Oh, Lord, may this Lenten season end with new life.

We are trudging down road with no sign of anything but rejection and despair, as if we will mindlessly drone on and on like robots in a sci-fi feature.  I am clinging to every bit of Holy Spirit word that I can grab from the daily office. What keeps resurfacing is the line from an old hymn which says that I am "learning the patience of unanswered prayer." It is becoming difficult to choke down the cries for relief and deliverance, to try to stay calmly patient. I am constantly reminding myself of the countless others all over the world who are in much more difficult circumstances than I am, but that doesn't seem to assuage the emotion or lessen the rising panic.

And so I pray, Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer. May we find new life dawning at the end of this Lenten season (however long this season may last).

In Distress--

In your great mercy, O God, *
answer me with your unfailing help. 
 Save me from the mire; do not let me sink; *
let me be rescued from those who hate me
and out of the deep waters. 
 Let not the torrent of waters wash over me,
neither let the deep swallow me up; *
do not let the Pit shut its mouth upon me. 
 Answer me, O LORD, for your love is kind; *
in your great compassion, turn to me."


Hide not your face from your servant; *
be swift and answer me, for I am in distress. 

These words from Psalm 69 say it better than I could.

We are waiting.

Psalm 27:14--"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" Oh, Lord, we are waiting. We need your strength and courage.

Waiting does not get easier with age.

My beautiful life

Finding the beautiful in the midst of trouble, pain, or difficulty has been a focus of this blog. Sometimes the beautiful is only seen in retrospect. During our visit with Erin over the past week, much of Carl's time and energy was consumed with finding a remedy for the dryer situation--too long of a story to relate here. Suffice it to say, Erin purchased a supposedly working used dryer, and after much toil and trouble and with the assurance from her maintenance man that the problem was with the dryer and not with the electrical outlet, was unable to get it to work. So the dryer sat unused beside the washer for three or four months. Carl's goal was to provide a working dryer one way or another for Erin's Christmas present. The dryer fiasco, as it deserves to be called, brought us right up to the last night of our visit. After a lovely dinner out at Red Lobster, we went back to Erin's apartment, and Carl started to install the new dryer he had purchased that afternoon at Home Depot. So began a three hour descent to purgatory for Carl which culminated in discovering that the maintenance man had misled Erin--the outlet, in fact, was not even properly wired and was the source of the problem. In the midst of this misadventure, we females began as assistants in the process--helping to move the two dryers, passing tools, etc., but ended up distancing ourselves from a very frustrated man as there was nothing we could say or do that would improve the situation. That is how I ended up reclining on the hide-a-bed with my two daughters, reading and talking. I don't even remember now how the conversation turned to Old Testament stories, but somehow the story of Jacob and Esau came up, and Erin asked me to tell the story. So I briefly related the story of those two conflicted brothers as I snuggled with girls and dogs. When the story came to an end, Erin, in little girl mode, said, "Tell me another story, Mommy." I laughed and said that I wasn't a good story-teller and didn't know what to tell. She said to tell the story of Ruth or Esther--that Ruth was her favorite story in the Bible--that she used to read it when she was bored in church. So I started at the beginning as that starving family from Israel sought sustenance in a pagan land. With my limited writing ability, there is no way to describe that visceral experience of telling the compelling story of Ruth, feeling again the significance of the grace of God oozing out of that tale, and having my once wayward daughter join me in unison as I came to the part where Ruth said, "Your people will be my people, and your God will be  my God."

So often over the course of my life as a mother, I have resonated with the words said of Mary that she "treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart." Here is one more memory that I am savoring and pondering in my heart, a memory that in the moment seemed overshadowed by the trouble with the dryer, yet in retrospect, was a heaven kissed moment that I will always treasure. What a beautiful life I have!

The Old Testament reading from the daily office for today is Jeremiah 35 :1-19. It is an interesting vignette deposited in the midst of troubling times for Judah. It is the story of a family who remained faithful to an ancestor's commitment, and because of oppression from foreign forces found themselves in Jerusalem. God, through Jeremiah, uses them as an object lesson for Judah and Jerusalem. It appears that God sometimes ordains for our lives to be instructional for other people, and this may involve our own deprivation or relinquishing of personal desires. I have to hope that somehow in the mystery of what has become our lives, God is using us for an unseen purpose, maybe even as instruction to other souls.

The moments I live for. . .(or at least go to work for)--

We had a lockdown drill at school today--between classes--the worst kind. I urgently ordered kids into my classroom, random kids mostly, not my students except for one or two. Locked the door, turned off the lights, shooed the kids into the back corner where they couldn't be seen by an intruder through the classroom window. I had to herd Josh, a big black guy who happens to be my student, back into the corner, urging him to scrunch in next to another African American whom I had never seen before. Josh was somewhat resistant, not taking the drill too seriously, but I persisted in pushing him in closer to the other students, insisting that I stand in front of him to protect him. It was a whispered interlocution as I maintained my protective position, and he incredulously whispered, "she's half my size." In the midst of this interchange, I declared that any intruder would shoot me first, and I heard the unknown black student whisper, "he'll shoot me because I'm black." Those whispered words, probably unheard by most of the students huddled in the corner, reverberated in my head. We spent the next few moments in complete silence waiting for the all-clear. When the principal gave the word that the drill was over and students should proceed to their second period class, I asked to speak to that student. "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply. I asked his name--Zion--and told him mine, letting him know that I was glad to meet him. And then I looked him in the eye and told him never to put himself down because of who he is. I told him that his life was just as precious and valuable as anyone else's in the building, and that any perpetrator would have to come through me to get to him. A polite, "Yes, Ma'm," was his reply, and off he went to class. A precious moment with a precious young man. I hope that the knowledge that a teacher valued his life and would try to protect him becomes a positive part of his development as a human being. And that's why I go to work every day.

Dear Stephanie,

Today marks the 30th anniversary of your going to God. Thirty is a big deal here on earth, it seems. When your birthday passed in May, I had my usual dip into sadness. The whole month of May kind of stinks for me. But it is here at this point when I remember saying good-bye to you that my mind has been lingering. I was really hoping that your brother Peter's son would be born today. I thought that would be so redeeming. That is not to be. Dear Kristie still carries little Cohen in her womb.

I want to let you know a few things. First of all, I'm glad God called you to Himself. You would have struggled so much had you been confined to your earthly body. Though my heart has grieved for thirty years, I am glad His grace relieved your suffering. I often try to imagine what your spiritual life is like. I have to content myself with the knowledge that it is good, peaceful, and full of love.

The second thing I want you to know is that I look forward with great anticipation to the time when I will get to know you in your perfection. I wonder if you are like your brothers, funny and smart and deeply thoughtful. Do you have that mix of me and your dad, so cerebral joined with passionate emotion? What will you look like in your new body, having shed the one that was so broken?

Finally, I want you to know that I wouldn't have missed you for anything in the world. I am so glad I was your mother. Your short life changed mine in ways nothing else could have, and for that I am grateful.

Your dad realized today that you share the same earth exiting anniversary as that great church father, St. Augustine. Maybe you have met him.

There is so much I don't know about life eternal. But I do know that one day we will be reunited in the presence of the Triune God and the holy angels. Thanks be to God.

I love you. I miss you. I will see you again.

Your Mamma