One of God’s Names is Avery

God visited me today in the guise of a seven year old girl, and I almost didn’t answer the door.

She rang my door bell mid afternoon.  Assuming it was Amazon leaving a package, I did not get up until the bell rang twice.  And there she was...

Avery:  Hello.  My name is Avery and I am your neighbor.  I don’t think we’ve met before.
Me:  It’s nice to meet you, Avery.  I’m Kim. You’re right - I don’t think we’ve met before.
Long silence.
Me:  May I help you with something today?
Avery:  No.  I just stopped by to say hello.  Are you healthy?
Me:  Uh - yes I am, thank you.
Avery:  That’s good.  Do you need anything?
Me:  Thank you for asking - I’m good right now.
Avery:  OK - if you need something please let me know.

She smiled and walked away.  Little did she know that she took my cynicism away with her.

Forget the endless news cycle, protestors, fear, world-wide disruption, unanswered questions, conflicting information and overall mind-numbing chaos - God’s still on the job, and one of her names is Avery.

We’re in good hands.  Rest well tonight.

With love and relief,
Kim

After a Severe Pruning...

 Pre-pruning

When I purchased this little fixer-upper home, I was unaware of just how many aspects of the home needed fixing up!  But one need that was abundantly clear was the landscaping - it was time to trim trees (the ones that had not landed on my roof during the September storm), pull out old and overgrown bushes, and give the outside of the house the full KonMari treatment.    

There was a bush (?)  near the front door that looked like it was part tree  - it was a tangled mess of branches right down to the ground!  My landscaping guy looked at it and thought it should probably be pulled out.  But the birds loved it and I subsequently discovered that it was actually a misshapen crab apple tree. Something needed to be done with it, so we opted for a severe pruning.  And the pruning was indeed severe!  For the remainder of winter I looked at what was left of the tree and wondered if it was now dead.

But slowly - ever so slowly, green leaves emerged - that beautiful color of green that sings SPRING.  My resident cardinal couple love that tree - as does a male robin who often sings from its branches.  I think it might just thrive after this season of severe pruning.

Post-pruning

I am watching my beloved congregation going through a similar process - although our pruning has happened through circumstances outside of our control (and not by someone wielding a chain saw).  The safer at home order continues; we will be a faith community meeting digitally at least through Pentecost Sunday.  Half of Lent, all of Holy Week, Easter Sunday, Eastertide and at least Pentecost Sunday will be celebrated in our little Zoom boxes.  Life transitions of every kind are now navigated through a screen.  And when your family lives outside of one home, family life now takes place digitally. I haven't been present to watch my son chase after his son since early February.  I missed my son's birthday and he may miss mine.  I offer thanks for digital chats, but miss what it feels like to hug the people I love. I sing songs and read stories to toddler Benjamin via Zoom - and am thankful to have that connection!  But we are embodied creatures; I miss how it feels when he snuggles next to me as he listens to a story.  

In this season of severe pruning so many of the things we normally do are not done, and great care is given to what is left.  Time will tell if what is left is what is most important.  When this is over, perhaps we will think twice about turning back to pick up some of the things we have left behind as we discover that we no longer need them.  Maybe we will discover that some things we are doing now are precious enough to continue even while reaching back to reclaim things from pre-COVID that we miss because we now know that they truly matter. I hope we don't just pretend that nothing has happened and try to go back to the way things were before.  We cannot live in the past.

I fear for our society and have a sense of alarm as I watch cultural narcissism get validated and normalized.  Our American narrative includes short stories like pull yourself up by your bootstraps and live free or die that can create space for extreme and unhealthy response, with the focus solely on my rights and what is due to me.  But that is not our whole story - and we are so much better than the low hanging fruit of self-centered individualism.  Amazing things happen when we work together for the common good and consider our actions in light of their impact on others.  That is the part of our story that I'd love to see amplified right now instead of what's in it for me or you have no right to tell me what to do.  Now is not the time to be channeling our inner toddler, unless we channel them in a moment of awe as we ponder the wonder of the interconnectedness and interdependency of all life.

I take great encouragement from every act of kindness I see.  Every selfless act of compassion and mercy makes my heart soar.  I get excited every time I see someone wearing a face mask - the darn things are uncomfortable and rarely make a great fashion statement.  But they make a great moral statement - I will accept this discomfort and inconvenience out of my care and concern for you.  I think that is absolutely beautiful.  Face masks are a powerful symbol of selfless service!

I do not imagine God as the Great Cosmic Landscaper who wields a chain saw in order to prune the church.  But as circumstances outside of our control do the pruning, I see God helping us to sort through the trauma while bringing life out of what looks like death and despair.  I trust that we will be healthier on the other side of this pruning.

This year, instead of reading the Easter story, we are living the Easter story.  Death does not have the last word.  The life and vitality of the church is stronger than a novel coronavirus, stronger than staying at home, stronger than physical and social distancing, stronger than selfish impulses, stronger than the siren song of we've never done it that way before and stronger than death.  In the past many weeks I have watched vibrantly rich green leaves of compassion and care bursting from severely pruned branches of my community.  This community has pivoted, adapted, embraced its mission and ministry and continues being Bethany - sans building.

That I get to be pastor of such an amazing community makes it feel both like spring and Christmas all rolled into one (although it would be okay for the snow to be done...).  

With love and many emotions, including joy -

Kim

A COVID-19 Lent - or - Fear Not?

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Lent. We begin the second half of this season of wandering in the wilderness seeking the clarity that comes with stripping down to what is most basic and important.  It is a time to be open to deepening our relationship with God. 

Who could have imagined that it would look like this!

My congregation is dispersed, everyone to their own home.  Our last time in the church building together was for the Lenten Supper/study time on Thursday, March 12th.  Following the directions of the health professionals, we then closed the building and immediately transitioned to remote church - all without time to put the infrastructure in place to do this (with a shout out to all the amazing people who made that happen anyway)!  Our first remote service was on the 15th, and we continue in this way for the foreseeable future.  Zoom has become the platform for community as those with access to technology meet via Zoom to worship and maintain our bonds.  The phone needs to suffice for those who cannot connect with Zoom.  And I fear that people are getting lost in this new normal that may last longer than we hope it will.  

I fear many things.

I fear for those who are in their homes and alone right now without easy access to others through technology.  I fear for those whose lives were precarious before COVID-19 caused the sky to fall - they did not need one more thing!  I fear for those who bravely go about their daily lives because they work in an area deemed essential - they don't have the security of staying home and locking the door.  They go out into the unknown every day to keep essential services that we all depend on humming.  I watch as the world retreats and shuts down - a fearsome thing to behold.  I fear for the children who already have enough to worry about, the elders who are terrified of contracting this virus, and everyone in the middle who are trying to hold the world together.  I fear for the loss of dear ones as this virus advances.  And if I am brutally honest, I fear for my own health.

And yet God says fear not.  And I reply, really?  Are you paying attention?

Fear not.  And notice - there is still so much good in the world, even with the international outbreak of toilet paper hoarders.  There is still so much to celebrate in the world even though some world leaders act like occupants of clown cars instead of the elder statesmen they are called to be.  For each one that is concerned only with their own needs and goals, ten others are there to serve the needs of the people - and are doing a good job under impossible circumstances.  Citizens fly their flags and put up Christmas lights to create a sense of solidarity and joy.  And people do good deeds - most look out for one another.  There is still so much good in the world - and it needs to be celebrated!  Good people doing good things every day - heroic acts of compassion and kindness are present in abundance!  Sadly, they don't get the same attention as the toilet paper hoarders and clowns do.  And that is a shame.

Spring is here - the bulbs are sprouting new life.  Soon yellows, pinks and purples will color my back yard.  And this year I'll be home to see it - and savor it.  I will make a point to notice and enjoy every blossom.  If the bulbs are going to work this hard, the least I can do is appreciate their creations!

Our experience of church is forever changed because of this crisis.  And that quiet inner voice reminds me that the outcome of that change - whether it is good or bad - depends on what we do and how we respond to these challenging circumstances.  If we forget who we are and the values and faith that shapes our common life together, and if we forget the lessons we learn during this journey and try to re-create the past as soon as the crisis is over, that would not be a good outcome.  But if, instead, we use this time to deepen our relationship with God and one another, find creative and safe ways to serve our community and incorporate these insights from the journey in the wilderness into our community life, then what emerges could be a great blessing.  To be clear - I don't believe God caused this in order for blessings to emerge.  But I do believe that God works with all our circumstances to bring about our highest and best good.

