Simple Words of Kindness

 Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.

--- Proverbs 16:24 (RSV)

“He always thanked me,” she said. 

That was the memory the clerk, at the local fruit and vegetable market, had of my father.  After his sudden death, I told her of his passing.  She knew of him immediately, and said a few times, “He always would say thank you.”  I could picture Dad, smiling, leaning in a bit towards her as he expressed his gentle words of thanks. 

That clerk wasn’t the only person with whom Dad had contact in simple business doings, who remembered his pleasant ways.  The agent who managed his car and home insurance said, “I always enjoyed talking with your father."  A similar comment was made by the office manager at his home heating oil company. 

Dad left his indelible mark of kindness in each simple daily contact.  As he did with me. 

Lord, thank you for the sweetness imparted through simple words of kindness.  

A Dumpster Devo

 He lifts the needy from the ash heap.

--- I Samuel 2:8

"Their whole family is a dumpster fire."  

Someone said this to me recently, describing a hurting person whose life was crashing and burning.  Not only was this individual causing self harm through unwise choices, but the person's family appeared to enable the problems.  

Is there hope?  Yes.  Even if the fire is never actively put out and is left to burn, eventually it will leave ashes. God can lift the needy from the ash heap.   

Lord, when my life is on fire, please rescue me.  When I see a dumpster fire nearby, show me how to help.

Two Birds and a Twig

                                                       

But let every one prove his own work.

---Galatians 6:4 

I never would have noticed the stray twig floating in the harbor.  Neither would I have known an osprey was huddled within the small grouping of sticks atop the channel marker.  

What I did see: a strong, beautiful osprey dipping and soaring about.  When he touched the water with his talons, I assumed it was to catch a fish for breakfast.  Instead he ascended, holding a sizable twig which then was delivered atop the post.

Then I saw a smaller bird busying itself to properly weave the stick into the growing pile.  After deposit, the delivery bird rested for a time atop the post. Occasionally his beak would meet that of the bird nestled down amidst the twigs and branches.

Each osprey was busily tending to its tasks.  Even a seemingly forgotten branch once colorfully alive with leaves and now broken, floating in the water, had a purpose.  Before long both the birds and the twigs would be providing a home for new life.  

Lord, you have given me work to do at this stage of my journey.  Help me to recognize that work and willingly do my part.    

                                                

Parable of Beloved Bamboo

I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.            

        --- Galatians 2:20

This ancient Chinese parable encapsulates Galatians 2:20.

        Once upon a time, there was a beautiful garden. There in the cool of the day the Master of the garden would walk. Of all the denizens of the garden, the most beloved was a gracious and noble Bamboo. Year after year, Bamboo grew yet more noble and gracious, conscious of his Master’s love and watchful delight, but he always was modest and gentle.
        Often when Wind came to revel in the garden, Bamboo would cast aside his grave stateliness, to dance and play right merrily, tossing and swaying and leaping and bowing in joyous abandon, leading the Garden in the great dance which most delighted the Master’s heart.
        Now one day, the Master drew near to contemplate his Bamboo with eyes of the curious expectancy. Bamboo, in a passion of adoration, bowed his great head to the ground in loving greeting. The Master spoke:
         “Bamboo, I wish to use you.”
        Bamboo flung his head to the sky in utter delight. The day of days had come, the day for which he had been made, the day to which he had been growing hour by hour, this day in which he would find his completion and his destiny. His voice came low: “Master, I am ready. Use me as you will.”
        “Bamboo,”  the Master’s voice was grave: ”I will have to take you, and cut you down.”
        A trembling of great horror shook Bamboo. “Cut me down? Me, whom you have made the most beautiful in all your garden? Cut me down? Oh, not that! Use me for your joy, Master, but please do not cut not me down:”
        “Beloved Bamboo,” the Master’s voice grew even more grave. “If I do not cut you down, I cannot use you.”
        The Garden grew still. Wind held his breath. Bamboo slowly bent his proud and glorious head, and he whispered, “Master, if you can’t use me unless you cut me down, then do your will and cut.” 
        “Bamboo, beloved Bamboo, I will have to cut your leaves and your branches from you also."
        “Master, spare me. Cut me down and lay my beauty in the dust, but would you also take from me my leaves and my branches also?”
        “If I do not cut them away, I cannot use you!”  
        The sun hid his face. A listening butterfly glided fearfully away. Bamboo shivered in terrible expectancy, whispering low, “Master, cut away."
        "I also will have to cleave you in two and cut out your heart, for if I do not cut so, I cannot use you.”
        Bamboo bowed to the ground in sorrow: “Master,” he whispered, “Then cut and cleave.”
        So the Master of the Garden took Bamboo and cut him down and hacked off his branches and stripped him of his leaves, and clove him in two and cut out his heart, and, lifting him gently, carried him to where there was a spring of fresh, sparkling water in the midst of his dry fields. Then, putting one end of  Broken Bamboo in the spring and the other end into the water channel in his field, the Master laid down gently his beloved Bamboo.  The spring sang welcome, and the clear, sparkling waters raced joyously down of channel of Bamboo’s torn body into the waiting fields.
        Then the rice was planted, and the days went by, and the shoots grew, and the harvest came.
        In that day, Bamboo, once so glorious in his stately beauty, was yet more glorious in his brokenness, and humility. For in his beauty he was life abundant, but in his brokenness he became a channel of abundant life to his Master's world.*  

Dear Lord, in my pain and brokenness make me a conduit of Your love. 

