Late last night, my very-much-not-a-night-owl Cousin D sent me a draft of a writing project asking for help. While I was surprised he was still awake, I very much welcomed the opportunity to actually do something for someone. I read it, noted my observations, and then shot him an email asking if he would like to talk about it. Since it was a first draft that needed a bit of a tune-up, I didn't want to just send him my edits.

[I was still up because I was working my way through the Augsberg Confession. There is an ineffable fellowship in finding that you agree in faith with those who lived nearly 400 years ago, knowing their confession of faith aligned with the first Christians and the Living Word penned so very long ago. Truth does not change even as the world does.]

A few minutes later, Skype was ringing! Even though I already had the curlers in my hair, I went ahead and answered with video. I was longing for company. Besides, it is not as if Cousin D cares what I look like. Toss on my fleece jacket over my PJs and I am good to go.

I have shared Cousin D's photography prowess, but I have yet to mention (I think) that he is a talented writer/communicator. That he does not write much, do much with that talent other than giving speeches, is a broken record between us. You should write more. Oh, I'm not that good. Seriously, Cousin D. I never say someone is good if he/she is not. I can be very creative in talking about writing without telling someone he/she is talented if that is truly not the case. But Cousin D is blessed/cursed with many, many talents and has such a wide range of interests that writing falls to the wayside time and time again.

His piece had potential, but he also had not truly answered some of the questions on this profile designed to help potential college students.

What I love about Cousin D is that he accepted my notes and gentle chastisement for what it was: a commentary on the written text, not him. Often I have to work really hard to get those who seek my help with writing to separate out themselves from the process. I look at what is in the piece...or what is not. Yes, I do take into consideration the author, but more so in evaluating if he met his potential or if she utilized her knowledge and experience as fully as she could. If you write a rotten piece, I do not think you are rotten. If it is almost embarrassingly immature, I do not think you are immature. I revel in any opportunity to delve into literary craftsmanship and welcome most those times when the author can remove the self and dive in with me. Cousin D is one of those folk.

Yesterday, with spoiled milk in my refrigerator, I ventured out for some more and for some token of thanks for Pastor D and his wife. L likes flowers, so I found a bunch of miniature roses for her. Pastor likes whipped cream. A while ago, I took a poll at work on if there was anything other than Cool Whip that I could get him, a gourment option or something like that. The consensus was that I should get the real whipped cream at Whole Foods. So, I did. I also threw in a large container of Driscoll strawberries to go with them. By the time I shuffled back to the car, I was tuckered out. However, I knew that if I popped by right then, I had a good chance of missing Pastor and just seeing L.

I tried to carry the treats to their door, but they have a set of steps without a railing that was basically impossible to navigate. I ended up perched on the top step while we visited. Yes, it was hot. Yes, I should have stayed in the car and had her fetch everything, but is that really the way to deliver a thank you?

L made an interesting observation. She said, to her, it seemed as if what happened really started earlier in the day. At least it seemed something was going on at Bible study. I started to mention the effect the nebulizer drugs have on me, but she interrupted me and said it seemed like more than just that. So, perhaps the next time I am confronted by heat, it will not be that bad....

Busy with this rather large project at work, Cousin D was a bit behind in my blog. He didn't know about Wednesday. I asked him to read it. So, there we were on Skype. Me finishing up the Confession and Cousin D reading of my disasterous evening. It was a bad day. I really wanted to talk about it, without talking about it.

Cousin D, ever the astute man, commented on the fact that it seemed as if I was frightened by Pastor in how I wrote the entry. I had little to say but how much it bothers me that I was. I am. The man JD at least--hopefully not the shepherd.

He also asked if I was planning on going to church, evoking a deep sigh on my part. Given how much I over did it yesterday, I was thinking I should just lie in bed all day again. However, I have to go to work tomorrow. Perhaps, if I got up, dressed, and went out, it would be a practice run of sorts. Cousin D advised me to stay home and rest. I couldn't decided if I would be resting or hiding.

I went.

For the first time, I actually managed to arrive before the service started. At least, I arrived in the parking lot before that time. Getting to the pew is a different story. I had wanted to go to the adult Sunday School since Pastor was planning on going through the new liturgy that they started today. I thought that I would have a better chance of following the service if I heard him teach about it. However, the meeting place is downstairs. That means, I would have to go up a set of rather steep stairs to the foyer, down a set of stairs to the classroom, back up the stairs for the service, and then back down the front steps to leave. I finally decided that it was probably best to stick with just the service.

When I arrived, this one family was making its way inside. I had started my journey before them, but they quickly caught up with me. The three little boys race around me, as did the father, until he paused on the steps and watched me shuffle along. He asked if I needed help.

I didn't answer immediately, weighing how I would feel with a strange man's arm around me verses the probability of making it up the front steps without assistance. I do not know him. I am not even sure if I have ever even spoken to him. I do know he has three children and another whose arrival is quite imminent. His wife is in the Wesnesday nooner bible study and is so gregariously open that you cannot help but like her. Still, I do not know him. My, what I would give to know what he thought about my hesitation. Clearly I needed his help and there I was trying to decide whether or not I would accept his offer! How silly, eh?

After shoving down how I really felt, I agreed. Boy, was that a good decision. Four steps from the top, I would have welcomed him throwing me over his shoulder, hauling me the rest of the way, and then tossing me in a pew. We eventually made it inside. Seeing my trembling limbs, he paused to flip oven the Luthern Service Book to the proper page for me and then set it in my lap before joining his family.

After the service, I waited until I saw the man who hosts the Wednesday nooner. As is his wife, J is a very kind and gentle man. Whenever I come to the bible study, he starts clearing space on the table for all my bibles and often pours me a cup of water, remembering that I don't do coffee. [He is also quick to spin the lazy susan if he sees me eyeing the delicious desserts they always have out for us.] A few Sundays ago when my hands were too painful to finish dressing, I asked him to button my cuffs when I arrived at church. He did so immediately (I figured he had plenty experience with his wife's buttons) and offered to help again if I ever needed it. Having his assistance would not be stressful for me. When I asked him for help, his answer was a ready arm. When we got to the steps, he asked what he should do. When I told him that if he went first it would be easier, he responded that that made so much sense. Mostly, he chatted away while I huffed and puffed.

When we got to my car, he told me that he wanted to give me his cell phone number so that if I arrived at church and there was no one to help me, I could call him. He said he would start leaving his phone on vibrate instead of turning it off so that he could be of service. I was so startled by the offer, I found myself pulling out my phone without thinking about it. Upon seeing my green Centro, he grew very excited, whipped out his Treo, and very excitedly beamed me his information! A techie geek as well as a kind man! [Oh, he and his wife also own what very well may be the tastiest pizza joint in the area.]

So, what about the sermon? It most certainly was another time of Christ practically yelling at me from the pulpit. Is that irrevent? I do not mean it to be. I found the sermon disturbing and comforting and challenging. [In one bit, I was distracted for a moment because I thought Pastor's smallest seed metaphor for Christ was simply beautiful from a literary standpoint. He is a most talented writer apart from being a true shephard.] But the rest was as if Christ was reading my heart and telling me its secrets, all the while pouring His Grace and Mercy upon me. Wednesday night was such a dark one for me. Today was a welcome balm for my heart.

I am glad I went.

Again, I am including the sermon below, hoping that it will serve you as it has me:

Jesu Juva

“Rest in His Promise”
Text: Ezekiel 17:22-24; 2 Corinthians 5:1-17; Mark 4:26-34

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

St. Paul wanted to leave this world. Life wasn’t easy for him, and the thought of leaving all this pain and trouble behind sure sounded good. He was tired of the opposition, the persecution, of being in prison. Yes, even the man most people call the greatest missionary of all time, was at times frustrated and disappointed. And like many of the patriarchs and prophets who came before him, he looked to God and to heaven and thought that looked pretty good, compared to what he was going through here.

You know what he meant. You have probably felt the same way, at some point, maybe even now. You look around at all that is going on in the world, you look around at all that is going on in your life, you look around at all that is going on in the church - all the fighting, all the problems, all the pain and trouble - and the thought of leaving all this behind sure sounds good. Its tempting, isn’t it?

Yes, tempting is exactly what it is. A temptation from the devil, dressed in pious white wishes. For while you may think that wanting to leave this world and go to heaven shows your faith, in reality it doesn’t so much show your faith as much as it reveals your doubt - your doubt about what God is doing now, even in the midst of frustration and disappointment. Uncertainty about His promises and care. Questions about what He is doing in you and through you. We must be careful what we wish for. Our wishes are not always good. But God and His promises are.

That’s why St. Paul, after talking about his groaning and longing then says: we are of good courage. Courage born of faith in the promises of God. That though we are tired, though we are weak, though we are frustrated and disappointed, none of those things nullify the promises of God. And so not to what we see, but to those promises, we cling. Those promises which give us the courage and strength to go on. Or as someone once said: “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.””

One of those promises is contained in the parables told by Jesus today. Jesus didn’t use the word “promise” in those verses, but the promise is there. And the promise is this: that the Word of God, scattered as seed on the ground, will grow. Though we may not see it, or know how, and it may take longer than we want, it will grow. And even the smallest seed of God’s Word can grow into the largest and strongest of trees. The seed that has been sown into your heart, and the seed that is scattered through your mouths, carries with it this promise.

And if you need an example of this, look no farther than Jesus Himself. Was there ever a smaller seed planted in this world than He? Planted in a young virgin who nobody knew or cared about, who lived in a backwater town, who lived and grew up as a carpenter’s son, and who even when He began His public ministry didn’t seem to be very successful. His twelve closest followers were not very educated or steadfast, the religious establishment was against Him, and for all His efforts He just wound up on the wrong side of the Roman government and so hung up on a cross. And yet from such a small beginning, the Church has grown to survive threat and persecution and our own sinful stupidity, and envelope the world! Just as Jesus said, the tree of the cross has become the largest of trees, and people from every nation, race, and language have made their home in its shade.

