The Valley of the Shadow

I have not written a post in almost three months. I have written elsewhere, but not here so it is past time to revive this practice. Today at church we said goodbye to a young friend, a child of our church, who is going to Northern Ireland for a year as a young adult missionary for the Presbyterian Church. She has started a blog about her adventures, and you will find her link under Erin Jezek. She said she too need to post something now that she is on her way, and I committed to updating my blog as well. We have had a bittersweet time at our church of late. Today was a sweet time of remembering this young woman's life and sending her off with our prayers and well wishes after she was commissioned for service. She is so full of life and promise and will be a blessing to those she meets there. I pray they will bless her as well.

The last few weeks have been a rough ones otherwise. A little over a month ago we lost a long time member to leukemia. Our pastor commented that there seemed to be a pall cast over the church as we waited knowing this woman would die soon. A month after her death, our pastor died. She went in for surgery and never woke up. We are still reeling from that loss. As a result of these bitter experiences, our congregation has spent too much time of late in the valley of the shadow of death. I have been thinking about that phrase from Psalm 23 as we have gathered around to support each other: "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me." I am grateful for the words of the Psalm I memorized as a child to comfort me in this sad time. And even more grateful for the knowledge of the sure and steady presence of God with us as we have travelled through the dark shadows.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Poet power

"The Elizabethans, more perceptive than later critics, feared [poets] as witches and hanged them as fomenters of treason." Ireland: a Concise History.

I ran across this quote as I was reading the history of Ireland in preparation for a fall trip to the one place in my heritage I have not yet visited. I have been chewing on the quote ever since and have written one poem in response. I do not think poets are nearly as powerful in our culture as they were in Elizabethan times in Ireland, but even here and now words have power, and those who use them courageously and well can have an impact. In my journey into the realm of poetry, I have spent many hours among poets and have come to appreciate their clear vision and honest reactions to this world in which we live. The ones I know are, for the most part, sensitive people in tune with others and the world around them in a way that can offer a fresh perspective to the rest of us if we have ears to hear and eyes to see. I am convinced the world would be a much better place if we spent less time listening to the politicians and pundits and much more time listening to poets.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Planes in the sky

I experienced a surreal, heart-stopping moment as I left the local grocery store earlier this week. I heard the roar as I approached the door with my basket and looked up to catch a glimpse of a jet roaring past so low it seemed to barely miss the cars in the parking lot. As I stepped outside, I joined the knot of worried people gathered and watching the sky as two fighter jets appeared to chase each other around in circles in the kind of maneuvers I've seen before only in movies like Top Gun. As they circled around again and then vanished in the distance, the small crowd asked questions and made comments: Is it the air show? No that is over. Obama is in Austin today. The firefighters just coming into the store don't seem alarmed so it can't be local. It looks like they have missiles! Did you see if they said USA on the side? I held my breath waiting to see what would happen next, and talked with a young neighbor in the group. As nothing more happened, after a few minutes we disbursed. My stomach felt queasy as I searched the news channels on satellite radio for any alarms on the way home. When I arrived home I hurried to turn on the TV, but saw nothing on the 24/7 news and began to breathe a bit easier.

It was only later in the day after posting a comment about the experience on Facebook that I learned the event had been a farewell flyover from the air show. That knowledge would have made the whole experience less scary. I called the young neighbor to tell her, and we both talked about how nice it would have been to know that at the time. Since then I have been thinking about how much we have lost in the decade since the September 11th attacks on this country. Those attacks were of course freshly on everyone's mind with the recent assasination of Osama bin Laden in the news. Living as we do within 30 miles of Ft. Hood, the world's largest US Army base, produces a different sort of mindset. We see and hear the activity as Ft. Hood goes about its business: the boom of artillery that rattles the windows, the planes lumbering overhead, and the slow-moving, camouflaged vehicles that sometimes crowd the highways. The military is part of the air we breath.

