Worthy. Able. Willing. Ready.

Most people I know believe that right now the world is a mess. We passed upside down awhile ago, and have fallen so far down the rabbit hole that if Alice meandered through a Looking Glass, she would have no idea where to even turn, what mushroom to eat (or not) or who to follow to find a way out. It doesn’t even matter what views people have:  conservative, liberal, moderate, unaffiliated with any ideology, we all seem to have a predicament on our hands. Folks may not express consensus on just what is wrong with the place, just that

It.

Is.

One.

Big.

Mess.

 

Perhaps more distressing, the vitriolic nature of the differences between us burn brighter than in the past. I’ve had family members who love me—and they do love me--call me derogatory names because I disagree with them on a particular issue.

 

We have children who ten years ago caused adults to worry because they were eating Tide Pods. Now the same aged children are supposedly mature enough to make life-altering decisions for permanent surgical procedures to change their “gender” at frighteningly early ages. People will take to social media and attack total strangers about anything, like some unknown woman living in some unknown place like, maybe, Paris, Arkansas, with whom they disagree, trying to totally destroy her life because she doesn’t like their view and has expressed her divergent perspective. To mitigate such attacks, you either have to be a big enough star with enough money and power that people really can’t hurt you financially so a “boycott” of your products won’t put your family on the streets or an insignificant enough person that nobody cares what you think anyway. The woman in Paris, Arkansas, probably isn’t hurt too badly, but that someone feels the need to viciously attack her doesn’t speak well of our culture now.

 

Even Christians have deep and, at times, venomous disagreements, calling each other names and inferring that obviously this church is right and that church is wrong and MY church is the one to listen to and YOUR church should just close its doors.

 

So, what to do?

 

A bedrock of the Christian faith is that those of us professing Christian faith wait for Christ to return to Earth and rescue us from all the heartache and dilemmas threatening to engulf us. As well, the Earth itself waits for its creator to come make everything right again. Romans 8:22-23 tells us that “creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now, and not only this, but also we ourselves, having the first fruits of the Spirit; even we ourselves grown within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons.”  

 

Until then, here we live, in the world while chaos controls large swaths of real estate.

 

Truth be told, though, chaos and confusion, war and atrocity have been around for most of Earth’s history. Since that first failure of the first people, the waiting for renewal and regeneration warred with the lost perfection of Earth before sin took hold to destroy the creation and the people God loves. We know the world is wrong; as with so many areas of life, the proposed solutions are what separate us. But what Christians have beyond much of the other people with whom we share the planet is hope and the promise of the remade Earth where all the consequences of the first sin—and every sin thereafter—are redeemed and undone.  How can we wait and believe with hope? Does this question asked by believers have an answer? Where can we look?

 

And, then, we find Revelation 5.

 

Revelation? For many believers Revelation is ignored or glanced at only periodically, thought to be weird predictions of future events told in allegories or images we can’t understand. There are disagreements with scholars about various parts of the book. But, much of it is clear and full of promise and hope and the assurance of our faith and future so necessary in this crazy world.

 

The apostle John received the Revelation of Jesus Christ who received it from God (Revelation 1:1).  In Chapter 4, the Apostle John, now a very old man, exiled to a rock in the Aegean Sea by the Emperor Domitian,  sees into the throne room of Heaven with God on His throne almost indescribable and amazingly glorious in sight; around him twenty-four elders seated on their own thrones reining with Him. Lightning flashes! Thunder booms!, Four creatures with heads like different animals (one a man) and lots of eyes, so as to see everywhere and everything, and six wings whose job is to cry praises to the God on the throne day and night surround Him. The twenty-four elders  praise Him and worship, and Heaven reverberates with the sound of the praises given to God sitting on His throne in heaven. John’s description blows away any namby picture of us sitting on clouds, resting our heads on our hands, yawning on occasion, waiting for something to do. Bored will be a forgotten emotion there as John described every creature participating in Heaven’s worship.

 

And, then. . . . . .

 

John saw in the right hand of God a rolled scroll. It was unusual in that it had writing on both sides, sealed with seven seals.  This scroll has been the object of conjecture for as long as the book of Revelation has been written and read. Most scholars believe it to be a legal document of some kind—perhaps even a title to the Earth or a document detailing the events to come to finish the universe’s dealings, anticipation of the perfection of what will be welling up in the hearts of believers, the plan for Earth’s renewal and end time event. No one knows for sure, only that without someone worthy, able, and willing to open the scroll, seemingly something wonderful will not happen or something horrible will.

He is The Lion of the Tribe of Judah

 

Whatever the document is, until it is open, happenings seem to stop in that Heavenly scene. God on the throne held the scroll in his right hand, and a “strong” angel called out, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break the seals?” (Revelation 5:2).  And the Scripture tells us that no one anywhere—no one in Heaven, no one on earth, and no one under the earth—was found to be worthy and able and willing, ready and willing to break the seals and open the scroll.

 

John, watching in awe, having been invited into the very throne room of Almighty God—the very heart of Heaven--watched the happenings. He does not tell us how long passed, but at some point John began to weep, to sob, grieving at the lack of one found who could open the scroll. Like the movie line so iconic from Tom Hanks about America’s game, There’s no crying in Heaven! (Tom Hanks referenced baseball; not really the same thing, but the same idea). We are promised elsewhere that “He will wipe away every tear” (Revelation 21:4), repeating in the New Testament the promise given in Isaiah 25:8. The visitor John could not contain himself, and his tears reflected his heartbreak.

 

Then one of the elders—not an angel this time--spoke:  “Stop weeping, behold the Lion that is from the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has overcome so as to open the book and its seven seals.” (Revelation 5:5 italics mine).

 

In verse 6, though the elder had declared the Lion was found to open the scroll, when John looked, he saw standing between the thrown and the elders a Lamb. The word for Lamb here is used to denote a “little” or “delicate” lamb. Our Lord is a Little Lamb described “as if slain,” bearing the marks of His sacrifice. As I understand it, the picture is of a sacrifice still fresh. The sacrifice and payment Christ made 2000 years ago on Calvary is as fresh as the day He was crucified. And the Lamb of God, the Lion of Judah, reached and took the scroll.

