Memorial Day

One of the things we haven't had a chance to buy is an American flag. I'm feeling a little sad about that today, Memorial Day. I don't have that outward sign, the sign that shows respect for those who have given their lives, through their military service.

I will miss the annual trip to the park in Lake City, MN, where we would hear from an active member of the military, a home-town hero, where we would sing songs, pray prayers, listen and learn. Where a community would gather to celebrate and mourn.

I will miss the trip to the cemeteries with my parents and siblings to visit the graves of my grandparents, none who died in war, but who, nonetheless were affected by war.

Though I am missing these things, I will still ponder the depth of loss that war causes. I will think about the greater affect as well as the personal effects of war....

I like to think that there were others, like spouses of those who serve, who also deserve this day. Their sacrifices, those who had to raise their children alone for a time or for a lifetime. Others, like those who took the jobs of the men during the wars, those who sacrificed by giving up some of what they needed, like rubber, so that the war effort could go on and be victorious.

I think of children who lost their parents because of war. Through battles and illness, through long hours working to support the war effort. Of medical staff who cared for those injured and dying in the places they served, in peace and in war.

And I am thankful, that those men closest to me, my father and my brothers, never saw combat, but would have done what they needed to do, if they had.

I think of my friend, whose father died in Vietnam, leaving a household of young children for her mom to raise. Of her mom, who always, after the day the officers came to her door with her children around her to tell them of her husband's death, would have a sitting room in her home, a place to have that conversation in private.

It is Memorial Day. I don't have a flag hanging on our new house, yet. But yesterday, I wore my dad's Episcopal service cross when I celebrated the Eucharist. I reminded the community to think of the cost of war, of those lives lost and we left our worship singing "God of Our Fathers."

God be with us all.

Holy Week

As you journey into this week of complex, holy emotions, embrace them!  Holy Week takes us from the jubilant donkey ride into Jerusalem to the Upper Room to Pilate, the Cross, the Tomb and to the Resurrection.  So much to dissect and wonder about!

We begin with waving palms and soon after shout, “Crucify Him!” 
     We wash one another’s feet, both giving and receiving the depth of Christ’s love.
          We strip the altar bare, extinguish candles and walk in darkness.
                We walk the stations of the Cross, walking with Jesus on this pain-filled path.
                     We sit in darkness, praying and singing as Jesus dies on the cross.
                          We welcome the new Light, shouting words of joy in the resurrection!

Fall asleep in the garden.  Wrestle like Peter in his denial.  Feel the sting of the thorns, the nails and the sword.  Cry out as the last words are spoken.  Carry the broken body to the tomb.  Go home, empty and hopeless.  Return to the tomb to anoint your friend, Jesus.  Smell the oils, spices and herbs you carry in your arms.  Panic at the sight of an empty tomb.  Be dazzled by the angels.  Hear your name spoken by the One who calls His Flock by name.  Go…tell…

We walk this journey with Christ, not fully understanding the depth of this gift, but knowing that because of His sacrifice, we are ever wrapped in the arms of forgiveness, of grace and of eternal life.

May the depth of Christ’s love be with you,
~Rev. Debbie

Pushing Off

On any journey, we must find out where we are before we can plan the first step. 

--Kathy Boevink

So... here’s what I said to Jeff on Sunday about embarking on our journey:

"I feel like my heels and the balls of my feet are firmly planted here, but my toes are ready to spring forward."

Some days the toes are what keep me excited about the possibilities. Some days the rest of my feet are reminding me of what has been, what is and about what grounds me.

Friends, I have been grounded here for my whole life.  I have never moved further than to college in Winona and back.  Everywhere I have lived since has been within a 10-mile radius.  I am insecure about the act of moving nearly 600 miles, in trusting a moving company, in making a quick decision about a new house in a new community. 

And yet, I have to trust the process.  I have to let go of my desire to control the process.  Sure, there are things I can do to help it along the way.  There are plenty of boxes to pack!  But one of my friends who has moved across the country, from state to state multiple times, told Jeff and I that we need to focus on the people, not the house. 

We know that.  But being who we are, we need to find the balance.

We are on a teeter-totter, counting on the fulcrum to hold us up while different priorities try to pull opposite ends of the board, trying to soften the blow as one thing jumps off and we go crashing to the ground on the other end.  Emotions, activities, people, Jeff’s business, commitments. 

The fulcrum is God.  The fulcrum is what grounds us wherever we are.  When we are hanging high on one end, or when we are on the ground, or anywhere in between on this teeter-totter, God is that triangle of strength that helps us find the balance.

So my feet, my heels and the balls, are planted in Minnesota because it is where I know, it is where most of the people who have empowered and supported me are. 

But here I am, at this time in my life, with itchy toes.  Toes that are ready to push off, perhaps to lift me on this teeter-totter, perhaps to turn a different direction than the familiar path on which I have been walking, perhaps to leap into the arms of Jesus, into the unfamiliar, embraced by Him.

Maybe next week the balls of my feet will sense the ground getting a little more mushy, a little less firm, a little more ready to release me to make the leap a little easier.

Dear God, you are the fulcrum, the center of all that is happening, and I thank you.  Amen.