a prophetic voice-

Confession: in this different and difficult holiday season, I have been unable to get into the "Christmas Spirit". Part of it is due to the fact that I have been coping with a particularly nasty upper respiratory bug since December 7th- only now beginning to feel like myself...to have any energy at all. During those weeks, I found myself unable to read- eyes burning, no powers of concentration- instead binge- watching "Madame Secretary" and coughing- and coughing and coughing. Finally saw the PA last Friday, was diagnosed with a sinus infection (which I had already self-diagnosed) and have been taking an antibiotic ever since, plus having my sleep aided and abetted by a powerful cough medicine, thanks be. I had not slept through the night for nine consecutive nights due to the coughing and I NEED MY SLEEP! And so, today, feeling like ME for the first time in two weeks, I began doing things to help me get into the spirit of the season, only to fin

I've been going through some of my journals and notebooks lately and have come upon poems which were written at a variety of times in a variety of places. So, dear reader, I thought I would share them with you, as a gift for your Advent pilgrimage. hope springs Re-member re-covery re-storation    so many re- words...    so many beginnings again re-newal re-surrection    speaking in tones both soft and sweet    both truthful and terrible re-minding me    that life moves ever onward    with many stops and starts    and new beginnings which are not new    at all but simply are placing one foot in front        of another yet again-               in re-signation                    and in hope. taste and see the soul can only be spoken of in a whisper...in picture-language and metaphor... it cannot be grasped but flows like sand through your fingers, like a stream of living water through your heart, speaking o

                                        Voices crying out      Pain, frustration, fill the air          Fear striving to win             I cannot listen      Cannot let hatred take me-         I watch swirling leaves        Wind makes a whirlwind      Of yellow, red, and orange           While I am sobbing             I cannot see the wind     Or chart my own breath's pathway         Yet I know both are real             Nor can I see love      Or hate- yet I know their fruits-              Tangible and real             Can cruelty win out?        Hatred of others triumph?                  Not if I say NO                                                        So I walk Love's path         But stagger, feeling all alone-         Please reach out your hand           Grab hold, my dear friend            Form a wall of daring love              Hatred cannot breach.                        Love wins.

As we worshiped together this morning, remembering those saints in the faith who had completed this earthly part of their journey during the past year...as we sang the lovely, heart rending words of John Ylvisaker's "Borning Cry"...as we heard Pastor Jennifer's proclamation of the Gospel message- "Do to others as you would have them do to you."...as we lighted candles in remembrance of those loved and lost since last All Saints'...as we shared in the holy meal, enacting in our very own flesh our one-ness as the Body of Christ in this place...as we shared in the prayer for this election, asking the one God to grant us wisdom and discernment, respect and compassion, even for those with whom we disagree... as we were a part of all these things on this beautiful, glorious, sunny Carolina day, my mind and heart were filled to overflowing with the words of the baptismal blessing in our Lutheran tradition, the words said over every baptized pe

I suspect it is often through our own   self-reflection in life's fun house mirror   with its distortions and trickery   making us believe that what we see   is real- and true- and so,       worth defending zealously, unaware       and uncaring that       she sees a different image,       he experiences a different truth...   and instead of driving us to our knees,   this perceived holiness        drives us to war with one another,        while Divinity weeps...

I love Sundays. I just returned from walking to the public library, about five and one- half blocks from my house. Not only was the library quiet, with far fewer people than on a weekday, but the streets were quiet. Few cars, no other pedestrians. I had that lovely walk under a Carolina blue sky all to myself, and I found myself thinking about this peace and quiet which so feeds my spirit. Now, don't get me wrong: I love people. Came away from worship this morning feeling blessed and energized, cared for and seen and recognized by so many dear, dear people there. I had a conversation with someone I had not met before and several with people who have been in my life for years. I nearly floated to my car for the drive- the very brief drive- home. Wonderful. Lovely. Life-affirming. But my solitary walk this afternoon was exactly what my spirit needed after the energy-draining experience of this morning. For you see, as much as I loved every moment...

October second is the anniversary of the death of my husband, Carl, many years ago, but each late September, as summer turns to autumn, a miasma of depression grasps me, coloring many of the days with a grayness which saps strength and purpose. I have been here often enough to know it is temporary, but it always sneaks up on me and hits me in the solar plexus with a sucker punch of a grief I long felt was over and done. Guess the work of grief never ends...really. "Tears on my pillow,   Pain in my heart..." Words from long ago, sung in a different time,     for a different reason- the bemoaning wail of young love gone wrong- but for me, on this autumn day in my seventy-fourth year, the dirge-like sound echoes the grayness of the day, the brokenness of my heart, as I grieve for a lost love,        a lost life,        dreams shattered,         a family bereft and adrift. Try as I will, I cannot lift the fog of depression drawing me into its depths where

reading the Bible It is not in the book but in the being that we find spiritual truth... and yet scriptures are revered...elevated to a holy place, words cherry-picked and                          chosen, used as weapons and as warnings, not as wisdom or as welcome... words quoted, cited, spoken with a towering authority-      and all the while, the very ones who claim the words      promote fear and hate, exclusion, war...      while words of love, acceptance, and forgiveness      get lost somewhere...forgotten... and the One called God,       the One called Love,       the One Creator of us all            gets pushed aside and            Book takes center stage... as we forget to LIVE the message                    to BE the truth                    to co-create a world of love                    to worship with out daily lives tell me Tell me, someone, please... tell me when 'salvation' changed from living out God's will on earth, in