For over a week now we've been told to voluntarily stay at home; starting at the end of the day tomorrow the Governor of Ohio makes it mandatory.   In many ways, these changes have sent all of us who are observing Lent into the wilderness - alone.  Some say the most difficult times are ahead of us.  If that is true, we need to savor all the good we can find in order to safeguard our resilience.  We need to steep ourselves in love.  And the most direct way to do that is through prayer - where we connect with Love itself.  And the next best way to do that is through those who love us - and through our faith communities, where we find God with skin on.

As I lean into love, I find that the fear falls away.  I am left with that abiding presence of God that I feel in my heart as it radiates out in all directions.  I breathe deeply and sigh, wishing I could change these circumstances.  Knowing that I can't, I pray for the clarity and wisdom to discern between what I can and cannot change.  And may God continue to grant us all the courage to do what we can, and the strength to stop doing what is not helpful to others during this pandemic.  Feeding the fear is not helpful.  But facing the fear with love and factual information is exactly what we need.

I came upon this reworking of the Serenity Prayer today as I was composing the daily church email.  May you find it a comfort as you move more deeply into the Lenten wilderness - and journey towards Easter.  This may be especially helpful if you are sheltering in place with others.  : )

A New Serenity Prayer from the Jesuit Post 

               God, grant me the serenity

               to accept the people I cannot change,

               which is pretty much everyone,

               since I’m clearly not you, God.

               At least not the last time I checked.

And while you’re at it, God,

please give me the courage

to change what I need to change about myself,

which is frankly a lot, since, once again,

I’m not you, which means I’m not perfect.

It’s better for me to focus on changing myself

than to worry about changing other people,

who, as you’ll no doubt remember me saying,

I can’t change anyway.

               Finally, give me the wisdom to just shut up

               whenever I think that I’m clearly smarter

               than everyone else in the room,

               that no one knows what they’re talking about except me,

               or that I alone have all the answers.

Basically, God,

grant me the wisdom

to remember that I’m

not you.

          Amen

Much love and prayers,
Kim

A KonMari Lent - A Decluttered Life

Ash Wednesday is here - ready or not! I’ve chosen my dining table as the place for my daily Lenten time, so the table was decluttered and washed and a purple beeswax candle was retrieved from the box and placed in the holder next to a favorite icon.  Devotionals were placed next to the candle, including a new one that has me very excited - We are Beloved: A Lenten Journey with Protestant Prayer Beads by Kristen Vincent.  And, of course, my prayer beads were placed by the new book.  All is found and in its Lenten place.

Everything feels better after decluttering.

Lent is meant to be a decluttering time.  So much seeps into our busy lives - so much mental and emotional - and physical! - clutter.  Yikes.  When I moved here over a year ago I specifically chose a small house in order to force myself to simplify and declutter.  Suffice it to say that this is still a work in progress - but progress is being made!  I hope this season will bring progress in other areas of my life that are over-complicated and cluttered...

     ...simplifying commitments that lay claim to time, so my time expenditures mirror my values

     ...letting go of so much that I carry in my head and heart to make more room for God and the

           love that God brings into our lives.

     ...releasing behavior patterns that are not consistent with my beliefs and values, and that 

           ultimately cause me pain and create barriers between love and my heart.

A KonMari Lent - a time to declutter and simplify.  A decluttered life means more space for God and more resources for service.  What a gift!

I am so thankful for the collective wisdom that, century after century, led the Church to set aside this sacred time.  I am so thankful to my beloved congregation who walks this journey with me.  I sat tonight in our Ash Wednesday service and felt completely awash in love and care for this congregation.  God has given me so much more here than I ever expected. It feels a bit like receiving a beautifully wrapped present that, just through its beauty is more than enough - only to find that the gift inside is more marvelous than imagined - and is also your heart’s desire.  And it doesn’t need a return gift receipt!

And I am so thankful to God, who, year after year, draws us more fully into the realm of love.

I write tonight by the light of my Lenten candle.  As the snow falls outside, I feel at peace.  All is well.   What a wonderful way to begin my KonMari Lent!

