Keep on Smiling

 Several weeks ago, I decided to change paint stores after a several minute conversation with a sales clerk who insisted that I neither knew at which store I had bought paint nor who picked said paint up. So, I headed to a paint store down the street where I was helped and assured that any paint colors unique to the other store could perfectly be matched at this one. It was suggested that I open an account when I came back for the stain in a month or so. 

Today was the day I returned. I told the clerk what I wanted and he asked if I wanted oil based or water based. Thinking that he, working at a paint store, would be more knowledgeable, I asked which he recommended. His response was, “well, that’s up to you, ma’am.” So, I chose oil. Then I showed him a paint chip of what I hoped was the color that matches my back door. I don’t know the exact color because according to the other paint store, I never bought it there...which I did, but whatever. 

The lovely gentleman barely glanced at the chip, said, no problem,” and lickety split I was headed out with my paint. Something was nagging me, so I decided to check on the yellow paint to see if it matched my door paint closely enough. Not only was it not a match, but only in some odd color universe would it even be considered yellow. So, I put a spot of it next to my paint chip, dried it with the hairdryer and headed back to the store. 

Same lovely young man helped me. I showed him the paint chip with the color he mixed beside it. I said (very nicely-still smiling), “this is what I ordered. This is what I got,” to which he replied, “ that’s a pretty bright yellow and yellow fades really badly so I thought this would be better.”  So, now he decides to make a decision for me. I assured him (still smiling although on my Fitbit my heart rate was 112) that for me it was not better and I would really like a quart of the yellow. He told me to just go back to the original paint store if I wanted that color. 

Holy Week

     In my childhood church, we did not celebrate Holy Week.  We did not recognize the impact of what we call Palm Sunday, and Jesus' entry into Jerusalem.  We celebrated Easter by wearing new clothes and having an "egg hunt," but never an Easter egg hunt.  We were taught that we celebrate Jesus' resurrection every Sunday. These lessons were taught in a sincere, heartfelt way, and in an effort to neither add to nor take away from what the Bible says.  After all, we do not know the exact date of Jesus' birth (thus Christmas was only celebrated in a secular way), death or resurrection.  In many ways, these teachings came from fear...fear that Jesus' death and resurrection were not quite sufficient to save us, and so we needed to jump through the right hoops and do all the right things and believe all the right things and maybe then, just maybe, we had hope for an eternity in heaven, which, sadly was some place among the clouds where we were disembodied spirits lazing away the time.  

    Many people and events and, what I believe to be, whisperings of The Spirit, have caused me to believe that something else altogether seems more appropriate.  Of course,  those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus are blessed to remember Him daily. It is our gratitude for our salvation that causes us to want to live lives of love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  But, there is something marvelous in the celebration of this Holy Week.  It is celebrated around the world, and what a pity if we lose that bond between believers of every nationality ~ protestant and catholic.  

    "The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem.  They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,

            'Hosanna!

            Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

            Blessed is the king of Israel!'

    Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, as it is written:

            "Do not be afraid, Daughter Zion; see, your king is coming seated on a donkey's colt."

    At first his disciples did not understand all this.  Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that these things had been done to him." John 12:12-16

    Oh, and God bless those disciples, who spent 3 years, day in and day out with Jesus and who still did not understand.  They are a comfort.  

    On this Palm Sunday, may we contemplate how we will honor this week in our own lives.  May we all feel the loving attention of a gracious God.  

Strongest Man

 In a text, he was referred to as the "strongest man I ever knew."  Some of us knew him before he got sick.  He was strong, for sure, and nimble and fast.  He loved to play basketball, and he did it well.  He danced with his wife.  

At a young age, he was diagnosed with ALS.  It is a terrible disease that takes away parts of a person, bit by bit, a little at a time.  The average time a person can live with ALS is 2-5 years.  Wayne lived well over twenty with it.  He is the strongest man some have ever known.  

He was determined and self-disciplined and some might say stubborn.  He did not feel sorry for himself, he reached out to touch the lives of those he knew when they were struggling.  Few of us have had struggles like he.  Many of us fail to get past our own navels when we struggle.  Not so, Wayne.

