The Countdown is On - Looking Back and Looking Ahead

Tommy Walker sings some of my favorite contemporary Christian songs.

Like "I Have a Hope."

I have a hope. I have a future.

I have a destiny that is yet awaiting me.

My life's not over; a new beginning's just begun.

I have a hope. I have this hope.

And "To God be the Glory."

Also "When I don't know what to do."
This song was my theme during a time of deep trial back in 2008 and 2009.

When I don't know what to do, I'll lift my hands.

When I don't know what to say, I'll speak your praise.

When I don't know where to go, I'll run to your throne.

When I don't know what to think, I'll stand on your truth.

As I bow my knees, send your perfect peace.

As I lift my hands, let your healing come.

But today, as 2016 comes to a close, I am thinking about this one, "We Will Remember."

We will remember the works of your hands

and we will stop and give your praise -

for great is thy faithfulness.

My kids laugh at me and shake their heads because I listen to the same two dozen songs or so over and over again. The songs highlighted here are on my short list of oft repeated tunes. I cannot imagine beginning or ending a year without looking back and remembering all that God has done, God's great faithfulness and mercy and comforting presence, even in the toughest times, perhaps most especially then. 

The second verse of this song goes like this: 

When we walk through life's darkest valleys

we will look back at all you have done

and we will shout, "Our God is good and he is the faithful one."

As I look back at some of life's darkest valleys, some of which we traversed in 2016,
I can shout, I do shout, I will shout through many tears, that God has been good and oh so faithful.

God showed up through the compassion of friends and pastors who sat with us in the emergency room at the hospital - a dreadful, distressing, hopeful, helpful place that we had to visit four times this year.

God showed up through the chocolate chip cookies, the muffins, the roasted chicken, the tea dates, the hospitality, and the generosity of so many friends and family members.

God showed up at church through the prayers, the sermons, the lessons, the tough discussions, the apologies, the forgiveness, the tender care given and received in that sacred place and that loving community.

God showed up on the streets of Charlotte through the peace keepers who stood between and among those who protested police brutality and those who sought to silence the protests.

God showed up in seminary classes when the discussions got hot - how could he show up with a "Tr*mp/P*nce Make America Great Again" tee shirt AND a safety pin? What was he thinking?

God showed up at Myers Park Baptist Church with words of encouragement from Dr William Barber when he challenged us to be people of subversive hope, of courage, of resilience as we enter into the new year and a new president takes office. Let there be hope.

God showed up in the hospital, at doctor's appointments, at the silent retreat, in sessions with my therapist and my spiritual director, in Madrid, in New York City, with my writing group, at 24/7, at the hospice unit, through hugs and laughter, tears and brokenheartedness. God was ever present.

God showed up and helped my dear friend sit tenderly and lovingly with her father as he transitioned from this life into the next one.

God showed up with another friend as he went through treatment for kanswer: chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. God showed up as attentive doctors and nurses, family members with meals and encouragement, and seminary friends with ceaseless prayer and notes of support.

God showed up as strength and stamina for a dear pastor friend went from being on a pastoral team of two to being a solo pastor. So many more responsibilities, so much more expected. But God was faithful and present always.

God showed up as we walked the streets of Charlotte praying for peace, as we served the community as volunteers, feeding the hungry, welcoming the homeless, loving the outcast, and encouraging the fearful and despairing.

God showed up in times of celebration - at weddings, at parties, at graduations, at church services, and in small moments of simple joy and quiet happiness.

Entering 2017, I do have a hope and a future.
In 2017, when I don't know what to do, I will bow my knees and lift my hands.
Ending 2016 and looking ahead to 2017, I will join many others in giving God glory for God's great faithfulness.
Today, tonight, tomorrow, and all the time, there is so much to remember,
so much to release, so much for which to give God thanks and praise -
and so much to look forward to.

The countdown is on.
Just a few hours left in 2016.
I plan to spend them with my dearly beloved ones.
Eating, drinking, being merry.
And always, always, always, giving thanks.

Happy new year to you, wherever you are, whatever your circumstances.
Know that you are never alone, often prayed for, and always loved.
Peace be with you every step of your life journey.

May God Almighty bless you and keep you,
protect you and provide for you in 2017 and beyond.

Thankful Thursday - Up in the Air

For much of my childhood, I wanted to grow up to be a doctor. A pediatrician. I have always loved children, even when I was a child, so I thought that being a doctor for children would be a good calling. I went off to Williams College with pre-med studies in mind. Biology 101 and 102. Chemistry 101 and 102. Physics 101 and 102. Screeeeeeech! My pre-med studies came to a grinding halt in the physics building. I couldn't understand any of it. ANY OF IT! I went to extra help every week. I met with the professor. I reread my notes and my textbooks. Over and over. I just didn't get it. Mass. Volume. Pulleys. I shake my head just thinking about it.