Now, I know what you’re thinking . . . that’s Jesus! Of course He grew and what He did grew! But, O Christian, do you not know that it is the same Jesus working now? The Word of God made flesh and planted in Bethlehem is the same Word of God which now comes and is planted in you in Holy Baptism. The same Spirit that descended on Jesus at His baptism descended on you at your baptism. And so the Word of God is growing in you. It may be small, it may be slow, you may not even feel it or realize it - but it is growing. Growing and producing the fruits of faith in your life. Yes, it’s Jesus! And just as sure and inevitable as His death and resurrection for you, is now His death and resurrection in you. Or as St. Paul put it: “We regard no one according to the flesh” - that is, according to outward appearance; which includes how you regard yourself. For “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away [death]; behold, the new has come [resurrection].” So, perhaps we could say, that as much as you may want to leave this life and go to heaven, you have something even better: for in Jesus, heaven has come down to you!

Now, the devil does not want you to know that, of course, and so is constantly seeking to blind you to the work of God in the world and in you; to blind you to His Word and promises; to blind you so that he can lead you into despair. To think that you are useless and no good, and that there is nothing you can do. You are too weak and doubt-filled and sorry.

But you know what? He’s been whispering that same lie into the ears of Christians for thousands of years. To Moses and Abraham, to Elijah and Jeremiah, to Paul and Luther. And in a sense, he’s right. The kernel of truth to his lie is that yes, on our own, we can do nothing. Quite right. But we are not on our own. The Word of God which has been given to you and is working in you and through you is powerful and active and living and growing. And it is not dependent upon you and your eloquence and abilities - but on the One whose Word it is. On the One who inhabits that Word and promised to be in that Word. Our Saviour, who is working that all may come to the knowledge of the truth and be saved.

We heard that assurance and promise from God through the prophet Ezekiel this morning as well. He, too, spoke of the great tree that God would plant and grow - which we have already said is Christ and His cross and His Church. And then these words of promise at the end: “I am the Lord; I have spoken, and I will do it.”

Armed with that promise: “I will do it”, we have the courage to face each day. To rest in the shadow of the cross. Rest, which does not mean doing nothing! But living the lives and callings our gracious Father has given to us in the confidence and trust that He is working through us. In ways seen and unseen. In ways both big and small. You need not worry or despair when you have His promise.

And armed with that promise, the love of Christ [then] controls us. Which is good news! For with those words, Paul is not burdening you, telling you: Make sure the love of Christ controls you! No, he is telling you a reality - a reality anchored in the death and resurrection of Jesus. For what is the love of Christ? It is the love that caused Him to come down from heaven and to live and die for you, and the love that causes Him still to come down from heaven and to feed you here with His body and blood, to forgive your sins, and to strengthen your faith. That love given to you is the love that now controls you; the love that causes you to get up and go out each day to live and die for others. To serve them in your callings. To scatter the seed of the Word with your mouth. And to rest under the cross all through the day, knowing that our Lord has promised to work through you and through His Word. We need not know how, or when. We simply cling to His promise, and rest in it.

Until the day when Jesus keeps His promise to come one last time for you, to harvest you and take you to heaven. We don’t know when that day will come for any of us - maybe for you, not soon enough! But until He does, we simply cling to His promise, and rest in it. For while its not wrong to want to be in heaven, know, as St. Paul said, that you are already a new creation. You don’t have to wait! Christ is with you even now. His Word is sure and true. His I forgive you means you are forgiven. His I am with you means you are never alone. And His you are mine, well, means just that. Even in the midst of this world of sorrow and tears.

You may be only a small seed in this great big world, but what great things God is doing in you and through you. So do not despair, but rest in His promise: “I am the Lord; I have spoken, and I will do it.”

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now the peace of God which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.

How is it, if you will, that having only one option in utilities does not a monopoly make?

I am having a problem with Washington Gas that has escalated from mere nuisance to critical mass. In three weeks, the company is planning to shut off my service.

I have not missed a single bill. I have never had a late payment. No, this termination of service is due to the fact that I have not scheduled an appointment for the company to have access to my meter.

In February, I started getting these letters requesting that I call a number and schedule an appointment. However, the number is only an answering service. I leave a message, giving them my cell number and telling them to call after 10:00 AM so that I can hear the phone. One, two, three or more days go by and then I find a message on my home phone left during the day. I call back and leave another message. They return the call when I am not home. Then after a few weeks, I get another letter and engage in another round of phone messages.

I figured since not one single time could the company manage to call me when or leave a number with a live human being on the other end, that the appointment didn't really matter. I was wrong.

So, since Monday, I have three conversations with three different supervisors. I still do not have confirmation that I will not lose my service. I still do not have an appointment. The whole heat debacle has made working the problem more difficult. But...honestly...remember what I practically screamed at Pastor when we were rear-ended last week?

WHY CAN'T MY LIFE BE EASIER!

SIGH. I fear that shortly I shall be taking cold showers and eating cold food.

From time to time I receive email comments on my blog. Yesterday's novella sparked a few, so I thought I would answer them:

Are you okay?
Yes, I believe so. I am better today than yesterday...better yesterday than Wednesday. Yesterday, the repair shop called at 11:00 to let me know my car was ready (they had a hole open up in their schedule). While that was good news (driving a truck is harder than I thought), There was no way that I was going to be able to pick it up. The agent said that he could extend the rental one day since I was ill, but if I did not bring it back today, they would have to start charging me and that would mean the whole weekend since their shop would not be open again until Monday.

So, after lying in bed all day yesterday, I got myself up, dressed, and scooted down the stairs with Kashi on my lap (he did not enjoy the experience). When the agent saw me shuffling my way into the service center, he came and brought me a chair at a nearby table and told me he would take care of everything. I took a half-hour nap while the paperwork was done.

Then, when I tried to shuffle out to the car, one of the other men muttered something about how ridiculous it was and scooped me up to carry me back to the car. Now, mind you, I am not slight in the least, but he seemed to have had a past in football or something. The third man had already started my car and turned the air-conditioning to full blast. After ensconcing me in the driver's seat, all three of them moved my things from the rental truck back to my car, including plugging in the connectors for my phone and GPS and putting my CD holder back on the visor and wrapping my little frog from Bettina around the strap. While watching them work, I noticed that the carpets had been cleaned and the windows and the mirrors and the dash and.... They had detailed my car inside and out! Boy, did I feel the princess!

We have a rather large grant application due soon, so I thought I would try to work a while since the repair shop is literally just a hop, skip, and a jump from where I work. Shuffling up to my office was harder than I thought it would be and left me quite wobbly and tuckered out. I worked 2.5 hours and then came home to finish adding code (Google Analytics tags) to our website. On the way back to my car, a woman from the floor above us and her daughter helped me outside.

So, I am tired and weak and sore. And I am still very upset about what happened. However, I am also surrounded by God's Grace in so many ways that I cannot help but be thankful for how much care He has given me...even to the point of using strangers!

If you know you are sensitive to heat, why didn't you leave?
I wish I had, if only for the trouble my illness has caused for Pastor and his family and for K in her care of Kashi for me. I don't know. I did say I had to leave as soon as Pastor walked in and I would like to proffer I stayed because I felt encouraged to see if the air might be turned on soon enough for me. But, to be honest, I am not really sure if anyone actually encouraged me to stay or if I just was hoping I wouldn't have to miss the service since Pastor said he talked to the staff about the problem.

I have also written before about how I feel as if others treat me as if am complaining or exaggerating the danger when I say it is too hot for me. Oh, my goodness, I believe I will be 90 before my family stops criticizing me for not going on their vacation to Jamaica. When I am at my father's house or at those of my friends and ask for the air-conditioning to be turned down, I am either met with doubtful questioning as to the veracity of my need or the thermostat is changed just one or two degrees. So, I struggle with feeling as if I am being selfish. Wednesday night, since I would have had to ask for someone to walk back to the rental car with me, I wanted to avoid the disruption, the focus on my problem. Is that prideful? I don't know.

Frankly, I think it stinks that I have to avoid things because of long walking distances, smoke, and heat. That sure does fetter life. And I wish that the people in my life helped me with identifying those things so it was not always me that had to do so since my brain is full of those MS cheese holes. After the fact, B told me that nursing homes are usually warmer due to a common lack of circulation amongst their residents and going to a prayer service in one probably would not be the best idea for me. I know that this is my problem and my vigilance to own. I just wish she had mentioned that fact during one of the several times I've talked about wanting to go to the prayer service. Can I be absolved of my blame, at least in part, because I did not know this all important fact?

Yes, I should have left. To my defense, I have only had the wet noodle effect before, not the wet noodle and all the other symptoms exploding at once effect. I didn't think the consequences would be so great. However, the bottom line here, the answer to the question, is quite simple: I was stupid.

If your pastor is doing that pastoral care stuff you keep writing about why did he just leave you on your bathroom floor? That doesn't sound very caring to me.
Maybe I should let him answer that! No, that would be ducking what I have been trying to share here about pastoral care.

Let's see... He prevented the security staff from calling an ambulance because he knew I did not want that. He drove me home, essentially putting my need ahead of that of his family. He helped me inside. He didn't blink when I asked him to unzip my skirt. And when he was not sure if I was lucid enough, he did what he had to do to get answers from me. [He emailed that he was worried the whole diabetes thing that I am ignoring might have been a problem. He's never seen such extreme fatigue and pain before, so he didn't know. Given that I am ignoring that issue (other than I now avoid sugar unless I have eaten something else as well), that was mighty caring of him to remember, to consider, to worry about for me. And at any point in time, he could have just put me off as someone else's problem, taken the easy path, and called an ambulance. With his wife being a nurse, I am confident that if I had at least not been convincing in my own belief that I could ride it out safely, I would have had no choice about the hospital. He cared enough about my desire to stay in my own home where I would at least have my birdies and puppy-dog for company and not have to deal with all the things I dislike about hospitals to try and make that happen for me.