I invite you to think about how you will use and explore this gift that is Lent - what intention do you bring to this season?  

With love and traveling mercies,

Kim

Spinning through Advent

I love Advent!  I bought my first Advent wreath when I was in my late teens and faithfully lit the candles during my prayer time before bed (yes, I was a church nerd from a very early age).  There is something about this season of watching and waiting - of slowing down and paying attention - of preparing room for the Christ child to be born anew in my life - that deeply attracts me!  After many many decades of observing Advent I have familiar rituals that have worn deep tracks in my soul.  I begin preparing in early November so that when Advent arrives, I’m ready!  But with this preparation also comes expectations - maybe, if I plan carefully enough I will finally be able to slow down and have an Advent filled with peace and tranquility!

Last year Advent was a season of dislocation and pain.  By the time Advent arrived a large percentage of my belongings were in storage pending the move (including my Advent wreath).  I kept one beloved devotional on my nightstand, but the readings did not speak to me at all.  I felt cold and numb and a bit like I had spent too long on the spin cycle of a human-sized washing machine. Disoriented, I stumbled my way through Advent.  And then before I new it Christmas had passed and it was Epiphany - and I had begun a new chapter of my life in Cuyahoga Falls.  I had completely missed the seasons I love (I’m also a big fan of Christmas and Epiphany).

Time and the love and kindness of this new community helped me to reorient and settle into my new surroundings.  As time passed, I found myself looking forward to welcoming Advent into my life again this year.  I ordered my favorite beeswax candles and set out my wreath.  I took the beloved devotionals off the shelf and moved them to their appropriate places.  I front-loaded as many administrative tasks as I could so I could free up time in my schedule for the pastoral care emergencies that always happen in December, and I set my heart toward slowing down and having a peaceful season of watching and waiting.  Maybe with careful planning, this would be the year of a peaceful Advent.

Any pastor reading this is probably laughing hysterically right now.  There is nothing (absolutely nothing) quiet and peaceful for a pastor in December! Every year I long for it, and every year it alludes me and leaves me feeling like I missed an important part of the season and failed in my quest to slow down and savor Advent.   Last year was more extreme than other years, but the pattern was the same - longing for a special set of circumstances that would allow me to slow down and “experience” the peace, joy and wonder of Advent, while instead being swept up in what December is for pastors.  And right on cue, this year's carefully made schedule went right out the window and we were off and running - like in every Advent in every church in every city and every country that I have ever served.  

December IS the spin cycle - without or without a major move!

And like every year when I find myself in the spin cycle, the day finally came when I uttered a painfully familiar sentence:  “I can’t wait until I retire and I can steep myself in a true Advent experience.”  I’ve said that sentence at least 36 times over 36 yrs of ministry - usually in my car at the end of a long day.  Someday I’ll finally get to experience Advent...

...but this year as I said it I felt like I was doused in cold water! I sat up straight (in the car) with a start!  And that quiet voice within me said “No - you can't wait until you retire to experience Advent.  Experience it now.  Wake up!”

Wow.  Now that is a wake-up call!

I had built such rigid ideas in my head about what had to happen in order for me to fully experience Advent that I was denying myself Advent for at least the next nine years of my life until I imagined I could have that particular set of circumstances!  Clearly that was just a little bit nuts.  What if God’s idea of Advent was different from mine (always a safe bet)?  What if, in letting go of my rigidity, I would actually create more room for Christ to be born in my life - instead of crowding the Christ child out with all my expectations - “sorry, but you cannot be born in my life until I retire and have time to fully contemplate your in breaking into the world.”  I started to laugh.  Did I really think that the journey to Bethlehem was quiet and peaceful - that the surrounding area was free from political and social upheaval - that the stable was neatly curated and carefully scheduled so everything happened on cue - that the childbirth was painless and a time of peace and bliss - and that the aftermath was more tranquility with candles, incense and starlight as they huddled with the beasts to keep warm in the barn while all manner of people dropped in to see this baby about whom the some loud sky choir had been singing! More laughter.  More grace.  Some tears.  Deep knowing.  Advent is all of the chaos, pain, fear and wonder rolled together.  Last year's pain and disorientation WAS Advent, as was every December's spin cycle before it.  God is powerfully present where we are - not where we think we should or ought to be.

The spin cycle continues.  I still have more places to go than time to get there.  My heart is still breaking for the many people who are suffering this Advent.  And as is the case for Pastors in December, I move from one difficult situation to another, watching the deep pain that beloved people face every day!  But no longer is this keeping me from experiencing Advent - this IS Advent. Christ  IS in each of these situations I enter - just waiting to be seen.

I still read one devotional in the morning.  I still light the Advent candles in the evening and sing some chant and read more devotionals.  And pray.  And I still read the remaining devotionals before bed.  Those are good and healthy rhythms for me.  But before this realization, I thought that those rituals and Sunday worship and any moment of peace and tranquility were my observance of Advent - now EVERYTHING is my observance of Advent.  The sorrow, the fear, the hands I hold and the hand that touched my cheek yesterday - they are all Christ.  As is the laughter, the love and the tenderness I see each and every day - Christ.

Clearly I don’t need to wait until I retire to fully experience Advent - it overflows in my life right now (and yes - that sometimes feels like getting water from a fire hose).  Thanks be to God!

And here is the amazing thing - despite all that is going on around me - in the lives of my parishioners and in our crazy world -  I feel a deep sense of peace.  And wonder.  And joy.  I feel all those things that I’ve longed for each Advent and thought could only be experienced through a particular set of circumstances.  Now with those expectations gone, they are present in an abundant supply.  I feel Advent.

Do you have expectations that are keeping you from seeing how Christ is present in your life NOW? If so, can you name them - and allow God’s Spirit to create space around and within them?  Is there space within you for the Christ child to be born anew this Christmas, or is your inner inn full?  There is still time to create space - all it takes is desire, and letting go.

Living and loving Advent,

Kim

Lessons from a Treehouse

It's been a while since I've written here at Through the Weaver's Eyes.  This is partly due to the pace of life here and a little bit due to all that goes with being in a new place.  But mostly it is because this is the first major move where I've skipped autopilot for the hard parts and instead allowed myself to be present to what was unfolding - to listen, to notice, and to feel.  Previously I thought that major change was easier to deal with when viewed from a safe distance and in the rear view mirror.  Allowing myself to feel this transition while intentionally focusing each day on a positive aspect of my new life in North East Ohio has been a challenging but good new discipline.  I look forward to my first autumn here.  I've loved this time of year no matter where I've lived, and I'm told that soon the leaves will turn beautiful colors and light up the countryside.  Bring it on!

One place in this transition where I've struggled  to "settle" is in my house.  House maintenance is that place where my greatest insecurities meet my greatest sense of inadequacy.  I know next to nothing about maintaining the "bricks and mortar" of a home.  This little house (that captured my attention and wanted me to buy it) is full of possibilities, but it also has a punch list (mostly from age and deferred maintenance) that is a bit overwhelming.  Knowing which item to tackle first while being a steward of finite resources easily starts a spirited inner game of second-guessing myself.  Address the flooding in the back yard or the leaking chimney?  New gutters?  Maybe - I'm not sure.  Which comes first?

I was in the process of getting quotes for a variety of work (and possibly making my decision by closing my eyes and picking two repairs at random) when the process was upended by the delivery of a tree house.  I had always wanted one as a child and envied the neighborhood kids who had a tree house/fort from which they'd wage many spirited battles.  I didn't like the fort or battle part - I wanted one for reading - to curl up in my own space with a good book and a view of everything around me.  But back in the 60's little girls didn't get tree houses - they got doll houses.  Like many girls in the neighborhood I had been forbidden from even climbing trees - it isn't very lady like.  But I loved trees, and my new little house was fortunate to have several mature trees on the property - old soldiers that had provided shade and were pros at absorbing carbon dioxide. The ones on the Monroe side of the property looked the oldest - elder trees that kept my house shaded from the late afternoon sun and had witnessed a history about this house and area that was unknown to me.

Unfortunately, the bigger of the two trees met its match last Wednesday.  First came the loud crack(!) of thunder followed by a jolt of something hitting the house with such force that I was sure a car was now parked in my living room.  I collected myself and headed for the living room to see what just happened.  My view out the window was obscured by leaves and branches - not what I usually saw when looking out that window.  Once the rain subsided I went outside to look, and saw that a main limb of the old tree was now on my house.  

This was not the kind of tree house I wanted!

Overwhelmed, I reached out to two people from church - and they were right here to make sure I was okay.  One reminded me that it could have been much worse - and he was right!  The various limbs just missed two windows and the canopy of leaves cushioned the fall of the heavy limb.  Things were dented, scratched and broken,  but the roof integrity didn't appear compromised.  Several days later the insurance adjuster would tell me that the roof needed to be replaced in the next couple of weeks, but not as an emergency.  

The next day the tree was chain sawed off my roof, and the day after that the crew came back to take the rest of the tree down.  Drop, chop & grind.  Within a few hours there was a crater of mulch where once the old tree stood.  With the branches gone the damage to the house could now be seen.  I was very lucky - everything that was broken can be repaired, and no person was injured.  .  

Once they were done with their work I headed outside to survey the scene.  This little house that has drawn me in and frustrated me with maintenance issues now looked like the survivor of an unequal fight.  But it was still standing - and its opponent was mulch and sawdust.  This little house has spunk!  And in that moment of appreciation and respect, something shifted in me regarding the house.  No longer was it an endless punch list of maintenance headaches and a bottomless money pit.  It was s spunky little house built after WW II by a young man and his father so the young man would have a home for his new bride.  They lovingly cared for this home all their married life.  He left the house through death.  His widow continued on until she could no longer stay safely in the home she loved.  Selling the home to me allowed her to live in a setting that gave her enhanced care.  A neighbor told me that she would be devastated to hear that the tree she loved was gone.  Love and hope built this house, and love and hope will repair and maintain it and allow it to continue being a plucky little house where I can curl up and read, or sit out back and watch the fireflies (earlier in the summer), or where Benjamin can come to visit Gramma and find his toys waiting for him - even the wooden garage with three doors and three keys (currently a favorite)!  

The punch list isn't any shorter but the order in which things will be done is pretty clear.   The roof and gutters need to be replaced.  But that's okay.  Now it is a labor of love.  And that makes all the difference.

I am so grateful for each neighbor who stopped by to introduce themselves and offer assistance.  I am also very grateful for each dear soul from church who brought help and encouragement - especially during those first few hours of shock.  One of the down sides of being present is that you really feel what happens - and this shook me!  But every time I needed a word of encouragement or a hug, someone was right there to help.  God with skin on...

I can look at the damaged roof or the scars on the house or long for the lost tree (and see myself as an  unfortunate victim), or I can see the love and support that surrounds me even when gravity appears to have the last word (and embrace love and resilience).  I can tell the story of this house as one of inconvenience or frustration or tragedy-averted, or tell it as a story filled with that very human mix of challenge, hope and possibilities.  What I focus on - how I tell the story - has implications for how I feel about myself, God and all of God's creation.  

May I never forget the lesson brought to me by the tree house.  Gravity is powerful - but love always wins.

How do you view the events that happen to you in your life?  Is it time to rewrite your story?

Much love and prayers,

Kim

FROM Scotland, Ant Therapy and a Heavy Heart

After a particularly long and hard week a few years ago, a colleague asked me how I was doing.  I thought about all the tragic news in the world that had intensified during that past week...I thought about members of the church community who were facing great suffering...I thought about my own circumstances and took a deep breath and said - I have a heavy heart.

That dear colleague asked her daughter (an artist who works with stone and metal) to make a heavy heart for me from welded metal and stone.  It is indeed very heavy - as is my heart today.  The news from around the world and from this country weigh my heart down like it is made of iron and stone.  

Cyclone Idai and its unprecedented devastation was high on my radar as soon as I heard that Malawi was involved.  God forgive me for not having my heart race before hearing about Malawi - the devastation alone should have made me weep for the people of Mozambique and Zimbabwe. But the story was competing for my attention and tears with the shooting in New Zealand - I couldn't manage to get my head around both of them plus what was happening politically in America and the UK.

.    

Then I heard Malawi - and my first thought was Tracy and her family.  Malawi is not just a place on a map - it has a face for me.

When Dr. Tracy Thomson Morse was a wee girl attending Sunday School at Chapel of Garioch Kirk in Scotland, she heard about the Church of Scotland's missionary outreach to Malawi and about the poverty present in that country - and she decided that she wanted to do something to help. She never forgot that desire to help.  Fast forward to her college years and she was able to spend time working and researching in Malawi and decided to make improving life for those who live there her life's work.  Her Mum Kathleen went to visit her in her Malawi and was stunned by the level of poverty and the suffering of the many orphans.  Kathleen came back to Scotland determined to make a difference, and with her husband Dave and other concerned friends at the Kirk formed FROM (Famine Relief for the Orphans of Malawi).  100% of the funds and goods donated benefit efforts to provide clean water, food, and medical care for the most vulnerable in Malawi.  Please take a moment to read about this resourceful and creative charity and see what can happen when we take the time to teach our children about Christ's call to care for those in need  - and then follow their example:  

http://fromscotland.org.uk/index.html

Nothing gives a pastor a greater sense of hope than to see parishioners creatively responding to the needs in the world - discovering that they are the answer to the question "who is going to do something about this injustice and suffering?" Kathleen and Dave Thomson did just that, and with the help of fellow parishioners Lewis and Doreen Taylor, founded a most innovative and successful answer to basic needs in Malawi.  And none of that might have happened if not for Tracy's determination to make a difference...and a dear Sunday School teacher's desire to teach children about our responsibility to care for those in need.

I reached out to Tracy's dad Dave and he said that Traci and her family are safe, but they guess that about 250,000 are now homeless and 60 are dead.  FROM immediately sprung into high gear and Dave shares the following:   Roads are washed away  so access is difficult.  Tracy has been  sending  lorry  loads  of  food and other  supplies.  We are sending  all the money  we can to help out but really it  is a drop  in  the ocean. The real problems will be later as all the crops  are lost so hunger will be a major issue.   

As bleak as this news is, the worse is yet to come.  Deep sigh and gulp.  Addressing the suffering in this world is a marathon, not a sprint.  Heavy heart or not, we have to keep going.

What nourishes you to keep you in the race?  What lightens the heaviness in your heart so you can keep serving?  As the news gets more and more bleak, I am thinking seriously about how to keep myself refreshed and renewed so I can stay in this marathon.  Certainly one of the things that keeps me going is seeing such a creative response to need as FROM Scotland and Family Promise right here in our community (which is about to celebrate its 15th anniversary here in Summit County).  But another teacher of resiliency for me is my grandson Benjamin.

Benjamin and his dad came to visit me on Saturday.  He was sick with a double ear infection and all the symptoms of a bad upper respiratory infection - including being a bit cranky while coughing - sneezing - being heavily congested - ear tugging - crying - in short, being just plain miserable.  

But he didn't stay miserable all the time.  Instead, he stayed in the moment and allowed himself to be surprised by whatever wonder came his way.  Including ants.

I am NOT a fan of ants in the house.  I was relieved when the inspection report of my new house said there were no pests, and upset when I discovered that somehow ants did not warrant mention as said pest.  I grew up in an (unhealthy) era that included my mother running around the house with a can of Raid spraying anything that might be alive.  She associated all forms of household insects with having a dirty house and would be mortified to see my dear grandson getting down on his tummy propped up by his elbows and watching the ants amble across the floor.  "Hi Ant" he would say, almost waiting for them to reply.  He watched them with utter fascination and joy and followed their every movement until he was distracted by something equally fascinating (giving the ants time to escape their new and much bigger playmate).  His ability to stay in the present moment and be surprised by joy was contagious.  Well, maybe not in relation to ants but certainly in relation to taking the time to appreciate what was in my midst at that moment.  And my ant moment was Benjamin and his utter wonder and joy.

I wonder if finding a way to be present - in the moment - to the wonders of life would help as we continue to deal with 24/7 nonstop tragic, anger-inducing and heartbreaking news cycle.  Since there is a long road ahead of us and the news doesn't look to be getting better, perhaps it's time to give this strategy a try.  

And perhaps it is time to for me sit outside with B and see what joy and wonder awaits us in the midst of God's creation.  Then I'll check the news...

Tracy and the good people of FROM and all those who volunteer with Family Promise - know that we hold you in our prayers, and will support you every way we can!  You inspire us more than you can possibly know!

With love and prayers for the journey,

Kim