*This rendition of the Parable of the Bamboo was taken from Surprised By Truth, by Patrick Madrid. 

 

Stepping Stones

 He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.

--- Psalm 40:2 

Sometimes our thoughts can become a desolate pit, so we call to God for help.  He provides stepping stones across the daily bog -- flat stable places that keep us above the swirling brown mire.

Upon awakening, we can step on the rock of gratefulness, remembering good things God has done and naming current evidences of His hand in our lives. Then we step to morning devotions of quiet prayer and scripture reading, or perhaps attending daily mass.  From there actual physical steps provide grounding, like working our job, or exercising or gardening.  Step out within these places to give or receive a hug, or a friendly conversation.  

Another stone is listening to God-centered radio, or a podcast that proclaims the faith.  From there, reach for the cross you have hanging around your neck, or tucked away in your pocket.    

If time allows, sit in silence at a chapel -- the next bit of solid footing.  Then, while accomplishing necessary tasks, step to solid truths by listening to online Evening Prayer or Compline.  http://prayer.covert.org/  The last stone can be some spiritual reading, just before turning out the light. 

Daily stepping stones are found through the Holy Scriptures, the Church, the sacraments and opportunities provided by our brothers and sisters in Christ.  These solid rocks of the faith keep us from getting sucked into the dark quicksand of despondency.

Thank you, Lord, for drawing us out of the miry bog.  Steady us with hope and direction as we step along this faith walk.

                                                                 

A Truncated Fall

But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up.

--- Ecclesiastes 4:10 

I drove to our modest family cabin for the first time this summer, over the unpaved roads bordered by towering birches and pines.  Rounding a bend in the pine-needled driveway, the familiar wooden structure came into view.  Yet I was shocked and dismayed to see a massive pine tree leaning at a fatal angle, its roots beginning to upend.  Over the winter, the lower portion of its trunk had developed a deep crack and at any moment could split in half, with one side crashing into the shed containing boats and supplies.  The only thing keeping it partially upright was an ancient tree, which the previous year had been identified for removal.   

These friendly “Tree Beards” had neighbored our cabin for the past three generations.  I remembered as a teen hearing the red squirrel’s incessant chatter coming from above and my grandmother sassing back to it.  The lower branches of the older tree jutted out like barren crossbars from the huge wooden mast of its trunk.  I pictured a tire swing once hanging from the lowest branch and recalled lazy childhood summer days sitting jack-knifed while swaying to-and-fro.

This large, half-dead tree was the only reason the split pine hadn’t completely fallen, demolished the shed and perhaps struck our neighbor’s house.  How thankful I was for old-tree's continued presence there, just when most needed.

Thank you, Lord, for the important work you have for us to do, even when we feel old and half-dead!

                                                           

An Odd Prospect

…Pray therefore the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.

--- Luke 10:2 (RSV)

Honestly, the only reason I attended the Evangelization Day was because my thirteen-year-old son wanted to go.  Not only was it beastly hot but the idea of knocking on doors and talking religion, when people are relaxing on a Saturday, felt uncomfortable -- even scary.  I likened it to one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses who show up at my front door pretty regularly.  

Trevor and I were paired with Mike, a person experienced in door-to-door evangelism.  We were assigned to the odd-numbered houses on Prospect Avenue.  How appropriate.  I felt odd seeking new prospects for church.  Mike was willing to do all of the talking at each house.  Fine with me!

Mike steps up to the door.  (I take a few steps back.)  Knock, knock.  “Hi, I’m Mike, this is Lisa, and Trevor.  We are from the church around the corner and are visiting the houses in the neighborhood today to invite people to come to church.”  From there, we found out rather quickly about a person’s religious views.  Not a single door was slammed in our faces, most people were somewhat friendly, and some even talked at length.  Maybe we were the only listening ears they’d found recently, or perhaps they were bored.  And then there was Lauren, who took a break from cleaning her house to answer the door.  She considered herself open to a mixture of all religions and talked with us while standing on her front stoop, smoking a cigarette.  She declined any literature saying she’d just throw it out and wanted to save trees.

At the last house we met Grace, age 80, whose church had been closed by the local diocese.  Despite her expressed anger, she had kept the faith and now attended services elsewhere.  We shared friendly conversation and she handed us each a precious gift – ice-cold water to soothe our scorched palates. 

I cheered inwardly when time was up, partly due to the emotional stress, partly because it was 92 degrees and partly because my legs were tired from prolonged standing.  Mike deemed it a fruitful outing, especially considering one conversation with a woman who'd had a heart attack and welcomed a visit from our pastor.

Later in the afternoon came the summary email and I truly was humbled and amazed.  The teams had knocked on a total of 485 doors and made 197 contacts with 25 people marked for “follow-up” visits.  One team had spoken with someone who now identified herself as a “pagan.” She’d had a good discussion with the team and, before they left, tearfully came out onto the porch to join in praying the Lord's Prayer out loud!

It seems the fields of the town were indeed white unto harvest and although I was a reluctant laborer, I’m glad to have been a part of the effort.

Lord, thank you for the work of evangelization.  Please bring to fruition the seeds that were planted.  Amen.