One of the ways God has show His Grace to me is that last evening my ex-graduate-school-professor-staunch-Christian-man J called. Every year or two, we talk. They are marathon phone calls that are steeped in theology, literacy, some very, very blunt ex-Tennessee-mountains talk, and usually end with our mutual lament that Robert Jordan died before he finished his Wheel of Time series...thousands of pages and no ending! [Neither one of us has high hopes for the writer hired to finish the job.]

He doesn't mind the fact that my updates to him are always filled with more trials than triumphs. He doesn't mind my larger-than-life questions. He doesn't mind that I ask him to repeat things because I am taking notes! [There was this very interesting metaphor about just because someone is taught brass was gold and then learns that it is actually brass doesn't mean that brass is the standard. The gold is.] He laughs with me, aches with me, and then tells me that I deserve better. He is a champion of the likes that I have never experienced apart from him. When we spoke about my mind slipping away and feeling as if I have not honored all that he taught me, he actually told me to shut up! And he meant it! There is no failure on my part in his eyes. I needed to hear that, especially after such a stupid decision Wednesday night.

One of the things I like best is that he is fully aware that there is evil in this world and calls that ugly spade a spade.

It does not bother me that he is not the greatest fan of some of the theology that I have been studying. Nor does it bother him. What is more important to him is that I have this very strange pastor in my life. With great conviction, J said that, although he has never met the man, he loves him. He loves him for the care he has shown me. He loves him for the godly example he surely is. For a moment, J reveled in the thought of how different the church in America would be if pastors and ministers and priests would spend more time as shepherds and less time being political and judgemental and divisive. I agree with him on that. Surely there would be more love and more peace if more people had the opportunity to have Christ's care of them channeled through the men-of-the-cloth in their lives!

J said he would have probably left me on the floor as well, though he probably would have stayed the night or gotten someone else to do so. J said it took a great act of courage for Pastor to trust me enough to allow me to stay at home when he had never seen me that way. I agree on that one, too.

The bottom line is that unless a pair of muscle men magically appeared, I was not getting into my bed. Even if Pastor and his wife could have managed it, there probably was not enough room in my 5x7" bathroom for them to haul me to my feet and carry me out of there. I survived the night. I survived the assault that blasted hot room dealt me. I am very, very grateful he got me home and allowed me to stay there.

Call me biased, but I think that leaving me was certainly in keeping with the idea of pastoral care, not against it.

What was the worst part?
While it would seem natural to say the pain or perhaps having others see me so bad, I think the true answer is losing my bible and my notes. It is just a copy of the Living Word. It can be replaced. I know that, but I miss not having it to read, not having it beside me in the bed. That notebook has several years of lessons. Lessons I am not capable of remembering and was still able to savor and dwell upon because of my notebook.

Pastor emailed he was going by the nursing home to look for them and the hymnal and my brand new pocket version of the Book of Concord that he had just given me. Since there was no follow-up email, I am certain that, in this case, no news is actually bad news.

Once when I was a youth leader in college and again when a missionary in Africa, I gave away my bible because someone else needed it. Perhaps that is the case here.

Still, losing them, I believe, was the worst part. Well, that and how horrible I feel every time I think of Pastor's children stuck in the car while their parents tried to help me. Much guilt there...

Where do you keep your thermostat?
Depends. Normally, between 68 to 70 degrees. Unless I am having one of those strange chills. Then, I crank it up to 70-80 degrees.

I believe I have written before about how I feel that others treat me as being nearly paranoid about the heat. Apparently, I am not paranoid enough!

I shall start from the beginning...

I awoke early yesterday because I thought my new plan would be go into work an hour early on Wednesdays and then I could get some significant work accomplished before ducking out to bible study during the lunch hour. The best laid plans. While I did accomplish two important tasks, I also had to spend time with my nebulizer because of one of the smokers at our building. By the time I was ready to go to bible study, I was trembling like a leaf from the drugs.

When I arrived there, I was dropping things right and left and felt as if my shaking was distracting. I did nearly knock over the water pitcher, but one of my fellow studiers caught it and filled my cup. I had left my phone out (on vibrate) so that I could take any calls from my boss and nearly fell over when I hopped up from the table to answer it privately. Frankly, I was ready to go once 1:00 rolled around because I just wanted the haven of my small office where I could be shaky and unsteady in private.

Bible study is not about me. I know that. And...probably...no one gave a second thought about my shaking. I just do not like being a distraction from things that are important, such as studying God's Word.

1:00 rolled around and Pastor was not done. I waited another 5:00 minutes and then decided I should go. I hate leaving early because of the distraction it is, no matter how many times they have all made it clear that I am welcome for any amount of time I can come. I started packing up my things, but it was as if God was standing behind Pastor and waving His arms back and forth. Wait Myrtle. Something you need to hear is coming!

Pastor had emailed me about an experience he had when teaching about baptism at his Spanish bible study where his fill-in interpreters were those of the camp who believe baptism is something you do for God (a public confession of belief) rather than something He does for you (a gift of faith, a gift of salvation, water made powerful/holy by the Spirit and the Word). He wrote:

I realized once again that these folks and I were coming from two entirely different points of view. That objective/subjective difference seems like such a chasm that we're shouting across! But as you know, once you realize the objective nature of grace and God's gifts, it makes all the difference in the world.

That chasm popped up today again.

We tackled verses 25-28 of Psalm 18 and it was the last that sparked the presence of Christ so clearly for me: For You light my lamp; the LORD my God illumines my darkness. This was why I needed to be there at the bible study.

Pastor referred us back to Matthew 5:14-15

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden, nor does anyone light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house.

"What have you heard about these verses?" Pastor asked. Someone quipped "This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine...." I smiled at that. I should have known what was coming with all the discussion of objective/subjective discussions we've had, with his rather resolute believe that the correct interpretation of the bible is that God does for us--we do not do for Him.

The word he used to drive his point home? Bludgeon! Yep, he said that people have been absolutely bludgeoned with those verses as a way to implore them to go out and light their lamps for God, go out and do great things for Him, for if you do not do so then your faith is somehow weak or missing or you failed in being the proper witness for Him. And yet.

And yet.

Pastor pointed out that the passage does not say go out and light your lamp, go out and make it shine brightly. Christ actually said we are the light of the world. We already are. We already are because He has made us so by our faith in Him. Not effort on our part. Something we already are.

I was glad I had come even though it had been a rough morning.

Well, because my boss had a meeting and I would not be working late, I decided to go to the once-a-month prayer service he holds at the nursing home of one of the charter members of the church. I had been curious about it for a while, thinking that I could more likely pop by after work than get myself going on Sunday morning. And it was another opportunity for me to learn what I need to know so that I can partake of the Lord's Supper.

Well, remember the disaster at that church last summer? You know, the neighborhood one B and her family and I checked out? The moment I walked in, I knew it was too hot but didn't want to tell my friend and her husband I had to leave. I didn't want to be the distraction, for the church visit to be all about me. I thought I could endure it. The service was 1.5 hours instead of 1. I didn't make it.

The room at the nursing home did not have the air-conditioning turned on.

Again, because I had had trouble walking all the way from my car across the building to the room and knew I would need help to turn around and leave, I allowed myself to be encouraged to stay and see if the fact the folks in charge were working on getting it turned on would be okay.

It was not.

Pastor and his children worked around me as they set up for the service. People started arriving. I started receding. That is the first indication I have that I am in trouble. Instead of having cotton in my ears, I have cotton all around me. Everything becomes distant as I struggle to hang on. I moved to the floor, knowing what was coming, in a panic because with the service starting, I did not feel free to ask the Pastor to stop everything and haul me out to the rental truck where I could at least try to cool myself down. Spotting me on the floor, he suggested that I try the hallway where it was cooler. Again, I felt horrible about being a distraction and was valiantly trying to hang on to consciousness, so I did not ask then that he get me to the rental truck.

The service got into full swing and I heard nothing, though I tried to follow along. With a mighty wind rushing in my ears, I gave up and lay down, which, of course, was a concern to the seniors who were walking up and down the hall.

One stopped to ask if I needed help and I grabbed at the lifeline, telling her I needed to get to my car and asking if she could just fetch my purse that was sitting on the floor. She was confused about what I was asking her to do. Pastor ended up bringing it out, I think, and I think I insisted he go finish the service.

I do not remember much after that with regard to getting to the truck. Somehow a security person was involved (Pastor's wife told me that). I remember the woman kept plying me with questions. I remember concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Somehow I ended up in the back seat with the air-conditioning going full blast.

Heat exacerbates MS symptoms. The only real treatment is to cool the person down and wait. Perhaps, though, I should have found the courage to ask to be carted off to the ER because what followed was horrify and something I had not yet experienced.

Usually, I get weak and disorientated. If I have not gotten to cooled down quickly enough--like last summer--I become a wet noodle, unable to do much of anything.

Lying in the back of the rental car, I managed to call K's mom G to ask if she and her daughter (two drivers) could come and fetch me. She could not. That is about all I remember about being in there until Pastor had me near the house. Because all of my muscles were weak, I couldn't hold my need to go to the bathroom. The pain of trying to do so was excruciating and I tried several times to speak up loud enough for him to hear me. When he finally did, I learned he had taken the beltway and there was no place he could stop. I was trying not to vomit as well from being rolled around on the back seat, unable to gather enough energy to keep myself still.

