Pandemic Fear

We were returning from a trip to Philadelphia when we saw the first alarming news of the spread of swine flu on CNN in the airport waiting room at Dallas Fort Worth Airport. Since then the news has been grim, but according to the physicians in my life also overblown and exaggerated. Fear is just as contagious as a virus at times. Fear was actually the topic of my last sermon, its difficulties and the way it can freeze us in our tracks. We live in a time of fear---fear of disease and storms and terrorism and economic collapse. The world is a scary place, but it has always been scary to be human. The important question to ask is how do you deal with that fear so that it does not consume your life?

My fear is made manageable by the family and friends who love me and care about what's going on in my life. I heard just this morning from our former Chinese teacher, who has returned to teaching in her university in China. She had seen news of the swine flu in Texas and wrote to ask if we were okay. I wrote back to assure here we are fine at the moment. I'm praying for all of those who have been affected by this disease, including those like my husband, sons and daughter-in-law who are physicians caring for those who are ill.

But mostly the way I deal with fear is by turning to God. The text I preached on the Sunday after Easter was from the Gospel of John and ended with the author's explanation that the gospel was written so that we might believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing we might have life in his name. Not constant fear, which is no way to live, but life abundant and joyful. That's a lesson I have to regularly relearn, and I have my own times of fear and grief and sadness. But I have learned to turn to God for comfort in such dark and fearful times, and I've never been disappointed or left alone when I seek God's presence at such times.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Considering the Lilies

I'm slowly emerging from the fog of grief over my dad's death last fall, and I'm realizing how many things passed me by in that time of grief and family angst. I still find myself reaching for the phone to call him, and then remembering that, as my brother says, "It's LONG distance." Most recently it was because I wanted to share the news that he had another great-grandson. In this ongoing process of grief, I'm slowly finding that color and light and joy are gradually returning to my life, in the midst of days that are still unexpectedly bleak, gray and hard.

I found unexpected help a couple of days ago during my weekly trip to the local grocery store. I trudged in with my basket as usual, and there before me were the Easter lilies, scenting the air around them with their sweet smell. And Easter came upon me in that moment with all its promise, lifting the weight on my heart just a bit for good. As I always do, I brought one home with me to scent the air of our home and to remind me of God's promise of hope.

I just finished reading Rev. Dr. Scott Black Johnston's Easter sermon on Day 1.org. He is a former seminary professor, and an amazing preacher, who is now the Senior Pastor at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. One phrase in particular stuck with me, "Jesus is loose in the world." Praise God. Easter has come again. He is risen. He is risen indeed. Death doesn't have the last word after all. Jesus is loose in the world.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

The Still Small Voice

I went to a court hearing this past week, something I've not done since I retired from active law practice almost ten years ago. A young man who has been attending our church was arrested and at this hearing plead guilty to burglary, a serious charge. I also know him to have a good heart as I've watched him care for his sisters and brother with wisdom and discipline beyond his years. He's not yet out of high school. I found out about the hearing by accident, and decided it was important to go. I wanted to remind him that he is still a child of God, in spite of the big mistake he made.

Actually, the still, small voice that I've learned to recognize as God speaking to me nagged me mercilessly until I made plans to go. At the hearing they brought the young man in with shackles on his feet and hands, and I was glad our pastor and another friend from church were there along with his mom and one of her friends. His attorney asked the judge to reduce his bond so he could go home while he waits for his sentencing hearing. He's not been in trouble before, so those of us who know him are hoping that he will be able to go to a children's home on probation--a second chance. We're praying for that result at the next hearing.

Who of us has not needed a second chance in our lives? The judge recognized me from my days practicing law, which I hope was a good thing. In any case, he reduced the bond so that the kid was able to go home on a strict curfew the next day. Once again I was grateful that I had listened when God nudged me, and worried about the times when I've not paid close enough attention to recognize God's nudges. Easy to do when life takes over and the daily noise crowds out God's voice, which is indeed still and small. As one of my favorite seminary professors said, "It's not easy to hear God's voice in a place such as this."

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

"Sons are a heritage from the Lord;

Children are a reward from Him." Psalm 127. And I would add that grandchildren are a glimpse of heaven. Sam was born last week, and he and his mama are doing well. The rest of us are catching up on our sleep. I'm so grateful for this little boy, our fifth grandchild. What a blessing to live long enough to meet your children's children. I joke that I'm donating my brain cells to my grandchildren to explain why I don't remember things as quickly as I once did, but the truth is that they have taught me to expand my capacity for love.

When my sons were born, I learned what it was like, as someone wiser than me said, to have my heart walk around outside my body. With our grandchildren, I've learned the reality of sorrow and joy doubled. When something happens with one of these little ones, either good or bad, my heart rejoices, or hurts, for both the child and my child. Some of my friends are now having great-grandchildren, an experience I cannot imagine as our oldest grandchild is seven.

