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Beloved:
On behalf of my parents who are both gone now, I occasionally drive to Bedford for wakes or funerals of their friends. Russell and Maxine Johnson were our neighbors on Q Street until I was almost three. Russell died a few years ago and Maxine just this week. She lived all 97 of her years between Bedford and Oolitic. I am now older than they were when we were neighbors, which seems impossible given that they seemed elderly then. In the afternoon my mother penned my sister and me on the front porch and we watched for him to come home from work. He’d cross the street, lean over the baby gate and pick us up. We searched his shirt pockets for the stick of Doublemint gum which he tore in half for us to share. (We should have been a DoubleMint commercial!) He was the first to call my sister “Cacky,” the same name her grandchildren now call her. My mother had a new baby three years in a row so we soon outgrew the house on Q Street and moved to Broadview Drive where most of my childhood happened. After that we only saw Russell and Maxine on Sundays, at First Baptist Church. I sat with them sometimes after I’d graduated to big church, him holding the hymnal low enough for me to see. Years pass in which I don’t think of them but every time they come to mind I smell Doublemint gum. I remember almost nothing else from living in that house but I remember standing at that baby gate and being lifted up on one arm, Cacky on the other. Why do we remember what we remember? Why do we keep such old, small things and forget current, important ones? Maybe because we have no idea what is really important. I think I remember Russell and Maxine because they were the first people besides my parents to delight daily in my existence . . . and their delight laid an impression upon my memory that has lasted all this time. Because they loved me at church too, my brain attached their delight to the words, Jesus loves me, and linked that same sensation of delight to the feel of grandpa arms and the smell of Doublemint gum. Why would my self ever forget such needful things? Now it’s not uncommon for me to feel elderly at the end of a long day in grown-up land. I like thinking that even as we bounced on the porch looking for him, he turned the corner onto Q Street watching for us - armed with the delightful hugs only babies can give. Delight someone today, friends. peace & prayers, pastor annette
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Beloved: My husband teaches with a lovely, brilliant, German woman who hosts beautiful parties to which we’ve twice been invited. Her home and gardens are pristine. She hires Bloomington’s top chef who last night delivered a Cajun production that included fried green tomatoes topped with crab salad. I actually ate two. I mentally ate six. She hired a Jacobs School chamber quintet that recently won an international competition. As people mingle, beautiful food on beautiful trays glides by on the arms of silent waiters. Used dishes disappear quietly, as if made of tissue. The actual tissues are in the pocket-doored powder room, along with thick paper hand towels and scented soaps. Twice I’ve then there and not been invited to see the kitchen. I just itched to sneak a peek and was both impressed and a little disappointed. Top grade everything of course, but as industrial as a garage - or a restaurant. It was the strangest room I thought. Later at home, doodling around my own kitchen I noticed my shabby counter tops, leaking faucet, and dirty floor. I giggled a little to imagine explaining to Chef David Tallent! how to he’d need pliers to turn on my oven, as the broken knobs cannot bear the weight of additional super glue. I might have coveted her Viking range just a little. I might have gloated just a little that my kitchen is warm and homey ~ a gloat soundly schooled by the Holy Spirit who suggested, in the way only the Holy Spirit and your mama can, “Now hold on right there Missy. How about you take a little walk around that beautiful party again and wear your Jesus lenses this time?” Only it wasn’t a request. Her entire home is designed with serving others in mind. Imagine! She spends enormous time, energy and money to create an event in which her guests enjoy meals made of food they did not plan, cook or lug home from the grocery. They eat from dishes they will not wash. Why? Because she wants to, because it gives her joy to bring together people who would otherwise never meet in the same space for conversation and music. Because it please her to serve them and pleases them to be served, nourished, connected, gifted. “Yes, Mam. I see now. Thank you,” would my best response to the Holy Spirit, seconded by a gushing thank you note to the host and followed up with a different attitude. While my tongue recalls the fried green tomatoes my spirit smarts a bit from the correction which is this ~ all that I have that is useful or beautiful comes from the Lord and is designated to others in a transaction called hospitality. The more automatic, graceful, gentle and beautiful the execution, the more Christlike it is ~ even if most people would just say, “What nice party.” ~ peace and prayers, pastor annette P.S. If you tweet, I'd love to follow you. I'm @AnnetteBriggs. "Monks Inside Today" was scribbled on a dry erase board propped in the yard of First Christian Church downtown where my friend Mark preaches. I decided to go see. The monks were creating a mandala ~ a beautiful design made entirely of colored, loose sand sprinkled onto a plywood plank. Once complete, the sand is swept away. I'm so glad I went to see it.
