Mercy Drops...

I sit at the computer this morning, dressed in my overalls, drinking hot tea from my Hadley mug, making preparation for a holiday that is profoundly sacred but not religious, Thanksgiving. All this week memories from the past year have been floating to the surface of my inner wisdom river, bubbles of gratitude and grief breaking the smooth surface of the small places of stillness in that ever flowing stream. A year full of endings and beginnings, new life yet to be revealed, and gifts of grace and plenty tumble over the rocks in my memory.
Friends and family have died... Uncle Tud, Aunt Mary, Mary Etta, Dot... and their passing from this world left empty spaces in the hearts and lives of those who loved them. New friends and family will come as time passes but the depth of the grief marks the importance of their presence in my life.
A relationship with a church that had been home for thirteen years was severed. It was painful to live with the ending of that long cherished connection but now I am free to move beyond the grief, to see what new life might be waiting around this unexpected bend in the road. A small worship family meets on Sundays and we lead one another in the search for the Holy Unexpected One. Without any formal structure or name or long term goals, all the light we need and all the soul food we need is there, enough to fill us up and lift us up over the rough and empty places in our lives. Grief and grace...
Michael and I read an autobiography this week written by a pastor friend of ours. He epitomized the old Southern Baptist Convention as we knew it, conservative, honest, hardheaded at times. The tent of his faith was wide enough to welcome those who were different, like us, and narrow enough not to provide protection for the power hungry and arrogant. Tough old memories of another faith home loss were made tender by the memories of a people and a denomination who gave us many good gifts.
Beloved animal companions have died this year. Lily, the elegant black and white cat who helped raise our children to be compassionate creatures, died after a long life. Bud, my Grey Garfield, was buried under the shade trees on the hillside. Zekie, my basset hound buddy who raced to the Kawasaki mule whenever it cranked up, riding wherever it was going, died. And last night, Phoebe, our eighteen year old basset hound, the last dog our children knew while they still lived at home, died in her sleep. She had been deaf and nearly blind for some months but she still walked the farm with Michael and Barney every morning. For the first time in many years, we have only one dog and no basset hounds. So this morning, we will call the children and give them the news. Like Judith Viorst’s story, “The Tenth Good Thing About Barney”, we will remember good things about Phoebe as we cry a little and laugh a little. This afternoon we will bury her along side Maggie, Sadie, Coke, Bud, Lily, Zeke, Nelly, Harvey and all the other animal friends who are resting in the shade of the oak trees.
But this year has also seen the advent of new adventures in animal companions, horses and donkeys. I have been graced with new four legged friends of a different sort... donkeys who play and bray for fun, horses who have admitted me into their family and offer me the gift of friendship. An albino wren made its nest in my front porch planter and an albino turkey left me some white feathers as it walked across the farm. A five point buck visited us this week and stood in silent strength watching me pass by. A bear came and cleaned out the Deerings bird feeders while we watched. I am surrounded by animal companions seen and unseen. I am grateful.
There have been some difficult times for our family. Michael’s dad continues his long decline into the world of unknowing. He was in the hospital for pneumonia and a small stroke recently. Each time of illness leaves him with more deficits and less reserves. Mason’s diagnosis of autism catapulted us into the world of children with special needs. His mother, our daughter Megan, has become a warrior for her child in a world that does not make the way plain nor the path easy for those who are different. Another child saw the ending of a professional dream and the beginning of a new one.
There have been gifts of grace for our family, too. Adam is back in North Carolina with a new home and new job. Matthew is knocking the top out in kindergarten, superstar student this week. Mason is thriving in his new school. Mead is throwing the best temper tantrums a two year old can muster. Aidan is ice skating with the big kids, the three and four year olds. Our daughter Alison will be ordained a deacon in her church this January. Megan embarked on a successful weight loss and exercise program. Our health and mama’s health has been good this year. All in all, we have much for which I am grateful.
One of my favorite old hymns is “There Shall Be Showers of Blessing”. The verb tense, shall be, affirms the future presence of blessing in my life yet to come Not only can I sing “There have been showers of blessing”, I can look forward to the fulfillment of the promised goodness in my life not yet lived. “There shall be showers of blessing; This is the promise of love; There shall be seasons refreshing, sent from the Savior above. Showers of blessing, showers of blessing we need: Mercy drops round us are falling, but for the showers we plead.”
The prophet Ezekiel spoke the words of the Lord to his people. “I will make them and the places round about my hill a blessing; and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing.” On our hill, the hill that belongs to the Lord at Sabbath Rest farm, we have had mercy drops and showers this year, blessings that have filled us up and are overflowing. I am grateful. Thanks be to God.