What I know for sure is that I have been richly blessed by the sons who are a heritage from God, and by the reward of knowing both them and their children.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Waiting for Sam

My life is in something of a holding pattern at the moment as we await the arrival of another grandchild, Sam. He's actually not due for almost two more weeks, but as he tried to put in an early appearance the week before last, we have all been expecting him to show up at anytime. After the early warning, however, he seems to be content to lie low. I've told his mama that he appears to be a prankster. Nonetheless, my bag is packed, and I'm ready to head out at a moment's notice.

When our daughter-in-law first began having contractions, her doctor sent her home on bed rest for a few days, which thankfully stopped the process. The news sent my mind racing back in time 30 years to the 10 weeks I spent on bed rest before Sam's daddy was born. Thirty years ago, being born after only 6 1/2 months gestation was essentially a death sentence. The treatment to stop early labor was basically Benadryl, alcohol and a lot of prayer. Fortunately I was cared for by a physician at a teaching hospital, who gave me an experimental drug when things threatened to get out of hand, and it worked. With the help of our church, many friends, and God, our youngest son arrived safe and sound only a week early. I've been prompted in the last week to write the story for this son, who is now waiting for his own son to arrive, to remind him that every baby is a miracle, and that he was more of a miracle than most.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Beelzefly

Today begins the sober season of Lent, but before embarking on this time of personal introspection and repentance for all the ways I fall short of what God intends my life to be, it's good to pause for just a moment to think back to last week and especially to last week's choir practice. We almost always have a lot of fun at choir practice, but last week's practice was over the top. Seemingly out of nowhere, a giant fly joined us shortly after practice started, alighting on the director's hair and refusing at first to budge. As efforts to shoo the fly away became more energetic, choir practice degenerated into a slapstick farce. Following the director as she flapped her arms alternately in time to the music followed by attempts to wave away the fly became a challenge. Some of the women on the front row began jumping up to help the director wave the fly away, making it even more difficult to stay in sync with the music. But when the fly landed on the piano keys, things really got out of hand! Responding to the cries urging her to swat the fly, the pianist swung gamely away, slipping backwards off her chair in the process. About this time, the pastor reappeared in the room with a can of insecticide and a large piece of cardboard and began chasing the fly around the room. Fumes filled the small space, but the fly finally began to slow in its gyrations. One of the tenors told us about a website where people can combine words to make new ones and of the new word "beelzebug" for an annoying insect that haunts a room. When the fly finally landed on the floor near the door, the woman next to me jumped up and, after several attempts, succeeded in squashing Beelzefly. In the midst of the cheers and hilarity that followed, the choir director was finally able to take us through the music for Sunday, which we sang with hearts made glad by holy laughter. If we are alert, we will often find God sprinkling our lives with joy, something like the fairy dust in the tales I loved as a child.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Out of Chaos, Hope

I'm not sure why I thought that life would slow down a bit in the New Year. For the moment, I'm grateful for a few minutes to write. After months of planning and frustration, the mission trip from our church to the Texas Gulf coast actually came off the weekend before last. We were the first group to stay in the new Presbyterian Disaster Assistance Volunteer Village at Texas City. As it turned out our arrival was an answer to the prayers of the brand new manager, Doug MacDonald, who, with Mike Kelly, had been working to ready the place for our arrival. There was no way the two of them could have accomplished all of the tasks that needed to be done in the time they had between their arrival and ours. The bunk and shower trailers pulled in from further east along the U.S. coast needed cleaning after coming out of storage, and also needed to be hooked up to sewer, water and electricity. The pots and pans and utensils also brought out of storage needed cleaning as did the kitchen at First Presbyterian Church in Texas City, which had agreed to allow the volunteer village to set up on their grounds and use their facilities. Somehow when God is involved in the planning things come together. So we showed up with folks who knew how to do plumbing and electrical work and construction as well as one man who was able to hook up a giant industrial gas stove in the kitchen. Add to that the magical cleaning genies (my name for the amazing women who spent their time cleaning anything that didn't move out of the way), and the amount of work that was accomplished from noon Friday through Saturday afternoon was nothing short of miraculous. Doug provided us with bright blue T-Shirts that said Presbyterian Disaster Assistance on the front and on the back--Out of Chaos, Hope. We managed to bring some hope in the chaos of the village so that other volunteers coming after us can bring hope in the chaos of the destruction wrought by Hurricane Ike. It was an humbling experience to be thanked by strangers who saw our shirts in church and at dinner for offering hope for the future simply by our presence. We came home tired, but ready to make plans to return again for the important work of helping to rebuild peoples' lives in a disaster area. There is still much work to be done, and many more volunteers are needed. If you want to help, call Penny Noel in the PDA housing office at 1-866-732-6121 and make your reservation. Groups of five or more adults from any organization are welcome. You don't have to be Presbyterian to sign up. I promise you will be blessed as we were as you in turn bless others.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue