February 28, 2008
I spent the afternoon with Mary Etta yesterday. We sat on her back porch and watched the snowflakes fly and talked about everything and nothing. She wanted to talk about her eulogy and funeral. So we found her blue folder that holds her important words and began to talk about her final poem, the poem of her funeral. We began at the beginning place for us both, our Bibles. A search turned up several forms of our holy book and we looked up the passages she has marked.
We read First Corinthians 13 and Matthew 5 from the inclusive language New Testament, the love passage and the Beatitudes. But I found the Psalm and Isaiah readings in Mary Etta’s NSRV Bible. As the pages fell freely while I turned to these ancient texts, I saw where Mary Etta’s hand had marked her Bible with brackets and underlining. I could see the dance of her soul as I turned the pages of that book All the important words of faith and belief and hope and assurance and grief and anger and loss were marked so that I could follow the road map to God that Mary Etta has created in her Bible.
I needed those words of faith yesterday from the Bible and from Mary Etta. I have two friends walking through the valley of death now. One friend is dying surrounded by her sons and one friend is bringing her son home to die. Mary Etta and I remembered how our southern farm families used to quote the phrase "In the midst of life, there is death." And Mary Etta and I know the reversal of that phrase is equally true, "In the midst of death, there is life."
Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.
Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.
Restore us O God; let your face shine that we might be saved.
Now I know in part; then I shall understand fully, even as I have been fully understood.
So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
So I will play the prelude for Mary Etta’s final party. She wants our favorite old hymns, the ones with bounce. I will play the old time rhythms, crying and laughing appropriately as Mary Etta has instructed me, giving thanks for life and death and life again. It will be my gift to Mary Etta, who springs from the same southern rural root stock that gave birth to me. Sister Mary Etta, thank you for being the face of God for me while sitting on the porch yesterday watching the snowflakes fly.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Snow dancing...
February 27, 2008
Barney and I danced in the snow this morning. As I walked out in my many layered clothing to go feed the cows, he greeted me with a running leap and an invitation to dance. We ran and circled and laughed and barked and made the snow fly up in the air. It was hard to believe this was the same dog who circled our home for weeks searching for food, fearful of others, living on the edge of family, bedded down in the high barn at night. He still approaches you most of the time from the rear, shyly slipping his nose into your hand, waiting for a pat. But every once in awhile he forgets himself and is a huge bundle of canine celebration. He plays tag and catch with the new calves, loping along side them much to the fury of the mama cows. They are not amused.
Maybe it is the sight of the pure white shining snow layered on the bare trees, hiding the cars, frosting the evergreens... maybe it is the sharp clean smell of the cold snowy air that fills my lungs as I step out of the truck... maybe it is the sound of Bud Barn Cat greeting me with a chorus of meows... maybe it is Junie B laying her head on my shoulder watching me put her feed in the bucket... whatever the reason, this morning I am joyful and dancing in the snow. In the snowy fields, the still frozen waters, God has restored my soul, and I am grateful.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... He leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul... Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalms 23
Barney and I danced in the snow this morning. As I walked out in my many layered clothing to go feed the cows, he greeted me with a running leap and an invitation to dance. We ran and circled and laughed and barked and made the snow fly up in the air. It was hard to believe this was the same dog who circled our home for weeks searching for food, fearful of others, living on the edge of family, bedded down in the high barn at night. He still approaches you most of the time from the rear, shyly slipping his nose into your hand, waiting for a pat. But every once in awhile he forgets himself and is a huge bundle of canine celebration. He plays tag and catch with the new calves, loping along side them much to the fury of the mama cows. They are not amused.
Maybe it is the sight of the pure white shining snow layered on the bare trees, hiding the cars, frosting the evergreens... maybe it is the sharp clean smell of the cold snowy air that fills my lungs as I step out of the truck... maybe it is the sound of Bud Barn Cat greeting me with a chorus of meows... maybe it is Junie B laying her head on my shoulder watching me put her feed in the bucket... whatever the reason, this morning I am joyful and dancing in the snow. In the snowy fields, the still frozen waters, God has restored my soul, and I am grateful.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... He leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul... Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalms 23
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
my Texas church home...
My favorite church newsletter came in the mail yesterday. For thirty five years it has faithfully followed us as we have moved from state to state. And every time I see the familiar headline, Lake Shorelines, I give thanks for this wonderful church family and their continued vision and mission in Waco, Texas.
We came to Waco in 1970 after Michael’s graduation from seminary. He had served as Minister to Youth at Lake Shore while in college and was coming back to be an associate pastor... and minister to youth. I didn’t cry all the way to Texas but I did sniffle a lot as we left the green trees and wide rivers of home far behind on our way to the land of mesquite and Mexican food. Trading in tall trees and green meadows for the Lake Shore experience was a more than fair trade.
Most people have a jaundiced view of Baptists to begin with and Texas Baptists, like Texans, are tarred with a wider, blacker brush. When I speak of Lake Shore and all the other Baptist churches we knew and loved in Texas, I am met with polite disbelief. My world of faith expanded and grew because of these extraordinary ordinary Baptist churches and I count myself blessed to have been a member of Lake Shore Baptist. In some ways I am still a member. Lake Shore is my heart’s church home.
Women deacons, dance in worship, retreats for every age and stage, Sunday School classes that became family over the years, mission outreach at home in Waco and in the larger world, thoughtful worship and outstanding preaching, art incorporated into the life of the church, Wednesday night meals, youth worships that sizzled, summer camps for our youth that included kids from other liberal Baptist churches in Texas, mystery ventures, and parties at the drop of the hat... all of this in the seventies. There were painful times, too. Death and conflict are as much a part of life as peace and celebration. Somehow, Lake Shore as a church learned the art of valuing the past while keeping their eye on the future.
At the New Baptist Covenant we bumped into the current pastor, Dorisanne Cooper, and for a moment, I was home at Lake Shore again. Dorisanne and Sharlande Sledge, the Associate Pastor, are two talented women who lead Lake Shore now, or perhaps are led by Lake Shore. It always was a toss up as to who was leading whom.
This weeks news has a picture of a young Cameroon couple who got married there. There are some requests for help for some of the church’s Cameroon friends, Lenten worship information, a brief description of a Wednesday night Bible study focused on Psalm 51:10-12, children’s news, celebrations and requests for prayers, new member information, usher and nursery worker schedules, ministry and education opportunities and as always, the weekly budget report. Now as then, Lake Shore lives on the edge in every way. An encyclopedia of Lake Shore information is contained in the one large sheet of paper folded in half.
Every week when the newsletter comes, I give thanks for this grace filled church. The Christian witness they bear to the world in Waco, Mexico and the Cameroons also wings its way to Asheville, North Carolina. Their loving care was extended to our daughter Megan during her brief sojourn at Baylor. Homesick and crammed into a men’s dorm room with one teeny tiny closet, Megan was enveloped by the loving arms of Dot and M.B. Martin. They came, they brought special hangers and I am sure they told stories of her birth at Lake Shore as well as stories about her dad in his college years.
Lake Shore Baptist Church will always be my beloved Texas church home. There I was loved into motherhood, forgiven my rough edges as a minister’s wife, encouraged and called out to be more truly who I was created to be. I began to find my voice to sing and my feet to dance at Lake Shore. I learned how to feed the five thousand using the party closet at Dot’s for dishes and table cloths. Retreats Lake Shore Style became a necessity for my soul’s renewal. I will forever be grateful for your loving kindness to me, a young far away from home first time minister’s wife and mother. We are coming for a visit in September and I can hardly wait to see you all. I know it is too late for the ice cream social at the Davenports but maybe we could have a pool party? Or meet at the Mexican restaurant for supper? Thanks be to God for letters from home. And Michael, a.k.a. Mickey, is sending a check to cover postage.
We came to Waco in 1970 after Michael’s graduation from seminary. He had served as Minister to Youth at Lake Shore while in college and was coming back to be an associate pastor... and minister to youth. I didn’t cry all the way to Texas but I did sniffle a lot as we left the green trees and wide rivers of home far behind on our way to the land of mesquite and Mexican food. Trading in tall trees and green meadows for the Lake Shore experience was a more than fair trade.
Most people have a jaundiced view of Baptists to begin with and Texas Baptists, like Texans, are tarred with a wider, blacker brush. When I speak of Lake Shore and all the other Baptist churches we knew and loved in Texas, I am met with polite disbelief. My world of faith expanded and grew because of these extraordinary ordinary Baptist churches and I count myself blessed to have been a member of Lake Shore Baptist. In some ways I am still a member. Lake Shore is my heart’s church home.
Women deacons, dance in worship, retreats for every age and stage, Sunday School classes that became family over the years, mission outreach at home in Waco and in the larger world, thoughtful worship and outstanding preaching, art incorporated into the life of the church, Wednesday night meals, youth worships that sizzled, summer camps for our youth that included kids from other liberal Baptist churches in Texas, mystery ventures, and parties at the drop of the hat... all of this in the seventies. There were painful times, too. Death and conflict are as much a part of life as peace and celebration. Somehow, Lake Shore as a church learned the art of valuing the past while keeping their eye on the future.
At the New Baptist Covenant we bumped into the current pastor, Dorisanne Cooper, and for a moment, I was home at Lake Shore again. Dorisanne and Sharlande Sledge, the Associate Pastor, are two talented women who lead Lake Shore now, or perhaps are led by Lake Shore. It always was a toss up as to who was leading whom.
This weeks news has a picture of a young Cameroon couple who got married there. There are some requests for help for some of the church’s Cameroon friends, Lenten worship information, a brief description of a Wednesday night Bible study focused on Psalm 51:10-12, children’s news, celebrations and requests for prayers, new member information, usher and nursery worker schedules, ministry and education opportunities and as always, the weekly budget report. Now as then, Lake Shore lives on the edge in every way. An encyclopedia of Lake Shore information is contained in the one large sheet of paper folded in half.
Every week when the newsletter comes, I give thanks for this grace filled church. The Christian witness they bear to the world in Waco, Mexico and the Cameroons also wings its way to Asheville, North Carolina. Their loving care was extended to our daughter Megan during her brief sojourn at Baylor. Homesick and crammed into a men’s dorm room with one teeny tiny closet, Megan was enveloped by the loving arms of Dot and M.B. Martin. They came, they brought special hangers and I am sure they told stories of her birth at Lake Shore as well as stories about her dad in his college years.
Lake Shore Baptist Church will always be my beloved Texas church home. There I was loved into motherhood, forgiven my rough edges as a minister’s wife, encouraged and called out to be more truly who I was created to be. I began to find my voice to sing and my feet to dance at Lake Shore. I learned how to feed the five thousand using the party closet at Dot’s for dishes and table cloths. Retreats Lake Shore Style became a necessity for my soul’s renewal. I will forever be grateful for your loving kindness to me, a young far away from home first time minister’s wife and mother. We are coming for a visit in September and I can hardly wait to see you all. I know it is too late for the ice cream social at the Davenports but maybe we could have a pool party? Or meet at the Mexican restaurant for supper? Thanks be to God for letters from home. And Michael, a.k.a. Mickey, is sending a check to cover postage.
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