 

He is the Lamb that was Slain

This chapter continues with praise from the 24 elders and the creatures and all of Heaven. The text tells when they start praising the Lamb personally in the manner they have praised God on His throne—He is praised with the same authority and on the same level as Heaven’s Holy One. Verse 9 tells that he is “worthy” to take the scroll and to “break the seals;” that he “purchased for God with Your blood men from every tribe and tongue and people and nation.” Praise for the Lamb continues until it culminates in verse 13:  “To Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion forever and ever.” And who said this? The verse tells us “every created thing which is in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and on the sea and all things in them. . . (verse 13). From all the places where no one could be found worthy to open the scroll came praise affirming the Lion worthy to open the scroll, the Lamb who sacrificed Himself to bring us into fellowship with Him and He who sat on the throne. That strength of the Lion carries in that brave heart the humility and unlimited sacrificial heart of the Lamb.

 

As John tells us that the 4 creatures and the 24 elders fall on their faces to worship the Lamb, they each hold a golden bowl full of incense—which “are the prayers of the saints.” We don’t know which specific saints prayed those prayers, but, imagine! believers’ prayers are precious enough to God to save them for use in the remarkable actions that follow. And the elders and creatures cradle the bowls of them in the middle of their awe and praise.

 

Jesus is praised with the same manner as God on the throne; we can never doubt that Jesus is God, and He is worthy and able and willing in a world of chaos and uncertainty, sadness and doubt, pain and fear, where upside down is celebrated as the way to fix a world gone mad, He is worthy and able—and ready.

 

In the middle of it all, the Lion and Lamb stands ready. That scroll in Revelation starts what might look like more upheaval when seals start opening. My favorite part are the horses released as seals break open, albeit some of their riders don’t have good tidings. Even so, when He opens the seals, it is with authority. No matter what follows, the Christ who opens one seal after another is worthy and able, willing and ready.

 

And He is worthy and able, willing and ready now.  When my friends turn away, breaking my heart over what should not matter, He is worthy and able; ready and willing; when weather descends and destroys a lifetime’s possessions and a community’s heart, He is worthy and able, ready and willing; when I fail myself and my family and my church in ways I thought long past, He is worthy and able, ready and willing; when unimaginable loss occurs so that I wonder if I can breathe the next breath, He is worthy and able; ready and willing; when I again fail the Christ who gave Himself for me, He is worthy and able, ready and willing, the Lion of Judah, the Lamb slain whose sacrifice is current and powerful enough to make it right.

 

He is worthy and able, ready and willing whether I act like it or not. So my prayer is that He turns my heart to Him instead of the million other ways that don’t help, but that I look towards Him perpetually, when I hurt or fall or just don’t know what to do.

 

On social media this week, I saw something that made me laugh:  “The older I get, the more I understand why roosters just scream to start their day.” There are days I really understand that.

 

But, maybe I can get up and start the day with a quiet, inner thought. “He is Worthy; He is Able, He is Ready. He is Willing.” And when the world is too much for me, maybe realize, and believe, it is never too much for Him, the Lion who fights for me, the Lamb who sacrificed for me, the Christ who gave His all for me.

 

Maybe remember that on any and every given day. And start now to join in the Heavenly throngs in the praise of Him.

 

No seals, no situation, no pain, no confusion, no sin too great.

 

Lord, seal that truth in my heart.

 

 

Psalm 23

A Psalm of David

1The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. 

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. 

3 He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. 

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. 

5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You have anointed my head with oil; My cup overflows. 

6 Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. 

One of the places listed as sites we will ride this time when I visit Israel we did not ride last time are the grazing fields of the upper Judean desert where David walked with his father’s sheep. Here, possibly, a young boy played his instruments and, having fought lions and bears to keep safe those sheep, penned the words “Yehweh is my Shepherd.” 

 I don’t know a ton about sheep, but I do know a bit. 

 I have border collies. 

My Border Collie, Mac

 I’ve had sheep step on me, knock me in the head with their own hard heads as they leapt to get away from dogs, run over me, around me, seemingly through me, look to me for comfort, try to get away from me when a dog got too close, look at me with a “really?” look in their eyes as, yet again, I sent a dog out behind them. Though we have not worked sheep nearly as often or as long as we would have liked, I love to see the sheep, especially the babies, who, when they latch onto a bottle or Mom for a meal, wag their tails to beat the band and express, “happy, happy, HAPPY!” as well as ever it has been said. 

Phillip Keller ran a sheep farm in South Africa and wrote a book called A SHEPHERD LOOKS AT PSALM 23. Though it’s been years since I read it, I can never see the psalm the same again. 

“The Lord is my Shepherd.” Having shepherded sheep for so much of his young life, David knew and understood that relationship in ways city dwellers could not. Whereas he knew how a bad shepherd could hurt the sheep, could lose the sheep, harm them, let them be killed, he also knew a good shepherd protected, loved, fed, cared for them. They trusted him. To David, the Lord was a good shepherd. 

“He makes me lie down in green pastures;” Sheep will not lie down if they are afraid; after eating their fill, they would lie down, feeling safe in their shepherd’s care. 

“He leads me beside quiet waters.” Sheep cannot drink from running, turbulent waters. If their wool gets wet, they can be pulled down and drown easily. Quiet, still water lets them drink without worry.

“He restores my soul;” As David followed the Lord in the way the sheep follow a good shepherd, his worries left him. His soul rested from worry—his soul restored. 

“He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake.” As the shepherd leads sheep in paths good for grazing and safety, the reputation of the shepherd is enhanced. He is known as a good shepherd because the sheep show their good care. 

Fields Today Where David Kept Sheep

 “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Though of course, we know that God is with us at the hour of our physical death, there are also places in Israel considered as possible sites for a physical “Valley of the Shadow of Death,” like the Wadi Qelt, a deep gorge in the Judean wilderness. Whether this is the site mentioned or not, it references traveling through dangerous, worrisome paths where hazards and peril await the next steps. 

“I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” The sheep, even in the dangerous trails, do not worry, for they know the shepherd they trust. His rod was a big, sturdy stick used as a weapon to fight off attacking animals. David told King Saul that he had saved sheep from a lion and bear; his rod would have been the fighting tool for that. The staff is the stick curved at the end we are used to seeing with shepherds. If a sheep fell down into a ditch or cervices, he would reach down, grab the sheep around the neck with his crook, and pull the sheep out. The rod and the staff were tools for comfort—the shepherd would fight for and rescue a sheep. 

