A Sermon for Maddie

I think I can safely say and be 100% accurate that not one of us planned on being here this Monday

morning. I think it's probably also very accurate no one wants to be here. I don't think Maddie wanted us to have to be here. And yet here we are surrounding her family with our love and prayers as they begin the journey of the unimaginable. We don't want to be here, they don't want to be here. The journey has begun; the journey that we all can only travel because the power of God working within us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.

Our liturgy today is an Easter liturgy. It is the liturgy of the resurrection remembering and celebrating that God came, lived and died for us so that we would have eternal life. God has conquered death and we know Maddie now rests in the loving arms of God. Maddie is finally at peace. But we also hurt. Our hearts are troubled even though as the Gospel tells us there is a place for us all, a place where Maddie now is, a place with many rooms, which let's be honest is a good thing because Maddie would rather move to another room than clean up the one she's in.

Our hearts are troubled because while we know Maddie is at peace and in God's loving arms we want her here with us. Our arms ache to hold her. God knows that. God understands that. God weeps and grieves with us while at the same time he lovingly holds Maddie.

God loves us completely, fully, unconditionally. God loves ALL of us no exceptions. That's how Maddie loved. Look around today and you can see that unconditional love. People are gathered here --people who may otherwise never cross paths--Maddie brought people together. And we loved Maddie. God loves Maddie and God loves each of us. Sometimes you may not feel that, you may feel so distant from God, and that's okay. Feel our love--let us wrap our arms around you and be the hands and feet of Christ here in the flesh. Let us be the love of God for you.

God loves us so very much that God came to live among us and to journey to the cross and beyond for us. Jesus lived a short 33 years, but during that time he too felt deep pain. He felt the pain of the betrayal of his friends, those he thought knew and loved him most. He felt unbearable grief at the grave of his friend. Jesus felt loneliness, betrayal, and fear. He cried out to God in his anguish expressing how he felt forsaken even by God. God understands the darkness that can overtake us.

There is nothing God desires more for us than complete and total wholeness. God desires that we all live into the people God created us to be--complete and whole. God journeys with us on our journey towards that wholeness beginning at our baptism and continuing until we are united with God for all of eternity. For some the journey is a long one and for others it is much shorter. Maddie's journey began here at her baptism and, for us, her journey was far too short. She is now complete and whole, pain free and resting in God's arms.

I need to say this very clearly. God does NOT cause, allow whatever verb you want to use, tragedies to happen to teach us or someone else a lesson. God does NOT want us to experience the pain we are feeling so something good will come out of it. God is loving and forgiving and merciful and full of grace.

Thursday morning I walked out to my front yard to look at what I call my resurrection garden. Every year I plant the lilies we have placed on the altar at Easter for my grandparents and my husbands grandparents and every year they bloom just when I need to be reminded of God's eternal love and of the resurrection. Thursday I looked down and noticed they were different sizes and heights. Some were very tall reminding me some people have long lives, others were very short. But they were all blooming--there is always resurrection. I looked down again and saw all the weeds crowding them (I'm not so good at keeping up with that). I thought that's the world we live in--a world that is broken and messy--a world of weeds but out of that, despite that resurrection does always comes. Always.

Alleluia the Lord is risen.

White Knuckling it Through Life

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No this is not my bike and there's no way I'm riding on the beach--but it's ORANGE!

I rode my bike for the first time yesterday morning. I know that doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but I haven’t ridden a moving bike in over a year and definitely not since my knee surgery. Chris encouraged me to try it—the breakfast burrito at the marina ½ mile away was also a good incentive. 

Here’s the truth. I was scared to death. I suspect Chris knew it. As we went into the garage and I led the bike (yes it sounds like I'm talking about leading a bucking bronco, but that's what that bike looked like to me, and I was pretty sure it could do as much danger) I didn't say a word. Actually I didn't say a word the whole way except once when I thought he was going to swerve into me and I shrieked, "What are you doing?" He was a good 8 feet away...back to that fear thing.

I got on the bike and gripped the handlebars. I stared straight ahead and used all my energy to concentrate on keeping the bike steady and upright. Immediately after turning off our street I saw 2 bikes coming towards me. In my head I was panicking. I didn’t want to move over into the grass and ride on unsteady ground. They did it for me passing me on the grass, smiling, waving (who lets go of their handlebars--they were clearly senior citizen stunt people. She even had a bag of groceries in her basket!) and saying, "Good morning." I was as grateful to them as I was for the spinal block after 36 hours of hard labor.

Just as they passed I realized I wasn't smiling, I didn't wave,  and I didn't say thank you. I was too scared; I was concentrating too hard. “I’m sure they think I’m rude.” I thought to myself and kept thinking to myself deciding over and over and over completely convinced the rude, crazy lady on the bike was going to be the topic of their conversation all morning.