Life,death,hope,despair,light,darkenss...Let us give thanks for all the good things in life

All faith springs from hope and despair. Studs Terkel

I was listening to an interview with Studs Terkel that marked his death at the age of 96. Krista Tippet was interviewing him at the age of 92 after a bad fall that left him dependent upon others for help. I only caught a piece of the interview so this morning I visited the web site for the complete program. He was a remarkable ordinary man who was able to see the extraordinary in all the rest of us, drawing out of us through interviews what we never knew lived in our hearts and souls. His life was spent listening and recording the collective wisdom and questions of our age. Krista began to ask him about his belief system in the face of his wife Ida’s death and his living with death close at hand. He described himself as an agnostic, then chuckled as he gave a definition... a cowardly atheist. All faith and religion, he said, is born of hope and despair. Those who are true believers are blessed with an innocence, not naivete, but an innocence that knows the despair while choosing hope.
This innocence is the heart of Advent for me. When I read the old, old story of a young mother to be riding a donkey into a strange country where she will give birth to an ordinary baby boy who is extraordinary in ways she can not know, I am struck dumb by the innocence of it all. Mary must have had despair for a traveling companion at times. Pregnant, uncomfortable in her last days before birth, traveling without mother or sister to help her in the coming hours of pain, humble and unimportant to those who saw her, she must have wondered what in the world she had gotten herself into. I wonder if she chose hope and thanksgiving, faith and patience as she rode that donkey towards Bethlehem.
As our Thanksgiving holiday draws near, I am choosing innocence and faith even as I give thanks for despair, death, grief and darkness. I ride my donkey through the suffering that comes to us all and I remember Mary, the mother of God Among Us. I choose to sing with her “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior...” Thanksgiving is not real until you have journeyed to the far off land and returned home. Coming home with wisdom, sadness, joy, innocence frayed around the edges but still choosing faith, hope, love and light in spite of all evidence to the contrary. I am grateful for the journey and thankful for the choices.

Sheepdogs and Jesus

My Faith Sheepdogs...

Worship yesterday was planned and lead by one of our families. The daughter chose the hymn...Savior, Like A Shepherd Lead Us... and that set the theme for our time together. Our scripture from John held the image of Jesus as the shepherd who knows his sheep and who is known by his sheep. The father spoke his reflections on this passage, remembering his initial reactions to this passage... God gave us knowledge and free will so we didn’t have to be sheep following a shepherd blindly... But we can get really messed up by relying only on ourselves... Perhaps we do need a shepherd. Talk back time produced some wise responses and then my friend Mark spoke. Mark marches to the beat of the drum circle at Pritchard Park. He can be counted on to have a many faceted view that produces something so outside the usual that you are left with your jaw hanging down in laughter and revelation. Yesterday was no exception.
Mark shared a short discourse on the varieties of sheepdogs and their differences. Basically, there are three types of sheepdogs. One type is devoted to and protective of the sheep. Relationships with humans are peripheral and nonessential. The sheep are of primary importance. The second type relates to both humans and the sheep, responding to direction while tending the animals. These dogs love both sheep and people. The third type of dog is primarily a people dog with sheep skills. All its work with sheep is done at the direction of a person whom the dog loves and respects. After our short tutorial on sheepdogs, Mark asked us who our sheepdogs were. We know our shepherd but who are our sheepdogs? So this morning when I woke before sunrise, I lay in bed thinking about my sheepdogs.
My first faith sheepdogs were my parents. They loved me into faith in God. Focused on me, their child, they carried me to church, read me Bible stories, modeled steadfast love by their presence in all of my life, rejoiced in my affirmation of belief and worried about my call to full time Christian service. Their calling as Christian parents was lived out by their keeping me in the flock of Christians called Baptists.
Other faith sheepdogs came along as I grew... Sunday School teachers, preachers, adult friends. Mrs. Tyre taught me the Bible, helped me memorize verses and showed me the mechanics of our sacred book. Brother Kannon was my lesson in true humility. Walter and Mary Lynn taught me you don’t have to be dumb to be a Christian. God made you smart for a reason. Celeste showed me the joy of creation, whatever its form, is the opportunity to be like our Creator. Others who never knew me helped guide me as they preached, taught, and wrote the what and the why of their beliefs. My faith sheepdog list is very long.
I sing the old hymn now with a refreshed vision, a new appreciation for my Shepherd Jesus who has provided the sheepdogs I have needed. “Savior, like a shepherd lead us, much we need thy tender care; In thy pleasant pastures feed us, for our use thy folds prepare...We are thine do thou befriend us, be the Guardian of our way; Keep thy flock, from sin defend us, seek us when we go astray.” For all the saints disguised as sheepdogs who have befriended me, defended me and sought me when I was astray, I give thanks. But most of all, I give thanks for the Shepherd Source who holds us all close, sheep and dogs alike, in his loving arms.