Longing for Eden

It is summer.  My walking buddies are out of school.  Let the therapy sessions begin! 

Yesterday dawned cool and beautiful with the air cleansed by Tuesday night's rain.  I met Betsy at the opposite end of Radnor from where we traditionally meet.  Why did it take us so many years to figure out that beginning there is much more convenient for her?  I do not know.  Thank you, Dele, for your thoughtfulness and consideration.  Wish I had thought of that.  But, I rest assured that Betsy loves my inconsiderate, thoughtless self anyway.  It is just a touch of the unconditional love found in Eden.

I arrived early.  The sun was breaking through the dense foliage.  As the breeze blew, moisture fell from the upper leaves to the lower making it sound like gentle rainfall.  It is a sound that I know and love.  I felt enveloped by the primordial quietness.  It was a needed respite.  My mind turned to Eden, and I wondered at the familiarity of my surroundings.

My sister always says when she sees a cardinal that it is our dad's spirit passing by to check on us.  Making sure we are doing well would be his top priority.  I really hope he's just resting in peace, not worrying about us, but I always think of him when I see a cardinal.  A family of cardinals were enjoying the early morning calm as well, flitting from branch to branch, calling out to one another.  I imagined the perfection of life in Eden, and found myself longing for similar tranquility. 

Betsy arrived.  Dele was not able to join us.  She had obligations that needed filling, and that did not include an early morning gathering of friends.  I love walking with Betsy.  She appreciates every deer she sees.  She lives in gratitude for the blessing of this land that is being preserved.  We do not take for granted our good fortune to be alive and well and able to enjoy this hint of Eden.  We have the added bonus of enjoying it together. 

Betsy mentioned hoping to see turtles.  Big slider turtles live here.  They sun themselves on logs, usually near the shore, and when they grow weary of sunning, they slide themselves into the water.  Often, we will see many turtles sharing a log.  Yesterday, we were early.  The sun had not reached its zenith.  The turtles were hiding, except for one; one optomistic, seemingly magical turtle far from the shore.  I am certain he had no idea of the entertainment he afforded us.  I thought of Eden where all nature lived in delight and harmony.

So, it was a morning in Eden.  Life in Eden, as God intended it to be; enjoying nature, enjoying friendship.  In this, this 21st century that often does not present itself peacefully, I found blessed rest in the company of God, nature, and a beloved friend. 

    So, for today, I wish you peace and tranquility in the beauty of nature and friendship, and I wish you

blessings

The Year We Lived Last Week

It has been a while since I posted.  By the calendar, it has been 14 days.  By other measures, it has been much longer.  This blog is how I remember it.  I am fairly certain that some details are not totally accurate.

May 15, around 5:30 a.m., I am awakened by the sound of a train whistle.  It seems to be at the other end of the house.  I realize that it is Marshall's ring on my cell phone, and fortunately not a train coming through Frisby Hall (it's a long story).  When I answer, Marshall says something like, "we're going to have a baby today!"  I clap, wake up the rest of the house (MP, Josh, and Simeon are staying with us until they close on their new house), share the exciting news, get dressed, and head to the hospital. 

I am a bit stressed that I am going to miss the birth because I have a walking tour at 9:45.  I stay as long as I can, then leave to do my tour.  Who knows what I tell those children, for while my body is on the tour, my mind is at Vanderbilt Hospital.  Periodically, I get text messages from Mr. Lincoln asking if I have news.  We are ready for a baby to arrive.  I return to the hospital to learn that it is probably going to be that evening before Baby Max arrives so I go home, rest, gather some things with the idea of staying at the hospital until the expected arrival some time later that evening. 