At the house, he frankly did not seem to understand my wet noodle status and appeared quite impatient with me. In fact, it seemed to me as if he was angry for the rest of the time he was at my house. He struck me across the face a few times when I didn't answer his questions. The slaps, which felt like blows probably felt harder than they were because I hurt so much. I know in my head that was probably the right thing to do, but I cannot understand why people do not get that I have no energy to answer questions, to do anything. I figured if I let go and fainted, both he and his wife would be even more upset with me so hanging on was where I chose to put the little umph I had.

Anyway, I tried to ask him to haul me up out of the back seat, but he didn't understand me. He did manage to get me to the door and up the stairs. That was probably enough of a work out for him to last a week.

His wife was not there yet, so I found the courage to ask him to unzip my skirt, having already decided that some cosmic force was telling me that I should not be trying to go to church anymore. I was so grateful he did. I am so embarrassed he did.

I didn't quite make it all the way on the toilet and ended up falling off, hitting my head on the back of the door and then the tub, and lying on the floor with my underwear around my ankles. I remember being grateful he didn't appear to hear me fall. I do not know how long it was until his wife arrived.

Only. Only because she is a nurse that I found the courage to ask for help. But, even now, even knowing she was willing to come back over this morning to help me further, I feel horrible about how much I asked her to do. Especially since I fear it was a long while before I even focused enough to remember her children were sitting out in their car.

Much of the time she was packed into my microscopic bathroom is a blur. I know at one point I felt my right hip begin to move within the socket (when I am really tired it can pop out). I wanted to scream. I think I managed to mute my cry to just begging her to reposition my leg. The problem was that I started to spasm over much of my body. It was as if all the spasticity I have experienced to date was crammed into one moment. My fingers seemed to be trying to curl the other direction in stiffness. My hands and feet were tingling. I had fire running up and down beneath the skin of my legs. My body kept arching up. The muscles in the front and back of my thighs cramped mercilessly. My vision was blurry. I struggled to speak. I wanted to die. I wanted them both to go home. I was terrified to be left alone. I wanted to go to the hospital. I was frightened to ask because I knew I was be even more alone there.

His wife somehow, rather heroically, got me cleaned up, dressed in my pajamas, positioned safely on the floor, ensconced with pillows, and surrounded by all the things I would need: Epipen, nebulizer (she stared it for me), water, phone, and the bible. Thankfully, I do not remember much of how she managed to do this. I know Pastor was there some of the time. I hope it was after I was dressed.

Everything I have ever written about pain is moot. None of it compares. I have never, ever been in such agony. Already, I fear it happening again. And I am certain the panic that rises within me when I know a place is too warm will be magnified a thousand fold after this.

The spasms stopped sometime around 4:00 AM. For another three hours, I waited and debated calling his wife back for help as she asked me to do if I needed it. I didn't know where my cane was. And even if I could get to the bed, I certainly couldn't make the multiple trips it would require to transfer all the pillows and my asthma medicine.

She came, helped me to the bed, and set me up with all I would need to sleep this off: inhalers, nebulizer, grapes, water, a glass of milk, my computer, a bible, the Book of Concord, the hymnal, and Kashi's medicine (he missed his dose last night--poor dog; he was so frightened he kept trying to squeeze by Pastor's wife to get to me). She also let Kashi out, fed and watered the birds, and set the alarm for me before she left.

Now, only time will make a difference. I am still a wet noodle. The agony of the spasms is gone, but their aftermath is left. I feel as if I ran a marathon last night and if I added 1,001 hip exercises on top of that. My vision is still blurred. The tingling is gone, though. I am hungry, but do not know what do to about eating. I guess that will wait until tomorrow.

I asked his wife if Pastor was mad at me. She said he was only worried. Not that she would lie, but I cannot see how he acted as if one concerned. It felt more like why-don't-you-get-up-off-your-duff-and-stop-this-because-I-don't-need-to-be-saddled-with-your-disaster. I am sure it was necessary, but I cannot believe he hit my face and raised his voice. I think I remember that happening several times. It sure felt like and sounded like anger. I also think there was some argument about my keys. Could I have actually fought with him about them?

She also said that had I not found enough lucidity to tell her where my medications were I would have found myself at the hospital. When I think about how bad off I was, I am actually stunned neither one of them called for an ambulance. If they had, I am certain I would be stuffed full of steriods at this point--something I have been working for a couple of years to avoid because I believe their side-effects are worse than their benefit. They are not a cure, just a balm. I can endure the extended aftermath if I means avoiding having to have take steriods. It makes all her labors to get me in a safe position so she felt comfortable leaving all the greater act of caring knowing they were uncomfortable enough to ignore my preference. Of course, had I been in their shoes, even knowing how I felt, I probably would have made the call.

Ultimately, I should have managed to leave as soon as I walked in the door. I feel as if I brought this whole disaster upon myself. B would probably slug me just for even typing those words, chastising me that it is not I, but the disease. That since I had never experienced this before, I could not have known it would happen. Still, I fear that this might somehow be what happens from now on I get too hot instead of just the confusion and weakness. How can I face such agony again? [Pastor's wife said I looked like I was in labor; really, if labor is like that then all mothers ought to get some sort of medal each time they bring a child into this world.]

I fear that getting so bad will have more permanent consequences rather than just being trapped in my bed battling pain and fatigue and hunger until I am recovered.

And I fear that now I was such a bother, such an effort of work, that the whole welcoming at church and bible study and teaching of doctrine will come to an end.

The worst part of it all? I think I did not come back with the materials I had with me out in the hallway unless they are in the rental truck:

• My NASB bible that I have had for years and is all marked up so that I can understand what I am reading. It makes my heart sick to think I might have lost this.
• My notebook that has all my notes from the first bible study (Lutheran--Pastor's) I attended on up until yesterday. All the things I have learned and need written down so I can remember them despite my cheese-hole brain.
• The small Book of Concord Pastor just gave me so that I could have one ready at hand since it is hard for me to lug around the great study version he gave me that is a bit too heavy for my hands.
• One of the church's new hymnals/order of worship books.

I know it is not safe for me to try and check the truck, so I just have to wait. Have you noticed yet that I am not good at waiting?

I hate multiple sclerosis.

I hate heat.

I hate that I spent such a horrible night on the floor of my bathroom. Alone.

I hate how lonely I feel in this bed.

I hate that I fear my future instead of trusting that, as He did last night, God will walk before me and behind me and beside me...

When I imagined this day, I did not foresee good things. It was to be long and stressful and bothersome.

I began the morning with another procedure, a biopsy. Pastor D did not accompany me on this one, but I had wanted to ask him there. It seemed like too much. He did agree to call me to make sure I was awake. This was a good thing given the fact that I set my alarm for 6:30 PM instead of AM. [Perhaps I really didn’t want to be there.]

The nurse was not a patient woman. She was not patient with my reticence to strip for something I felt required merely a lifted shirt. Of course, I had already been stewing over the whole event for a half hour, stewing in my fear among other things. She stormed out, slamming the door. I vomited. Altogether it was not the most auspicious beginning.

In the parking lot, I had paused to read the Bible, flipping back and forth, trying to find something that might be applicable to the moment, something to still me. Eventually landing in the first chapter of 1 Peter:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ; and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls. (verses 3-9)

For the rest of the procedure, I tried to focus on those words, rather than how I felt or the nurse's anger with me.

The doctor was kind and patient and insisted that whatever I needed to feel comfortable was exactly how it should be. Of course, being comfortable did not quite include the precise amount of anesthetic necessary for the procedure. I clearly felt the last few snips and the last two stitches.

Afterward, I made my way to work and tried to be productive until my phone signaled it was time to drop off my car at the repair shop so that the internal parts of the bumper could be checked to ensure they had not been compromised in the accident last Monday.

Now, I had been quite careful to ask for a SUV so that I would not get stuck with a rental that was hard to get in and out of—the reason we were in my car and not Pastor D’s when he was playing chauffeur as well as undershepherd. The agent had confirmed that request, but when I arrived to exchange vehicles, I learned that somehow an agent had mistakenly sent my SUV rental out earlier this morning.

Before I knew what was happening, these three men literally lined up all the vehicles left for rental at Enterprise and practiced getting in and out of them until they narrowed the choices down to two for me to try. They were all in agreement that this mid-sized, black pick-up truck was the one that would serve me best, but they wanted me to also try the sedan they had thought might be acceptable.

I was already tired from a long night of fretting, the stress of the biopsy appointment, and laboriously crossing the large footprint of the repair complex. By this time, I had been up and about and mainly on my feet for four hours. So, I told them I really needed to get my cane before testing out their selections. One of the men quickly volunteered to fetch it for me and was gone before I could tell him which one that I wanted. Even though I was rather dressed up today, he did not come back with the flowered cane. He said that he thought if I was going to be in a pick-up truck, I should be using the “rough and tumble one” (the black aluminum cane that I got for Huntley Meadows, i.e., walking outdoors).

Then, ignoring the fact that I was standing in their midst, the three men had this vigorous debate about girly I am and how they felt badly about putting me in a pick-up, wondering if they should ask for another vehicle to be driven over and mulling over where they would be most likely to find what I needed. Me! Girly! I feel such the oaf most of the time!

There I was, surrounded by strange men who really had no concept of personal space and laughing my head off. Did you know that I have porcelain skin? I didn't. That was their assessment. One said I looked like a doll his daughter has with my porcelain skin and auburn hair and big brown eyes. The others agreed. This was not a case of flirting, mind you. Somehow, basically, I had become their life-sized doll!

When it was finally time to leave, the three of them made this big production about moving over my phone and GPS cords, my CDs, my shopping bags, the Handicapped placard, my umbrella, and the items I have ready to donate but have yet to get to the Vets place. They only very reluctantly added the girly cane.