When his wife died of meningitis caused by a tainted spinal injection, he lost his main caregiver.  She was the physical strength, he was the emotional strength.  Most anyone would have been angry or bitter, for it seems the tainting of that medicine was due to neglect and possibly greed.  But he was neither angry nor bitter and would ask, "why should I be? I am a blessed man."

He buried his firstborn, after years of struggles with that child, struggles that would have crushed a weaker man.  But he was not crushed because he was a strong, strong man.  

Some believed he would not make it to the dedication of the inner-city daycare that bears his name.  Not only did he see the dedication, he witnessed the 20th anniversary.  He cared for people.  Many of us do.  But, he cared for people when anyone would have understood his throwing in the towel and giving up, for there was only the inevitable end to look forward to.  He looked forward to so much more than the ravages of his disease.  He gave so much more than a man in his position would have been expected to give.  He was a strong man who was an inspiration to all who knew him.

His struggles ended Thursday night.  He will be deeply missed by all who loved him, especially his only surviving son.  He truly fought the good fight.  We grieve, not as those without hope.  Many have expressed the comfort they feel imagining he is in some church league basketball game to be followed by a time of dancing with his Diana.  

Still We Are Family

Covid has kept us from gathering, from seeing those we miss and love, still, we are the Otter Creek family.  Covid has not kept us from being in touch, from sending notes and emails, from praying, because we are the Otter Creek family.   

All over, there are people grieving.  We anticipated the outcome.  The actuality hit us as hard as we expected.  We have prayed and prayed and prayed.  They were not selfish prayers.  They were prayers for four daughters, a husband, parents.  Our prayers were not answered in the way we wanted.  In fact, our prayers feel unheard.  We choose to have faith that God was listening and Jesus was intervening, even as we have myriad emotions from sadness to anger to gratitude for having known her.  Our Otter Creek family has lost the physical presence of this very bright light, but her influence will continue to shine on us as family. We grieve as a family grieves.

After a long battle, our sister Katherine left this earthly realm to gather with the saints who are living in the presence of Jesus.  She fought courageously.  She fought with a faith that was awe inspiring.  She lived in gratitude for every moment.  She loved her family well, her girls, her husband, her parents, her Otter Creek family.  She knew where she was going.

As the Otter Creek family, we have people to care for; her precious daughters, her dear husband, her parents will need us in the days to come.  We will be there.  It is what family does.  We will try to be Jesus to this sweet family as they go through the hard work of figuring out what life looks like from this point forward, and they will move forward for they would not honor Katherine if they did not.  It will be a difficult struggle, but with God's help, they will make it through.  

   

Maybe, I'm Starting to Get it...a Little Bit

 On FB this morning, I posted a quote from Frederick Buechner. Frederick Buechner's writings are wonderful.  Part of the quote said, "all moments are key moments."  A key moment struck me this morning and hopefully I gained a little more understanding.

When the term "white privilege" was first being batted about, I took offense.  I thought it meant that whites have everything handed to them, and I know how hard we, especially Mr. L, have worked, and there have been some extremely lean times.  So, I felt resentment at being told I was privileged because of my color.

Listening to those who understood the meaning of the term better and whose counsel I highly respect, my thoughts began to change.  Change is hard for me because I was raised in a religious environment that I felt taught me that change was being wishy washy, or trying to fit in with the times, and that if I had doubts about anything pertaining to God and Christ, then I did not recognize the Father's voice.  Frederick Buechner also says that "without doubt, there can be no faith."  Having adult children with minds and opinions of their own, has helped me in learning to see things differently and that a changed mind is not a sign of weakness.  Gradually, I've come to understand a bit better, what the term "white privilege" really means.

This morning as I was walking in my neighborhood, a police car passed me.  We have one black family that lives in my neighborhood and the husband runs every morning. We had just greeted and passed each other when the policeman drove by. My first thought was not, "oh, dear, am I in trouble," it was, "oh, no, I hope that black gentleman is not going to be bothered."  That is white privilege.  When a second police car passed me, I was reminded how privileged I am to live in a neighborhood where police cars are a rarity, not the norm, and that, in general when I see a police car I think of a helper not of a danger.

That moment was just one more stepping stone in my walk to understand better that which I cannot personally experience.

