Fully Committed

I mentioned ‘communism’ in a discussion the other day, and was surprised when a young person in the group didn’t know what that was.  Communism?  I grew up in the Cold War era, practicing the under-the-desk scramble in elementary school to prepare for ‘the attack,’ and as my father served the country in military intelligence and the word having shaped our livelihood, I suppose I was as shocked as someone not understanding how to boil water!  The world has gone on to other threats, hasn't it?

I shan’t bore you with a definition today, but it reminded me of commitment, deep commitment to a cause one believes in.  Billy Graham once shared a letter written by a committed communist that had quite an effect on me.  If you don't get the 'communism' reference, substitute your own, but in any case, here it is as published back in the 1960s:

We communists have a high casualty rate.  We are the ones who get shot and hung and ridiculed and fired from our jobs and in every other way made as uncomfortable as possible.  A certain percentage of us get killed or imprisoned.  We live in virtual poverty.  We turn back to the party every penny we make above what is absolutely necessary to keep us alive.

We communists do not have the time or the money for many movies or concerts or T-bone steaks or decent homes or new cars.  We’ve been described as fanatics.  Our lives are dominated by one great, overshadowing factor:  the struggle for world communism.  We have a philosophy of life which no amount of money could buy.  We have a cause to fight for, a definite purpose in life.  We subordinator our petty personal selves into a great movement of humanity; and if our personal lives seem hard or our egos appear to suffer through subordination to the party, then we are adequately compensated by the thought that each of us, in [his/her] small way, is contributing to something new and true and better for [humankind].

There is one thing in which I am in dead earnest about, and that is the communist cause.  It is my life, my business, my religion, my hobby, my sweetheart, my wife, my mistress, my bread and meat.  I work at it in the daytime and dream of it at night.  Its hold grows on me grows, not lessens, as time goes on; therefore, I cannot carry on a friendship, a love affair, or even a conversation without relating it to this force which both drives and guides my life. . . .I’ve already been in jail because of my ideals, and if necessary, I’m ready to go before a firing squad.

That’s commitment.  I don’t know if this young fellow lived up to his high ideals in reality, but I do know that I was drawn to substitute the word ‘communism’ and ‘communist’ with ‘loving Jesus Christ and loving others.’  Can we be just as committed and convicted as we live out The Way, in all our relationships and our actions, day in and day out?  That’s my prayer.  And I needed to be reminded, even from a viewpoint on the other side of the aisle.

At least that’s the view from my desk, especially today!

Grace and joy,

Julie

Spiritually Growing

"We all want to be loved for who we are [but] we all want to become who we are not." 

 John Ortberg sums up spiritual growth that way. Does that hunger resonate with you?  God has wired us for yearning, to become more, or better, or stronger, or more adept with the skills we have--to go deeper.  That requires change.

And change is a scary thing. 

The best news is, there's nothing about change that God hasn't prepared us to handle, precisely because God wants us to be the very best version of us that we can be.  It's up to us not to block God's redemptive power.

2 Corinthians 12:9 says
Each time he (Christ) said, "My grace is all you need.  My power works best in weakness."  So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. [NLT]

Can you set aside your weaknesses to take the steps you need to grow?  Especially if your weaknesses are rooted in fear?  Let me share some hope with you.  The constant in life is change.  Life has to change in order to keep living--seeds to plants, autumn leaves to spring blossoms, rebirth in many forms and fashions.  If God promises life--and abundant life at that--the change you may be faced with at this moment (or feeling nudged toward), places you in the perfect spot to see needs, and to allow God to work through you in meeting those needs (yours or your neighbors').

It's time to celebrate, believe it or not, and check out the opportunities God is nudging toward you.  It may be involvement in a class, a group, a mission project, a new spiritual discipline, but it's a good thing, a GREAT thing, in God's eyes.

And so I wish grace and joy to all my beloveds on this journey today!

Julie

Just Pedal!

It’s good to be back in the saddle here at West End UMC, although my saddle side is rather sore from riding in the Rockies for a 23 mile stretch!  I hadn’t ridden a bicycle for 20+ years, and while it is true that you never forget, I was still rusty.

Which is why after the first few feet I pedaled right into the back of a parked pickup truck, and fell off.  Kerpluck! And that was just during the “fit the woman with a bike” portion.

The whole ride up in the van to the top of Trail Ridge Road was spent psyching myself up for the adventure.  “Come on, Halstead.  You can do this.  Don’t let Cousin Jane down on her birthday.  Don’t think about the 12,000 foot drop off….(right, like don’t visualize a pink elephant. Oops, there it is!)”  quickly turned into “What were you thinking?  Is this any way for a 57-year-old woman to spend a Monday morning?  And what’s the real meaning of ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me?’” Was Paul including soaring down a mountainside at 25 mph in that verse?  Probably not.