Oh, the Lord God is most magnificent! I felt as if my Savior was dancing around me in that parking lot, laughing with me at the rather silly exchange and bringing peace to a situation that otherwise would have made me quite nervous. I was not frustrated at the delay (both in the choosing and in the cleaning of the pick-up they insisted was necessary before I left). I was not bothered by the unusual rental. All I could think was that I was the recipient of extraordinary care...that a day which began so terribly had turned rather sweet...that a dark moment had passed and a richer one was before me.

Church was interesting today, if only for the mixture of joy and confusion it brought. Although, to be honest, I doubt Pastor D saw any joy in me when he talked with me afterward.

I was late again since getting up is so hard when all I want to do is sleep. Actually, what I really want is to be able to get up without standing first. The pain in my feet and legs when they first bear my weight oft brings expletives to my mind, if not to my lips. And then I get frustrated with myself. I managed to live the majority of my life without swearing and now am worse than a drunken sailor. Okay...not worse, but one would certainly be comfortable around me. I keep trying to take those first few steps with a better attitude, but I have not yet achieved this.

As I have mentioned before, I have taken to sleeping with the Bible. I know doing so cannot really affect my dreams, but I do anyway. It has also made it easier to read in the mornings and evenings. Since Pastor D gave it to me, I have also been sleeping with the Book of Concord tucked beneath a pillow (I almost wish I had two copies of that overly thick tome because lugging it up and down the stairs is hard work). Each evening and morning, I have been working my way through the two catechisms, with small breaks to delve into the other articles of faith. I have also been reading the prayers. Just recently, I added the Lutheran Hymnal/Service book, but reading through it has not gotten any easier. Then, of course, whatever fiction book I am reading is also there. In fact, between the eight pillows to keep me sitting up enough to breath more easily and hold my arms and legs slightly bent to help with the pain in them and all those books there is hardly enough room for me!

So, while my alarm was set in plenty of time for me to actually arrive before the service began, I still only made it just before the sermon. If I am ever going to wrap my challenged brain around the liturgy, I need to be there earlier!

So, why the confusion? Well, frankly, lately it seems as if every darned one of Pastor D's sermons is about me! Now, I know very well that that is hardly the case. Just Friday night I learned that he chooses even the hymns quite carefully to support and extend the Scripture of the sermon, not because any of them are or are not favorites of his. Each line, every word in the hymns have purpose. I am hard pressed to think of another pastor I know who does that. His further commented today about the liturgy--it is, after a fashion, a way of protecting a church from the vagaries of a pastor, keeping the service completely focuses on God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, not the interests or likes/dislikes or emotions of the man leading the service. [That was an interesting perspective to me.] I am also not so egotistical to believe that he would be hammering me from the pulpit. After all, he did not know I was going to be there Christmas day nor practically any of the Sundays I have attended since.

But, back to how I felt about the sermon...when I am listening each week, it has not been as if the man, J.D., is speaking, but as if God is, mostly chiding me, but speaking nonetheless. If I consider his analogy of being an undershepard, then would it, could it, naturally follow that I might feel as if it is not the man is standing before me but the Savior? Still, it is a bit eerie and uncomfortable and sobering and hopeful and wonderful.

I missed part of the sermon because the children around me were oft vocal today. During one spot I thought I was following what was being said and feeling as if that was why I was to be in God's house this day and then a rather long wail blotted the next crucial part. So, by the time I could hear again, I was a bit lost.

I tried to read the three Scripture readings, but I kept thinking back to the sermon and the things on my mind and never quieted enough to follow them. [ Isaiah 6:1-8; Acts 2:14a, 22-36; and John 3:1-17)] I would imagine I started the passage in Isaiah a dozen times if one.

Pastor D stopped by when he saw me still sitting in the pew, so I asked him if I could have the copy of his sermon. After checking to see if he needed any notes before posting it on-line and then half-apologizing because it had his mark-ups on it, he handed it to me. Then, as I started reading, he asked if I wanted to listen to it again. Thanks be for technology! I didn't have to wait until he posted it to hear what I missed! So, I ended up laying down on the pew (to spare my back...oh how I wish there were more comfortable benches and cushions there...would it be inappropriate to ask if I could leave a pillow or two on-site?) and reading and listening to the sermon.

When I finished and sat back up, I was startled to find him waiting on me. I didn't ask the questions I wanted to; my finally honed sense of guilt was raging since it is his son's birthday and the rest of his flock were in the basement eating. I did, however, ask if he would read the Scripture passages to me. He did.

Then, to be honest and fair, I must admit that I basically wasted more of his time by throwing in a few questions about the liturgy and none of what I really wanted to ask. Yes, I do want to understand the liturgy if only not to be so confused (alas, they are switching to a new divine service next week--they do all four throughout the year). Yes, I did find his answers rather helpful. But I buried what I wanted to say behind the surface.

The confusion, well, I am not sure I can put it into words. I have been studying the Bible since I was eleven. I have been in church (although not consistently over the past few years until lately) since I was first allowed at age 15. I had thought I was thoroughly grounded in what I believe. Yet I have found, so often of late, it is as if I am reading the Bible for the first time, hearing things that were hidden before. How could that be? What I am facing medically right now has brought to surface far too much of my past than I care to relive, address, or even acknowledge. Yet, even when I want to flee with my whole being, I find myself trying to confront it since Pastor D is willing to walk that path with me. I almost could say I hate myself for being unable to flee, to keep certain drawers locked tightly. After all, just dealing with the physical pain, weakness, cognitive dysfunction, etc. is enough for me. Absolutely enough! I haven't managed to find peace in the fellowship suffering Christ. I struggle with abject fear as I watch myself slowly fading away and feeling so incredibly alone in the process. I could have four more decades. I could be worse than my father in four years. It is unknown, unpredictable, and unstoppable. I have been such a poor witness in facing this, a poor reflection of the victory I have in Christ. I know the sentences of this paragraph do not necessarily follow, but they are pieces of the puzzle I guess you could say I am trying to put together...sorrow and joy and shame and hope all wrapped together.

The joy of the sermon? That I can share most confidently! Two bits you can ponder: 1) the marvelous Truth that it is God driving the conversation of our lives, not us and 2) the sobering, exhilarating Truth that we are "stunningly" loved:

...Before Nicodemus could even ask a question, Jesus takes the conversation over and takes Nicodemus where He wants him to go. Where Nicodemus needs to go.

For this is how God works. He drives the conversation with us - not the other way around. In the beginning, at creation, God drove the conversation - He spoke and it is so. It was God who drove the conversation with Adam and Eve after they sinned, and with all the Old Testament saints, like Abraham and Moses and Isaiah. When it came to our re-creation, our redemption, God drove the conversation - He sent His Son, the Word made flesh, into the world, to save a world lost in sin. And so should we be surprised that the same is true with us today - with you and your life, it is God who drives the conversation. For if you think of your life as an ongoing conversation with God, it has this rhythm. God speaks and we listen. God gives and we receive. We breathe in His Word, and then breathe out His Word in prayer and praise. And in this conversation of life, we are filled with questions - why things happen; why other things don’t happen. There is much we would like to know.

But like with Nicodemus, it is not we who drive our conversation with God - He is in control. He takes us where He wants us to go; where He knows we need to go. And so through the events in our lives, through all the ups and downs, through all the twists and turns, through all the Word we hear, our conversation is driven by God - that He may give us what we need: namely, Himself. Our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - is driving the conversation so that we may believe, and believing have eternal life.

And so as much as we would like to drive the conversation, it is better that we don’t. For when we do, it is all about what we know, and what we want to know. But when God drives the conversation, it is about what we don’t know and don’t even know enough to ask! ...

~and~

And so with Nicodemus and with you, it is to the cross that Jesus is driving the conversation of your life, in all that is happening, that you may look to Him and live. That all that He is, He give to you. That you have what you need most, and know how stunningly much God loves you. That you join your voice with the saints of ages past and those still to come, and confess: Blessed be the Holy Trinity and the undivided Unity. Let us give glory to Him because He has shown His mercy to us.

While you could click on the sermons link to the upper left, I am choosing to include the whole of his sermon below in the hopes that you may you find joy as well!


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

How many of us wouldn’t like an opportunity like Nicodemus had. To sit down with Jesus, one on one, and talk. No distractions, no crowds, no beggars crying out for mercy, no people tugging at Him for healing. And Nicodemus was well-qualified for such a conversation - he was a teacher of Israel; perhaps today he would have a Ph.D. in theology.

But this night was more than he bargained for. Before Nicodemus could even ask a question, Jesus takes the conversation over and takes Nicodemus where He wants him to go. Where Nicodemus needs to go.

For this is how God works. He drives the conversation with us - not the other way around. In the beginning, at creation, God drove the conversation - He spoke and it is so. It was God who drove the conversation with Adam and Eve after they sinned, and with all the Old Testament saints, like Abraham and Moses and Isaiah. When it came to our re-creation, our redemption, God drove the conversation - He sent His Son, the Word made flesh, into the world, to save a world lost in sin. And so should we be surprised that the same is true with us today - with you and your life, it is God who drives the conversation. For if you think of your life as an ongoing conversation with God, it has this rhythm. God speaks and we listen. God gives and we receive. We breathe in His Word, and then breathe out His Word in prayer and praise. And in this conversation of life, we are filled with questions - why things happen; why other things don’t happen. There is much we would like to know.

But like with Nicodemus, it is not we who drive our conversation with God - He is in control. He takes us where He wants us to go; where He knows we need to go. And so through the events in our lives, through all the ups and downs, through all the twists and turns, through all the Word we hear, our conversation is driven by God - that He may give us what we need: namely, Himself. Our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - is driving the conversation so that we may believe, and believing have eternal life.

And so as much as we would like to drive the conversation, it is better that we don’t. For when we do, it is all about what we know, and what we want to know. But when God drives the conversation, it is about what we don’t know and don’t even know enough to ask! That’s why Nicodemus doesn’t even understand what Jesus is telling Him. Born again? He’s thinking of husbands and wives and human birth and the things he knows. Earthly things. But Jesus is telling Him of heavenly things. And with these words, telling Nicodemus that sinful men don’t just need a little work, a little revision, a little improvement - we need a new birth. A whole new start. A death and resurrection. For, Jesus said, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.

Now, we usually think of heaven when we hear those words, but to see the kingdom of God means more than simply going to heaven - it is to see the kingdom of God for which we pray in the Lord’s Prayer. Not only His kingdom of glory, but also His kingdom of power, by which He is working and ruling all things in this world with His power for the good of His own, and His kingdom of grace, His Church, where our good and gracious God is working and ruling with His grace, giving His gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation. Unless we who are blinded by sin are born again from above, we will be like Nicodemus - not even able to see the kingdom of God sitting right in front of us! [Point to the Font and the Altar] Sitting right in front of us.

So what is this new birth? This birth from above? Well, think of babies. We have several here. A baby is a new person who must learn everything - how to see, how to hear, how to walk and talk. They are rocked in a cradle, carried on the arm, cleaned when they mess themselves, and grow. And this is what we are. As we are born again from above, we are new people who must learn, grow, be carried on the arms and rocked in the cradle of the church . . . and yes, be cleaned, forgiven, when we mess ourselves. We are new people. Not the same old people. New people.

And this is not something we do - again, we don’t even know what we need. God is driving the conversation of your life. And so just as you were brought into this world physically by another, so it is spiritually as well. It is, Jesus said, by water and the Spirit. It is in Holy Baptism that you were born again from above and given a new life through the death and resurrection of Jesus. That through that water where your Saviour has attached His Word and promise, your old man is put to death with Jesus, and a new man brought to life in His resurrection.

Now, some people think that’s asking too much of baptism; of a little water splashed upon someone’s head. And it would be if it were just plain water. But where the Word and promise and Spirit of God is, anything but new life is too little!

But Nicodemus didn’t get it. His Ph.D. wasn’t doing him any good this night. And so Jesus gives Him a picture of what He means - the bronze snake in the wilderness. Remember your Sunday School lessons, Nicodemus? When Israel was mired in rebellion and sin, they could not get themselves out. They could not rescue or save themselves. They wanted to! Oh, did they want to! Those serpents biting them were painful and deadly. And that is our situation still today as well - people today are trying to overcome sin in all kinds of ways and create utopias in this world where we can live beyond the reach of sin. But all our attempts fail. Because while you may be able to separate yourself from all those sinners “out there”, you cannot escape the sinful poison coursing through your own veins. You cannot escape the truth that wherever you are, sin is. Israel dying in the wilderness is a picture of us. For the same satanic serpent that bit Adam and Eve, and that bit the people in the wilderness, is still working and biting us in our lives as well. Injecting the potent and powerful and deadly venom of sin into us.

But as powerful as sin is, there is an even more powerful antidote. That comes not from us, but from God. That comes not from within us, but from outside of us. That comes from God, who so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Saved by taking our condemnation and death away from us and putting it all upon Himself. That it be on Him and therefore not on us. Jesus did that for all people on the cross. He did it for you in Holy Baptism. And having our spiritual blindness healed as we are born again from above, we look to the cross - as Israel looked to the snake on the pole - and live.

And so your baptism is a great and powerful thing. And know that there are no stillborns with the God. The author and giver of life keeps His Word. He speaks and it is so. That some depart from this faith is also a reality - one that we wish was not so. But that does not lessen God’s love or power for us in Jesus. When we drive the conversation with God, we want to know why does this happen? How? But Jesus drives us in a different direction - to His cross. To see the power of sin that was borne by Jesus, but to see that power overcome and defeated. Not that we have all the answers, but so that we have the answer that we need. So that we have the life that we need. That whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

But believe what? We confess it each week in the Nicene Creed. We will confess it today in the Athanasian Creed. That our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is driving the conversation of our lives, that we may hear, that we may see, that we may believe. That you believe in God’s Word made flesh on the cross, for you. That you believe God’s Word of forgiveness spoken to you. That you believe God’s Word in the water which gives you new life. That you believe God’s Word which makes mere bread and wine into His life-giving body and blood, for you to eat and to drink. That you believe His love, and that all this is for you. That your life is not about what you do, but what the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit have done for you.

For satan doesn’t care who you are. Whether you have a Ph.D. or never finished High School. Whether you are wealthy or poor. Whether you are young or old. He is an equal opportunity killer who doesn’t care who you are because no human can overcome him on their own. No good work, no strength of ours can stand against him.

But there is One who can, and who did! Who spoke against him in the Garden, who spoke against him in the wilderness, and who speaks against him now. Who speaks a powerful Word! Our Saviour, the Son sent from the Father who is working in us still through His Spirit, exorcising satan from us in baptism, breaking his power in forgiveness, and giving us a transfusion of His blood - that the old sinful, poisonous blood coursing through our veins be replaced with His life-giving blood.

For if satan is an equal opportunity killer, Jesus is an equal opportunity life-giver, who has come to give His life to all. That all - bar none! - that you may be born again from above. No longer hopeless, but hopeful. Not longer dead in your sin, but alive in Christ. No longer blind, but filled with the light of life. That born as children of God here, we may live as children of God forever.

Nicodemus got more than he bargained for that night with Jesus. Perhaps we could say it turned his life upside-down. But if you’re upside-down in sin to begin with, doesn’t that mean Jesus is really turning you right-side up? Then that’s a good thing. Not an easy thing! Faith is often a struggle, as so much of what we see and feel contradicts what faith believes. But while there are many things we do not know and cannot understand, the cross shines in the midst of it all, saying: But you do know this. Here is God for you. Here is God’s love for you. Love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be. (LSB #430 v.1)

And so with Nicodemus and with you, it is to the cross that Jesus is driving the conversation of your life, in all that is happening, that you may look to Him and live. That all that He is, He give to you. That you have what you need most, and know how stunningly much God loves you. That you join your voice with the saints of ages past and those still to come, and confess: Blessed be the Holy Trinity and the undivided Unity. Let us give glory to Him because He has shown His mercy to us.

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now the peace of God which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.

Today was most strange, most blessed.

One of our board members happens to be working on her certification of Master Gardener. A while ago, she noticed the photo of moss hanging on my wall and commented on it. After finding her actually interested in my waxing poetically about moss, I gave her one of my miniature moss gardens the next time she came in--much to the amusement of her fellow board members.

A week ago, she heard me talking about my Japanese dwarf holly bush that has black root rot. I learned that it needs to be dug out, including the surrounding soil, and then the remaining hole and the other two bushes treated with a fungicide drench to try to prevent them from falling ill--it is in the soil, not the plant and is basically incurable. I was also talking about the fact that I needed to cut back (dig up) the sedum border I have on one of my flowerbed. So, she offered to come dig up the bush if I gave her some of the sedum. I responded that I was not about to have a board member do hard labor on my behalf (I feared the very idea would horrify my boss), but I was happy to give her the sedum. I also offered a cutting of the giant, spotted begonia I have. She ignored my protest and told me she would be over on Saturday at 2:00.

Given that I did not arrive home until well after 5:00 AM, waking up at 2:00 PM was a bit difficult, especially since I felt so awkward about having her help me. Had I known what she would end up doing, I certainly would have called her and made the very understandable excuse of exhaustion. Yet, I somehow rolled out of bed, dressed, and hastily vacuumed before she arrived.

One way to describe her visit was that I had a landscaping consultant. Another was that I had a personal gardener. Still another...one more lesson on perspective.

At first glance, she was not convinced about the black root rot, but a close reading of my reference article convinced her that the half-dead, half-new growth bush needed to go. She pruned it back a bit and then started digging rather vigorously to break through the roots that were quite stubborn about leaving the diseased soil. Then she chopped everything up and put it in a clear plastic bags for my brush pick-up. That should have been enough. But no! She went ahead and dug up my dead azalea; weeded my entire front bed; pruned the Crepe Myrtle that was obstructing the front door in new growth; took me to Lowe's, picking up two bags of top soil, two bags of potting soil, one bag of sand, and a new pot; loaded them in the car; took me to the nursery to get some fungicide drench; unloaded everything; mixed the drench and applied it; filled the hole; re-potted a pom-pom juniper she found on the back deck and set it in the empty space; bagged up all the clippings; put away everything; and then helped me cut back the sedum border before heading home. She also gave me the great idea of putting something beside a holly in that space (I have to wait at least a year to be sure the soil is safe) so as to add height and make a bit more of a statement in the bed.

I was shaky just following her around and pitching in when I could. But I was also humbled by all her labor. She told me that the best thing I could to was to chat whilst she was laboring (she would take it kindly were I to remain conscious the whole time), so...well...I started talking about the Lutheran theology I am reading and this very strange pastor in my life.

My organization is not a faith organization, but it was started by the Methodist Church 35 years ago, so many of the board members are heavily involved with their churches. She, it turns out, is not religious AT ALL!

Still, I did not offend her. She had heard about the Jan Karon books (the Mitford series) and commented that Pastor D sounded like Father Tim. She also commented that she was born into a Lutheran family and that recently her sister had returned to the church. But mostly she just listened. She only had two real observations, qualified by the firm statement that she was not religious and did not have a stance on God, the bible, faith, or anything likewise. The first was that it seemed that Pastor D was only being who he is as a person and that I should accept help wherever I could get it since I was no longer in a position to get by without it. [Ouch!]

I wanted to tell her, that according to Luther, she was, in fact, doing the work of the very God she denies. God uses vocations to give us our daily bread; He uses dairy workers to give me milk and butter, the electric companies and electricians to keep me cool, the police to keep me safe, and so on and so forth. However, I held my tongue.

She also observed that it should not matter if I disagreed about some point of doctrine, that she was sure I would be welcomed in that man's church.

Not very long ago, I would have joined her in saying that doctrinal differences shouldn't matter if we are all worshiping Christ. But I am troubled by Pastor D's stance, the confessional Lutheran stance, that doctrine does matter. It matters because it is helping people understand Truth. Truth always matters. [I am sure he would correct me on that point, but that is the best I can articulate it.]

I have not had communion in a long time. Much of my current spiritual...well...not crisis, but perhaps turmoil...began on Christmas day. I had popped by Pastor D's church more so as a way to avoid having to spend more time with my step-mother than to actually be in church on Christmas Day. I do not come from a Christian family, so when I am home I forgo Christmas and Easter services to avoid the conflict they would create. Holidays were always nightmarish with arguments and ugliness, so I have not really enjoyed them. Last year with Bettina's family was remarkable for me in its peace.

I cannot even say exactly what in the sermon disturbed me. I do know I blurted out a very troubled question to Pastor when he stopped by the pew where I was still sitting to greet me. Instead of rushing out the door to be with his family, he sat down and tried to understand what I was asking so that he could give comfort...I suppose.

I did not immediately start asking for spiritual counseling or teaching then. Nor, in fact, did I later when he started sharing books and stuff with me. I have asked since. And I have started going to his church on a regular basis, even when getting out of bed on the weekends is such a sacrifice because I struggle through the work week only on the hope of being able to sleep away my battle on the weekends. And mornings just plain hurt. I hate pretending at work that I feel okay, especially when I arrive. I pretend, I mask, all day. I cover the cognitive dysfunction. I cover the vision problems. I cover the fatigue. I cover the weakness. I cover the pain. I pay dearly for this practice, but I do it. So, as much as I long to be part of a church body again, I would rather rest all day Sunday in the hopes of being ready to work another week.

Back to communion...sort of...I have been going to his church because of the Truth I hear at the two bible studies I attend, the Wednesday nooner on Psalms and the sometimes, every-other-Wednesday-night one currently on the Epistles. However, as a confessional Lutheran church, they practice closed communion. They believe communion is a very powerful act and want to ensure that those who take it completely understand it--that to do otherwise is harmful and irresponsible care of those who come forward. [I think I got that point right.]

Now, I could pop over to the Presbyterian church that I have attended most in recent years and have communion. Just pick a first Sunday of the month and mission accomplished. However, I do not want to do that. I want to take communion with those whom I know believe as I do, who understand the Body and the Blood, who are not there just because it is the first Sunday of the month, who don't just take the bread and wine because everyone else is. Yet, I have miles to go before I can pass muster in demonstrating I understand the theology they agree to be accurate teaching of God's Truth.

I know the board member would not have understand the closed communion thing, other than to lump it in with the differences Lutherans have between themselves...or...as she put it...all that in-fighting in the Missouri Synod. If I mentioned it, I am sure she would have encouraged me to go to another church, any church, if that is what I wanted. Such encouragement would have been welcome, yet would not have really rung true for me.

I do not want vague belief. I do not want sermons taught more around Father's Day or the latest fad book or some semblance of pop psychology, many of which based more on what I can do for God rather that what God does for us...His power, His majesty, His glory, His mercy, not mine! [There are certainly no holiday-themed topics in Pastor D's sermon book!] I want to read Scripture and have it read. Not just a few verses, but the whole passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Gospel that I would hear every week at St. Athanasius. I want to speak the Creed, join in the chorus of voices who are proclaiming the glory and majesty and grace of God, and pray the Lord's Prayer together. I want to learn about the gifts of Faith, the objectivity of Grace, the salvation of Baptism (especially the bit on present tense...the power that comes in being able to say I am baptized, not I was baptized. One moment in time that actually carries forward each and every day, washed anew in Christ.). And as much as I long, nay ache for, the Lord's Supper, I want to wait.

So, it was something of a shock to me, when I found myself disagreeing, rather gently and with little further comment, that yes, indeed, doctrinal differences do matter. Not that I believe that Lutheranism is the only way to worship our Lord and Savior. Not that I believe Baptists or Methodists or Episcopalians or Catholics or Presbyterians do not have the gifts of faith. Not that I do not believe all are a part of the body of Christ (or rather those within the churches who do have the gift of salvation since all churches have at least attendees who are unbelievers). But aligning my public voice with that which I believe teaches God's Truth accurately does matter to me. I do not half understand it myself, but it does matter.

At the end of the day, I was most thankful for not fainting (today was an extremely fragile day physically), for all this wonderful labor in my yard, for the company, for kindness heaped upon me, and for the wonder of that shocking moment.

It not 11:59, but I wanted to post with this date...

A couple of days ago, Pastor D wrote the following about pastoral care on his blog:

One of the things I love about my church is that they just want me to be a pastor. They want me to preach and teach the Word, administer the sacraments, study, pray, and take care of people. They don't want an administrator, a business man, or a CEO - they want a shepherd. They want me to bring the Word of God to them, the community, and the world in all the ways that I am able. What a wonderful thing.

I was thinking about this because I was talking to a friend recently to whom the notion of "pastoral care" was a strange new reality. This friend of mine has had many good preachers, theologians, and inspiring leaders in the churches he has attended, but never received the kind of pastoral care that I have been taught and which seems to be what I am here to do. How sad that there are so many people who need care, but are not being cared for in this way. And while yes, I know that all the people of God give care (and I am always trying to get my folks to be more active in this way), the pastor is unique. He stands in the Office as Christ's called and ordained representative in that place, the undershepherd of the Good Shepherd. Others may supplement his care, but cannot be a substitute for it.

And that's what my folks want me to be, and to do. As a result, I have missed a lot of my church's "Executive Board" (aka Church Council) meetings lately. This is the group of men and women that have been elected by the congregation to take care of the business aspects of the church. They meet after church once a month, but I am usually talking with visitors and members when they meet. And while I feel bad for not being with them, they understand, and want me to be doing this important pastoral work. And I know they can run the business parts of the church without me - and do it better than me! We trust each other.

How blessed I am to have such a church!


It does not take much imagination to guess that I am the "he." I was glad that he wrote this, because I thought his imagery of being an undershepherd was a perfect metaphor for pastoral care. But I also thought that he fell a bit short in painting the picture of what is this thing of pastoral care. Hopefully he will take my blatant hint and write again so that I could make it more clear here!

Tonight, I was actually able to help him for a change: he needed a short-term baby-sitter because his wife was working an overnight shift and he needed to fetch his son coming back from a field trip. Sounds easy, right? In addition, he suggested we work on a brochure I designed for the church a while ago. We did work. I did babysit. But...well...the evening was once again more about me than anything else.

I received some very disturbing news just before I was to leave. News that is still so difficult to swallow that I am trying not to choke. So, I went over in tears and drove home in tears...hating myself for not being able to compartmentalize my heart so as to set the news aside long enough to serve someone who has given so much.

God's timing being perfect, one of his flock went into labor and he was needed to fetch their children over to another flock's house so mom and dad could concentrate on welcoming the new wee one. Instead of scrambling for someone to stay with his children, there I was already coming over. In fact, I had left early, planning on just hanging out in the parking lot because I didn't want to stew at home.

Timing.

Does His perfection also extend to the time Pastor D gave me after he finally returned home? It is with great chagrin that I admit I did not leave until after 3:00 AM. We went over the edits I had made to his brochure and then started talking.

Or rather, I started talking and he listened. Listening is definitely one of his strengths. And I would go further to say that I believe his particular kind of listening is a facet of pastoral care, a key role in that act.

I proffer this because not only does he listen, but he listens without judgment, without much comment, with a silence that is almost profound in attentiveness.

He is quick to say that he does not have any answers, but I told him a while ago that he actually does have answers, even if that answer is Scripture. [What I did not say is that it is those answers I crave.] Tonight, he share one particular passage that has given me pause.

I had read to him one of my favorite passages, Isaiah 41:9-10:

You whom I have taken
from the ends of the earth,
And called from its remotest parts,
And said to you, "You are My servant,
I have chosen you and not rejected you.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you, sure I will help you.
Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."

When I had finished, Pastor told me to turn the page and start reading in chapter 43:

But now, thus says the Lord,
your Creator, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, Oh Israel,
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by my name; you are Mine!
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.

Remember my bumbling explanation of how God can only take delight in us because He sees us through Christ? And if He does take delight, then He truly views us as washed clean by Christ's blood. Psalm 18:19, then, becomes sort of an independent confirmation of what you hear about the cross. It naturally follows. I should know this, trust this. But I guess it is as if, lately, I have been reading the whole book instead of the cover, seeing the whole building rather than just the facade facing the street.

I cling to Isaiah 41 because He has chosen me and not rejected me. It is the same and yet so very much more to read further that He redeemed me and calls me His. Mine is such a strong word, an absolute word, a possessive word.

There have been many times that I have felt as if 2 Corinthians 4:7-9 somehow was for others, not me:

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that this surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

I admit, I have definitely felt afflicted and perplexed and struck down at times. Who gets rear-ended after just leaving the hospital for a procedure that was excruciatingly difficult at the exact moment she is asking a pastor about a passage in scripture that has been troubling her studies and left her longing for understanding? Yet, I have also felt crushed, broken, left crouched over the pieces of my self, unable to gather them all in my hands. What does that say about my faith? In fact, frankly, this evening I felt sucker punched with the news. But by whom?

Isaiah 43, therefore, is another passage that I feel was that independent confirmation, maybe you could say the other side of a coin. Certainly walking in fire and yet not being scorched is similar to being afflicted but not crushed. So, this promise of God was not just made one time, but is actually a part of the whole of the life we can have in Him. The life He planned from the very beginning. Definitely something for me to dwell upon.

I sort of joked with Pastor that that passage was not one of the "Jesus" verses in the old Testament that I had learned. You know the ones...Psalm 22, Isaiah 53.... Pastor D very quietly responded that Lutherans see Christ throughout the whole Old Testament.

It is not that my feelings changed, but knowing Truth does yield power against the darkness of this world we face. I am grateful for that answer of Scripture.

Pastor also made a rather interesting observation about Paul. I asked him how a man who wrote about a thorn in his side that he battled throughout his life, who wrote about the fact that the things he wanted to do he did not do and that which he did not want to do he found himself doing, could also write that he was content in all circumstances.

His answer was to consider that perhaps Paul was reflecting back upon his life, that in considering the sum of what he had lived and learned and received in Christ that he was content with how his life had been...thorn and all....

Before I left, he told my about The Litany in the Lutheran Hymnal. It is a prayer, two voices, that covers, well, everything. He asked me if I would like to read it with him. He being the pastor, me the congregation. I am still not sure how I felt about that or how I feel now except to say that there were bits it was hard for me to read, to continue, because I wanted to reflect on the words Pastor D has just read on the Truth I was hearing. For all I struggle with trying to keep up with the liturgy during the services (Pastor D keeps promising me he will have a tutor sit beside me but my tardiness has left me struggling along myself with my cheese-hole ridden brain struggling to get here, flip there, read this, sing that), I found the exchange of The Litany powerfully comforting.

I am not sure if it was the late (early) hour or my distressed state, but when I left, I wandered about Virginia for nearly two hours before I made it home. You would think that with Maggie (my Magellan Roadmate GPS) that would not have been the case. But my cognitive dysfunction sometimes clouds my ability to follow her directions. I ended up going south on 95 and then trying to exit and circle back, but that was the beginning of a frustrating.

I wonder if I had called Pastor D if he would have helped me figure out what I needed to do to get turned around and saved me a couple of hours of fear and tears and frustration. I wonder if such a call after keeping him up so late would have been the final straw I fear is coming to bring this whole strange time of pastoral care to an end for a particular non-flock, non-Lutheran.

I pulled over on some dark, very deserted road and tried to stop crying enough to pray. I thought about trying to just sleep there, but did not feel safe and was probably too angry at my stupidity in navigation to even achieve a restful state. I thought about calling the police for help. You know, some variant of "I've fallen and I can't get up." Say, "I've missed my exit and I can't get home." But I pictured such a call, with me in tears and trembling as violently as I was, more likely ending up with my being carted off to the loony bin instead of escorted home to my birdies and Kashi and the comfort of my own bed.

Psalm 46:10a is another favorite of mine: "Cease striving and know that I am God." Another version (I don't know which one) reads "Be still and know that I am God."

There I sat, stubbornly telling God that I had ceased, that I was still, and He needed to be God at that moment. After a while, I thought of how Bettina chides me when I get angry with myself over being stupid because she says it is the disease, not me. I tried really hard to stop crying, take deep breaths, and think. Cease striving. Deciding that my belief that the bible is literal might actually have relevancy in this ridiculous situation, I turned the car off. I turned Maggie off. Then, I started both up again, punching in my request of Maggie to take me home. Instead of endlessly telling me "When possible make a legal U-turn" and my turning wrong and hating myself for being so confused and wanting so desperately for someone to help me and for this day to finally be over, she came up with a new set of directions to go home from that lonely bit of road. I knew then that I could get home!

Finally on the correct path, I wondered if all that driving around was seemingly my 101st lesson on perspective of late. Just a couple of hours earlier, I had told Pastor D that I felt as if I were on a roller coaster and wanted to get off. Some of the things we have talked about overwhelm me in hurt and others do so in joy. I refuse to write of the response on his face because I certainly didn't want any agreement from him. I wanted assurance that I was not as bad off as I felt! Assent of my observation would mean, to me at least, that I actually am crazy!

Am I? Crazy? Perhaps. Or...perhaps...I have been given the opportunity to bring to the Light that which has been hidden so that He might have victory...and in the process...learn more clearly, more deeply, of that which I have believed since I first learned of Christ's death on the cross.

J is truly talented at sending surprising and touching gifts. For my birthday, she send a green bandanna, which just happens to be the PERFECT shade of green, and a NASCAR photo book with Dale Earnhardt, Jr. on the cover. I have had plenty of teasing about watching cars go around in circles, so that photo book cracked me up!

I essentially gave myself a birthday party at the noon bible study without telling them that it was my birthday. We had pinwheel sandwiches, strawberries and grapes, basil-fresh-mozzarella-cheese-lemon-garlic-sea-salt salad, and Pastor D's wife's Amazing Mint Chocolate Brownies (the recipe I posted yesterday). The best part is that she baked a tray for lunch and baked a second one for me to take home.

When I told my boss about the second tray, she thought I should bring them back to the office to share with everyone. Perish the thought! Pastor D came to the rescue by packing the extra tray in a cooler with ice packs so they would stay fresh in my car beneath the hot summer sun until I could take them home. Now that is an act of pastoral care I thoroughly welcomed! Thanks to his wife's labor of love, I have five containers of brownies residing in my freezer. If I am disciplined enough, they should at least last through the end of my birthday month!

Bible study was great; we plowed through a few more verses of Psalm 18. One of the points that struck me is just how it is that God can delight in us. That He does take delight is marvelous and ought to be savored in thought. But what came to mind is how He can take delight in sinful creatures. God sees us through Christ's death on the cross; He sees us washed clean of our sin. If He didn't see us that way, He could not take delight. So, the verse is essentially confirming that we are clean in His eyes despite our nature.

Studying the bible with Pastor D and the kindest folk I have ever come across was a most spectacular way to spent part of my birthday. They didn't even mind the bit where Pastor D asked us what our thoughts were on the next verse and I accidentally blurted out how wonderful the brownies were. I had just taken my first bite and was overwhelmed by pleasure. They understood because they had eaten them, too. [I ate more pinwheel sandwiches than anyone else so I was late in getting to dessert.] But even if they had not, they would have just taken the moment to share in my joy, silly as it was, before turning back to our study. Seriously, I am learning almost as much from them as I am from our study!

Before joining me at the office to go to bible study, K stopped by and left a note on my refrigerator with instructions to look inside the freezer. Her gift to me? Five of her sumptuous chicken cordon bleu. She makes them by hand, wraps them in foil, puts instructions on how to cook them on masking tape (so I don't have to keep calling her) and freezes them for me. Such love!

Throughout the day, I collected 11 birthday songs. And then last night Cousin D called and walked me through his experiences around all those wonderful photographs he took in Vietnam. That was a very special kind of gift.

All in all, yesterday was a very good day!

Laurie’s Amazing Mint Chocolate Brownies

Base:

Start with your favorite brownie mix. Make according to directions on box and let cool.


Filling:

½ cup butter or margarine, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
1 tablespoon water
½ teaspoon mint extract
3 drops green food coloring

Mix all filling ingredients and spread over brownies.


Topping:

Melt a 10-12 ounce bag of chocolate chips with ½ cup butter or margarine and spread over filling. Store in refrigerator.



WARNING: Final brownie may spark conflict among family members or friends.

If ever there was a moment of Grace on this earth since our Lord and Savior died on the cross, it came this day.

Pastor arrived just after 11:00 for my much dreaded trip to the day-surgery unit at the hospital for a procedure. I could almost have shot him for being so cheerful, so positive about my ability to walk through those doors. I restrained myself.

While in admitting, I started coughing and used my inhaler. Before long, I was in need of the nebulizer. That meant I could not be sedated. More waiting, more worrying, more battling my fears. Pastor started me off with prayer and was shuttled off to the waiting room (where he prayed more), far sooner than I wanted. Being alone in that place was nearly impossible for a while there.

However, I would be churlish if I didn't admit that the women whom were given my care did everything, absolutely everything, they possibly could to ensure that I felt safe and comfortable. Long before I achieved that state, they were there, working to break through my fear. They genuinely wanted to help and never once treated me as if there was something wrong with me for being afraid. The reason did not matter. They only desired for me to have a positive experience.

I awoke with chest pain, so my departure was delayed. Then, just as we left the hospital, another delay happened. There we were, waiting on a light, talking about the choice Joshua offer the people of Israel, when BAM! The car behind us slammed into my car. We were the first car in a three-car pile up. My first response was to cry out to Pastor, "Why can't my life be easier? Just once, why can't it be easier!" His response? Well, to hop out and ensure everyone was okay and then to shepherd us all through the tedious process of taking a report and exchanging information.

The accident happened right in front of a police officer who was writing a speeding ticket, so more police, firemen, and an abulance was on the scene seemingly immediately. In my county, apparently, there is a regulation that vehicles in an accident had to be turned off until it was determined that nothing was leaking. While that is well and good, I immediately panicked about not having air-conditioning. The firemen wanted me out of the car, but I could barely stand having gone 5 days without my arthritis medicine in preparation for my procedure and the anesthesia and the lack of food and the stress. The poor service men thought I needed treatment, but both Pastor and I explained that I had just left the hospital!

Pastor had slated his afternoon to care for a member of his flock. He missed that. He had planned on having dinner with his children. He missed that. I would surmise that it was 7:30 PM before he arrived back home, after taking me to Target for my June prescriptions and just one very last doctrine question on my stoop.

I don't belong to his church. I am not a Lutheran. Who I am to receive such care from him? His answer would simply be that I am a child of God who is in need. That is all that matters to him. Spend hours listening to, teaching, and comforting a woman with many questions and big fears. Spend afternoons loading a smelly lawnmower in a car, driving across town, and tending to someone's yard. Spend a day stuck in a hospital waiting room. Spend the evening sweating on the side of the road. All that is a privilege to him!

Pastoral care, kind and thoughtful personnel, anesthesia drugs that keep you from remembering--all Grace in my life today!