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;” Picture a wonderful picnic laid out for us and surrounding the meal, watching, are the enemies of the sheep—lions, bears, wolves, all watching, all powerless to do any harm because the Good Shepherd watches. They are helpless in the presence of the good, strong shepherd. 

“You have anointed my head with oil;” As bugs bite or the sheep scratch their heads, they itch; rubbing their heads on trees or rocks for relief, again the raw skin gets worse irritation. The shepherd anoints the sheep’s heads with oil to sooth their irritations. In life, the good shepherd sooths our lives as well. 

“My cup runneth over.” As he gives us gifts, as he pours out blessings, David says, my blessing cup is not only full, but my blessing cup overflows with all the blessings the good shepherd gives me. 

“Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,” It doesn’t say David will follow after goodness and lovingkindness. It says that because of the goodness of the Good Shepherd, goodness and lovingkindness will follow David, wherever he goes—not dependent on his actions, but on the love of the shepherd. He is not chasing goodness and mercy (another translation of the word); mercy and goodness chase him all the days of his life. 

“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” And when life ends, the house the Lord has prepared will be David’s home—because his Shepherd is the Lord. 

Riding in Israel

And then the Good Shepherd came and said, “My sheep hear My voice and know Me.” At times shepherds with different flocks let them all merge together and graze or rest as a way to have more sheep watched by fewer watchers for awhile. Then, the shepherds came out to the big group of sheep composed of the different flocks, called to their own sheep, and the sheep separated themselves to go with their own shepherd. 

 Their Good Shepherd. 

 David illustrated that truth hundreds of years before Jesus spoke it. When I walk or ride that Holy Land, it brings alive these stories, makes more real these lessons and lives from Scripture. And when I ride those fields where David wrote about the Lord being his Shepherd, I will remember his song, his psalm, and give a not to the shepherd boy who killed the giant, became king, and who Scripture calls, “A man after God’s own heart.”

Heron

I yearn for the days of Eden.

As I walked my dogs down the path in the woods leading to the first of the ponds that lie in the fields behind our house, I took in the sight of the large tree fallen across the front of the pond, turtles lying in the sun covering most of the tree. The dogs each carried their yellow tennis ball, looking back at me, watching creatures at the tops of trees (how do squirrels get up there?). The turtles s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d out their necks, alarmed at our presence, then one of them, too fearful to relax with the giants coming by, plopped! off the log into the water, followed by most of the others—some baby size, some bigger from years of growth. “Plop! Plop! Plopplopplop!” At the end one or two brave little beasts stretched their necks even further, watching us, perhaps on patrol, then as we passed, they lowered their little heads, clinging even tighter to the log.

Turtles Warming on Tree

Passing that smaller natural pond, I thought of the ducks who had arrived just the previous year and, I suppose, spent the winter in warmer climate. Now I wondered if they have already built their nest, preparing to start the family that must come from their relationship. Smiling at the thought of little ones hopping into the pond after Mamma and Daddy, I hoped they have several babies who all do well in the ponds, this smaller, natural one, and the one built since we moved here, bigger, below the hill that housed the woods.

 Then, I stopped, the dogs ahead looking around, then turning back, fluorescent balls in their mouths, gazing up at me. “What’s up?”

 I wondered, do turtles eat duck eggs? Of course, they do, and my heart hurt a bit for the duck couple. Oh, maybe they will build a nest beyond reach of the turtles. But we know the water houses lots of turtles; probably finding the eggs would be a treat. If one found the next, a rush (well, a rush of turtles?) would likely find their way to finish off the unexpected meal. You can’t blame a turtle for being a turtle—but, still. . . . . birds bond with their eggs. I’ve seen them grieve at the loss of a nest. How sad for the birds if, indeed, their unhatched eggs become food for the turtles who I so enjoy watching sun themselves on so many of the days we walk by their big, fallen tree.

I picked up my walk again as the dogs trotted on ahead, and realized that, truly, I yearn for the days of Eden, for the days before evil duped humankind into believing the knowledge of evil worth more than obedience to the Creator.

  To Adam, God said, “You can eat from any tree in the garden except the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” No where in Eden, in the creation God spoke and formed, was any animal named for food.

 Until. . .

 After Adam and Eve disobeyed God and introduced death into the world of life, they suddenly realized that, though they had worn no clothes in their entire lives, they were naked. When God found them in the cool of the evening, saw their pitiful attempt with fig leaves to cover their nakedness, He gave them clothes of skin, and so killed the animal in the history of the world, the sacrifice of a nonhuman creature for human sin. Many other repercussions came from that first rebellion; but as I watched the turtles watching me, I thought of that first animal death.

 Gone the days when harmony ruled creation, when ancestors of today’s lion grazed beside the sheep’s forefathers. Death not only took humans and animals from the earth, but they then became common for getting food—for humans and many animals as well.

 I would lie to say I don’t like a good steak; on my own, I eat enough chicken for a small city. But, oh, when eating that tasty food, I don’t think of the source. No, animals are not on a level with people; God did not breathe into them the breath of life nor does the His Spirit live in them. Still, before the fall, before that first sin, God looked multiple times at His creation—expanses, environment, plants, animals—and pronounced it all good and, finally, very good. In Eden, Adam and Eve ate plants. No creatures had to fear them, unlike now. Still, I have seen cattle come to the fence for a head scratch, enjoying interaction with people with no idea their fate; for many people, chickens are pets on the level of my beloved dogs.

 Even thousands of years later, when Jesus assured His followers of their importance to the Father, He did so by telling them “Not one sparrow falls to the ground apart from the Father.” (Matthew 10:29) Jesus makes sure they know how much more important they are than many sparrows—but, still, God knows the knowledge of the fate of each sparrow.                   

Duck Couple

And, I believe, ducks.

 And now I watched the duck pair swim away; like the turtles, I cannot convince them the dogs and I mean no harm. Some days I don’t see them at all and worry for them. A blue heron has lived his (her?) lonely existence in the ponds and woods for a few years now. All of them watch closely as the dogs and I walk our route, but so far, at least, they return to their posts—the fallen tree, the woods, the high grass—and greet us another day. 

