After the Boston bombing, as might be expected, people came together. But, amazingly, they haven’t left each other. We are strong; by we. I mean everyone who comes to Boston, visitor and local. My prayerful thought is that everyone I passed on the street is feeling this too.
I want to say something about prayer but I don’t know what it might be. I just got home from Boston, and am feeling especially serene. My granddaughter and I wandered about the Granary and King’s Chapel burying grounds, and then had lunch at Quincy Market, which included friend dough for dessert. The entire trip was serene. From T ride to T ride there was space between people and yet everyone seems to be bonding in a miraculous way. We were ONE.
After the Boston bombing, as might be expected, people came together. But, amazingly, they haven’t left each other. We are strong; by we. I mean everyone who comes to Boston, visitor and local. My prayerful thought is that everyone I passed on the street is feeling this too.
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Yesterday I visited a newborn. Yes, only 6 days old. Perfect in every way. I was reminded of a paper I wrote in divinity school for a Christian education class. The essence was that our task for the first nine or so months of a child’s life is to smile God’s love on him/her. Until we have to say no, until the child starts exerting herself, until he starts finding dangerous objects to put in his mouth, there is no need for reprimand. Isn’t this wonderful? Of course there is the changing, the feeding, the rocking, the keeping the child safe--all the parental/care-giver jobs. But for many of us, our job is just to smile. It’s natural to smile at the babies I know, such as the little guy I visited yesterday, but what about the babies I meet on my walk, or pass in the super market? I don’t know them or their parents, but I do know God. I know that God is loving and that we are made in God’s imagine. I know that I can smile love at a baby and before I know it, she will smile love back. Today my dad would have been 109. I miss him but he had a good run at life, living to be about 80. My dad was a church goer, but more than that he was a person of prayer. Once in a while he would offer me a window into his living faith. “You might want to pray about that,” he once told me when I was grappling with one of those pre-teen decisions. In that simple statement he taught me two things: that prayer is a way to get answers, and that he would trust and honor the decision I came up with. The last time that I saw my dad up and about, before the cancer immobilized him, he gave me a blessing. As I arrived for a visit, he walked across the yard, big grin, arms open, “Oh, Bobbi, I’m so glad you’re here. You are my spiritual director.” And you know what, Dad? You’re mine, too. My cousin was Scottish. My cousin in California died yesterday. As I wrote on my cottagebythesea.net blog, “He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few days before this eightieth birthday and died five weeks later under hospice care with his children tending to him. A good death, as the saying goes.” What I want to share here is what that a good death means to me from a prayer perspective—that my cousin felt God’s presence, that he knew God was there with him during this last part of his journey. Of course, I believe that God is there for everyone, all the time and certainly at the end of life, but the grace is when the person knows and feels God’s presence and embrace. Maybe that’s why I’m so intent (obsessed?) on doing my part to let God into my life. At my ending I want to feel the peace of God that passes all understanding. My mom had this peace and so did my cousin. When I talked with him two weeks before he died, he told me that he was at peace about ‘the God piece’. Daily I prayed the Twenty-third Psalm with him and he knew it. Thankfully I didn’t have to pray it secretly or ‘behind the scenes’ as it were. I hadn’t kept up with my cousin much over the years, but I felt incredibly close to him when it seemed to matter most for both of us. That is grace, and for that, I am ‘very grateful’. Today on my early morning walk I was into gratitude. Gratitude for my friend Edie who died two days ago, and gratitude for my friend who is healing from brain surgery just a week ago. Besides their friendship, I am grateful that both of them were willing and able to share their gratitude with others. As she lived for six years with an ovarian cancer diagnosis, Edie was grateful for the blessings of each day: that she wasn’t in pain, that she could enjoy food, and that she had a loving husband, fabulous doctors, and caring friends. Toward the end, she often paraphrased 2 Timothy 4:7, ‘I have fought the good fight and stayed faithful.’ My friend who is healing from surgery has been grateful, too--for her husband, family and friends, the doctors and medical staff, and how it has all come together. She believes that she has been blessed through this situation, and whatever that means, I believe it, too. More gratitudes and blessings are always on the way if only we can be open to see them. The story isn’t over. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Tim. 4.7 According to the surgeon, my friend’s brain surgery “went perfectly.” My will and God’s will were in sync. Throughout this entire experience my friend has only expressed gratitude. She has lifted up the blessings of her life, and never felt ‘why me?’ or ‘poor me’. She has taught us much about living, about fighting the good fight, and about being faithful. And now she has been given more living light to shine on us, and for that, we are grateful. The world is a more hopeful place because of my friend’s smile. May her mind be clear, her body healed, and her spirit radiate. Thanksgiving at my niece’s yesterday. Family and friends—25 of us gathered together. Much to be thankful for. My sister read a poem she had written and we continued the tradition of toasting the absent members. That was going to be it! “What about the Grammy grace?” I whisper to my nephew. For as long as I can remember that was also part of the tradition. Thankfully he spoke up and so did we all. Heavenly Father, Bless this food to our use and us to thy service. And make us every mindful of the needs of others. In Christ’s name we ask it, Amen Today on my cottage by the sea blog I wrote about accepting the role as steward of my kitchen. Considering the job of cooking and cleaning as stewardship has eased the annoyance I feel from time to time when I have another meal to cook or another pan to scrub. As I mentioned, stewardship committees in churches often dwell first and primarily on money raising aspects, specifically for the physical building and for personnel salaries. But we know better: stewardship ought to be guided by the mission of the church, namely that we are stewards of God’s call to love and to create God’s kingdom here on earth. God asks us to be stewards of various aspects in our lives, most obviously our families, friends and the environment. Although we don’t exactly choose these, we do have some choice in how we do them. In many respects I am still part of the traditional life I was brought up in, where women wear aprons and men mow the lawn. I don’t have to keep these jobs and believe me, I’ve moved many of them away from center stage. What I try to do, however, is remain a faithful steward to what I have accepted, namely the kitchen. The work is a gift, the result a blessing. |
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