I also had a great time with a new friend, Tenpa, in the picture below. He's a young monk, a second generation Tibetan refugee born in India. So friendly and anxious to practice his English, he explained the design to me. The center of the mandala is a globe with four animals sitting on one another's back; a bird atop a rabbit atop a monkey atop an elephant. "Four harmony brothers," Tenpa said, "to show how even ones who are very different can live together with peace." They are a funny bunch, the monks, quiet as they bend very close to their work. When they do speak, it sounds like singing. No slaves to fashion, they wear gold and maroon robes and go barefoot. Although I noticed one wore purple argyle socks. They smile and nod alot. I asked Tenpa, "What if someone needs to sneeze while he is working?" and he got the joke. The seven monks will tour in the US for two more months, creating mandalas, sharing Tibetan culture and raising money for their monastery in Dehra Dun, India. "When I sleep, the rain falls on me," Tenpa said, "when we have enough money, we will have a new roof." He invited me to visit the monastery when I'm in India. "It rains in the guest house too, but only in May and June." What a totally cool day! Beloved: I have tree problems at my house. Chunks of red oak weighing five hundred pounds or more litter a side yard. Every time the wind blows hard I imagine being crushed to death by the locust tree which towers over my bedroom roof. It’s splitting at its base and rotting from the inside out. Four pin oaks drop old dead branches constantly which is simply a hassle. Here and there smaller trees will topple soon enough, taking neighboring branches with them. Further away from the house and yard, the woods takes care of itself perfectly but slowly. Up close we suburbanites like things tidier and more dependable. But felling trees by my schedule is highly skilled, dangerous and expensive work. So for as long as the sun shines and the breeze is soft, I procrastinate. Every few months a different tree man notices my tree issues and stops to offer me a free estimate. I always say yes to the estimate and never call them back. Until a couple of weeks ago when, on the morning after an especially windy night, a young man named Tyler knocked on my door. He’s just starting to build his business and he convinced me everything I needed doing could be done at ‘a surprisingly affordable price.' “And,” he said, “I’m glad to work out a payment plan if that is helpful for you.” I admired his confidence and initiative but he seemed so young. Nevertheless I agreed to show him what I needed. Turns out his estimate was so suprisingly affordable that I didn’t need the payment plan. Truth be told, the price reinforced my anxiety about his lack of experience. Tyler and his 4 workers started yesterday. They dangle from ropes with chains saws attached to their belts. They rappel from tree to tree like trapeze artists. Tyler does the most dangerous work, spiked fifty or sixty feet above the ground, sawing off sections of limbs and pushing them whatever direction he wants them to fall. They land and bounce with tremendous thuds, denting the ground and spewing earth. I feel justified in my night fears and embarrassed that I doubted his expertise. Somewhere in all of this are spiritual lessons about procrastination, first impressions and appreciation for the amazing jobs some people do every day. For now, I simply enjoy watching them work. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette August 28, 2012
Beloved: I had a doctor’s appointment last week. Walking across the parking lot, I was fretting about it when I heard something. Exiting the building, holding hands and swinging their arms were a 60-something mentally handicapped woman and her helper, belting out “Keep on the Sunny Side of Life” at the top of their lungs. The sound was holy perfection and it carried my worry away. In the week since, I’ve tried to keep that memory fresh, imagining the two of them sharing their repertoire all over town, singing for anyone with ears to hear, as Jesus said. Too often, the soundtrack of my days is complaining; perfectly pitched and joyless. That isn’t the minister I want to be. That isn’t the human being I want to be. I want to be like that woman, joining hands with whoever I find beside me, singing - loudly - the best June Carter Cash song I know. I want to be like her helper, walking alongside joyful people, singing with them, loudly. ~ peace and prayers, pastor annette |
I write a Tuesday morning devotional to members and friends of UBC. It is also posted here.
Enjoy! Pastor Annette Copyright
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