A short while later I crossed the street. I knew this perilous act was coming; I'd been dreading it from the beginning. I knew the cars had the right away and I'd have to brake without falling and then restart again without falling. But instead a car stopped to let me pass. I was white knuckling those handlebars and didn’t wave thanks. More Miss Manners shame washed over me. 

Seriously y'all I couldn't stop thinking about all this. (My therapist already knows I need to see her when I get back...) But you've got to keep in mind we are in South Carolina, in the SOUTH—everyone waves and smiles and says hey to EVERYONE!!! It's so ingrained in us we don't even realize we're doing it. I had a boyfriend in college from Baltimore that just couldn't understand how I knew so many people when we walked on the inner harbor. When I told him I didn't know them he was completely befuddled. "Why would you speak to them then?" "Well duh", I thought, "because that's just what you do...obviously not the man for me to marry."

Returning home I tried to be better. I thought I was smiling even though I knew there was now way in tarnation I was going to wave to anyone.  I suspect, however, my strained smile looked more like I had some Carolina gnats stuck in my teeth and nary a toothpick in sight.

But here's the thing I can think about now that I'm safely back with not a scratch on me. I wonder how many times we judge someone based on their facial expressions or the way they respond or don't respond? I wonder how many times we place our expectations for relationship on others? I wonder how many times we don’t give each other the benefit of the doubt? And really, let's just put this out there, how many times do we think we're so important that we are the subject of other's conversations?

People are complicated and living complicated lives. Some lives are full of pain and fear. Sometimes people are doing everything they can to just stay upright, to just keep moving, to just stay on track. Sometimes people are white knuckling it through life holding onto what they can. 

So, what if instead of judging when someone didn’t respond the way we wanted we sent up a prayer, “God be with that person in whatever place that person is?” What if we gave people the benefit of the doubt--assumed good intentions? What if we noticed, acknowledged, and gave thanks for the people that move over to give us the space we need, gave thanks for the people who let us have the right away even if it's not what the world says is the "right" way?

What if we extended a little more grace?

Oh by the way, I made it there and back—and breakfast was awesome! Might even try another ride today....

Dogs, Shells, and People--My Balm in Gilead

If you're sick of me droning on and on about loss and grief, join the

club. I am the President of the "get over yourself and move on" Club. The problem is I'm doing a really lousy job--the impeachment process has probably already started...

I haven't felt like writing because I don't like to write when I can't tie it all up--you know in a pretty package with a great big, cost more than the present, bow. And like other writers (sometimes I pretend I'm one of those) I know it's not really a good idea to write until you're through the experience--learned that in EFM too. But this morning two things happened....

The second--I was reading a blog by someone I'd never read before, but I was hooked. She is a real writer, funny, honest, sincere, and deep. I highly recommend you follow her Justifying Jane. (an aside--I was trying to click on one of her blogs a smart wise friend had posted on facebook. The link wouldn't work so if it doesn't work for you try typing it into your browser. I have no idea why I worked so hard to read that post that I spent 15 minutes trying to figure it out, hmmmm.....maybe that's a third thing) Anyway she wrote this in one of her posts, "And that’s where I’m at right now. I’m in the midst of a very specific and painful storm. The worst part about this storm, is that it didn’t just happen to me. I wasn’t minding my own business when all of a sudden the clouds rolled in and started screwing with my life. There’s no fundraisers or meals or Hallmark cards for this kind of storm."

So that's where the first part came in....

Even though I can't run or even walk down the beach, I get up every morning and head down there so the dogs can run and I can pray or cry or scroll through facebook or read leadership books--basically so the dogs won't drive me crazy all day.  Just like when I used to run, some of the same people pass every day, many with dogs. Winnie and Bobby LOVE their new friends.

Two days ago one woman with her 8 month tri-colored springer was passing one way and a couple with their mutt and 8 week springer puppy were passing the other. This was the first day they passed at the same time. Everyone stopped in front of me. I didn't get up--y'all it's not pretty trying to get up off the sand at 51 years of age with a knee that won't bend or straighten, and if truth be told, I was hoping they'd just say hello and chop

chop walk on.  They didn't.

Not only did they not quickly leave, the gentleman came over to me. At this point my raised in the south to always be polite and overly explain took over, "I'm sorry I'm not getting up. I just had total knee replacement 6 weeks ago and it's hard to get up and down." I'm not really sure how the conversation continued. What I do remember is his wife joining us as the other woman continued on (why couldn't they do that too?). Somehow running came up, and God help me I don't want to be a broken record pity party, but I said something to the effect of how sad I was about not being able to run on the beach--as though they'd care.

They did.

The man said, "We totally understand. We were marathon runners. I had to have both hips replaced and she had breast cancer and broke her femur. Now we just walk." Tears sprang to my eyes (you saw that coming didn't you?), I literally started spewing forth all my sadness, pointing to the pier, and moving my feet back and forth in the sand like I was running. They both just kept nodding. Finally I said, "What did you find to take the place of running?" She said, "Beer" while he said, "Nothing." Then they laughed. He continued, "No here's the honest truth, we have found nothing that replaces it. We still wish we could run marathons or even a 5K. We still get sad and angry. But for now we just walk and meet people like you." WOW! And I've been wanting to write about that for two days, but here's the thing. I wanted it to be life changing and to get me out of my funk. I wanted it to be my balm in Gilead--no that's not true, I wanted it to miraculously cure me.

A balm in Gilead is medicine that heals, but we all know it doesn't cure after one dose...

This morning I saw my friends walking towards me. About 10 yards from me the man bent down and picked something up. As they got closer he said, "Do you ever collect shells? We do. We like to find beautiful ones. I found this one just down there near you. I'd like you to have it." Tears again...."Thank you," I responded. "I'm going to put it on my desk at work to remind me of this time."

So three not two things:
1. God works through dogs and people and shells--
2. God works through technology
3. God works through writers like Justifying Jane

God works--God is never finished. I may never be completely over being sad about not running, but I believe it will get better (sooner rather than later would be good). God is working on it....

Community, Liturgy and Slapping the Pier

For thirty two years.....

For 32 years I have run down the beach...

For 32 years I have run down the beach and slapped the pier...

For at least 21 years I have run down the beach, used it as a time of prayer, and slapped the pier....

For 10 years I have run down the beach, used it as a time of prayer, listened to Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World, and slapped the pier.....

Not this year.... and it sucks (sorry I'm using the word I probably hate most in the world), and I've been thinking about it ever since that day in March when I was told I had to have a total knee replacement immediately and he recommends I never run again.

The reality is here--I'm at the beach barely able to walk (just got rid of the cane Friday), and yes it does that word I've already said once and don't want to say again. I'm really really sad and frustrated and angry--all the things my therapist tell me equals situational depression.

Last week a dear and wise friend (who I don't have to pay--but trust me B is worth every penny), Bob Valvano wrote these words.

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Let me offer some tips on interacting with people who battle depression.

Even if it's not "clinical" depression...just someone who is obviously burdened by something in his or her life.

Don't say, "Smile! C'mon it's not so bad..."

When you do that it's actually an insult of sorts.
The listener thinks "Not only do I feel badly, but evidently I'm stupid too, since I can't see what appears so obvious to you."

When you say. "Hey you shouldn't be so sad. Look at all the great things in your life."

That often doesn't help, because INTELLECTUALLY, the listener probably knows they have a lot of good things. They may openly feel and often express how blessed they are.

It STILL doesn't stop them from feeling down...overwhelmed...helpless...

In fact, that too is hurtful because it implies the listener isn't grateful. In fact, they could probably tell you ALL the things they know they are blessed with.

It doesn't matter at that moment.

If you remind the person fighting this feeling, "Hey you've got it a lot better than many other people " you'd probably be reminded it's not a competition.

As I've been sitting on the beach each morning watching the dogs, who by the way are very confused about us not running--more on that later, I keep thinking about these words and all the things people have told me.

And yes I get it. It could be worse. At least I can still walk. There are other forms of exercise. This too shall pass. There are other people who are grieving far worse things than not being able to run again. I have a beautiful beach house (thank you Daddy and Marguerite) where I can go to recover. Yes, I get it and I remind myself of all these things every day. Bob's right--it doesn't matter at this moment. (And I'm sorry to anyone that offends)

There is something though....

Last week I was having dinner with a friend who has been to our home many times. She looked at me lovingly and said, "I know it's going to be hard not being able to slap the pier this summer." Nothing else--just acknowledgement, just understanding, just love. 

The next day I received a text from another very good and wise friend again about the sadness I must feel getting ready to go to the beach and not being able to slap the pier. She went even further--"maybe you can come up with some sort of ritual or something to say good bye."

I sat on the beach this morning watching people I've passed for years passing me. One stopped and said, "Not running this year?" I told her about what happened. I told her I'd just have to sit this year. She responded, "Sitting is good. Sitting is good for the soul. Sitting is simple and powerful. See you tomorrow."

I'm still sad, but I know I'm not alone. There is a community who sees me and loves me. Community--that's important.

I also know I have to find a ritual to say goodbye (other than just buying a new towel and new tervis although those help)to what was and embrace what is to come. That's liturgy. THAT feeds my soul. 

I just need to know--can I still title the book I plan to write one day Running with Pearls?











I named Bob because he made his words public. The other friends didn't, but everyone needs to hear their wise and loving words. Thank you Jamie and Jennifer.