 As I realize the difficulty of life in nature—these are not the first wild animals we’ve seen—I yearn for the days of Eden, when creation existed in perfect harmony with its Creator, all of creation, including God’s highest art form, humankind. And as we continue our walk, I whisper a prayer for them all, our little turtles whose necks stretch so far it seems they will pop out of their shells, the ducks, whose little hearts would break at the loss of their young, the heron, who has an attitude when we disrupt him, but who glides above the ponds so smoothly, I usually stop and try to get a picture of that beauty and fail to show how amazing she (he?) is.

 And I whisper a prayer of gratitude. I remember that we are promised new days of Eden. If the first book in the Bible describes the tragedy of first sin and the loss of relationship with our Creator, the last book describes the time coming when a crystal river flows with life and the tree of life again produces fruit. Then the promise:  “There will be no longer any curse.”

The curse of Genesis will be gone.

 And then, from the Old Testament book Isaiah, “And the wolf will dwell with the lamb, And the leopard will lie down with the young goat, And the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; And a little boy will lead them.  (Isaiah 11:6) Again, the animals will live together, not enemies of each other.

 So I yearn for those days, and I believe those days will come. Oh, there’s a lot to happen between now and then—but hope doesn’t always have a timeline.

Someday we’ll know. Till then, the prophet Isaiah looked forward and promised, “’Comfort, O comfort My people,’ says your God.’” (Isaiah 40:1)  Though talking to Jerusalem, the restoration of paradise is for us all; the promise is a new heaven and new earth; the promise is that our Creator has a new creation for us; the promise is that this WILL come, not just that it might.

Till then, I will look forward to days of Eden, and be grateful to a Creator and Designer who cares so much for us that our new home will be free of pain and tears, provided again by the one who made the first Eden.

And I will enjoy the turtles and ducks, my dogs and horses, the heron and squirrels, and be grateful.

Palm Sunday, April 10, 2022

Today is Palm Sunday. Always this time of year draws me back to those days in that enchanted, mysterious, captivating country of Israel.

2000 years ago, the Gospels tell us, as they walked dusty roads towards Jerusalem, Jesus sent a couple of his disciples ahead of Him to borrow a donkey. Some scholars believe the donkey to be a beast of peace, as opposed to my beloved horses, often depicted as animals of war. In the book of Revelation, Christ is shown sitting on a white horse, as He is called Faithful and True, leading the armies of Heaven, also riding white horses. On that prancing horse, “His eyes are a flame of fire,” He wears a robe dipped in blood, and His name is “The Word of God!” Christ leads that army in the final battle, victorious, ending with the name KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS written on his thigh. 

 But in the gospels, here, outside Jerusalem, before that victory was even penned in prophesy by the Apostle John, the humble donkey carried the Lamb to the city where His sacrifice would happen, a scene seemingly opposite of the victory still to come. And Jesus, knowing He could call angels to Him now and slay all those who would soon mock him, those who even now plotted against Him, resolutely set His face towards Jerusalem and Calvary, readying Himself for sacrifice, on this, the Sunday before the Friday we call “Good.” The disciples said to the donkey's owner, who, of course, had questions about people just taking their donkey away, "The Lord needs it." Apparently, that's all it took. 

 Jesus rode to the city down the Mount of Olives, and the people there placed palm fronds in front of him, calling out praises to him: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” As He rode down that hill on the humble donkey closing in on the Holy city of Jerusalem, He cried over Jerusalem, heartbroken for the fate He knew to come, distraught at their lack of belief He saw, even as cries of “Blessed” followed Him.

This is the holiest week in Christendom. No doubt, pilgrims walk those cobbled streets this week in Jerusalem reliving those last earthly days of Christ, hearing men (and some women) with descriptive gifts far better than mine bringing to life the places and the time from 2000 years ago, crossing the years, making history present, as that ancient land so easily does. After His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the religious leaders of His day wanted to kill Jesus even more than before, envy and ignorance overcoming faith and love....and not long afterwards, one of his closest friends betrayed Him over disappointment of expectations and the lure of silver, and those resentful, ungodly religious leaders got their wish. 

 Or so they thought. 

 I wish I was there in that land that draws me back....but, even now, I close my eyes and see the desert, feel the heat, dry, dusty, ageless, reach my hands to caress the rough, ancient stones, walk the narrow streets--the very streets Jesus walked. I quietly sit.....shut out the world.....close my eyes.....remember......and I see the cobbles, the uneven steps and winding roads. 

As precious as that land rests in my heart, I know that Jesus lives in the heart of believers the world over. The week that fulfilled the plan that brought all of us to Him started on the back of a humble donkey walking surefooted down the Hill of Olives into the City of Jerusalem, that ancient City of David. Holy Week begins today, and in all the world, Christians celebrate the week and the Savior that ever changed the world.