But one day it clicked. The professor explained whatever the concept was in a way that actually made sense to me. I listened. I cocked my head to the side, then to the other side. With great glee and a renewed sense of hope, I whispered words of encouragement and support to myself. I took copious notes. I nodded my head. I smiled. I felt a wave of absolute bliss roll over me. There was hope that I would get back on track in physics. 

The following class, the professor walked to his place at the head of the class and with a drawn and sad look on his face, he explained that in the previous class, the one I had understood so well, he had made a mistake in the way he explained whatever the concept was. He had made some miscalculation and therefore everything he had taught us should be disregarded.

I'm not joking. Everything I understood was wrong. How disheartening is that?

Well, my hopes to be a doctor slipped away at the end of that physics class.

The professor gave me a passing grade just so he wouldn't have to deal with me again.

I'm convinced of it. 

There was one topic in physics class that I did manage to come to some sense of understanding about. Not a complete mastery, not even close, but it was a topic that mattered greatly to me, so I was determined to come to some grasp on it. That topic was: flight!

How do those huge steel tubes, full of people and property, get off the ground, stay off the ground and cross large swaths of land and huge oceans of water? Speed, volume, mass, pressure, lift, friction. Don't ask or expect me to explain it because I cannot. 

What I do know is this: I love to fly. 

Being up in the air is one of my favorite places to be.

On an adventure. Across the sea. 

The view from my seat.

A week ago tonight, I returned from a ten day trip to Spain. To Madrid. My favorite city in the world.

I stayed with my dear friends, Eduardo and Leticia, and their two wonderful sons, Alvaro and Jaime.

I walked. I prayed. I journaled. I ate. I drank. I prayed some more. 

I caught a cold. I fell in love with watermelon flavored cough drops.

I had what felt like an anaphylactic response to something - I still have no idea what I was allergic to. 

I managed to avoid a trip to the ER only by the grace and mercy of Almighty God.

I spent most of the trip praying prayers of gratitude that I didn't die alone on the street, with my throat, eyes, and mouth swollen shut. 

 Look at that wonderful, funny, huge statue of a frog.

How could I not love a city with such a great sense of humor?

These photos were taken at a Nativity scene at one of Madrid's main cultural centers. The figures are approximately eight inches tall. I went to see it three times in ten days. I saw more than 150 Nativity scenes in one exhibit - all from one person's private collection. Building nativity scenes is a big deal in Spain. A very big deal.

This is the view from Eduardo and Leticia's kitchen window. 

There was the full moon. Greeting me.

I shopped. I walked some more. I took hundreds of photos.

I visited several museums. I bought postcards and scarves and seasonings and candy.

It was another beautiful, heart-strengthening, tear-producing, faith-deepening trip to my favorite place in the world.

It was also an anniversary trip - 30 years ago this fall, I went to Spain for the first time. I met a young Spaniard back in the fall of 1986 who became my boyfriend and is still one of my dearest friends. I had no idea that I was beginning a love affair with a city, with a country, with a people, an affair that would shape the rest of my life. Because of that trip, I became a Spanish teacher. I became a translator. I found a love of and a facility for learning language that I didn't know I possessed. I began to attend the Catholic church that fall, the church I could see from my bedroom window all those years ago, and learned a whole new way to love and worship God. 

Can you see the church tower above the roof line of the house? That's the house I lived in, the one with the glass front. And that's the church I attended - with the woman who owned the house.

I will never fully understand my innate love for Madrid and for flight.

I will never fully understand why I have been so blessed with so much love,

so many generous, hospitable, and kind friends.

I will never fully understand much of what has happened to me.

But this I do know - I am grateful.

So very grateful.

And also - I know that I was created to travel.

So in the end, I didn't need to pass physics with flying colors

(pardon the pun)

in order to enjoy flight.

Other than being in Spain, walking the streets of Madrid,

there is no place I would rather be than up in the air.

Thanks be to God.

Thanks be to American Airlines and British Airways.

Gracias, Leti y Eduardo, por todo.

Besos a vosotros y a los peques.

What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for tonight?
For the ham to bake?
For the turkey to defrost?
For the cookies to cool?
For family members to arrive?
For the last gifts to be bought and wrapped and carefully placed?
For the candles to be lit and Silent Night to be sung?
For the Christmas story to be read aloud tonight or tomorrow or both?

