Pastor Annette's Blog
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"OF ALL THE THINGS GOD HAS SHOWN ME, I CAN SPEAK BUT A LITTLE WORD NOT MORE THAN A HONEYBEE CAN CARRY AWAY ON ITS FOOT FROM AN OVERFLOWING JAR."
~ MECHTHILD OF MAGDEBURG, 13TH CENTURY MYSTIC |
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Beloved:
Taylor Grace is three. She still has wispy baby hair and clear blue eyes. Her family is going to the beach in June; their first real vacation. They talk about it all the time. Those clear blue eyes grew big as moons when her daddy told her, “There’s a rule at the beach that mommies and daddies can’t say no if a kid asks for a popsicle.” Taylor was speechless at the very idea of such a place. Vacation is the place where parents never have to work. Instead they reap the rewards of that work. They play with their kids all day long, or sit together and just watch them. On vacation, kindness flows more easily, even between siblings. Since there’s no place more important to be than together, and nothing more important to do than play, kids go from pajamas to swimsuits to pajamas. They eat Fruit Loops and popsicles for breakfast, lunch and supper if they want, and are none the worse for it. A 5-year-old once told her grandma, “Oh, it’s okay Mamaw, I never brush my teeth on vacation.” Turns out she was correct as she is grown up now and has beautiful teeth. Vacation is the place that lasts far longer than a week at the beach. When endless popsicles are but a memory, vacation will be a memory that sustains Taylor when it’s cold outside and Daddy is at work. Because it’s not simply a memory, it’s a hope and a promise ~ of going back to that place where she plays all day and Daddy doesn’t say no. peace & prayers, pastor annette
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Beloved:
Recently a homeless man wandered in to my yoga class which meets in a downtown church. He had Ben Franklin hair and carried his valuables in a Taco Bell cup. He wanted to take the class so our awesome instructor gave him a blue mat and a lavender scented eye pillow. He asked to keep his shoes and cup near her for safety. “Of course,” she said. So we began; the instructor, five middle-aged women and Ben Franklin, right next to me naturally. I confess, it was a little disconcerting to keep my eyes closed and my mind empty with a homeless man on the mat next door. I did sneak a peek now and then. He was about as limber at yoga as I am at competitive gymnastics but unlike me, he was utterly unselfconscious in his practice. After class he told the instructor it was different than the yoga he was used to, much harder. She praised his effort and thanked him for coming. And I thought for the millionth time, “Wow, nothing in a book or movie is ever as interesting as real life!” At the end of each yoga class, our instructor leads namaste. Roughly translated from Sanskrit namaste means “I bow to you.” She says, “the light in me honors the light in you.” Every time, Matthew 25:40 comes to mind, “I tell you this: anything you did for one of my brothers here, however humble, you did for me.” For me, it so easily translates into the Christ in me honors the Christ in you. This week, it was acted out before my very eyes, the Light in our teacher honoring the Light in Ben Franklin. The truth is, his homelessness may be a figment of my prejudice. What I know for sure is that his presence was a gift ~ the very embodiment of Christ among us ~ inviting us to welcome Him with grace and kindness. peace & prayers, pastor annette Beloved ~ “If the Lord had not been on our side . . . all sorts of terribleness which befell us would have destroyed us. We have escaped like a bird from the fowler’s trap.” ~ Psalm 124 (my paraphrase) Now then, every dot and tittle of human life happen on the far side of this great escape. The teeth and traps which once threatened are powerless against us - so long as we choose to live here in this present, far side of redemption. Hopefully the contentment and bliss which marked our Sunday’s Feast of Worship lingers in you as it does in me here on the third day after. The room, the food, the music were beautiful. Yet what persists most tangibly for me is the fellowship; the intimacy of our gathering, our appreciation for one another’s presence. How great is my desire to stay here in body, mind and soul. So, so easily can I slip into pre-escape ways of living in which I long, hope, pray for release and rescue from some anxiety or problem instead of remembering, choosing to live mindful that I am already free and safe ~ here on that far side of Easter, resurrection day. Free and safe, we have access to all the strength, grace, and peace needed to live with our problems without being ruled by them. As your day proceeds, may you find yourselves again and again reminded, body, mind and soul, of the joy we share in the aftermath of Easter. peace & prayers, ~ pastor annette Beloved:
By far the most interesting thing at my house in the last week was our cat Simba getting himself stuck in a tree, about 25 feet off the ground. He cried. He crooned. He paced the limb and then climbed higher. Ben couldn’t climb high enough to get him and our longest ladder was too short. The tree is on a slope making it all the more risky. We discovered him just before dark and had no choice but to leave him overnight. Simba is 13 years old and not given to kitty-ness. If he were human, he’d have tattoos, a Harley and be no stranger to street fights and lethal violence. He’d have few committed relationships and only on his terms; meaning he’d come and go as he pleased and never apologize for rude behavior. He takes what he wants and rejects the rest. His most consistent attitude is boredom coupled with derision. Three days of crooning and crying for help were hard on Simba. Yep, three days. Contrary to urban legend, the local firemen do not rescue cats from trees. Neither does animal control. However, a local tree man does. He’s safely rescued about 200 cats over the years, he told me on the phone. And in his experience, cats come down on their own after about 3 days, for want of water. Not Simba, and not because he didn’t want to. I think he discovered his one weakness ~ he’s afraid of heights. On a friend’s advice, I sprayed him with the hose, steadily for 15 minutes. He and I were both soaked but he didn’t come down. Once he finished his bath he wasn’t thirsty anymore either. I gave up and called the tree man again. It was Friday afternoon and he’d just finished a long week. I could hear his exhaustion over the phone but he agreed to come out to our house. Mr. Wallace could be 50 or 70 years old. High school swimmers would envy his physique. His helper stayed on the ground to belay. He strapped himself into his climbing gear and asked me about Simba. Before he started up he began talking to him; like a daddy talking to a crying baby. “Are you tired boy? I know how you feel. It’s been a long week for me too.” The more he talked the more Simba cried as Mr. Wallace slowly spiked his way up the tree, moving his safety rope as he ascended. When he was level with Simba, he had to secure his equipment to work with both hands. Simba started to move away and he put out his hand. Simba came to him and he lifted him to his chest. Slowly he worked a pillowcase over Simba’s head and body, tying it so that he was immobilized inside. 13-year-old street fighting Simba allowed it, was docile even. The helper rapelled Simba down and carried him to the garage where Simba staggered and stumbled having no idea what he was supposed to do. He finally ate some fish from my hand and went to sleep. “I might write about this for Tuesday morning,“ I told my husband. “Well, getting stuck in a tree where no amount of pride can get you down and your only hope is a man willing to climb up and save you sure seems appropriate for Holy Week. You should definitely write about that,” he said. I pretend that’s exactly what I was thinking too. As we move through these last and most difficult days of Lent, I invite you to consider with gratitude and joy, “From what sort of life did Jesus rescue me? Up what tree would I be today if Jesus hadn’t come for me, hadn’t saved me? Who could have imagined learning a lesson of faith from a cat like Simba? These days, he’s a contrite and loving fellow, sweetly sleeping at my side as I write. He even lets me hold him now. Even as we pray, let us give thanks for the lives of peace and contentment we have won in accepting Jesus’ sacrifice for us. peace & prayers, pastor annette |
I write a Tuesday morning devotional to members and friends of UBC. It is also posted here.
Enjoy! Pastor Annette Copyright
Everything on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons license, which gives you permission to copy freely, provided that you attribute the work to me, that you use the work for non-commercial purposes, and that you do not produce derivative works. Archives
December 2024
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