a prophetic voice-

There was a man called Jesus of Nazareth…the one whom his followers came to call Christ. His life was one of living out what he believed the nature of God was…and it was in him     that his disciples, his followers, came to understand what it meant to live in close relationship with God, to BE God’s people in all their living, in all their actions, in   all their speaking, in all their relationships with others. And what he showed to them- and to us, all these centuries later- was that God is a God of love and justice and inclusion and compassion and forgiveness…in spite of what they and we might hear to the contrary. Early in Jesus’ ministry, he boldly proclaimed his revolutionary vision of the Kingdom of God   in a synagogue in his hometown on the Sabbath, and the religious authorities surrounding him stood amazed at his teaching. He stood up to read, and someone handed him a scroll of the prophet Isaiah, from which he read these defining words:          The

He would have been fifty today, my eldest, but instead... It was August 31, 1964 and I was in labor at the base hospital at Aberdeen Proving Grounds where my husband was stationed. Those were the days when husbands were relegated to the waiting room- or in our case- sent home to wait for a call to announce the birth of their child. "This is a first baby and your wife has a long time to go until delivery," the nurse told him- and me. "Might as well go home. We'll call you," and I was left to labor alone, totally alone. Such was maternity in an Army hospital in 1964. About 8 hours later, I was holding our son in my arms, tears streaming down my face. I thought he was the most beautiful being I had ever seen and I hated to give him up to the nurse, while I waited for my episiotomy to be sutures and for the saddle block anesthesia to begin to wear off. When Carl showed up an hour later, I was both drowsy and anxious, as this hospital was not set u

The mailman has come and gone and it was the usual-usual: two catalogs, one request for a donation, two advertisements, and two bills. I used to love to get mail- when there really was such a thing as MAIL...when people used that handy-dandy but increasingly- unfamiliar little item known as a pen to actually put words on paper as a method of communicating with those they love. To illustrate how foreign a concept this has become, especially to the younger generations: a few weeks back I had gone to a local coffee shop with my notebook (the old, familiar paper type) and my "notebook" computer to do some sermon research. As I sat at a table enjoying my coffee and reading the various sites, I was also taking notes in my paper notebook with a pen, notes which I would later use to assist with sermon preparation. A young woman had asked if she could share my table, as the place was quite crowded and she had opened her computer and was typing busily, apparently doi

Life is truly a mixed bag. Today's weather couldn't be more perfect if I had put in a special order: brilliant sunshine, moderate temperatures, a lovely breeze, all topped off by Carolina blue skies. Absolutely heavenly! Sublime! It was a day of running errands, and I have been enjoying every minute of it, even reminding myself to be gentle with the occasional tooth-gritting driver...(gentle to myself, that is, and it's my teeth that are gritting) by just letting it all go and accepting what I cannot change. It's called Serenity. Right now, I am readying the little toaster oven to heat up one of the dishes I cooked last week, preparing for a lovely meal on the screened porch where the wind chimes will serenade me while I eat. But in the midst of all this wonder and beauty and pleasure, I have been carrying in my awareness, in my heart, the faces of three high school classmates who are dealing with major health issues right now. I had known a little abo

Life has been very ordinary lately...nothing exciting, nothing to pull me out of my everyday patterns...nothing to astound or astonish... just the same-old, same-old. And yet...when leaving for the medical center early the other morning to be with a parishioner prior to her surgery, I saw the palest white sliver of the new moon shining in the eastern sky. And yet...I received photos from my dear friends in Rwanda, taken at their graduation from their Master's program at the University in Kigali, along with loving words of thanks for the small (my word, not theirs) part I had played in this wonderful accomplishment. And yet...I talked with two hard-working painters at our church, both doing a lovely job of painting the sanctuary, obviously proud of their work and taking special care with it, admiring our centuries- old building. And yet...I received two puzzles in the mail from my sister- jigsaw puzzles to "feed" my newly-reacquired appetite for them. And y

Sometimes, perhaps even often, we go along in life, oblivious to what is going on in the world around us, the real world, inhabited by people whose experience is totally unlike our own...people who we meet on the street or encounter at the store, without ever knowing- or usually, even wanting to know- anything about them, about who they really are and what their life is really like. But, then, at other times, life hits us between the eyes, opening them- and our hearts- wide...wide enough to let in the awareness that our own way of living and seeing and understanding is simply not enough. This is how I felt on Saturday evening last, when I attended the Stand for Freedom gala sponsored by World Relief of High Point, NC- the place where I live and have lived for the past twelve years. The topic was human trafficking, something I have been hearing about for some time but about which I felt woefully uninformed. I had heard about this event from a friend and made the decision

I spent the morning on one of my favorite activities: cooking. Are  those  groans I hear from some of you? Sorry, but I find cooking to  be a holy  activity, especially when I am cooking to share. And for  the past several  weeks, I have been cooking to share with my son.  Though he likes to  cook- and is very good at it- his present job  with a commercial roofer  means he is working very long hours,  leaving little time for food preparation.  And so he asked that, if  he gave me money for shopping, would I be  willing to cook things  he could easily reheat for lunch or dinner. And I  said yes, happily. The results have been gratifying, as I am cooking enough for both  of us,  as well as trying new recipes. Today, there was Cuban pork  roast (still  in the crock pot), Italian turkey steaks, chicken  enchilada casserole, and  hash brown and sausage bake, the last  three nicely cooling on my  kitchen table in anticipation of Paul  coming to pick them up after w