I long for the sense of security I had growing up, and I grieve for the young people, like my grandchildren, who will never feel safe in quite the same way I did as a child. But perhaps there is a blessing hidden in the new reality, for we now know in our guts the fear that many in the world live with daily and can therefore be more attentive to their plight. As I am forced to face the fact that life is uncertain and out of our control, I am reminded in a stark way that my only true security lies in God's love. God is all I have on earth or in heaven, and all I need. It is a hard blessing to know that, but a blessing just the same.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Remembering

The news that Osama bin Laden had been killed flashed me back to September 11, 2001 and the hallway leading to a seminary classroom as well as the shock we all felt at the news of the attacks that day. I can only imagine how much more painful this news has been for those who lost loved ones that day or who continue to suffer from the after effects of  their efforts to help with rescue and cleanup. My heart is filled with sadness at the thought of so much grief and pain from the evil that caused it. I have no room in my heart for rejoicing at this man's death, which does nothing to erase the results of his evil. I pray his death will bring a sense of relief and closure to those who grieve and perhaps lessen the violence in this world somehow. But I am appalled at those who have danced in the streets with joy at this news. Their actions are too sharp a reminder of those across the world who also danced at the news of our tragedy here that awful day. Such jubilation only serves to stoke the flames of hatred and violence. Better to respond with prayer and a somber spirit that remembers all that has been lost.

Grace and peace,
Donna Sue

Heart song

I have been wearing a heart monitor again and will be glad to turn it in at the end of the week. This is the second time the cardiologist has asked me to do this. It requires me to pay close attention to my heart rate and to push a button to record any irregularities I sense. For most of my life I did not pay much attention at all to my heart. I expected it to keep beating and it did. Now at times its steady beat has a jazz rhythm, mostly an annoyance, but the doctors want me to pay closer attention these days. I am grateful that my heart seems to be in excellent condition otherwise. I keep up the exercise routine as my contribution to its ongoing health, and I thank God each new morning when I wake up to another day. Both seem to be blessings rather than something about which I should complain. The cardiologist says some of his patients have lived well into their 80s with this type of problem, so I'm focusing on that and trying not to worry too much about the day to day changes. I have become more attuned to my heart's song, and grateful that it keeps singing. God is good and will walk with me on this journey whatever my heart's condition. I am thankful for that knowledge.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Coincidence or something else

Somehow I don't think it was a coincidence that he came into the church when I was standing behind the food serving line. Tentative, but hungry enough to open the door and venture inside, he said Martha's Kitchen, the local homeless shelter a few blocks away, had sent him when he arrived there after dinner. We were serving pancakes for a choir fund raiser that Shrove Tuesday night. I hesitated for only a second before saying, "Have a plate!" Fund raising could wait. We are a church after all. When I looked up a few minutes later,  I saw him sitting by himself. His faded clothes and nervous manner set him apart from the rest of the familiar, festive crowd. I left the the food service to others, grabbed a cup of coffee and went to sit across from him. In retrospect, I think the conversation may have been as important to him as the food. I learned he had been in the Navy, where he worked as a cook, serving thousands of meals on a ship. He said when he was in high school, college and the Navy, he never suspected he would end up homeless. He also told me his mom had died very recently. I discovered he knew a lot about the Bible. He talked about Abraham's demonstration of his faith when he was willing to offer up his son as a sacrifice, something we had just discussed in the Sunday school class I had been teaching on the Epistle of James. He said our country had its problems, but was better off than the ones he'd seen during his Navy time. He declined more food, saying, "I cannot eat much at a time anymore." When he rose to leave, I told him to come back, and he smiled. He offered me his hand, and on impulse, I gave him a hug. He hugged me back fiercely--the best hug I've had in some time--and in the process blessed me more than anything I had done for him. I think Jesus came to our church on Shrove Tuesday, and I almost missed his visit. I'm glad I was paying attention for once. I worry about the times I am not so attentive and miss God's presence.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue

Heaven Country

I have been working on learning more Chinese characters using my Chinese-English Bible for morning devotions. At times I am rewarded with unique insights from a different perspective. This past week, I discovered that the characters used for the kingdom of God are the characters for heaven and country. I decided I really liked the idea of "heaven country." It sounds more accessible to me somehow, like a place I can visit from time to time rather than a more ephemeral idea I sometimes have trouble grasping. I think I visited heaven country this past week during our annual Gospel Jazz Service on the last Sunday before Lent. We had a jazz band with us again to provide lively music that had people dancing. It was a joyful time. Our pastor talked in her sermon about the origins of jazz in the African American church in worship services where slaves and their descendants were able for a time to express both their anguish and their joy in God's presence. She said that jazz had spread from the church to the world and is now returning to its roots in the church in services such as ours. Perhaps that history of gospel jazz music is why the music in this annual service regularly moves me to tears of joy. Maybe it's because I sense God's presence in the music itself. My heart is still dancing as I remember the music and the jazz version of Just a Closer Walk with Thee I got to sing with our choir. What a blessing to dance before God our creator in preparation for entering the somber season of Lent once again.

Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue