E-Letter 176
Sometimes we adults are privileged to be able to witness a child struggling with fissures of the heart that break open young eyes to a stream of discord shattering the worlds of others. Harmony – the exquisite fitting-together of musical notes that fills us with a sense of ‘rightness’ – was the theme of this week’s Salt Shakers (3rd-5th graders) mission trip. We took seriously the words of the Apostle Paul, “We look at the Son and see the God who cannot be seen. We look at this Son and see God’s original purpose in everything created…He was supreme in the beginning and – leading the...
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…with an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things. ÐWilliam Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey I’m trying to see the bright side of blight on 21 tomato plants that I have faithfully coddled, botanically speaking, by watering, composting, weeding, fertilizing, pruning, and staking. Standing sentinel over my garden this morning, steaming coffee cup in hand, it amazes me that I’ve spent so much energy perseverating over little brown speckles working their way up some plants like chicken pox. Dreaming and working for a bumper harvest, I’ve...
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I’m paying attention to the voices swirling around me. Monday evening I spent hours in the brightly lit halls and examining rooms of Egleston Hospital with my daughter-in law, Cat, and my grandson, Keaton, as the medical professionals treated the symptoms of a four year old child who could only say, “Here” to the doctor’s question, “Where does it hurt?” I watched in profound respect as caring nurses, technicians, and pediatricians sifted through the fear, concern, worry, panic, and distress billowing through the emergency room to attune their ears to the still, small voice coming from a...
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All of creation is a birthday card, and I almost failed to open it! With a multitude of tasks pressing in on me and a weeklong mission trip looming, I was tempted to skip my morning walk in favor of a day of busy, busy, busy. I would have been richly rewarded for this decision because we all know that it’s the early bird that catches the worm. But on this day, Tuesday, my birthday, I resisted the dawn’s temptation to work, work, work, laced up my mudder shoes, and set off for my favorite hiking trail, leaving the worm for someone else to claim. From the road, I could see the destruction...
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A late afternoon storm rolls in, and Ingrid and I stand holding hands on the front porch of her home watching ominous, purple-gray clouds scolding the sky as they side-arm heavy raindrops across the city landscape. My year and a half old granddaughter wakes up from her too-brief nap hoping to color with hot pink chalk, the porch steps, the driveway, perhaps her mother’s garden planters, and surely the rear bumper of her dad’s car. Seeing the rain, however, she turns around, raises her arms, and asks to be lifted into her swing suspended from the porch roof. I hesitate for a moment...
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