Thinking on Things

I am not Catholic, but in May I finish 35 years of teaching at my Catholic school. Raised in rural Arkansas in the 1960’s, I learned to stay away from Catholics and Pentecostals. Now, my little Evangelical Pentecostal Protestant self has learned to so appreciate the Catholic traditions and find peace and meaning in the Catholic Mass. At so many turning points in my life, the men and women with whom I work (the majority of them Catholics themselves) have been the hands and feet, voices and hearts, knees and minds of God to me. In this Covid year, all-school Mass with 1600 + people in one gym has been temporarily postponed. Mass happens, though, at least a couple of mornings a week (where, for sure, 1600 people don’t show up) and some arrangements for times during the day periodically. This week our beloved priest sent out a notice that Friday morning’s mass would be a special mass to pray for the peace and healing of our country. Several years ago I attended Mass most mornings. Of late, I haven’t been as regular an attendee as most, or much at all, but this morning I wanted to join like minded colleagues and any students who came to join and pray for the country we so love, for we do, at least most of us, truly love this country, no matter how differently we feel the direction we should go. In the Mass the first reading was from the First Letter of the Apostle John telling that God’s testimony is greater than that of men. John talks about God’s testimony of His Son and the Spirit who tells of Him; but for those of faith, that truth spills over. God’s truth is the truth. So, how then to deal with the uproar of the country this week? How to even begin to heal a country that so many SAY they want to heal, even as each side states they will never forgive the other. Father got up and read the Gospel from Luke 5 where Jesus saw a man with leprosy, literally “full of” leprosy. In that day and time those afflicted had to call out to any approaching, “Unclean! Unclean!” so as to warn them to be sure to stay away from the dreaded disease. No mask worn, no vaccine available—just self proclamation of the afflicted. Jesus, though, had a reputation, and the stricken man fell before him. “If You are willing, you can make me clean.” And Jesus, his heart so moved by the plight of this sad, ill, outcast man, said, “I am willing; be cleansed.” And the leprosy left him, Scripture says, IMMEDIATELY. Would that we could be so cured so fast—of course, of the virus running rampant in our streets and homes and hospitals. But, even more, if our hearts could lose the anger, if our minds could lost the seemingly ever-present inclination to hurl in anger names at each other. “She’s a socialist! No, a COMMUNIST!” “That’s what the Nazis did!” “He’s despicable!” “They’re rubes!” And those are the words I dare to print. But, how? To deny that we have felt some of those things is to deny any help in change—to deny that I have felt them anyway. How can we start to move away from the vitriol and hate seen every time it seems so-called “news” comes on tv or is printed in “The Newspaper of Record” or a blogger pushes “publish” or twitter lets loose or Facebook censors—or doesn’t? Father carried with him to the front one of the Catholic Youth Bibles available in the school. “How do we do this? Paul told us how in Philippians. “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is worthy of respect, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if something is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things. And what you learned and received and heard and saw in me, do these things. And the God of peace will be with you.” To end his letter to Philippi, Paul wanted his readers to have peace. How? Think on these things. What things? As I sat today in the hall, I looked at the list. Paul said, “Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, is there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” (Philippians 4:8 New American Standard Version) “Whatever is true. . . “ Truth. In this day of 24-hour news cycles and social media, of such divergent points of view and strident fact-hawkers, how can we know the truth? Scripture, from Old Testament to New reiterates time and again that God is Truth. Perhaps a good summary verse tells us that the Spirit of Truth (the Holy Spirit) will guide us in truth (John 16:13). But there are so many others. The truth is that God truly does reign. Those who believe themselves in charge have temporary authority, and then only as He allows. So, when anger and vitriol spills out, know, consider, think about—God truly is Truth. Whatever is right. Scripture is clear: Pray for those in authority over us; that is the right thing to do. In his first letter to his young student Timothy, Paul said, “First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way.” (I Timothy 2:1-2) The RIGHT thing to do is to pray for all of the leaders—those with whom I agree, and, perhaps even more, those with whom I so heartily disagree. This same principle applies in our personal lives when someone we love hurts us. A few years ago a friend hurt me badly. I could hardly bear to see her without crying, so deep was the betrayal. I knew forgiveness was not an option—Jesus commands forgiveness even to “seventy times seven.” But my heart literally hurt physically from a betrayal that led to consequences way beyond the singular act. When I prayed, “Lord, I do will forgiveness, but I cannot feel what I do not feel,” I felt in my heart the words “What are you commanded to do for those who treat you badly?” And, so, each day I prayed blessings for that person and others involved. “Bless them. Bless them.” I would also pray to mean it—and, eventually, I did. We are not friends still. But I know I have forgiven; I also know that still I pray blessings for that person, and I do mean it and, at some point, pray for reconciliation. And I know God can work through that prayer for those with whom I cannot make things right if they do not want it, and, in larger circles, with the leaders I do not even know with whom I agree or disagree. I long, as Paul said, for a “peaceful and quiet life.” The past few years have not given that to many; what a small price to sacrifice our pride and pray, “God bless the ones in charge of our country—give them the wisdom and grace to make good decisions. Bless them, bless them.” When I don’t even know what to pray, blessings seems to be a good fallback choice, but also to consider other ways, which is right to do—give them wisdom, clarity, peace. In Philippians, Paul said, think on what is “right;” other translations translate the word “just.” Scripture is clear: it is right and just to follow the law—as long as it does not break God’s law. When told not to preach the gospel, the disciples chose prison (and those prisons had no tv or indoor plumbing) over obedience. “We must obey God rather than man.” (Acts 5:29) But, when the laws did not cross, they obeyed man’s law—they paid taxes, worked, gave respect to authorities over them. There are some issues where faith and state law will not coexist; but where they can, it is right and just for them to do so. And we should think hard on what those are and how to keep peace in those ways. Think, Paul said, on what is pure. What is pure? “Free from blemish; free from contamination” among other definitions, according to dictionary.com. Well, when I think of “pure,” when I stop and consider that word, I see the love from my dog’s eyes looking at me. So pure is that love that no matter what I do, no matter how I do not deserve it, they love me. At least in my life, to show me what His unconditional love resembles, God gave me dogs. Pure freedom I see when my horses run after being in the barn for a time, released to the pasture, legs pounding, necks outstretched, mane and tail flowing, racing each other, gathering with others till a small herd gallops by, beating the earth with joy. If I am fortunate, I am in the field with them and feel the herd split around me, pure joy from the free, happy horses running by, knowing where I am, sharing with me this time, letting me touch that pure freedom. I love to remember those moments, to think on that pure time. They lift my spirit.
Don’t forget, Paul reminds, to consider that which is lovely. In this frightening, hate-scattering world, so much lovely still exists. I consider the future of my students, their youth protecting them from the possible consequences of the inexplicable actions of the D. C. elders they hear from, or the adults closer to home for that matter. America still gives them so many beautiful possibilities! I see their innocence, in spite of Big Tech and the virtual, too real games so many play. Their lovely faces, now hidden by masks, that I can see and study via a zoom class on the days they do not sit in my class. Also, the kindness of strangers to one another—lovely. When we can get outside and see a snow fall or a flower fight its way through the cold and say, “I will bloom in spite of it!”—lovely. To ponder, to think on such things: lovely. Consider, Paul continues, those things of good repute. I sat in the hall as I read those words and just remember my friends who get up each day and do the day—go to the jobs they still have and do them well, despite the added hardships of a pandemic; the men and women who give and give beyond what they have to help others who can no longer get up and go to a job closed by a government that decided winning an election more important than helping a citizen; men and women who said, “I will sweep a floor if allowed rather than steal a loaf of bread” or “I will give up my pride and go to a food bank, but I will work at the food bank as well if they will let me.” People, in need like never before, still trying to help people. Good repute. And those with much means starting organizations to help save small businesses when the government that shut those businesses down refused to help. Good repute. Paul commented, “Think of what is worthy of praise.” I thought of my son, who graduated from college in 2008 (when the bottom fell out of the world) with a degree in Computer Science and a minor in Physics. Though easily hired (he can do anything with a computer), like a lot of tech workers, the jobs kept closing. Finally, he had to move home. For Christmas that year, I gave him a class college class in Physics, since we knew he wanted to eventually go into that direction. He never paid for another class as, once they knew what he could do with computers, they put him to work and paid him to do graduate work and then Ph.D. work in Physics. Now an Astro-Physicist, he works at the National Laboratory in Los Alamos, New Mexico, where they made the fist atomic bomb. He and I are 180 degrees from each other politically—and I am so proud of him and so grateful for what he has accomplished after a rather difficult start in life academically at times. Mainly, I thought of how very, very grateful I am. This boy who grew into a Ph.D. when, at times, we worried he might not finish a B.S. Degree. Good repute. I love to think of it. I also remembered the men and women in the building where I sat who have supported all of us in this new type of teaching. “Blended” they call it—half of our students sit in front of us, half of them zoom in; then, on another day, reverse their positions. The school has given us resources and training in new software and given us platforms to be able to run those software programs; given us masks and cleaning supplies and schedules that let us be present; given expectations for students, parents, and staff so we will take care of ourselves and each other. In August, we started school hoping to make it till September, then the first quarter—then finish the semester. And now, here we are, into the second semester, and the hope of vaccines really exists out there. The way the people here have helped each other—everyone: students, parents, staff, administration—deserves praise. I wish our leaders could see how well everyone, many of whom so divergent in political beliefs, work together. And each morning, we all bow our heads with students, together, and pray asking for God’s blessings on the day, then say the Pledge of Allegiance. What wonderful acts to consider and ponder. What deeds of good repute to think upon. Dwell on these things. I realize there are so many more examples of each of these. I have friends who have such lovely children who so enrich their lives—new babies, toddlers. My husband and I have been married 40 years in March. I’m not sure where exactly in that list it falls, but it’s in there somewhere. A friend took care of her mother and then aunt, both living towards the 100 year mark, one over, I believe; such a lovely, loving, pure act of selflessness. And more. . . . and more. … . . there are so many more. There is so much difficulty in the country now and the world. But, there is so much good as well. With the bad screaming at us 24/7 from every kind of output device around, we must intentionally stop and think and ponder. . . . consider. . . . think on those good and know God is Truth, and He is in charge. And He is Good. In 1946, a young pastor from Scotland became Chaplain of the Senate, the Reverend Peter Marshall. There are still a few recordings of his sermons online—very few—and the current Senate Chaplain, Reverend Barry C. Black, has spoken of how he admired him when a young man, how he grew up listening to records of Reverend Marshall’s sermons. This week I received a copy of prayers he had prayed when the Senate opened; it is still the habit of the Senate to start with prayer. I’m not sure they all come, but there is prayer. The first prayer in the book was given on January 6, 1947. Reverend Marshall prayed, “O Lord our God, if ever we needed Thy guidance, it is now—as the Congress begins a new session, standing upon the threshold of a new year, fraught with so many dangerous opportunities. We pray that Thou wilt bless these men (and women) chosen by the people of this Nation, for Thou knowest them, their needs, their motives, their hopes, and their fears. Lord Jesus, put Thine arm around them to give them strength, and speak to them to give them wisdom greater than their own. May thei hear Thy voice, and seek Thy guidance. May they remember that Thou art concerned about what is said and done here, and may they have clear conscience before Thee, that they need fear no man. Bless each of us according to our deepest need and use us for Thy glory, we humbly ask in Jesus’ name. Amen. And so, we pray blessings for our leaders, and think on good things. Amen.

