My first lesson on compassion

My bed did not have time to get cold as I leapt out of it on that Christmas morning and bounded up the stairs to our family room. As I rounded the corner I could see it, the shiny chrome, the deep dark black of the rubber, the red and blue streamers cascading from the handlebars, and the banana seat that had all the colors of the rainbow. My first bicycle was a thing of beauty. That bicycle was the ticket to a new world for me. I had plans and visions of new adventures in store. It was another milestone, I was old enough to leave my mother’s line of vision, the only barrier between me and freedom was to learn how to control those two wheels. I had no fear, and no patience, I was ready to jump on that banana seat and head off in whatever direction my heart desired.

My mind was lost in daydreams of long paved sidewalks and wild packs of ten years olds on their bicycles roaming the neighborhood with me in the lead. I do not remember any other presents I opened on that Christmas morning, I certainly did not care about my sister’s presents which I am sure she was opening at a snail’s pace, as she always did, to prolong my agony. I do not remember breakfast, although I am sure Mom made egg’s benedict like she does every Christmas morning. What I do remember is finally that afternoon,sitting on the banana seat, at the end of my driveway. My dad was giving me all sorts of instructions on how to brake, how to balance, how to steer, and I was not listening to a word. Finally, my dad gave me a push, I started to peddle as fast as I could, and in less than a minute, crash! I was on the ground, crying and bleeding, this was not how my adventure was supposed to start, it was not supposed to be this hard, the excitement was gone and the fear had descended on me like a shroud.

My father picked me up and carried me in his his arms into the house, he offered me words of comfort and assurance and reminded me of his unfailing love for me. He cleaned me up and put a band-aid on my skinned knee. But he could not fix my battered and broken spirit. He asked me if I was ready to take another try, and I was not! Fear had taken hold of me, now I had experienced the pain that could happen from failure, it took a few days of my mother and father, encouraging and cajoling me, nursing my broken spirit, before I mounted that banana seat again. This time with the feeling of fear in my mind and the band-aid on my knee a visual reminder of my recent failure I once again climbed onto the bicycle. This time... I had elicited assurances from my father that he would not let go and from my mother who stood by with a make-shift first aid kit, in case I fell again. I did fall again, and I have fallen many times over the years, sometimes my parents have picked me up, other times friends, and even occasionally doctors have patched my wounds with various band-aids. But I have learned a band-aid does not bring healing to the physical, spiritual and emotional wounds of our lives. We need much more, we need our Lord, who abounds with grace and is infinitely compassionate.

Reflections on Community

Tonight, I went to a meeting with a group of women who love the Lord, love our husbands and earnestly seek to grow as disciples. We meet twice a month, we usually have a topic, but, we are so comfortable with one another, we are willing to go wherever the Spirit leads us. This is what community is to me, it is when two or more are gathered and we are able to lift each others burdens and share each others joys. Being in community means we have a connection, be it intentional or accidental, we share a connection which creates a relationship. We listen to each other, we offer advice, we offer prayer, we share the wisdom God has revealed to us. But, as I have been a part of this particular group of women for a year now, I have come to appreciate the community that is developing between us. A year ago, she might have been just another woman I passed at the supermarket, but now, we have a relationship, we are intimately connected with each other's lives. We have become soul sisters.

Tonight, we shared the burdens of our hearts around the circle, some burdens seemed familiar to my own life, others were unique but I cared about them all. This is another aspect of community, when the parties involved genuinely care about the others circumstances. When each of us had finished sharing our prayer requests we bowed our heads to pray. We had spent about an hour sharing our innermost thoughts with one another and then we were silent. This group of women, sitting in a circle, was just quiet for a few moments, no one had asked us to be quiet, we just did it naturally and it was in that quiet space that I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit among us. I felt connected with the women around me in a spiritual way. In many situations in our lives, silence can be awkward. Silence in a conversation, silence during worship, a pause during a speech has always seemed awkward to me. But, I have learned, when you have built a caring community, the pregnant pauses, or holy sighs are the times when our hearts speak to God on behalf of one another because any words we use seem so inadequate. The silence is not awkward, because instead of being moments that are missing sound, they become moments that are filled by the Holy Spirit. God has shown me that in the very act of sharing our troubles and worries with other Christians, we are praying. I do not have to bow my head, close my eyes, and use words to convey to God my needs.

As my life has become more and more busy, more noise fills my days. The tv, the radio, the cell phone all beg for my attention. Time is an investment, it is the most precious thing I have, and I am learning to give some of my time to the joy of nothingness. Those moments of nothing, where there is nothing filling my head but thoughts of God. When I pause to hear myself breathe, I am reminded to be thankful for my breath. When I pause to listen, I hear the bird sing a song to the new day. When I stop and turn off the sound, I turn on that still small voice that says, "Be still and know that I am God." I have learned to look for silence, to wait for it and to relish the way the silence fills my soul. But, my greatest lesson is to know that when you have found a true community, a group of like-minded friends, a place where you have built strong relationships, the true gift is not in what you say, the gift is in being together, being present in each other's moments. I can not be everywhere all of the time, but I promise when I am with you, I will be present.

Titles, names, and brain bubbles

Someone asked me the other day if I preferred being called Pastor or Rev. I hadn't really thought about it, I mean there's a lot of things I prefer not to be called. I don't know what the word is for the feeling I have. I had this same feeling when I got married. Lot's of people asked me if I were going to change my surname, or hyphenate it. I decided to change it because I liked the alliteration. Seriously. But, no one ever calls me Mrs. This morning, leading worship, I even had a brain bubble. Actually, I had two. This one I don't think anyone noticed. When we were doing the responsive reading during communion, there was a long pause. I forgot that I was supposed to be leading, i.e. reading the non-bold print, I guess I was waiting for someone else to lead. I recovered before anyone noticed, I think. It's not that I am afraid to lead. I do feel I have been called to ordained ministry. I have loved finally doing the work that comes with the call, the practice of ministry. What I am trying to say is, it doesn't matter what I am called. What really matters to me is what God calls me, I hope to God I am a good and faithful servant, titles don't really matter. So, for now, just call me Sarah. Sanctifying Sarah says it all.