After three months of bad days, confusing days, ones filled with anguish, today was a day that made them all seem a breeze.  Such a bloody battle.

I finally heard from the new pastor, but the words where not the ones I longed to receive. 

I have learned many people do not care for email as a medium, believing all manner of miss-communication can occur.  But the written word has long been of value in this world.  For centuries, letters were how people kept in contact; I see email as just the modern evolution of the letter.  However, I suspect I am essentially alone in that.

In any case, I love the written word.  I love the craft of it. I love the joy of it.  I love the gift of it.

In short, I do not know where I would be without the sweet, sweet Gospel poured out over me via email from Papa Dore.  Therefore, how could that be a bad thing?

Papa Dore believes I am miss-reading the words I received.  I do not...although I would reluctantly acknowledge that he is probably a bit more clear-headed than I.  Still, I do not see how I could be possibly wrong.

Such great despair over my fear of not finding a parish home bowled me over and I wailed to Papa Dore, wanting more of him than I should.  There is this hymn that he has sung to me several times.  Today he did so again.  Twice. 

I am Jesus’ little lamb,
Ever glad at heart I am;
For my Shepherd gently guides me,
Knows my need, and well provides me,
Loves me every day the same,
Even calls me by my name.

Day by day, at home, away,
Jesus is my Staff and Stay.
When I hunger, Jesus feeds me,
Into pleasant pastures leads me;
When I thirst, He bids me go
Where the quiet waters flow.

Who so happy as I am,
Even now the Shepherd’s lamb?
And when my short life is ended,
By His angel host attended,
He shall fold me to His breast,
There within His arms to rest. (LSB 740)

It is really a hymn for a child...the only one I have heard thus far in Lutheran hymnody.  And those two "happy" references are a stretch for me, though I have never sung the hymn...merely listened to it.  To me, the hymn is as if you are being rocked in the arms of God.  Strange.  I know.

Thinking a hot shower might be better than continuing to wail, I went upstairs after Papa Dore hung up to get back to his work.  The tub is dirty again, so I slipped and fell, whacking my head so hard I became so dizzy that I promptly threw up even though I had not yet eaten.  When I tried to come back down the stairs because I knew my blood sugar was plunging, I missed a step half-way down and fell the rest of the way, landing against the book case so hard it toppled over onto me.

For a long while, I just lay there, struggling to breathe between tears that began flowing again and the weight of the wood and all those books.  I wanted so badly for someone, anyone, to come and rescue me.  Instead, Kashi came over and started licking the parts of me that were sticking out from the mess.

Whatever will I do without my beloved buttercup?

In the midst of all this, I had to field 7 phone calls from my boss.  There is no break, no relief.

However, even in my anguish, I have acknowledge that God, in His infinite mercy, has continued to shout His love for me.  Truly.

• Pastor F's Lovely Bride sent a quick email saying how much she enjoyed the lessoning last night, without knowing that I had been fretting over how I made the lessoning run too long.
• Papa Dore's Lovely Bride sent me an email saying that she was thinking of me and included all sorts of questions that were so normal and thoughtful and seemed like she was asking anticipating a visit to them.
• The woman who leads the choirs (I think) at Papa Dore's parish found my blog on Papa Dore's (I didn't realize he had linked to me), read about the gift of the children's recordings coming my way, and promptly emailed me to say—miraculously so—that they were overwhelmed at the privilege of singing the Gospel to my heart.  Can you believe that?  I am the one who is overwhelmed at even the thought that they would do that for a stranger, for one such as I.

After cleaning up the mess and dutifully addressing the low blood sugar issue, I crawled into the green chair and began listening to the gifts Papa Dore sent my way:  a continuing education course on confession/absolution by Pastor Kolby on a brand new cassette tape boom box Papa Dore found for me so that I did not have to listen to the tapes in my car.

Last night, I had emailed him asking if there was such a thing as a small/large crucifix, perhaps 4", that would fit in my hand, but that could also be tucked in my purse and that was metal, plain and simple like I prefer.  I cannot carry around the crucifix upon my wall.  Looking upon it helps me to think of Christ crucified and all that implies instead of the anguish filling my heart.  I had Googled unsuccessfully for such, but wondered if maybe confessional Lutheran pastors know of special places to buy crucifixes.

When I was wailing to him this afternoon, he mentioned that he had already gone out this day to find one, and the one he found was already on its way to me.

Lord have mercy.  Christ have mercy.  Lord have mercy.

    "For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
         Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD.
    "For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
         So are My ways higher than your ways
         And My thoughts than your thoughts.
    "For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
         And do not return there without watering the earth
         And making it bear and sprout,
         And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;
    So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth;
         It will not return to Me empty,
         Without accomplishing what I desire,
         And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.
    "For you will go out with joy
         And be led forth with peace;
         The mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you,
         And all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
    "Instead of the thorn bush the cypress will come up,
         And instead of the nettle the myrtle will come up,
         And it will be a memorial to the LORD,
         For an everlasting sign which will not be cut off." 

~Isaiah 55: 8-13

I am staking my life on the Truth of these Words.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!