Healing a Broken Heart

"He heals the broken-hearted, and bandages their wounds." Psalm 147:3 

A Promise.

Several years ago I had an experience that broke my heart. It doesn’t matter what at this point—I didn’t expect it, and the shock of it certainly added to my hurt. I write this as encouragement to others, so hang on a minute. Literally years I thought that piercing pain would never fade; almost physical pain. My heart understood, almost more than at any other time I can remember, what it feels to break.

I’ve had a literal broken heart before which the doctor fixed up fairly easily with a stent; 40 years ago a young man broke off our engagement after he met a young woman from Mississippi with long blonde hair; I’ve had the usual of life’s other bumps and bruises. This, though, differed, and I kept waiting for others involved to mend the situation—or, at least WANT to resolve it--which never happened, or for time to resolve the state of affairs some way.

And waited.

Almost harder for me, I wanted to follow the teachings of my faith and forgive others, not let this seemingly inconceivable situation make me act in an Unchristian way. I wanted to say, “Never mind; it’s all right.”

Well.

I failed miserably at that. I know the teachings, and I thought I did well not to slap the several people who said to me, “You know you have to forgive.”

“Yes,” I replied, “I know. And I do forgive—I will myself to forgive. But, I cannot make myself feel forgiveness, and I just cannot make myself want to be reconciled. But, I do forgive.

Really.”

Some mornings I woke up and, literally, could not catch my breath. I always made myself get up, though, afraid if I didn’t I might, someday, just mold and never move again. Of course, I knew that not to be true; but it felt that way.

                                                                                                                         

I cried on the way to work; frequently found quiet, lone places during the day and wept, afraid to be found by others, then picking up myself by my proverbial bootstraps and trudging on. Once I realized that others involved truly had no intention of changing anything, knowing my value to people I loved had seemingly fallen below things of truly lesser value, I fell even lower, sadder, these folks who meant so much to me.

But reciprocal love is not required.

Though I did not do well with my faith’s teachings, I did remember some basic teachings of Christ:  “But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you,” (Matthew 5:44). And, so, in desperation I prayed, “Got bless This One and That One, Her and Her” (of course, I used their names). After a few. . . hundred times, I even found myself meaning it.

I don’t know how much change those simple prayers, said from despair and need, made--for me or for them. As much as I could, though, I clung to that verse from Matthew’s Gospel. “I can’t feel that forgiveness; but I do mean the prayer,” was as far as I got most days—for a long time.  On my trip to Israel  few years ago, I put my hand on that Western Wall—one of the holiest sites on the planet—and prayed for those whose very names still wounded me, until that little Jewish school girl shoved her way past who she felt, I’m sure, was the invading American at ‘her’ spot in the wall, and pried my hand away. I also prayed for my family, of course, for friends. But deeply and sincerely I prayed, “Bless This One and. . . .”

