It Is Seasonal

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...
Ecclesiastes 3:1

The other day, I was out for my walk, going along one of my favorite routes. This route is alongside a pretty major road in town, and it leads to a major intersection. As I approached this intersection, I noticed a bunch of birds up on the wires above the intersection. As I got to the intersection, I found myself walking on their shit.

This shit, like so much other shit, is seasonal.

These birds only sit up on these wires in the Fall. I guess the winds are just right and bring those yummy bugs right to them, or something, but for whatever reason, there are the birds, up high on the wires, every Fall. And their shit lands below.

I began to think about the seasonal shit and how the seasons change in our lives. Some seasons are beautiful, wonderful, and full of all kinds of love and peace and harmony. And some seasons are covered in shit.

Notice I said they are "covered in shit" - not that they actually are shit. There's a huge difference. Sometimes, the beauty and wonder and love are still there, but they get encrusted, much like the sidewalks under the birds on the wires. Some seasons in our lives, we have to look through the shit in order to find the beauty or wonder or love underneath.

This is not a fun task, friends. It's icky and hard and takes some work and effort - and isn't it just easier to walk a different route for a while, avoiding the shit altogether? Well, of course it's easier. But where on earth did we ever get the idea that easier is always better?!

Sometimes easier is better. Easier is better when we are trying to be efficient, for instance. But easier doesn't always mean that we will learn as much as when something is difficult. Easier doesn't always mean that we will grow as strong as when something is difficult. Difficulty can be really shitty, but it is in difficulty that we learn how to be creative, how to persevere, how to find hope. It is in difficulty that we discover that we are stronger than we ever imagined. It is in difficulty that we learn to trust God.

When I was on internship, I had a parishioner - a retired pastor - who kept goats. One day, he and his wife had us over for lunch. He then invited me to take a stroll out in the goats' area - specifically, to walk in a circle in the area where all the goats would shit. And then he looked at me and said, "Sometimes, you're gonna have to walk through shit, and I wanted you to have some first hand experience."

How I wish every season was free of shit. But shit happens. Strap on some good shoes, and crunch on through. God is with you.

What Do You Fear?

My parents and their daughter.

Both of my parents died with tumors in their brains.

My dad died at age 29, which is too young. His tumors were of the glioblastoma variety. In the 1970's, the chances of surviving were almost zero - they remain low today, even with all of our technology and medical knowledge. Dad was sick for four years. He was diagnosed after Mom saw him having a seizure. I was ten months old.

My mom died at age 60, which is also too young. She had ovarian cancer, and fell into the very small percentage of women who have that cancer metastasize to their brains. It's like a 1-2% chance, and she got it. She was diagnosed after initially being told she had diverticulitis - which is very different than cancer.

I remember the weekend that we found out that Mom's cancer had metastasized. Hubby and I were in Little Rock, helping my grandmother pack up to move. Mom called us from the back of an ambulance. She'd been fighting off horrible headaches and finally went in to find out why. "They think I have a brain tumor," she said to us on speaker phone. The look on my grandmother's face was pure horror.

The words "brain tumor" had devastated our family enough.

When Hubby and I went to bed that night, I was somber. I was so somber that I actually found that dark sense of humor which sometimes emerges when we are faced with horror. "Well, I guess my chances of getting a brain tumor just went way up," I said.

He responded strongly. I think he thought I was afraid, but I wasn't. I was simply stating what was slowly occurring to me: that I would be orphaned, soon, by something that medicine couldn't solve. And it occurred to me, too, that maybe I would face the same fate.

I remember when Mom was diagnosed with cancer initially, so many people asked me if ovarian cancer runs in our family. "Nope," I'd always say, "Not that we know of!" I began to realize that people were asking if I feared for my own life. I began to answer that because there was no family history of ovarian cancer, I guess I felt that I had just as good a chance of being hit by a bus as I did of dying of ovarian cancer.

How do I know, really?

I don't.

The thing is, I don't really care, at this point, how I'm going to die.

What I care most about is today. I care a little bit about tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. I care about the people God has given me to love. I care about my dog and our house and the pansies that I just planted. I care about serving as a pastor faithfully. I care about matters of justice and fairness. I care about beautiful music and art and books that are well-written. I care about taking walks that are good for me.

And not one of these things has anything whatsoever to do with caring about how I die. I'll die...someday. But what is that to me today, other than motivation to live life today?

Turns out, Jesus knew what he was saying when he said this: "So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today" (Matthew 6:34). Each day does have enough, and more than enough.

And that is just enough.

A Psalm: Our Million Pieces

Our hearts are in a million pieces
Most of which no one will ever know.
But you, O LORD, you see each piece -
You pick up every
piece
carefully
and you look.
You look at each piece so closely:
Where is there hurt, that I may heal it?
Where is there strength that I may draw it out?
Where is there love that I may encourage it to grow?

But...

Our hearts are in a million pieces
Most of which no one will ever know.
But you, O LORD, you see each piece -
You pick up every
piece
carefully
no matter the color or the shape or the sharpness of its edges.
You are not wounded by our
angry words or
careless questions or that
sometimes we can't do more.

Because…

Our hearts are in a million pieces
Most of which no one will ever know.
But you, O LORD, you see each piece -
You pick up every
piece
carefully.
Even as you look,
You love.
Even as we weep over our million pieces,
You love.

Words with God

Storm clouds rolling in.

Earlier this evening, I was sitting in my office at church. My preparations for our evening worship service were complete and so I sat, casting about for the next task.

A storm was rolling in, the thunder beginning to rumble over the trees along the back of our property. Normally, I'm someone who stays inside whenever thunder is rumbling - I've always had a fear of lightning. But tonight, the thunder beckoned me outside - outside, across our parking lot, down the long path that takes you to our Outdoor Chapel. 

This path changes seasonally, and it has been several weeks since I had wandered down to the Chapel. The wildflowers are wildly in bloom along the path, so I paused to take some pictures. All the while, the trees blew in the wind that was gaining strength. All the while, the thunder continued to rumble. And my anger built.

I got down the path to the Chapel. The benches are surrounded by trees and more wildflowers but they sit in a clearing, so I could easily see the storm clouds approaching. They didn't scare me. I sat for a few minutes, and then I took a few more pictures of wildflowers. The thunder beckoned me over to face the clouds once again, so face them I did, full on. I closed my eyes so the thunder and the wind rolled over me.

I began inwardly screaming at God: "SCREW YOU!" 

"SCREW YOU!"

"SCREW YOU!"

Over and over, my inward cries to God came forth - my lips unable to utter aloud the anger I was feeling about the loss of my friend, the loss of so many others I love. 

"SCREW YOU!*"

Eventually, the inward rage was stilled by my words of remorse, words that came only after I could get to and through the words of anger. I left the Chapel, and walked back to the church building, thinking as I crossed the open parking lot how easy it would be for God to zap me, then and there - if only I believed in a God that did that to people. (I don't.)

A few minutes later, I left for a bit to run an errand. The storm arrived while I was gone, and was fully raging by the time I came back. I found myself being pelted with baptismal waters from heaven, waters pelting me hard, whether I wanted them or not. Waters reminding me of new life - new life given to me, given to my friend, given to all those I have loved so deeply who have died "in the Lord." 

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* This is the PG version.