I've had a lot of time to think the past couple weeks. Sometimes thinking is bad. Sometimes I think too much. Thinking too much still leaves me wondering, "What was I thinking?"
But I think (haha!) with this Lenten season, introspection is necessary. Instead of giving up something, I've been trying to do more of what I'm always supposed to do more...pray, love, spend time with God.
Since high school, February has notoriously become my "cursed" month. I don't know if this is a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I feel like tragedy always strikes me or my family in February. This February has not been a breeze, so I was glad when March came roaring in like a lion.
I find pouring myself into service is the only way to stop thinking about myself so much. Luckily, that’s sort of my job description. On Sunday, I had the opportunity (ok, I should rephrase, because when I had to wake up at 5 a.m., “opportunity” was not the word that came to mind). Ok, so on Sunday, I had to drive an hour and a half to Fort Morgan, CO, to attend a mission fair. I do a lot of this—driving around the state, speaking on behalf of Warren Village and our mission.
But Fort Morgan was different. Or familiar. It felt very much like home. Like my little Red Bank United Methodist Church in South Carolina. Well, Fort Morgan smelled very much like cow, and Red Bank doesn’t. But, besides that, it was like home. Fort Morgan is a small town and there’s not much around it. The people were so friendly. They even fed me a fellowship meal before I left.
I met an older fellow that made me think of what my stepdad Sonny would have been like at age 75, if we hadn’t lost him to cancer in 2004. His wife reminded me of my mom plus 20 years. I’ve never thought I was good with the elderly, but lately, my heartstrings get yanked with every old person I meet. I know part of it is that Sonny will never get to reach his seventies. He never even made it to 60. And even though my dad got a new lease on life after his severe health scares this summer, and even though we gratefully celebrated his 57th birthday two weeks ago, it also makes a person wonder how long we will get to keep him on this earth.
During worship on Sunday, we sang the hymn “In the Garden,” which was one of Sonny’s favorites. I’ve read that the hymn’s writer was referring to Mary Magdalene’s discovery of the resurrected Jesus when they were “in the garden.” But I’ve always related the hymn to Sonny, and what he told us about dealing with his terminal illness. We ran out of prayers it seemed, but he said he prayed as Jesus did in the Garden of Gethsemane, the night before he was to be taken prisoner and eventually crucified. Jesus prayed to let that cup pass from him, but if it was God’s will, then God’s will be done. And even though God did not let the cup pass from him either, Sonny did the same.
He speaks and the sound of His voiceIs so sweet the birds hush their singingAnd the melody that He gave to meWithin my heart is ringing...
I'd stay in the garden with Him'Tho the night around me be fallingBut He bids me go; through the voice of woeHis voice to me is calling.
And He walks with me And He talks with meAnd He tells me I am His ownAnd the joy we share as we tarry thereNone other has ever known.
-from "In the Garden" by Charles Austin Miles, 1913
So after determining that most of my recent posts have been somewhat depressing, I decided to give some floral cheer. My mom and Aunt Pat sent me these flowers a couple weeks ago--they're still thriving if you can believe it--and I thought I'd share them with everyone. Now, these flowers are proof of what amazing ladies I'm related to. My mom was celebrating her birthday and my Aunt Pat was recovering from surgery. I should have been sending them flowers! But I have definitely enjoyed them. I love you guys!
