Untangled

I love my life.

I have a plethora of friends, children, and grandchildren I love, and they love me back and am blessed with the fact that our 94-year-old mother is still with us.  I have two places that give me the opportunity to meet and enjoy people - and pay me for that. I enjoy facilitating a women's Bible study and playing games with some widows and widowers once a month.  Oh, and sometimes I get to serve communion in one of our worship services.

Everything is perfect,  right?


Most of the time.  But sometimes everything seems to get tangled up.


Hurricane Matthew took down three trees in my back yard. Once they were removed, I saw something that I thought was very ugly.


There were vines hanging from the remaining trees.  And they were all tangled up


"That's the way I feel," I told my daughter.  "I feel like everything in my life is just all tangled up."

This is clearly just a metaphor.  But somehow I kept thinking if those vines were removed I would be more at peace.

 "Little foxes spoil the vines." How many times has my mother said that to me?  What does it mean - even the smallest things add up to make something bigger - at least in our minds.

I talked with friends; I prayed; I read.  I looked for answers. Something was hindering me.  It wasn't one thing - it was a lot of little things.

I also told my brother-in-law, Robert, that the vines were really bothering me.  And I just knew that once those vines were pulled my life would also be "untangled.

A few days ago, Robert showed up at my home with ropes and a wench and a helper, the wonderful Jamaican man, Orlando, who through a friend from the museum has become what we affectionately call - "my yard man."   My grandma Nesmith always had one - so why not me?

And as for the tangled up feeling that I was experiencing. The talks, prayer, and rearranging of a few parts of my life have done the same thing for me personally that Robert and Orlando did for my back yard.

Unfortunately, and much to Orlando's disappointment, the grass we planted is not doing very well   Or well, maybe next year.  We'll have to keep working on it - just like I'll have to keep talking, reading and praying so that I don't get tangled up again.

May your life be filled with enough sunshine

to make you appreciate the shadows

When the cross gets too heavy

During the summer months, when many of the Church of Our Saviour acolytes are at camp (either as campers or workers), we are often short when it comes to planning for the worship services.  That being the case, some of us who are regular chalice bearers are called on carry torches or to be the 1st Crucifer, meaning the person who leads the procession and recession - carrying the cross.

So when my name showed up as the 1st Crucifer for the 8:00 service on Sunday, July 9, I thought - okay - no big deal.  I carry a cross on Sunday nights for the evening service.  I even carry it when the 8:00 service is on the Riverbank.

"I can do this".

Even though I was a bit apprehensive about my duties.

All was well.

Until I lifted the cross.  I stood it on the floor.  It was taller than me.

And heavy.

And I was going to have to hold it high and process - not just down the aisle toward the altar but up a step.

I made it - praying every step of the way.

Once we were in our seats, I turned to one of the torch bearers, a strapping young man of 16.

"Can we trade jobs?"

Fortunately, he agreed.  I carried his torch for the rest of the service - and was much more comfortable.

Later in the day as I reflected on this, I had some moments of sadness that I was not able to carry the cross.  But then I remembered that someone came along and helped Jesus carry His.

I also thought of the many friends I have had who have helped me when my cross got too heavy. The people who walked alongside me in my disappointment, grief, and fear.

And I hoped I would be that kind of friend as well.

May your life be filled with enough sunshine

to make you appreciate the shadows

"Remembering frames up gratitude"

Wondering why quotation marks frame the name of this post?

The words are not mine.  They are Ann Voscamp's.  However, they are some of those 'jump right off the page' words for me.  In the same chapter of Voscamp's, One Thousand Gifts Devotional, I read "Gratitude is not only the memories of our heart, gratitude is a memory of God's heart.”

I am plagued with memory.  Good and bad.  My mind goes back to something that happened - and I am either sad or glad.

Many years ago, I learned that it is important to give thanks in everything - to be grateful.

This is not always easy.  There have been difficult times. In 1977 a little boy was born and the circumstances around his birth and the first year of his life make me cringe all these years later.  And who could have imagined that I would be divorced before I was 36 - not to mention becoming a widow when I was 52.  Oh, and then, there's that granddaughter with a life altering illness, some career changes that were difficult.

I guess if I chose to I could find lots of situations that gave me cause for pause.

Other times have been absolutely delightful.  That little boy is all grown up, successful as a man, husband, and father.  His older sisters and he serve God in various ways.  I have six other grandchildren who I am crazy about and scores of friends.  And I have two earning opportunities that I enjoy.

All of this - good and bad - are a part of God's plan for me.  It is my firm belief that nothing happened to me except by design - God's design.

Do I seem like a Pollyanna?  That’s okay because I am a Pollyanna. I always believe it's going to work - that is after I fret and stew about it for a few hours, days, weeks and yes, sometimes months.

Some years ago, I began the practice of thanking God for little things - finding a parking place, my keys or cell phone, my way home on a dark and rainy night.  Hum, that might be a big thing.

I do not always enjoy memory.  Somehow it makes me appear to be living in the past when I say, "I remember when. . .".  However, I just read a G. K. Chesterton quote that encourages me:

"The greatest of poems is an inventory".  Voscamp calls that making a ledger of God’s love for her.

Life is "the good, the bad, the ugly".  The good memories, the bad memories and yes even those that make me think "how could I have ever done that?” all merge together – my past, my present, and yes, even my future.

So rather than say I am plagued with memory - I think my words should be I am blessed with memory.  I hope I never lose that!

May your life be filled with enough sunshine

to make you appreciate the shadows