Life is about the attempts not the successes

A little boy in a bright blue shirt is trying to catch the sparrows. He sees one, and darts in that direction. He sees another and darts in that direction. But two steps before he pounces on his prey, the sparrow flies away. A man at a table, watching the attempts says in his deep big boy voice, “I don’t think you’re gonna catch em!” The boy in the bright blue shirt glances at the man, then chases after another little brown sparrow. Grandma looks at the scene, a smile on her perfectly painted lips. Her eye’s big, for a moment remembering the wonderment of her own childhood. Here eyes, lost in the past as she gazes at the future. Her round, dark, eyes peer through the shade of a ball cap. A cap that covers the place where her hair used to be, hair gone from chemotherapy. A day at the mall with her grandson, the boy in the bright blue shirt. They road the train. A grown woman in a child’s train. She twisted and arched her grown body into the little blue train car, but today she does not worry about what her body can do, today is for the healing of her spirit. A grown woman in a child’s train, the conductor pulls the bell, “ding, ding” and a grown woman is a little girl again sitting next to a little boy who wants to be big. A little boy, in a bright blue shirt, darting here and there trying to surprise a sparrow. “I don’t think you’re gonna catch em!” said the big boy with the deep voice. Ahh, big boy, don’t you remember when you used to chase bird's, can't you see it in grandma’s eyes, can’t you hear it in the boy with the bright blue shirt's laughter, it is not about catching the sparrows, it’s all about chasing them.

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.

Cheap date with your spouse

How we made our date day into an adventure back in time....
We picked a topic that we both were interested in, we chose King Arthur because we have really been getting into this new show called Merlin. We went to our brand new library, split up and researched our topic. It was really fun because I was trying to get the materials before he could get to them and he wasn't concerned at all about speed. My competitive side came out as I spied on him and let out silent shouts of joy as he would got to a space ad see that it the book was already gone. It was like a scavenger hunt. We both checked out with our prizes and headed for a used book store in downtown.
We put the address in our GPS and away we went to explore a new part of town. This book store, The Black Swan, is AWESOME. I love the smell of old books, the sound of my sneakers on the hard word floors, and the feeling of potential knowledge enclosing in on my brain. There were wonderfully squeaky chairs, and secret reading nooks (ok, probably not secret but I can pretend). We had two scores. One we found a beautiful copy of Morte D"Arthur and two I found a Book of Common Prayer pre-1945 (I've been looking for awhile). With all of our treasurers safely tucked into our reusable shopping back we headed to a new coffee shop we had heard about. We spent an hour in the coffee shop searching for the answer to our theme question for the day, "How did Arthur die?" This caused great fun and we didn't talk about work!!
Our final search for the day was to find a restaurant that matched our new found knowledge. I mean when you have spent the day with Lancelot and Guinevere you can't go to McDonalds. Well, we found The Tavern and the ambiance matched our mood exactly. As we left the restaurant a hard rain fell from the sky and my DH, my King Arthur, my knight put his proverbial cloak over the rain puddles for me. Oh, and how did King Arthur die? Well, the answer is a mystery and I encourage you to embark on your own quest.

Christian Conversation

When I went to college, I paid the professors to teach me, but many of my lessons came from friends, classmates, co-workers, even the maintenance staff. I learned that life lessons come from anyone and everywhere. I learned that Jesus loved me from an African-American friend who was four years younger than me. A gay Catholic classmate taught me what it means to receive God’s grace through holy communion. A friend who was raised by a Mormon mother and a Catholic father taught me what it meant to have faith in one God. And a friend who grew up in the Quaker tradition taught me how to search and how to be still and know the presence of God. God brought these different people into my life and their sharing their different experiences of the same Lord, through Christian conversation, helped me to see that there was a place for me in the body of Christ. I know that Christ is still forming me through Christian conversation, he is still sanctifying Sarah. So, what holy conversations have you had recently?

Prayer Warriors?

Prayer is vital to my life. My lifeline to Jesus nourishes my mind, body and soul. Prayer keeps me grounded in his love. The holy bond I have with Jesus helps me move forward when I regret the past. The ongoing connection sustains me through this up and down journey that is life. In prayer I can give all my burdens and concerns to God. Once someone asked me who my best friend was, I thought about it, and said Jesus! They looked at me strangely and I said, Jesus is who I talk to most, who loves me unconditionally, loves me when I cry and when I smile, and gives me the best direction in my life. He has never missed an appointment and never sent me to voicemail. It has taken me years of practice to learn to go to Jesus first with my problems rather than as a last resort. It has taken a lot of practice to learn that when I say amen, the prayer is not over. If I think of my life like a tree, prayer is the roots and by those strong roots I am able to bare fruit for God’s kingdom. How do I get my roots watered? I mean I know what it's like when my prayer life is in balance, but when it's not it is so hard to get back on track. What do you do?