Pride, more than courage, got me to strap on that helmet and swing my legs over the bar of the bike, if truth be told.  Fortunately, God uses our weaknesses to a benefit, sometimes.  Had I given into my fear, I would have missed breathing in the fresh pine, whizzing past a mama deer and her fawn just three feet from the roadside, smiling wide even with bugs in my teeth at the breathtaking beauty of creation at its grandest.  And smile I did.  All the way down, all the way up the incline (walking my bike for those yards), and gliding into the alluvial fan picnic area.  Crackers and cheese never tasted so good in the victory of conquering that fear, even if my knees were wobbly.

I may not have been courageous, but I am grateful for the amazing up close and personal experience into the web of life, the vision of our forebears to protect the lands of the RMNP, and especially the imagination of The Creator for including us in the mix.  It was a great day of communion and companionship.

It reminds me of a poem whose author is unknown, but is entitled The Road of Life:

At first, I saw God as my observer,

my judge,

keeping track of the things I did wrong,

so as to know whether I merited heaven

or hell when I die.

He was out there sort of like a president.

I recognized His picture when I saw it,

but I really didn't know Him.

But later on

when I met Christ,

it seemed as though life were rather like a bike ride,

but it was a tandem bike,

and I noticed that Christ

was in the back helping me pedal.

I don't know just when it was

that He suggested we change places,

but life has not been the same since.

When I had control,

I knew the way.

It was rather boring,

but predictable . . .

It was the shortest distance between two points.

But when He took the lead,

he knew delightful long cuts,

up mountains,

and through rocky places

at breakneck speeds,

it was all I could do to hang on!

Even though it looked like madness,

He said, "Pedal."

I worried and was anxious

and asked,

"Where are you taking me?"

He laughed and didn't answer,

and I started to learn to trust.

I forgot my boring life

and entered into the adventure.

And when I'd say, "I'm scared,"

He'd lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed,

gifts of healing,

acceptance,

and joy.

They gave me gifts to take on my journey,

my Lord's and mine.

And we were off again.

He said, "Give the gifts away,

they're extra baggage, too much weight."

So I did,

to the people we met,

and I found that in giving I received,

and still our burden was light.

I did not trust Him,

at first,

in control of my life.

I thought He'd wreck it;

but He knows bike secrets,

knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners,

knows how to jump to clear high rocks,

knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up

and pedal

in the strangest places,

and I'm beginning to enjoy the view

with the cool breeze on my face

with my delightful, constant companion,

Jesus Christ.

And when I'm sure I just can't do any more,

He just smiles and says . . . "Pedal."

 

The smile, sans bugs, remains in the view from my desk here in Nashville, today, even if Colorado is in my rear view mirror.  And we keep pedaling!

Grace and joy,

Julie

Like Moths Drawn to A Flame

The writer Annie Dillard tells the story of a moth she once observed circling the flame of a candle. The moth loved the light so much that it circled closer and closer until it actually caught fire.  It fell onto the top of the candle and burned to death, flaming brightly as it died.

Sounds pretty gruesome, doesn't it.  But then, just then, when things look bleakest from our human perspective, the most amazing thing happened.  The moth's body began to draw wax out of the candle, and it became a second wick for the candle's flame.  In death, the moth became part of the light it loved so much!  Annie Dillard reports that it burned all night, giving light into the dark room.

There are certain persons we encounter who are just like this moth.  They love Jesus Christ, the Light of the World.  They love this light so much that they spend their lives circling it.  When they die, they become part of this light, and even in death they share this light with others.

My friend Syble, at whose bedside I sat this past week until she slipped into the Light, radiated that light into the lives of so very many people.  Even in death she was shining!  The day she came home from the hospital into hospice care happened to be her 80th birthday, and she was alert enough to sing along with the Happy Birthday song, clapping and laughing, surrounded by her sons, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  When it dawned on the group that Grandmother was about to experience yet another kind of birth, the tears started flowing--naturally.  Syble looked at them all and said, "Why are you crying?  I get to see Jesus!"  Of course, that just made the tears turn into sobs, whereupon Syble said quizzically, "Aren't you coming too?"  Man oh man, wasn't THAT a sermon in 13 words!  She had already become that second wick.

What a lesson.  Syble's whole life was like that.  And when words weren't to be found, especially in grief and loss, she would hand you a cold, wet washcloth and let you bury your pain in her soft and ample lap until the sobs subsided.  She saved my sanity more than once early on in my ministry, and in that sense, she definitely was a pastor's pastor, understanding her part in the priesthood of believers.

I'm glad Syble didn't wait until death to let her light shine--to become one with The Light of the World, surrendering her will to that of The Lord over and over again.  I thank God for the gift of Syble, whose light will shine for generations to come.

Grace and joy,
Julie

Inspiration Transformation Resurrection!

I've just arrived back home from SoulFeast.  Oh my goodness.  My head is swimming with information/inspiration/motivation/transformation.  I'm so excited to share lots of stuff with you, particularly in enhancing our ministries together here at West End UMC.  It's been my belief for a long time that knowledge for knowledge's sake, unless shared, is vanity, and believe me, I can't wait to do just that.