What else are you waiting for?
For the holidays to be over?
For the wrapping paper to be recycled and the gifts to be put to good use?
For the kids to go back to college?
For the start of a new year and the advent of new hope?
For life to get back to normal?


There has been a lot of hate and fear being born again in our nation and in our world.
So tonight, I am waiting for love again to be born.
There have been marches advocating hate and racial division and a return to the old ways of separate and unequal.
So tonight, I am waiting for love again to be born.
There have been acts of terrorism here in the US and in Syria,
in Germany and in France, in our homes, in our work places,
and during the past year of election cycle politics.
So tonight and tomorrow and on January 20, 2017, and for the next four years,
and for all the days and weeks and months and years beyond that,
I will be waiting for love to be born again, day after day after day.

At the same time, I've got to stop waiting for love to be born,
and get to work at birthing more love into the world in which I live.
Love that forgives.
Love that welcomes the refugee and the outcast.
Love that reaches out with tenderness.
Love that touches the unloved.
Love that asks questions.
Love that listens to the answers compassionately and graciously,
even when I don't agree with those answers.
Love that resists every attempt to silence it or deflect it or make it something less than what it is:
Love.


In a few hours here on the east coast of the United States,
we will celebrate the birth of Christ Jesus, The One Who Was and Is Love Incarnate.
Jesus came as the one who forgave,
the one who welcomed the outcast and the refugee,
the one who touched lepers,
the one who asked questions and listened patiently to the answers,
the one whose answers raised the hackles of many of his listeners,
the one whose life, whose questions, whose answers, and whose love
got him killed, executed by the domination system that sought to silence his message of hope,
and stifle his message of love.

In that baby, in that manger, in that little town of Bethlehem,
in that occupied land and into that oppressed community,
Love was born.

Into our occupied communities, into our oppressed communities,
into our little towns, our big cities,
our corrupt state government, our inefficient national government,
into our hearts and our homes,
our marriages and our relationships,
we desperately need Love again to be born.

This song by Rob Mathes, the music director at a church I attended many years ago in Connecticut, is one of my favorite Christmas songs. It has been since the first time I heard it.

All is set.

I know my stocking’s downstairs.

The sky is smiling - there is magic in the air.

I can’t sleep; I am so glad to be home on this early morning, I am not alone. 

This is the season. This is the time.

I see the face of a child, and that face it is mine.

I’m looking for starlight. I’m listening for angels. 

The house (everyone) is asleep on this Christmas morn, but I’m awake.

Yes, I’m waiting here for Love again to be born. 

Bundled up, I know what’s waiting for me

More than a pretty package next to the tree

Something else, a gift far greater I know, born in Bethlehem, long ago.

This is the season. This is the time.

I see the face of a child, and that face it is mine.

I’m looking for starlight. I’m listening for angels. 

The house is asleep on this Christmas morn, but I’m awake.

Yes, I’m waiting here for Love again to be born. 

The sun is rising. I see the distant lights.

Oh what a glorious day will come from this holy night.

To us is born every December anew

a love that’s unbelievable, 

given to me, given to you.

This is the season. This is the time.

I see the face of a child, and that face it is mine.

I’m looking for starlight. I’m listening for angels. 

Everyone is asleep on this Christmas morn, but I’m awake.

Yes, I’m waiting here for Love again to be born. 

Indeed, I am waiting here for Love again to be born.
What are you waiting for?

Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.

If Christmas is not a holiday for you, may whatever you celebrate at this time of year bring you happiness and joy, peace and hope. Together, tonight, tomorrow, and for as long as we live, let's work and walk and wait for love again to be born.

A Thought Experiment

A dear, dear friend of mine, Amy Brooks Thornton, wrote this.
She said her friends could share it. So here it is.
A lot to think about. A lot to work for.

**************

Dear men who enjoy having sex with women, I implore you to make this cause yours too.

Let's say you're college age or in your twenties starting your career, trying to make ends meet. You have a girlfriend or maybe an occasional hookup, but you don't want to get married or make a commitment just yet or ever.
Let's say you have the responsibility of pregnancy prevention and you have some choices:

1) To take a pill that is something like a birth control pill that significantly increases greater risk of cancer, heart attack, stroke and blood clots. And, when you finally get sick, you contribute to the increase of national health care costs as well as your own.

2) To use another form of birth control that is less effective but is just a physical barrier or a timing thing, so, absolutely no hit on your health.

You chose #2 because who in their right mind would choose cancer or a heart attack just for sex? (Health care costs aren't really on your mind right now.)

But then, because the prevention method is not 100%, you get pregnant. (For the sake of argument, in this case, men can get pregnant.) And, you have choices:

1) To make a commitment to your girlfriend or hookup partner so you do not have to bear the responsibility of raising a child on your own while you are finishing college, starting your career, or trying to make ends meet. Actually, you never want to bear childrearing on your own. You know some single women who've done it and it's not a pretty picture. How many men do you know raise children on their own?

2) To raise the child on your own and try to balance college classes, a job, payments for childcare and doctors bills, increased health insurance, and no night life. So much for hookups.

3) To get an abortion.

You choose #3. You risk some people getting angry at you, but it'll be over within an hour, maybe the feelings will last for much longer, but the alternative is a lifelong decision that, at this point in your life, could skew your life in a completely different direction than you had imagined. No more graduate school. No more start up business. Two jobs to make ends meet. And no more night life. Abortion is sounding better and better.

Again, you have choices:
1) You go to the abortion clinic in your state and live through people screaming at you as you walk through the door, you live through listening to the heart beat of the fetus, you live through 24 hours where everyone—except your girlfriend/hookup who likely is not to be found—questions your decision but not one of them has to raise a child as a single man in his teens or twenties.

2) You get a back alley abortion where no one will know but your health is at risk.

3)You go through with the pregnancy with all of its medical complications, you look like a cow, no one wants to have sex with you, you feel VERY emotional and gain 20 to 30 pounds, you bond with the child inside of you, and then give the baby up for adoption.

4) You decide to get married or make some lasting commitment so you have help. But, your girlfriend/hookup has split long ago and no one is interested because you are pregnant.

What do you do?

I would like to know how many men (politicians and otherwise), who are making it hard for women to get abortions and birth control, have asked themselves these questions?
I would like to know how many of these men have impregnated a woman to whom they did not make a commitment?
I would like to know how many of these men impregnated a woman and supported the abortion because they did not want a baby in their own backyard?

************

Thank you, Amy, for this challenging piece. Thanks for pushing us to think beyond our own personal opinions or situations in order to think about where other people find themselves. Thank you for your fight for the rights of so many people, even when that fight isn't convenient or easy or comfortable for you. I love you, my sister friend. Very much. 

Thankful Tuesday - one day late

There are times in life when all I can do is bow my head
in wonder
in awe
in gratitude
in joy
in shocked and stunned gratitude.
Did I mention gratitude already?

This has been a tough year for our family. The details of the story are not mine to divulge, but I will tell what is mine to tell. From February 19th until May 20th, we were in a battle over here in our house. A serious battle. Illness. Fear. Worry. Sleepless nights. Restless days. Hospital stays - four of them. Desperation. Anxiety. Weeping, much weeping. Ceaseless prayer. Friends came over with food. Friends stayed away and prayed. Friends didn't know what to do or what to say or even what to pray. We didn't either. Although the battle "officially ended" on May 20th, there were several skirmishes that followed. Watchfulness. Tension. More crying. Slow and steady progress towards health, healing, wholeness.

We never gave up hope. Don't get me wrong; I had moments of wanting to pack a small suitcase, grab my passport, and hit the road for the longest pilgrimage I could find. I had moments of wondering just how many days and nights I could survive on less than two hours of sleep. I tried not to spend too much time fantasizing about sleeping six or seven or even eight hours in a row. Uninterrupted. I forgot what that felt like. Around that time, a friend told me that sometimes in life you have to renegotiate your relationship with "hope." This past spring was certainly one of those times - on some days, hope meant eating a meal in peace. On some days, hope meant going for a car ride and having it end with a nap. On some days, hope was the prospect of going off to seminary on Saturday and being able to sit through my two classes.

And all year long, there was a cloud hanging over over all of our heads. That cloud was this: my daughter had to complete her senior thesis in sociology for UNC Asheville. She had to do a lot of reading and writing and research and conduct interviews and write it all up in a paper that was supposed to be 20 pages long, at least. Plus she would have to give an oral presentation of her paper at school.

Day after day, for weeks on end, for months, I prayed a variation of the following prayer:
"Lord, this is an impossible ask.
She can't do it. It's too much.
Today, Lord, can you please just give her the strength and courage to make it through the day?
I won't keep asking about the paper; I just want her to be okay.
I just want her to be okay.
Please please please please please.
Help help help help help.
Mercy mercy mercy mercy."

In the midst of my many crying jags, the senior minister of my church sent me a text. I don't think it could have been any simpler: "Lord, in your mercy..." That was it. None of us knew what to ask for anymore. None of us knew what to pray. That one would have to suffice. That one, it turns out, was more than enough: "Lord, in your mercy..."

In September, Kristiana completed the interviews and typed up the transcripts.
Soon thereafter, she did more research and summarized it succinctly.
She wrote one paragraph at a time, one page at a time.
In between, we cursed and cried and wondered and hoped and prayed.
In between, we went for walks and out to movies and watched Law and Order marathons.
In between writing and reading and making pots of pasta and soup, the cloud began to lift.
The paper grew, as did our confidence in the miracle of healing.
Her spirits lifted and so did ours.
Then the professor sent two sets of spirit-crushing comments on and critiques of her paper.
Nooooooooooo!
I prepared to write a scathing email and follow it up with a scathing phone call.
You cannot do this to my daughter. You cannot be so mean and so insensitive.
You have no idea how hard we have had to fight to get to this place and this moment in time.
We cannot go backwards. We cannot lose our momentum. We cannot lose hope.
Yes, by then, it was a group effort; we were in this together.
As we have always been.
And we will NOT be moved.


Nearly three weeks ago, on Thursday, November 17th, as my daughter and I drove home from an evening outing, she wept tears of sadness and overwhelm. Between sobs, she repeated, "I don't know if I can do this. I'm just not sure I can finish it." I listened to her with sorrow in my heart and tears in my eyes. I listened for what God might want me to say in response to her, because I had nothing to offer. Nothing. I was devoid of wise words or helpful advice.
So I went back to the prayer that my pastor  gave me: "Lord, in your mercy..."

Suddenly it came to me: Our difficult journey had begun on Friday, February 19th.
It was now Thursday, November 17th. Nine months later.
Just two weeks remained before her paper and presentation were due.
Nine months and two weeks...
What is significant about that length of time?
As it turns out, nine months is the length of time of most pregnancies.
When I was pregnant with her, however, I was pregnant for nine months and two weeks. She was two weeks late. Overdue. Overcooked. She was born with her fingers and toes wrinkled, like she had been in the bathtub for too long. Which was exactly the case: she was in the tub of my tummy for too long. Actually, that's not actually true. She was in my womb for exactly the amount of time she was supposed to be there - even though it was a full two weeks past her due date.

As I explained that to my daughter three weeks ago tomorrow, I told her that, although I had loved being pregnant with her, the last two weeks were awful. The longest two weeks of my life - up until that point. I was miserable and sad and moving slowly and uncomfortable. Then thirteen hours of hard labor. But then - there she was. A new life. Beautiful. Healthy. Strong. Alive. Ours.

With tears now flowing freely, I told her that she was in the same situation twenty three years later. Nine months of hard work, gestating, growing, becoming whole.
She had two more weeks before the due date for her paper and her presentation -
and they were gonna be tough.
Hard. Demanding. Painful.
She would be miserable, uncomfortable, sad, and moving slowly.
But then it would be over - and she would emerge. A new life.

Yesterday, my daughter, my dearly beloved daughter, presented her senior thesis in sociology for the University of North Carolina at Asheville. She focused on the work of two organizations in North Carolina that offer guidance, companionship, and care for queer homeless youth: TimeOutYouth (here in Charlotte) and YouthOutRight (in Asheville). Some of her UNCA friends came to hear her give her talk. Some students came simply because they had read about her topic and wanted to hear what she had to say. Her presentation at 2:20 pm was the last of the day - and many of the people there had been listening to student presentations since 8 that morning. But still, several took notes on her talk. Several asked questions. They applauded when she was done. And then several students, extremely busy and easily bored college students, waited in line to thank her and compliment her on her research and her presentation.

Her professor greeted her afterwards and gave Kristiana high praise.
She said, "I still have to read the final draft of your thesis,
but rest assured, you are a college graduate."
She did it! She did it! My child is a college graduate.
All we have to do now is wait for her diploma to arrive in the mail!!!

Nine months and two weeks since February 19, 2016.
Eight years and twenty one days since November 15, 2008.
Twenty three years and thirty seven days since October 30, 1993.
But who's counting?

Words cannot capture the joy, the pride, the relief, the gratitude,
the love, the hope, the belief in miracles, and the awe that we all feel today.
Thankful Tuesday.
Thankful Wednesday.
Thankful Thursday.
Thankful and thoughtful on Friday.
Thankful on Saturday too.
Thankful and singing on Sunday.
Perhaps I should just go ahead and be thankful everyday.