Divinity Infinity Mystery      all beyond my human understanding      even as scientists seek solutions      and theologians develop creeds...      even as philosophers question      and psychologists explain... in and through and beneath it all breaths the Holy Energy which enlivens-      whether or not we can explain      or comprehend... I AM WHO I AM, Holiness whispers... WHO I WAS, WHO I WILL BE...      and i- finite  creature that i am-      can only open wide my arms and      fall into Divine Acceptance-            no explanations necessary.

Another year passed... another year gone... another year older- perhaps a bit wiser, but perhaps not. And the spectre named Grief lurks in the shadows, never far from sight or mind. but on days like today, oozing out into the open, a slimy ribbon staining the corridors of the hours with an indelible, insoluble mark of pain and loss. He would have been fifty-two today, my golden boy, my firstborn child. Instead, I sit here with a misshapen heart, a piece eternally missing- though I have learned a heart can mend, can still beat on, sharing love and hope, blessing and peace, even when a part is gone, forever gone. For family and friends abound; children and grandchildren fill my life and so my heart with joy and love and laughter, and through it all, through passing years, a smile persists through veils of tears, a smile of gratitude and wonder, of hope and gentle joy, even as my mother's heart weeps quietly for my precious boy.

Do I still have questions about God? Even now? At seventy-four? Of course I do... about the why and who and how... the why-nots and the no-ways... The wondering and the wandering never end... even as my earthly end looms large, well within my sight- And then I see the verdant green of trees    towering high above me hear the familiar call of the scarlet cardinal,     the small brown wren, and the chatter of     the ever-present squirrels watch the children riding bikes down my     quiet street see my neighbor lovingly tending her lovely     garden hear a beloved voice on the phone learn of earthquakes and wildfires and     raging floods and the many helping     hands offering aid And I know- in spite of still-unanswered     questions- that I have seen...am seeing-     each day- the face of God.  No further explanations necessary.

Preached at Emmanuel Lutheran Church, High Point, on August 14.      "Do you think I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division..." These are the words I just read to you... proclaiming them to be the GOSPEL of our Lord... the Good News. And you- all of you- responded, "Praise to you, O Christ!" Seems a little ironic, doesn't it, to be calling such deeply disturbing words, "The GOOD NEWS of our Lord"?      Or perhaps you weren't really listening... so hear the words again... spoken by the same Jesus we call "the Prince of Peace"...     I HAVE COME TO CAST FIRE UPON THE EARTH...DO YOU    THINK THAT I HAVE COME TO GIVE PEACE ON EARTH?    NO, I TELL YOU, BUT RATHER DIVISION...EVEN WITHIN    HOUSEHOLDS...FAMILIES... The hard truth, the seeming harshness of these words, takes the breath away...sets our teeth on edge...makes us cross our arms and lean back, prepared to reject whatever comes next, doe

   I have tried to refrain from making political posts throughout this election season, not wanting to add to the already-contentious and vitriolic miasma swirling through our nation. I had admittedly re-posted published columns which reflect my views, but I have mostly kept my thoughts and comments t o myself.     But the latest accusations spewing forth from the mouth of Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, have gone beyond the pale, and I can remain silent no longer. Trump has accused President Obama and Democratic presidential candidate Clinton of  co-founding ISIS. Shall I repeat? Donald Trump, at a rally in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, has accused President Barack Obama and former Senator, former Secretary of State Hilary Clinton of being the co-founders of ISIS. And though the story has been reported here and there, I have seen or heard no one in the media taking Mr. Trump to task for these incendiary and slanderous statements. Apparently, it was not enou

Back in May of 1996, I attended a conference in Greensboro to discuss racial relations, the ways in which people, black and white, relate- or don't relate- to one another, and how this could be improved. I do not recall the name of the church which hosted this all-day meeting, but I do recall very well some of the feelings I had, both during and afterward, as I listened to the voices of some very angry black sisters and brothers talking about the special problems faced by those in the black community which we white people never face. At one point, late in the afternoon, I went to the micro- phone to share my frustration with the assembly, saying- haltingly and with deep emotion- "I don't know what it is like to be black, but I hope you will believe that I am trying to understand, trying to be part of a solution, trying to be part of building a better community for all of us"...or something like that. The exact words elude me all these years later, but