But.  But.  The 'buts' happen, don't they?  Mine occurred early this morning with the news that the most precious lady ever, my second mom I love to call her, is celebrating her 80th birthday by going home from the hospital to hospice care.  We think she'll hang around for another week before heading Home to Our Father's loving arms from there.  I can't begin to express my grief.

God was good yesterday in worship at Lake Junaluska.  Bless Rev. Rob Fuquay's heart.  Unbeknownst to him, he preached the memorial service for Syble that I needed for my own grief that would begin to unfold 24 hours later.  You probably don't think about it much, but we pastor types need nurturing and feeding on a regular basis in order to keep shepherding the flocks.  God provided sustenance in His oh so prevenient way!  I have tears just thinking about it.

Rob's words from God reminded me that death takes away.  Death removes.  Death cannot give a future.  Death cannot create, nor can it create again.  Death can not make new again. 

Resurrection is the opposite.
Resurrection brings life.  Resurrection provides a future. Resurrection creates, and creates again.  Resurrection makes new again.

Jesus IS the resurrection and the life.  Jesus came to Mary and Martha in their grief, to be for them the resurrection and life.  Jesus comes to us today in OUR grief.  Jesus brings relief from grief in the promise, and in his proof of the promise.  Jesus is our resurrection and life.

Jesus IS our resurrection and life.  In every way, shape or form--fact, symbol, metaphor.  If that's not a mantra to live by, I don't know what is.

Syble was a resurrection figure in my life, too.  So it is an honor to go back to Texas to celebrate her life with her family, who are my family, forever.  Keep the home fires burning for me.  I know you will.

Grace and joy as I hit the road again,
Julie

Success from A Higher Point of View

I don’t know which David Orr penned the following, but whomever he is, I really love the sentiment:

The planet does not need more successful people.  But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every shape and form.  It needs people who live well in their places.  It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane.  And these needs have little to do with success as our culture has defined it.

Amen.  And Amen again.  But saying it, and tattooing it on my hand or forehead for everyone to read, means nada, nothing, if I don’t practice it myself.

For too long I worried about achieving success, acclaim, admiration, fame, and well—even a best seller.  I suspect age brings us up short when one day we come face to face with reality and say to the cute person in the mirror “You know, that probably won’t happen in your lifetime!”  There’s a moment of grief, then acceptance.  Or it was like that for me.  

The oddest thing happened, however, when I surrendered those kinds of ambitions.  Instead of climbing toward my dreams, somewhere along the way I decided maybe, just maybe, it would be better to start living out God’s dreams instead.  Forget mine.  Mine are powerless anyway, gone in a flash.  God’s dreams are bigger than that.  I realized I could simply do my part, no more, no less.  Depending on the day, and my shape or form for the hour, I can choose to be a peacemaker, a healer, a restorer, a storyteller, and a lover of every shape and form.  Most days, if I choose to do the right thing in the moment, I can live well in my place, whatever the circumstance.  It’s when I get out of my place, typically projecting myself and my ‘stuff’ into the future, that I get into a dither.  Thank God, in God’s patience with me, someone or something comes to snap me back out of that and into a humble reality.

Sounds so easy on paper.  It’s not, in practice.  But we keep practicing.  And practicing.  And some days, we get to glimpse a success or two.  Makes it all worthwhile!

That’s the view from my desk today, mental tattoos and all.

Grace and joy,

Julie

See ya later, Andy...

Andy Griffith died today, July 3^rd, right before Independence Day 2012.

It’s the end of an era, they are saying.  But so important not to let it be the end, just a passing of the torch.

Last week in the Combined Sunday School Class in McWhirter Hall, we talked about one of the most valuable freedoms we possess—that of having the ability to set priorities.  I find myself getting complacent frequently, until a crises knocks me on the forehead and reminds me to get my priorities in order.  What’s 1, 2 and 3?

God.  Family.  Vocation.  Authentic priorities can be checked by how much we think of them, time spent on them, money spent on them, how much I act on them.  Belief without action is, well, vanity.

So what’s that got to do with Andy Griffith?  Well, I’ve been a fan for a long, long time.  He and Danny Thomas were my television dads.  Anyone else have television dads?  It was easier to relate to Mr. Griffith, however, because my dad didn’t run around in nightclubs like Mr. Thomas.  Instead, my dad and I would have long conversations about God, many times at a fishin’ hole.  And about integrity.  And about grace.  Because with God, family, Sabbath time, integrity and grace, you can’t come up with a better formula for right living.  And everything I’ve read about Mr. Griffith reflected that kind of authentic life. 

I imagine he was flawed, and needed mending like we all do.  I don’t want to know it at the moment, and you will find me sticking fingers in my ears like Barney Fyffe (a fellow WVU alum) because I don’t want to think about it.  I simply want to celebrate a life that enriched mine with faith, relationships, rest, character, music and grins.  The Mayberry kind of life is a good model, and ageless as far as I’m concerned.  Even if it’s on an old scratchy record talking about “This thing called a football….”

Pardon me while I whistle a little tune with a wink and a smile before a nap today.  See ya, Andy.  Keep the home fires burning for me ‘til I get there too.

Grace and joy,

Julie