I Remember

The sign has been replaced, the bank and curb repaired--but you can still see the damage on the tree at the place where she'd driven off the road and lost her life.  

I stopped at the spot today to remember.  It had been so quiet that morning as I went out for my run, the sound I heard so different from the "crash" you hear in the movies.  But I knew something was amiss and ran toward the spot.  I was the first on the scene, and completely ill-equipped to do anything other than signal to others to call for help.  We'd all learn soon enough that it was too late anyway.

Who was she?  What was her life like?  Did she have a family?  What were her hopes and dreams?  Where was she headed that day?  Who grieved for her?  

On this Memorial Weekend we pause to remember those who gave themselves in service, most of whom we've never met.  With hopes and dreams they went off to fight someone else's battles. And whether, like me, you despise the act of war or not, you cannot help but admire their bravery and give thanks for their sacrifice.  They had names and dreams.  They had families and friends who grieved for them, and maybe still do.  They had hopes that were ended so that we can still hope today.  

For these we are thankful.  For these we all grieve.

These we remember. 

Seeing the Light

Are we living, or just clicking and tweeting?

Not long ago we spent a day at an area amusement park.  It was crowded and the lines were long, and I found myself mumbling things that I once thought I'd only ever hear my father say.  

It's OK.  There is a season for everything.

I noticed something, though.  While there were plenty of people who seemed to be having a great time, there were also many who simply appeared to be there to make a record of it all.  There was the grandmother who, though seated next to her grandchild, was more intent on making a video of her experience on the spin-around ride than actually experiencing it herself.  She held on tight to that iPad while her grandchild held on tight for dear life.  And there was the teenager who held a bright cell phone high above his head in the dark, scary ride, thus ruining the effect for the rest of those who had boarded the ride hoping to suspend reality, not watch as someone else took a picture of it.

Now don't get me wrong.  A Kodak moment is a Kodak moment, and even though Kodak has gone the way of the dinosaurs, the legacy of creating a record of our experiences, a lasting memory, lives on.  But my question, in this age of amazing technological advances, is this:  Have we crossed the line?  Are so many of us running around looking at the world through our smart-phones and tablets that we're missing something?  Are we living in a virtual world, forgetting there's an actual world out there beckoning us to experience it?  

What's our plan for today--to watch videos of what we didn't actually do yesterday?  

Technology is a wonder.  But when we get to the end of this life, let's not wonder why we didn't spend more time in the garden and less time sniffing at the pictures of roses on our computer screens.

If you enjoy reading, please feel free to share.  And at some point be sure to shut it down and go out and smell those actual (real, living, blooming) roses!

Everywhere

I don't remember where it came from or exactly how it looked, but I do remember what the little plaque on the wall of my grandmother's front porch said:

"God couldn't be everywhere, and so invented mothers."

Happy Mother's Day to all!  I hope this Mother's Day has been a terrific day of celebration and remembering, of thanksgiving and hope.

Now back to that little plaque for a minute--because I have to admit that I never really liked it much.  In fact, it bothered me--a LOT.  Maybe because it seemed so trite.  Maybe it bothered me because I knew that there were plenty of folks who didn't have mothers to care for them...or anyone to care for them, for that matter.  Maybe it was a little of all of that...but mostly it bothered me because I didn't believe it was true.

That's not to say that I didn't think my mom was wonderful.  I still think she's wonderful.  In fact, it's precisely because my mom is such a blessing that I didn't believe that plaque....because if I learned anything from my mom--from her patience and love and care--it was that God indeed COULD be everywhere...God IS everywhere.

And sometimes God is present through the caring hearts of those we call "mother."  And always, God is present through the actions of those who love and care for others.

Maybe even through you.

Share the good news....offer a listening ear, a helping hand, a caring heart!  

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And have an amazing week!

Are You There?

Do you ever feel as if you're missing something?  That there's something going on and no one bothered to tell you?  Have you ever felt as if you've been left out of the loop, uninvited, left behind?  Have you ever wondered why it seems like you're the only one who didn't get the memo?

You're not alone.  Belonging--the desire to be a part of something bigger than ourselves--is a normal part of the human condition.  That's why there are times when we feel as if we are insiders, and other times when we feel left out.

It's a good thing, too.  Our desire to be included helps to keep us connected in ways we might never seek if our sense of independence and self-reliance were given free reign.  If we're going to survive on this planet--which seems to me a noble goal--a recognition and deliberate practice of our interdependence is going to be increasingly important.  On the flip side, an overwhelming desire to be included can be a source of trouble in our lives and even lead to all kinds of destructive behavior.  After all, your mother was right to ask, "If they jumped off a bridge would you jump too?

Our desire to belong can also blind us to the presence of others who, themselves, long for inclusion.  These are the lost and lonely, the sick and the sick at heart, the homeless, the abused, the neglected, the ones we've been promised would be with us always...in many ways, the presence of God.

So the next time you're feeling left behind, remember--you're really not alone.  Somewhere, waiting for you and not very far away, there's someone who knows exactly how you feel.  I think you'll know what to do.

"When did we see you, Lord?"

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