Helen

She was a teller of bawdy jokes...and she always laughed at them which made us laugh even harder.  She was a singer of songs.  She had the best dimples when she smiled, which was often.  She was full of mischief and fun.  Tales say that she surely knew how to roll a house back in the day.  She never married.  She had no children...oh, wait...she had children everywhere who loved her and whom she loved.  They did not have to be related to her and their color made not one bit of difference.  She was the champion of the underdog.  She had a wealth of friends from the famous to the not-so. She was always ready and eager to help.  When you look in a dictionary for the definition of "she'd give you the shirt off her back," you would find Helen's picture, for she would give you anything she had that you needed.  She loved God and Jesus and I don't mean in the way of those who talk a good talk but never walk the good walk.  She left this leg of her eternal journey today to step into the next...I believe into the arms of Jesus.  She will be missed. 

I have heard people say that "only so many have died in Tennessee of Covid-19, and that's not very many."  When it is someone you know and love who spent days in the hospital on a ventilator surrounded by gifted and caring medical folks, but not their own folks, every one is one too many.

I have no doubt that Helen is entertaining the heavenly hosts with some "cleaned up" jokes and beautiful songs.  She is well and whole and happy and knows the answers to all life's mysteries.  She will be remembered at lunches and Christmas parties and any other time that members of the 1970 graduating class of Isaac Litton High School gather.  Go rest high, Helen.  You are dearly loved.

An Eye for an Eye?

This has been weighing on me.  Like the rest of the thinking world, I am appalled at the murder of George Floyd.  I did not watch the video as I was so sickened by the picture of what I perceive as an arrogant man, with his hands in his pockets no less, slowly snuffing out the life of another human as he is being begged for mercy.  If we aren't appalled by this and by his fellow officers who stood by and watched, then we are something less than human.

But, here's what scares me.  I scare me.  The vision in my head of someone doing the exact same thing to the police officer that he did to Mr. Floyd scares me.  Where is Jesus in my response?  Do not misunderstand, I know that policeman and his cohorts need to be held accountable and punished.  But, here I am, self-proclaimed Jesus lover, relishing in the thought of another person "getting his."  That scares me.  That is a testimony to the state of my heart, and it is apparent that I need a lot more Jesus.

The looting and burning that is taking place in Minneapolis is so far from what Dr. King exhibited and taught.  I think of those dignified and determined black students who led the sit-ins in Nashville and I am overwhelmed with their courage. As one author said, "they dressed for church and often ended up in jail." I think of Reverend James Lawson who urged those students to respond to attacks in a "creatively loving fashion."  He said it was not enough to act like they loved their enemy, they had to, in their hearts, truly love their enemy.  It took awhile, but it worked, and much for which they were working was accomplished.  But, somehow we have lost our way in this country.  We are headed in the wrong direction.

So, yes, the looting and burning are dumb and counterproductive, but when people get fed up with what is happening, they do dumb things, and often bring down a world of hurt on themselves and those around them.  We have all done it.  Maybe we haven't burned and looted a Target store, but we've thrown or kicked something, or slammed a door or cursed or thrown mean and hurtful barbs or driven too fast or any number of dumb things that are ultimately counterproductive. When we've had enough, we don't think straight.  There is science behind the term "losing your mind."

In Nashville,  Zephaniah Alexander Looby was a black man who was expected to be deferential but who stood up for human rights in all arenas.  He provided legal counsel for those who tried to end segregation in the city, especially those college students who led the sit-ins.  When a group of racist whites bombed his home with him and his wife, Grafta, barely escaping, that bit of violence had unintended results.  People of all colors were outraged. After that bombing the mayor of Nashville, Ben West, who previously swore that Nashville would never be integrated, admitted that segregation was morally wrong.  Police killing, as this officer murdered George Floyd, is evil. I need to be, and am outraged by it but, my challenge is to find it within myself to love him...not his evil deed but him.

So what is to be done?  The first thing I need to do is look into my own heart and root out all the dark and vengeful thoughts I harbor there.  And, then, I need to ask myself, a paraphrased version of John Lewis's query to those who said he and he fellow students were not ready for the sit-ins: if not me, then who?  If not now, then when?  God have mercy on the souls of those who committed this murder by action or inaction, but, their souls are nor more in the need of God's grace than is mine.  I pray peace and an ever-awareness of God's presence for the Floyd family, and the families of all those who have not been given proper treatment and due process because of the color of their skin.