Those who know me well, know that 9:00 p.m. is my favored bedtime.  Some nights I only stay up until 9:00 because I find it ludicrous that a grown woman would go to bed before then.  As I sit in the labor and delivery waiting room, which seats about 10, I am surrounded by 14 members of the same VERY loud, boisterous family, also waiting for a new arrival.  Needing to join the fray, is a lady from Kansas who fancies herself possessing a Tina Fey sort of wit, and who feels no compunction in trying to entertain the crowd.  I fear that I find her neither entertaining nor very nice as she bad-mouths her daughter-in-law who labored 30 hours before delivering a pre-mature baby via c-section.  She says something along the lines of "the girl just needs to grow up."  Really?  Around 10:30, now an hour and a half past my desired bedtime, Marshall comes out to say I should just go home and rest.  As I leave, I watch him and Sheri walking laps around the hospital hallways trying to bring on more productive labor pains. 

The next day dawns as MP's first day back at work after having Simeon.  It is my first day to keep him.  I am torn.  I want to be at the hospital, but I also want to keep Simeon.  Enter, my sister, who saves the day by coming and keeping the baby while MP works and I sit vigil at the hospital.  This morning finds me in the waiting room with not one, but two, extremely loud families, one of which includes a three year old.  The mother of this family is there to be induced.  Her husband is incredulous that they are having to wait.  I am tired, grumpy, and incredulous that they have brought their three year old to a birthing!!  Seriously, the father is popping wheelies with the stroller  up and down the hallways.  I am not amused.  When Mr. Lincoln arrives to sit with me, he is not amused either.  From one or the other of us, there are whispered threats of bodily harm to the loud ones if they do not SHUT UP!!

Periodically, Marshall comes out with reports.  Sheri's sister, who is her birthing coach, shares news.  It is like being on the world's most frightening roller coaster.  C-section is thrown into the conversation, finally after about 33 hours Sheri has an epidural, the baby's heartbeat is dropping drastically every 3rd or so contraction.  They try this medicine, and that measure, and this and that.  I feel like a rubber band wound tightly enough to pop.  And, still the loud man demands his wife be induced.  Somebody, please make him go away!

Around 2:00 p.m. we get the word that Sheri is going to have an emergency C-section.  The commotion in the hallway as the doctors and mid-wives and nurses scream at the wheelie-popping man in the passageway between labor and delivery and the operating room to "get out of the way," as they run Sheri across the hall to have surgery, is so scary.  Sheri's sister comes out, exhaustion on her face, to describe the scene in the room right before the decision was made for surgery, and I find myself fighting back tears...quite unsuccessfully, I might add.  Jessica hugs me.  Jessica, the young woman who has basically labored right beside Sheri, coaching, encouraging, praying, hoping, all night long.  Jessica, who has 3 young children of her own at home.  Jessica is comforting me.  Soon, we see Marshall walk across the hall with a mask on and paper scrubs.  Baby Max is about to enter the world. 

I sit down by a couple, a quiet couple from Louisiana, who await their grandson's birth.  We chat for a moment, and then I get a text from Marshall.  It is a picture of Max.  Later, we learn of the fear in that room.  We learn that Max was not breathing; he had no heartbeat.  I am so grateful for good doctors and good hospital care.  Mr. Lincoln and I  see Max for a few moments before Marshall follows him to the nursery.  We stand and watch through the window as they check him out and watch our son talk to his new son with words of comfort and love.  It is lovely, but I am so sorry for Sheri, my warrior daughter-in-law, that she can not just enjoy that time holding Max and bonding with him.  But, all is well...or is it?



When it is time for us to go home that evening, Marshall is dead on his feet.  I tell him that I think he should not drive home, and that I will take him.  He begins to complain about his eye hurting.  It has been bothering him since the evening of the 14th, but with all the commotion, he has not mentioned it.  I look at his badly bloodshot eye, and notice a speck of something on the iris.  He tries to get it out with his finger.  We try to wash it out.  It is not moving.  He is like a tired, wounded bear, desperate for someone to help him get this thing out of his eye.  I arrange an appointment the next morning with my opthamologist.  We learn that the speck in Marshall's eye is actually a shard of metal.  It has to be pulled out followed by his eyeball being buffed with what sounds like a mini dremel.   He is in a great deal of pain, but tries to be very wise and not mention that to his wife who has just gone through 30+ hours of labor followed by major surgery.  But, all is finally well...or is it?

