a prophetic voice-

I walked by a cemetery yesterday, row after row of headstones marking the final resting place of people much beloved by someone- and my heart began to break for those long-ago unknowns- at least to me...and my heart began to break for those who have died of this latest plague and the loved ones they have left behind...and my heart began to break for all the mothers giving birth alone and all the elders dying alone without their loved ones by their side...and my heart began to break for all the health workers, from doctors and nurses and CNAs to those who clean the floors and guard the doors- all of them risking themselves so others might have care...and my heart began to break for the postal workers and delivery people and gas station attendants and bus drivers who are keeping things going, even as we are supposed to shelter in place...and my heart began to break for those stocking the shelves and filling the prescriptions and making repairs and responding to call...

    Outside, the sun is shining. Oh, yes, it's much cooler than yesterday's seventies, and there is a persistent wind blowing, but the sky is blue and everything is in full bloom. All around me is green, green, green, in every imaginable hue, complemented by bright pinks and yellows and brilliant oranges. Nature at her most ostentatious, glorious best.       Inside, however, in spite of the colorful art on the walls...in spite of stacks of to-be-read books...in spite of a countless variety of offerings on Hulu and Netflix and Amazon Prime, a gray cloud seems to hang over everything...the cloud called Grief. Grief for the loss of what has been...grief for the church services and family gatherings which will not happen...grief for not being able to dye Easter eggs together...grief for not being able to plan a family meal with a Honey-Baked ham at center stage...grief for the hours and days and weeks which are slipping away, never to be recaptured...grief for...

     I'm thinking of my friend, Diane, this morning, as she is facing a bronchoscopy...of my  children and  grandchildren...of my sister, Susan... of our Gourmet Group, seven wonderful  women who meet together and  eat together and are missing each other terribly...of all the  people of  Emmanuel Lutheran Church in High Point, where I am presently interim  pastor... of far-away friends and family...of all health care workers...of  everyone working to keep us  comfortable and safe...of all those who serve invisibly and silently but so essentially to  maintain our well-being...of the people at the southern border, caught between here and there... of those in refugee camps throughout the world for whom uncertainty has become the norm...     I'm thinking of the future, wondering what it will bring- but it is so  uncertain that I can  really focus only on today- here...now. It is truly all  we have. ...

I was just thinking this morning about all those people who are keeping us well and safe and fed during these difficult days and I am offering them my thanks. I hope you will join me: health care workers, of course, doctors and nurses, but also the maintenance workers and housekeeping staff and security officers who keep the hospitals going. those keeping the electricity on for us, working in the power plants and on the power lines, so we can have the comforts we take for granted. everyone involved in supplying us with clean, safe water from the workers in the office to the plumbers who keep lines open in our homes. What would we ever do without them? gas station attendants and those repairing pipelines. grocery store workers, from those stocking the shelves to the checkers and baggers, to those working in the office, ordering supplies. pharmacists and drug store clerks. all those staffing the many drive-throughs continuing to supply us with food and drink. those bringing us ...