In the Valley of Shadows

I finished reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark last night. Reading her books refreshes my soul, like a drink of cool water on a hot Texas afternoon refreshes my body. Life has been too full of dark times recently, and I feel weighed down by worry and sadness. I find I have to remind myself to take slow deep breaths rather than panicky sips, and also to remember that life will be brighter again. In the midst of the shadows of illness and death of family and friends, I am comforted by God’s presence. Taylor’s book is a timely reminder that much as I do not like the dark times in life, by God’s grace I have survived them in the past, and through those dark times, I have learned some things about life and about myself I would not have learned otherwise.

As I wait for life to circle back to sunny times, I am trying to continue to care for myself as best I can. I’m finding ways to celebrate life and reasons to laugh with family and friends, and I’m trying to be faithful to my usual devotional, prayer, exercise, and healthy eating and sleeping habits. I’m grateful for my family and friends and for my church family.  I’m especially grateful for those who are patient with me right now, and who are praying for me. The news from around the world of people who suffer from horrific violence and dislocation is a timely reminder to put my problems in perspective. My life is richly blessed in so many ways in spite of the present darkness. God is indeed good, even in the shadow times.

Grace and Peace,

Donna

Blessed Are the Children

I am amazed at the ways the need for clean water unites people from widely different backgrounds. I have yet to find anyone who is against clean water for all of God’s children, the mission statement of Living Waters for the World, a project of the Presbyterian Church (USA). Our local church, First Presbyterian, Temple, Texas, has covenanted with the tiny community of Las Lajas, Nicaragua, to help them install a water purification system early next year. We are raising money for that project now.

This particular mission project has caught fire in our congregation like no other in my time at this church. Our choir director’s wife was especially excited. She teaches at a local elementary school and invited us to come and talk to the students about our partnership with Las Lajas. The students were involved in a weeks-long study of the ways human beings affect their environment. Our Pastor’s wife and I spent a wonderful hour with these kids talking about why clean water matters, and our hopes for the people of Las Lajas.

Last night at choir practice, I received a pile of thank you notes from the students that surprised and delighted me.  They had been surprised to learn there are people who lack clean water and sometimes must walk long distances to obtain any water. They were saddened to learn about children who die from drinking contaminated water. These students too have been fired by the vision of clean water for students like themselves in far away Las Lajas, Nicaragua. In spite of their own poverty by this country’s standards, they decided to do something. They began making rubber band bracelets to sell to raise money for our water project. So far they have raised $33, an offering God will use to provide water for the students of Las Lajas. Blessed are the children, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Grace and Peace,

Donna

Death of a Family

Last Sunday, I attended the closing service at a beautiful old church, founded before the turn of the 20^th century. Their numbers had dwindled to the point that they could no longer maintain their ministry and their beautiful old building. The final service was a celebration, but also a time of grief for all who were there, especially current members, but also those who had returned to the church of their youth for this final service. A shiver went down my spine at the reading of the words of dissolution: “This building is vacated by the congregation, and the congregation is dissolved.” So final.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about the death of a family, a church family, and how hard that is for its members. My church family is my extended family. My older relatives are all gone now, so I am especially grateful for the aunts and uncles, cousins and brothers and sisters I have found in my church. They know me and care about me. When I have been in need in the past, they have been there, and they will be there again in the future when life knocks me flat, as it does to all of us at times.

I’ve also been thinking about the words I spoke to the members of my own church family on Ash Wednesday, at the beginning of Lent just weeks ago: “You are dust and to dust you shall return.” A gritty reminder in our death-denying culture that death is a part of our reality. It is a part of life. Fortunately in the midst of this season of Easter, it is easier for me to remember that death does not have the last word. God does.

Somewhere in the midst of the pain of the death of this church, God is still working. Like a seedpod that has been opened and its contents scattered, the remaining members of the congregation will spread out to other churches and places where they will take root and continue to serve God. New life in new places will come from their efforts. Absent this death, that new life would not happen. That knowledge gives me hope, even if it does not take away the sadness.

Grace and Peace,

Donna

Hungry for Home

As we walked into the tiny Cuban café that had opened recently, I noticed two men, one younger than the other, sitting at one of the tables. The older one with the slim face and graying buzz cut asked if we had eaten Cuban food before. I smiled and responded not since our last trip to Cuba several years earlier. My husband ordered the Cuban: beef and French fries on a long French roll, weighted and grilled like a Panini. I chose the ham and cheese Panini with mustard, lettuce, tomato and pickles. We each ordered a Mexican fruit soda.

When our order came, I looked down at the generous sandwich, and tears welled as I remembered the hungry people we had met in Cuba. Not long after, the older man came and stood tentatively near our table. He asked if we had been allowed to take pictures during our Cuba trips and whether he could talk with us about our experiences after we were done eating. My husband promptly said, “Have a seat!” As we reminisced about the two church mission-study trips to Cuba, the memories flooded back. We told him about our travels to Sancti Spiritus in the center of the island on the first trip and to La Habana on the second trip, with one night away at the seminary in Matanzas on the northern coast.

Sarge said he had been born in Matanzas, and had left Cuba as a seven-year-old. He had been back only once as a seventeen-year-old to visit relatives. He said he belonged to Little River-Academy Methodist Church, and his pastor had been urging him to go along as the translator on a mission trip to Cuba. He admitted he was tempted, but at the moment he wanted to know more about how the Cuban people were doing.

I said they were poor, and that I felt guilty eating the sandwich remembering how bread was rationed there. We told him we had spent our time in Cuba visiting Christian brothers and sisters and hearing about their ministries: laundry services for the elderly in a place where soap is a luxury, and gardens to provide fresh vegetables for the hungry. We also told him that in spite of the difficulties of their daily lives, the Cubans we met enjoyed life and were devoted to their families. There are many artists there: singers, dancers, sculptors, painters and poets. Perhaps because their earnings were much the same regardless of their jobs many pursued their artistic gifts to create beauty in a place where beauty is as scarce as soap.

Sarge asked if he could see our pictures some time, and then hastened to add, “No hurry, just when it’s convenient.” I said, “Of course!” and promised to stop by soon. My husband said, “I need to get back to work.” He stood and shook hands with Sarge. When Sarge reached out to shake my hand as well, I saw the sad look in his eyes, and impulsively gave him a hug.

I know what it is like to have no early home to return to, as my parents are both deceased. I don’t know what it is like to have left my home country behind and have only childhood memories to cling to. Our hearts long for home, for a place where we belong. In this Holy Week as I walk once again with Jesus towards the cross, I’m reminded that God has promised us a permanent home in a new heaven and a new earth, a place where death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more—a place where God himself will make his home with us. Maybe that’s the real home we all hunger for here in this world. Easter is our yearly reminder that the world as it now exists is not the end of the story. Thank God for that!

Grace and Peace,

Donna

God at Work

I returned from our latest Nicaraguan mission trip three days ago. My mind and heart are still catching up with my body. This year, in addition to the medical mission team, the three of us my church sent to Clean Water U, the education program of Living Waters for the World, travelled as the water team to search for a community with whom we could partner to install a clean water system. During our ten-day trip, I spent two and a half days bouncing around the province of Matagalpa in Juan’s truck with his assistant and translator, Nestor, and Eric and David, the other two members of the water team. It was a blessing to see more of this beautiful country than on previous trips, and to meet new people and make new friends.

Eric and I were anxious about having to choose one community as well as the need to make a decision in the three days we had to check out potential and existing water sites and sign a covenant agreement. Both of us were touched by the gracious hospitality of Consuelo, the community leader who invited us into her home in the tiny community of Las Lajas, the first site we visited. Neither of us wanted to tell her no. David, the young engineer, was more pragmatic. After we said goodbye to Consuelo to travel to two other potential water sites, I prayed urgently for discernment and clarity, and texted La Jefa, our group leader, to ask the members of the medical team to do the same.

God answered our prayers in an unexpected way. When we arrived at one of the two remaining sites we visited after leaving Las Lajas, Juan went in search of their community leader. He returned a few minutes later to tell us they had decided they were not interested. At the final prospective site, we met with another community leader under a tree in her front yard high in the mountains. She was interested in our proposal, but said she would need to gather her community later to make a decision. We left her to visit the building she had in mind for a water system and to obtain a water sample for testing. When we arrived at the building, no one had a key. David could not evaluate the site for an installation. Eric and David turned the handle on the faucet at their water source, but no water came out. There was nothing to test.

Thus we chose Consuelo’s community of Las Lajas as our partner in this new venture. God had answered our prayers for discernment and clarity: locking the door and shutting off the water faucet! We could only laugh and celebrate this new partnership. As we said goodbye, Consuelo had told me that the water in the well at Las Lajas originated in a spring that flowed from a rock up in the hills. I responded, “water from the rock, just like Moses provided!” Now, with God’s help, we will work with the people of Las Lajas to make that water clean and safe. God is good.

Grace and Peace,

Donna