On Thursday, I have to work.  I am tired, and so I come home to rest, and give Sheri time to rest.  I am fairly certain it is this day that we learn Max has a blood infection.  At first they think it is e-coli.  Do not, I repeat, do not Google such things.  It will take years off your life.  It is decided that he should be put in the NICU so that he can be more closely monitored.  Every little report is scarier than the one before.  The doctors tell us of this number being elevated and this culture being positive.  Gradually, Sheri becomes ill, until she crescendos into a 106 fever.  Good news, followed by bad news, followed by good news, followed by bad. 

I do not remember all the details.  Mr. Lincoln, MP, Josh, and I, along with Sheri's family try to meet what needs we can.  The only real need they want met is Max and Sheri healed and home.  We can not provide that, but we post  countless emails and FB posts asking for prayers.  Prayers are offered from around the globe on their behalf.  I have said this before.  I believe in the power of prayer.  I have no explanation for those who pray and pray only to have their prayers seemingly go unanswered.  I do not know what that is about.  I have come to hate the words, "there but by the grace of God go I" because it makes God seem so capricious in his doling out of grace.  I do not have answers.  But, I thank God for Max's life and for Sheri's health.  I pray, daily, that He commands His angels concerning Max and Simeon, and that He surrounds them with a hedge of protection.

 

Mr. Lincoln and I enjoy this holiday with our children and our grandsons.  Today, I live as I wish to live everyday...in faith and in gratitude. 

So, for today, I wish you joy in the presence of those you love, gratitude, and I wish you

blessings

This is Not an Argument

Mr. Lincoln is reading a book entitled A Woman Called.  On the front cover the author penned words along the lines of: "this is not an argument...if you want someone with which to wrangle, you might best go elsewhere."  So, I say, this is not an argument.  It is the wonderings of a woman ~ the wonderings of a woman who blogs sometimes.

Recently, I have noticed on FB a debate taking place.  I, personally, make it a point to never, ever discuss anything on FB about which I feel very strongly.  That's just my "policy."  Certainly, I have no criticism for those who do.  In fact, for a person who rarely reads the paper or watches the news, I am often enlightened by others' posts, and am grateful for them.

Last week, North Carolina passed a bill banning same-sex marriage.  There was a lot of chatter on FB concerning this.  Mr. Lincoln and I were discussing this when he shared something he had read that posed the question as to why the government has anything to say about marriage.  It is a matter that really concerns the church (synagogue, mosque, whatever) not government.  I had never thought of it that way, but that makes perfect sense to me.  I do believe that marriage is an institution ordained by God.  I do believe that He means for marriage to be between one man and one woman.  I do.  But, I also am so uncomfortable with telling homosexuals who are in committed relationships that they cannot make medical decisions for one another or that they cannot file joint tax returns, or share health insurance premiums and coverage. 

Sometimes, I think the disconnect comes when heterosexuals equate homosexuality with promiscuity or pedophilia.  While certainly these things do exist among homosexuals, they do not have a monopoly on them.  There are plenty of promiscuous heterosexuals as well as heterosexual pedophiles. 

I will be honest.  Until recently, these matters did not concern me too much....until I learned that a friend is homosexual.  He is married with children.  He fought his homosexual tendencies, admits to making fun of homosexuals just to fit in.  He married and had children in a desire to do what he thought he was "supposed" to do.  He considered suicide on several occasions, thinking that his family would never have to know.  This is a man who lived in torment.   About 3 years ago, with the encouragement of a close friend, he decided to "come out of the closet."   He is a man of great character.  Fortunately, he has not found the recriminations he expected...not from his wife, his family, or his church.  He puts a face to this issue.  He is a man I admire and respect.  He wife is one of the most exceptional people I have ever met. 

There are plenty of people who do not believe that homosexuals should be allowed to adopt.  I have to wonder.  I know of at least one lesbian couple in my hometown that adopts special needs children.  They have multiple children that have had major surgeries, expensive surgeries followed by long recoveries.  These are children whose heterosexual parents either could not or would not take on the needs of their own children.  I cannot discount the love these two women have for these children and for each other. 

Maybe it would all be best left up to one's church or synagogue or mosque or whatever.  Let the government issue "committed relationship" licenses, and let the church decide what is a marriage as laid out in the scriptures and creeds each faith follows.  I figure the government never really was in the marriage business.  The powers that be just began to charge for the licenses in an effort to make money.  And, I do not even want to get started on the mess we make of marriage, which in turn results in the government getting involved again to issue divorce decrees.  Remember, this is not an argument.  I am just wondering.  The older I get, the more I know I do not know.  I actually seem to grow more confused.

While I don't know many things.  Here is one thing I do know.  If we can put a name and a face on individuals, we will find ourselves less judgmental of a demographic or situation.  We will find that things are not as black and white as we once thought.  Children will sometimes on my tour point at a homeless man and ask, "Mrs. Switzer, is that a bum over there?"  I always reply, "I couldn't say.  I do not know him personally."  That confuses children because they believe that all homeless people are bums.  I tell them that there are plenty of rich bums living in nice houses.  I have also had friends say, we should just bomb Iraq off the map and let God sort it out, or HIV is what homosexuals deserve.  Well, all I can say is, "God, please spare me what I deserve."  Perhaps, we would all be better off if we just loved everyone and "let God sort it out."  Just a wondering, not an argument.

For today, I wish you re-examination of matters you thought were settled, I wish you understanding, I wish you compassion, and I wish you

blessings,

I Met a Man

I met a man today.  I did not want to meet a man today.  While I usually wait inside for the start of my work day, something propelled me outdoors.  I sat on the steps of a beautiful old church, a national landmark, and I prayed.  I prayed for a friend facing a follow-up mammogram.  I prayed for a family member who is hurting.  I prayed for a friend's friend who is seriously ill.  As I prayed, a man walked by.  My internal mantra was, please don't stop, please don't stop.  I just wasn't in the mood for meeting a man today.  Besides, I was praying.  Isn't that more important than meeting a man?  Isn't that more important than meeting a man who is missing his teeth...a man whose odor is assailing my nostrils?

Oh, no.  He is slowing down.  Please don't stop, please don't stop. 

"Good morning," he said.  "What's going on in the church?"

"Nothing," I replied.  "They serve lunch here later today, but you have to go through the side door, and it's later...much later." 

"Oh, I know that," he said.  "We'll have a service later too.  Did you know that?"

"Yes," I said, "I did know that, although I have never attended one of the services."

"Mind if I sit down?"

"No, please." 

So, he sat.  This man I met today.  This man named Edward.  He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a black bag.

"Know what that is," he queried.

"No, I don't think so."

He unfurled the black bag, and proudly showed me The Contributor logo on the flap. 

"Ah, so you sell The Contributor.  That's hard work.  Your bag is empty.  Did you sell them all yesterday?"

"Yes.  I'm just waiting for the office to open so I can buy some more.  Are you from around here?"

"I have lived in Nashville all my life."  So, apparently, it was meant for me to meet this man this day.   "What about you?"

"I was born here, but I was raised in Philadelphia.  Being on the streets is really hard, especially when you are a recovering alcoholic and drug addict.  I went back to Philly when my Aunt Mary died.  She forgave me for the money I stole from her."

"She knew that if you had not been using, you would never have stolen from her."

"Ma'am, you can see right into me.  That's right.  I wouldn't've ever stolen a thing if I hadn't been using drugs and drinking. Drugs and alcohol, they will f*#k, oh, sorry for my language, uh, mess up your mind.   Do you smoke?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, I was going to smoke, but I won't because I know it bothers people who don't." 

"I really appreciate your thoughtfulness.  Lots of people would not have even bothered to ask."

"My mama raised me right."

He showed me what he had bought this morning....a pack of Winstons.  He also pulled out his wallet and showed me that he had money; money he had earned, not stolen.  He is proud of himself.  He should be. My students arrived, and so I had to bid Edward good-bye.  I wished him a good day.  I told him to take care of himself.  He replied, "I'll try, but I'm not perfect."

I said, "none of us are, Edward, none of us are."

And so, I met a man today.  I reluctantly met a man today.  I gratefully met a man today.  Thank you, Edward for stopping by to chat. 

For today, I wish you unexpected encounters, and I wish you

blessings 

Dump the Grump, People

I find that I am sick unto death of grumpy people.  Grumpy is a cutesy word for peevish, bad-tempered, surly.  It is wearing.  It is repellent.  I am so tired of grumpy people.  I notice that grumpy people expect perfection from those around them, but seemingly do not expect all that much from themselves.  Their lives are always the hardest, the most frustrating, the most tiring, fraught with the most problems.  Nobody understands them, or what they are going through.  Most of the time, what they are going through is life; the messiness of life, of having a spouse, of having kids, of having a job, of owning a house, etc.  Apparently, in recent weeks, I have been giving off some vibe because I have run into lots of grumpy people lately.  Frankly, I am sick of it. 

I despise it when people hang up on me on the phone just because I am unable to articulate an answer to a question in a manner that is acceptable to them.  I have to be unbearably angry at someone to hang up on them without saying good-bye.  In fact, I can probably count on one hand how many times I have done that.  How does one arrive at the place where that is acceptable?  It is grossly rude, and unbelievably dismissive and disrespectful.   I am sorry they are having a bad moment, a bad day, a bad life, but unless you can tell me what I can do to help you through it, please do not make me the target of your surly attitude. 

A month or so ago, I stopped at a grocery to pick up some sliced chicken for lunch.  The young man at the deli asked if he could help me, and I said, "I would like 1/2 pound of Boar's Head sliced chicken, please."  He replied, in an impatient and disgusted manner (I do not go around looking for my feelings to be hurt, trust me, so I was not being overly sensitive), "what kind of chicken, ma'am?  We have many different kinds of chicken, so which kind do you want?"  I asked if they had ovenroast to which he replied, "yes," and I told him that would be fine.  At some point he realized how extraordinarily rude he had been and tried to rectify it by being overly solicitous.  A simple, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to be rude," would have been sufficient.  I know people have hard days.  But, come on, your job is to cut meat for a customer, smile, hand it to them, and thank them for their business.  Should we not expect more of ourselves?

There is a man I see almost every day on my tours.  One morning, last week, when I spoke to him, he grunted at me.  I mean, he literally grunted at me.  I thanked him for his help, and, people, he grunted at me.  No words.  No comment.  No smile.  Just a grunt that let me know that I was in his way, and he did not appreciate it.  Problem is, I was not in his way.  I was doing what I do every morning.  He was just in a bad mood, and I became the target of it.  I wished him a good day, to which he grunted, and then I went on my way.  What he does is his job.  I am probably the least of his annoyances in a day.  All he has to do is open a door for me, often after I have been waiting patiently for quite some time.  Some mornings, it is like he is mad at me for waiting.  Lots of days he is, if not friendly, at least not so bad-tempered, but do we not have some obligation to good manners to not pollute our surroundings with our bad dispositions?

I went to the doctor last week.  The nurse called me back.  She never looked at me.  She never asked me how I was doing.  She announced aloud what I weighed, which I found extremely indiscreet, but I will not hold that against her.  She asked her standard questions in a curt way...do you smoke, do you use alcohol, do you exercise?  Then she asked, "what is your occupation?"  I replied, "I do walking tours of Downtown Nashville."  Still without looking at me, she rather sharply said, "I said, what is your occupation?"  I replied, "I do walking tours of Downtown Nashville."  Then she said, a bit louder, "I said, ma'am, what is your occupation."  I replied, "I do walking tours of Downtown Nashville, admittedly at this point not being overly concerned with her understanding me or not.  Why does someone go into the medical field if patients are just going to be a disturbance?

Truly, I think some people cultivate their grumpiness.   They can control the people around them because, heaven knows, we don't want to cross them, and have to deal with their nastiness, so we just pussy-foot around them to spare ourselves the headache, and they just continue on as if they had some right to it.   I am sick of it. 

I realize that grumpiness can be caused by pain, mental illness, medication, living secret lives, addiction, feeling crappy about oneself, living outside one's value system, and other reasons.  But please, tell me there is a way to overcome; a way to practice impluse control; a way to not have to verbalize every hateful, impatient, angry thought that pops into one's head.   Why must the rest of us suffer because you cannot control yourself.  Get a grip!!  Please!!

I do not take others' grumpiness to heart.  It does not make me feel badly about myself or wonder what I have done to cause it.  Unless my appearance is just disgusting, I pretty much know that your grumpiness is yours, and you need to deal with it.  But, when I watch people I care about wallowing in that rut of ill-temper, it tears me up...for them, and for the people they live with and say they love. 

So, I say, thank you Mr. Lincoln for being such a lovely roommate and not a surly, sulking, angry presence in our home.  Thank you to the Contributor Vendor on the corner of 6th and Union for your beautiful smile and sincerely warm greetings each day.  Thank you to the cashier at Kroger with the big laugh and joyful conversation.  Thank you to the teachers who seem genuinely happy to see me at the start of their tours.  Thank you to the young man who waited on me at Fresh Market last night for your helpful customer service.  Thank you to all you people who are hurting in so many ways, and yet, who do not foist your pain on those around you. 

Rise up oh men of grumpiness...have done with that lesser thing.  Get help for yourself...for whatever is robbing you of your joy.  Find a way to clear the fume of funk that follows you and fouls the air for those around you.  You will feel better, and so will the rest of the world.

I try not to rant too often in this blog, but this was weighing heavily.  I feel a bit better.

For today, I wish you graciousness toward yourself and others, the self-control to shut your mouth, an aroma of sweetness instead of the stench of bitterness, and I wish you

blessings 

Simple

The word "simple" kept popping into my head on Sunday.  It felt like a simple day.  Realizing that even though I use the word often, I have probably never actually looked up the definition.  Yes, Sunday was a simple day.  Simple in the notion of "uncomplicated; not complex; easy to understand; without additions; without guile or deceit; without ostentation, natural." 

Sunday was a busy, but not hectic day.  It began when I met to pray with a young woman who has suffered two miscarriages.  She desperately wants a baby.  She is happily married.  Her husband embraces the idea of becoming a father.  She takes care of her physical health. They are financially stable, and can care for a child.  She is brokenhearted over the losses she has experienced.  She is dreading Mother's Day.  Had life gone as expected, she would be celebrated as a mother on that day.  So we prayed a simple prayer.  We lamented her loss.  We told God of our lack of understanding.  We expressed gratitude for the avenue of prayer.  We recognized our need to not stand on our own understanding but in all our ways to acknowledge Him.  Some tears were shed.  Sitting in that quiet room, holding hands and praying were simple acts of faith and community. 

Our service was conducted by the youth group.  I have not enough words to express what a beautiful job they did.  They learned how many people it takes to conduct a worship service.  They filled communion trays, worked in the sound booth, made announcements, served communion, presided over the table, prayed, led a beautiful time of worship in song, conducted the ministry moment, helped with the elder close, and delivered a powerful message.  It was a beautifully blessed day.  Their message was simple, and it was all the more powerful because of its simplicity.  Two words sum it up: love and serve.  That is not complicated.  There is not really anything to add.  No ostentation here.  Love and serve.  Find out what your gifts are, and use them to serve others with the intent of bringing glory to God.  To live one's life in love and service is truly to "be Jesus" in this place.  It is a simple, yet deep concept.   They get it.

We did have one moment of complication.  For those who do not know me well, my church organization (for lack of a better term ~ I was raised to never say we were a  "denomination."  Holy cow, why was that so important?) is pretty conservative.  We have traditionally had a BIG problem with women being "heard" during our "corporate worship."  Fortunately, for the most part, we have not tainted the youth with our seemingly important distinctions.  Now, let me say, I am most grateful to have been raised in a church that tries to follow the Scriptures.  I am so thankful for that.  But, we do tend to lean a little heavily on some more than others.  We really like the passage that tells women to be silent in the church, but we are a little less able to embrace the scripture that declares that we are one in Christ, neither male nor female.  One of the teenage girls was going to pray over our offering, but was told that might not be appropriate.  She very graciously stated that she had been told that praying in worship was not a "girl's role, " and that she would use her gifts in another way.  Precious girl.  Perhaps, the older generation needs to revisit.  Change is slow.  That is okay.  Concerns about women leading prayers and serving communion will one day fall in that head-scratching confusion of churches splitting up over one cup or two, kitchens in the church building, should we or shouldn't we help the orphans and widows etc...  We can still live Kingdom life in the midst of the debates if we love and serve one another.  Simple.

My best friend, Nancy, has a son who is getting married soon.  I had a shower for his fiancee Sunday.  When I heard that Jamie was getting married, it was a simple fact that I would give a shower.  It could have been no other way.  The party was simple.  I visited with old friends, and with those who became known to me for the first time.  Everyone was lovely.  We did not play games.  Remember when we used to have to dress people up in toilet paper wedding gowns?  Oh, I am so glad that is no longer in vogue.  I did not like it then when 1 roll of toilet paper would have been sufficient to make a ball gown that fit me.  Now, I would need 3 rolls just to make a simple sheath!   Yeah, we left that off.  But it was a simple time, of honoring the future daughter-in-law of a lifelong friend.   There were no complications of trying to impress.  Yes, I wanted the food to be lovely.  Yes, I wanted fresh flowers.  Yes, I wanted my house to be clean and look presentable, but I hope no one sensed any ostentation.  I hope it was a simple, natural time together. 

After the shower ended, Mr. Lincoln and I returned to church for an old fashioned hymn sing.  Oh, my stars, it was so wonderful.  Old hymns.  Explanations concerning who wrote the hymns and why.  I belted out songs I have not heard in years.  The theology in many of them is somewhat questionable, but the spirit behind the singing was unmistakable.   There were young people there who had never heard many of the songs.  They seemed somewhat puzzled, and somewhat entertained by the older members who were loving it.  There was a simple recognition of one of our members who had a stroke many years ago.  He really can no longer carry on a conversation, but somewhere in the recesses of his brain are the words and music to those old songs, and he simply and joyfully sang. 

Sunday evening was really designed as a farewell to our music minister.   Mr. Lincoln did the blessing over the Sanderson family.  His words were heartfelt and simple.  One friend said that she felt his words were divinely inspired.  I do not know.  I do know this.  I am going to miss this man.  I have found him to be a man of great love and service.  I will be forever grateful that he, his family, and I spent a bit of time together in this time and this place trying to love and serve our church family.  He will always be family to me...plain and simple. 

So Sunday was a simple day.  Filled with simple blessings.  I know that faith and church are not simple for many people.  There is so much junk mixed up in it all that the simplicity has been lost for many.  It makes me sad.  A wise friend said to me last night as we discussed family and church and life in general, "All I can do is stay in prayer and live my faith in front of them."  Simple.  Hard, but simple.

So, for today, I wish you simple faith, simple love, simple service, and I wish you

blessings