sight. I pray that in each of my days, I do not, intentionally or unintentionally, find other ways of making people into ghosts. A smile goes a long way, a wave to someone along the sidewalks of my route says "I see you", a look into a person's eyes can be a 'ghostbuster' moment.