I started, just a little, to heal, tried to find joy in other places, played with dogs, rode horses, worked, did find new friends, but the energy to fight my way through the sadness each day, to grieve the loss of these people I so loved drained my reserves. It got better, but, man, I gotta say, well, not fun. And, I prayed, “Bless This One and. . . .”

One night, as I listened to a Bible teacher on youtube, I heard her read this verse, “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted And saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18).

I don’t remember the context, the topic of her talk, what came before or after, but I felt the world stop for a second, and I latched onto that verse with both hands and all my heart. “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted. . . . He is near to the brokenhearted. . . . He is near. . . He is near…..”

Of course it is part of a longer Psalm. But, I wept as I looked at those words. Even this morning I heard a minister talking about another topic, in another portion of Scripture altogether, saying, “The promises in the Old Testament are for those times, but they also can apply to us now in our situations.” Of course, he said it better. What I know is my sad, broken heart warmed a bit, and again tears started, this time for healing. This is the beauty and miracle and power of Scripture; God’s Word still speaks, and I found an anchor in the sea of loss and aimlessness in which I had slogged for some years. I’m not positive if you look in your Bible, you won’t see little curved, fingernail-shaped indentations in the verse from me hanging on so hard to that verse. He is near. . . it doesn’t say He is near if we are brokenhearted over bad things we have done. It doesn’t say He is near if we are heartbroken over spiritual things, or if none of what has broken our hears is our fault (which is good as about 99 percent of the time I have caused my own difficulties) or if we are handling it well (I assure you, I. did. not). It says, “He is near. . . “ and the requirement? Brokenhearted.

We often hear stories of conversions of people in prison or people who have gone through horrific situations “finding God.” Well, maybe it is in those difficult, lost times we turn, just a bit, and find ourselves running into Him, near.

But, isn’t he always near? Oh, I think so. We just get so content and sure of our own lack of need that we don’t look for Him maybe. But, get our heart broken? Find ourselves alone? Feeling lost? No idea what to do? We turn—and run into the Father who loves us.

“He is near. .. . . .”

For quite awhile, I just clung to it, believing, because to not believe it led back to the darkness of those beginning days of loss. I started to take tentative steps out of my rather insular existence, found a church again, continued to seek counsel, found again friends from years ago with whom I had studied Scripture, and, being me, continually found—and sought—comfort from my four-legged friends, even lost some of the weight with which I had kept the world at bay.

This past year, I realized, I do forgive, even though I still don’t feel it much. And I said to God, “If you want me to do more, You have to change me; I cannot do what I cannot do.” All relationships are not healed, but vast steps have been taken; I have talked with those folks, and asked forgiveness for my part. I do not know if ever here we will be the friends we were—I do not know that I even want that. Or, for that matter, if they do. But, I know it is better, and, sometimes, I even handle things okay. I still do not handle all things well; but I know He is near to us all.

And, this past summer as I did a Bible study with my friends from those years ago, another verse spoke from the pages of the Book as we studied it. In Joel, a small, “minor” prophet in the Old Testament, after the priests of Israel pray to God for mercy after a time of locusts eating all their crops. God answers them by saying, among other things, “Then I will make up to you for the years the locust has eaten, The creeping locust, and the stripping locust, and the gnawing locust . . . “ (Joel 2:25)--actually, is the verse on which the teaching was that I heard this morning (though he said it all with a Scots accent, which made it even better). In that Bible study last summer, I read this verse and felt the same warmth in my heart—no longer so broken that it takes my breath, still sad at the loss, but able to wake with the day and look forward to the good—that I felt on hearing that beloved verse from the Psalms so many months before. Other translations say “I will restore to you the years.” Either way—make up to you or restore to you—what hopeful words. Those literal years are, of course, over. The past few years are gone; the starting of this new decade, though, have already begun with more hope and, well, fun than I thought I might ever have again in surprising situations.

I have reached the time in life where much more life follows me than leads ahead; if time crawls in youth, it flies as the years pass. As much as I truly wanted to fight my way out of that difficult time and again see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, I could not even seem to crawl up to the lip of the tunnel, or find even a dim glow at the end once I started moving forward at all. But, God is a God of miracles; I am so very grateful for the healing I have experienced, even as slow as it felt, at least it has come.

This morning as I listened to the minister, about whom I have never heard, talk about this beautiful promise in Joel, he said two things I hold. The priests prayed, “Spare Your people, O LORD.” Bringing that verse to our New Testament Covenant times, we pray “Spare us” because Christ chose not to be spared, but, as we celebrate in this Season of Giving, wrapped Himself in the flesh of an infant and visited us so that He could sacrifice Himself and make mercy our gift.

And, then, after promising to restore years, God continues in verse 27 to say that, “ Thus you will know that I am in the midst of Israel, And that I am the Lord your God, And there is no other; And My people will never be put to shame.” We cannot get back those specific years we lost; but, God, the Great Alchemist, can take the remaining years and pack into them more—more abundance than we lost, more love than we lost, and, He says here, more knowledge and communion with Him.

It was a tough few years. But, then, who doesn’t have difficult years? I had hoped by this time in life those kinds of heartaches would not show up; well. . . . But, this I know:  I, who have done this life of faith so poorly for so much of my life, had the gift—truly a gift—of just enough faith to pray, “Bless them.” And God, Who looks to find any smidgen of faith we show so He can bless it, so He can count it as righteousness (Romans 4), took my cracked, sad heart and worked the restoring that only He can; He used the too-rare times I was in Scripture to share His message with me; and I see Him restoring to me years with joy and hope not just in the situation where I so felt shattered, but spilling over into all of life.

He is near; He restores.

He has promised. If I, who so poorly follow and practice the tenants of this faith, can find such reality as to see it so plainly, I know for sure it is available to us all. We can just open the Book and start to see.

Frayed Value

The knitting/crochet/fiber arts community (lest I get chided before I even start, I know some combine all forms of thread work in “fiber arts;” I am trying to include it all) is frayed now. The leading site for patterns—some free, but many, MANY designers have sold their work there and, according to some sources, become wealthy—for particularly knitting and crochet work put out a statement a few weeks ago that no patterns in support of President Trump or any hint of that kind of thought would be allowed on their site because, obviously, he, his administration, and everyone who supports or voted for him are racist bigots, intolerant of some protected classes of people, and that site will have no part of it. This site WILL be inclusive of ALL people, but if you voted for Trump, obviously, you are a horrible person and ARE NOT WELCOME.

We include everyone—unless we don’t.

If you think I exaggerate, you would be incorrect. At first, the rallying cry “Stand with ______!” (the name of the site) echoed across the Internet. However, that got pulled when someone understood that some people cannot stand—handicapped people are, after all, a protected class. So, now it is “I Support _____!” I officially belong to that handicapped group of people—and the inability to stand—just stand— for very long on my damaged foot is difficult for me; I take strong meds each day to be able to be mobile. I am better than previously, but, still.  They removed a pattern that said “God is Love” as hate speech, but all Trump bashing, profanity included, is apparently allowed.

I have laughed some at this—Madame Defarge from A Tale of Two Cities comes to mind, sitting, knitting into a garment of some kind the names of her enemies. Facebook groups for the refugees of this site have sprung up like mushrooms in a humid spring. Yet, even now, some designers have, literally, given up their source of income because they will not lie and say they believe all their conservative friends are racist, homophobic bigots. Web designers are working on creating sites to allow the selling and posting of patterns for some vendors no longer allowed on the original place. Even people who think Trump is NOT GOOD will not stay on the site because, well, the tossing out of my peeps—even my conservative peeps—is the tossing out of me. That’s a brave thing to do when your income is impacted.

Knitters.  Crocheters  Fabric Arts.

Unbelievable.

I saw a moving quote the other day that I researched and found to be from an ancient Greek poet and playwright. The quote is “And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

In the context where I heard it, it reflects the death of a character. In my research, I learned the translator put a bit of a spin to bring it into the Christian tradition, because, of course, in the 400-plus years before Christ when Aeschylus wrote the play “Agamemnon” from which the quote comes Christianity wasn’t around, certainly not in Greece where they worshiped multiple Gods with multiple purposes.

When running for President, Robert Kennedy quoted this passage when he spoke to a crowd in Indianapolis, foregoing his planned campaign event to tell them Martin Luther King had been killed. He then continued, “What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.” I would continue whatever protected class is being impacted.

Of course, immediately what someone shouts is, “But Trump voters are not good people and don't want all that.”

And, for the most part, that is incorrect. It’s just wrong. I can’t tell you the number of people who have said to me, upon learning I lean towards conservative thought, “But you seem so NICE.” Generally—not always, but, generally—I AM nice. So are 99.9% of all conservative people I know.

So are 99.9% of the liberal people I know. I also know it is possible to be friends—good, close, loving friends with people who are 180 degrees away from you politically. I know that because I am close friends with many—and married to one, mother to another. It can get interesting, but we manage.

In the administration before Trump was elected, all eight years of it, about half the country—people of all races, genders, orientations, all of it—disliked much of what happened. There were some bad things that happened because of that disagreement, but that’s where the.1% comes in—on both sides. However, what most of us did was work, vote, work, talk with each other, pray, work, vote, elect a majority of state legislatures, worry—we did worry—and the “demonstrations of the Tea Party” make what happens now look very tame. 

What I know is, even more than TALKING at each other, we need to LISTEN and try to learn. It is truly possible to discuss policy and take personalities out of it. Coming from Arkansas, I had strong views about Hillary Clinton. Even throwing those views out, I disagree with her policies—and disagreed with most of what she and Bill did in Arkansas. I lean conservative, and I vote with those who seem to make mostly conservative choices; however, that doesn't mean I think people who want other views evil.

And, please, God, we have got to stop calling each other Nazis. Nazi soldiers threw Jewish babies in the air for target practice to see how many times they could hit them before they hit the ground—just for sport. I could list other atrocities, but, Dear God, that’s enough. No Americans are doing that. Some hide their faces to keep from being held accountable for their actions—shame on them. But no Americans are Nazis like Hitler’s Germany.

And, so, I grieve for one of the communities of fiber arts where people have always been so helpful and so kind. The owners of this newly-exclusive web site still have millions of subscribers. They do own the site, so they can do what they want. However, in their effort to make everyone feel welcome, they have proven their lack of tolerance. NO ONE I know of wants to support racism, sexism, homophobic acts or thoughts, any other “ism." Most people—most people—most of the time are doing the best they can to live life well and truly everyone I know would stand against the hateful policies of which we are accused by those people to whom we contributed some of our hard-earned money in order to get, well, patterns and yarn. Think of that. YARN. In this world of “gotcha” moments, why is it so hard to say, “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

I confess I have never before been afraid to talk in public places about my political views, even when a movie was made with George Bush’s head on spikes. That was reprehensible, but I didn’t feel like someone might come at me. I’m not sure now, such is the animus towards Trump voters.  It makes me sad.

We ARE a diverse country; different shouldn’t automatically be a value judgment. I admire Richard Grenell immensely; he is the openly gay Ambassador to Germany. I have admired him for years; he is one of the most conservative public figures out there. We don't agree on everything, but, hey, I don't agree with most of my conservative friends on everything. Because he is on the “wrong” side of the political aisle, the gay community gives Ambassador Grenell a difficult time. Conservative African-Americans get treated horribly. “Protected” only applies, frequently, to the “right kind” of protected class.

We need to listen to each other; we then need to respectfully respond to each other.

It’s possible.

It can be done and done without sacrificing our principles. Those other people? Those ones who say, “I am right, and you have no right to your principles and beliefs?” Let them be the “others.” Don’t let them be the voices that rule. Jesus consorted with sinners. He gave them the gospel. He might not make a community with them—or he might in some instances. But he didn’t expect Rome, the ruling party, to decide who he could or could not be with. He also expected, as much as possible, laws to be obeyed.  "Render unto Caesar. . . ."

Some things cannot be compromised; some principles are worth fighting for.  But, “pick your battles” can serve us all well, truly. Let’s pick battles that make life worthwhile for us all and don’t besmirch good people who are trying to live by their own values that don’t hurt anyone. Then, go work, vote, work, vote, pray if you do, for the leaders of government, for political and personal enemies, work. Eventually in this American experiment, the pendulum always swings—or it always has in the 40+ years I’ve voted.

Otherwise, the wisdom we learn may come from acts that seem that “awful grace of God” that brings the grief that hurts us all. Myself, I’d rather learn easier lessons for awhile--like falling on a pile of yarn.