What Does the Lord Require??

What follows is an expanded for readability purposes version of a sermon delivered at New Song Community Church (Columbus, Ohio) on July 21, 2013, one week after the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial.

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God of Grace and Mercy and Might-be here now for these your people. I yield myself, all that I am, to your righteous will and way.  Let your message go forth to ears that would hear. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen. Amen.

I, like many of you, have had a tough week. This week, I found that I was so angry that I couldn’t speak.  Do any of you remember the “pressure cookers” they used to have back in the day? I don’t know maybe they still have those. You would put the food in the pot with the special lid, that had the little thingy on top that would spin and hiss every few seconds, so that the food in the pot would cook at a consistent pressure.   Made great pot roast as I recall!  That’s what I felt like--a mini pressure cooker.  I knew on some level that it wasn’t even safe for me to speak.  I intimately understand the power of words, and how words are alive and have creation power in them.  It wasn’t that I didn’t have words to say. It’s just that the words in my heart and in my mind were in conflict with my inner Christian witness. 

Truthfully, this pressure cooker in my heart and mind had been bubbling for a few weeks prior to the Zimmerman verdict.  As a Social Worker by trade and training, I was already pretty steamed by the gutting of the voting rights act that put the constitutional right to vote in jeopardy for thousands, potentially millions of the poor, the marginalized and populations of color.  Following that, the powers that be in this great state of Ohio blindsided us, we who are pro-reproductive freedom, with restrictions that set back the women’s movement by 40 years.  As if that wasn’t personal enough, the two by four upside the head of the Zimmerman verdict might have been enough to simply push me over the cliff of good sense. 

Fortunately, the steady and grace filled voice of Sybrina Fulton pierced through this place of righteous anger I was locked in, and by connecting with her grief; I was able to connect with my own.  Sybrina Fulton leaned to her faith by quoting her favorite scripture passage Psalm 3:5-6, which from the NIV reads:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
⁶ in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.

And .. this  same passage from “The Voice”:

Place your trust in the Eternal; rely on Him completely;
    never depend upon your own ideas and inventions.
⁶ Give Him the credit for everything you accomplish,
    and He will smooth out and straighten the road that lies ahead.
⁷ And don’t think you can decide on your own what is right and what is wrong.
    Respect the Eternal; turn and run from evil.

Sybrina Fulton stood, not only as Trayvon’s mother, but also as the mother of us all in a way – teaching us that if she can stand there, head held high, with her heart breaking, with her dignity intact, then we as a people can do the same.  Trayvon Martin’s parents stood 

up for him, and became walking candles in the darkness … pointing the way, leading us …taking their place in line to STAND, not just for Trayvon, but for a long list of martyred children and adults in African American history.   

So, now, here, in 2013 we ask that age old question ….. what do you do when justice is denied? Do you fight? Do you flee? Do you bury yourself in food, drink, or potentially negative social engagements?  I couldn’t give energy to any of those actions or re-actions because there was nothing that I could step up or down to that felt effective for dampening my fury or to assuage my grief.

These two emotions were kissing cousins for the better part of three days before finally the grief won over, and I was quiet enough to feel the gentle nudge of the Spirit and to look to scripture for the balm for my own hurting heart.

I make an effort to follow along with the lectionary readings for a given week. And of course it is always my first stop when doing sermon prep. In my emotional turmoil, as I scanned “the text this week”, looking to scripture to grab hold of a little peace and calm, the last thing I needed was the prophet Amos (Amos 8:1-12) doing his smack down to Israel about their idolatry and inhumanity to the needy.  But for a while, I have to admit, it felt good to know and to remember that Almighty God is a God of justice, and is always on the side of the poor, the powerless, the marginalized and the oppressed. But God, in her infinite wisdom, will meet me at a place, only to take me to a new place where he wants me to stretch and grow and heal. 

What I also didn’t need was an image in my head of Jesus the Christ, arms outstretched and nailed to a wooden crossbeam, asking God the Father to “forgive them for they know not what they do”.  I didn’t want that image. I wanted something or someone to answer for this travesty. Yet that is the image that remained, firmly imprinted.

With that image, Holy Spirit spoke saying …. time to breath, time to let go of the rage, time to cry and sit with the grief – look at it from all sides—look and listen, make note of the ones talking, make closer note of the ones who are silent. 

In this place of tears, breathing and stillness … blessed and surprised was I to find the voices of those who didn’t share my culture or my history, but shared my pain; blessed and surprised was I to find that the God of Grace and Mercy and Might, had wrought a new thing right under our complacent noses.  So many progressive prayers and voices raising questions about judicial fairness and how the lack of it it serves to deny justice to the poor, the powerless and the marginalized. 

Iyanla Vanzant has a saying.. “All things are lessons that God would have us learn”.  So finally, my prayer and my plea, for you, and for me this week, was, “God, what would you have us learn out of this devastating turn of events?”  What, Dear God, do you require of us?  And when I say us, I don’t mean just any “us”. I mean the “us” that are the ones called to the way of Christ.  The ones who can put themselves at the foot of the cross and see the image of the outstretched arms of a dying Christ.

Hear this familiar reading from “The Voice”

Micah 6:6-8

⁶ Israel: What should I bring into the presence of the Eternal One
        to pay homage to the God Most High?
    Should I come into His presence with burnt offerings,
        with year-old calves to sacrifice?
⁷     Would the Eternal be pleased by thousands of sacrificial rams,
        by ten thousand swollen rivers of sweet olive oil?
    Should I offer my oldest son for my wrongdoing,
        the child of my body to cover the sins of my life?

⁸ No. He has told you, mortals, what is good in His sight.
    What else does the Eternal ask of you
But to live justly and to love kindness
    and to walk with your True God in all humility?

And more from Psalm 15

O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill? ²Those who walk blamelessly and do what is right, and speak the truth from their heart; ³who do not slander with their tongue, and do no evil to their friends, nor take up a reproach against their neighbors; ⁴in whose eyes the wicked are despised, but who honor those who fear the Lord; who stand by their oath even to their hurt; 

Many do not know, and choose to dismiss the hurt, the pain, the anger that fueled the wave of protest following the verdict. They have not lived our history. They do not know that the story of Trayvon Martin is a familiar one. They do not know and choose to dismiss that this grief of injustice has touched us intimately, and with this event, we are forced to relive our own unhealed history.

For many of us the grief of injustice has a name.  For my husband’s family the grief of injustice is named Gilbert Williams, Jr.—an older brother who, though unarmed, was shot down and killed by police some 40 years ago. These words from my brother-in-law were shared on our family Facebook page this week:  

“He had no weapon but did run and was shot in the back and killed.   

Remember how well natured he was? He was in the Navy, protecting our nation,

 right after the Viet Nam conflict. He was a wrestler, a member of the state 

championship 440 relay team. He was a good son, and he was my brother 

and my protector because I was the baby boy then. My father hired a 

private investigator to handle this case (a young Johnny Cochran) but 

two weeks into the investigation, Mr. Cochran gave my father his retainer back

 stating that he (Johnny) was told to leave this one alone… 

Why does Justice have to hide?” my brother-in-law asks.

Grief has a name … for me the grief of injustice is named Marqus Anthony Ware … 

a tall, proud, military veteran, also known as my godson, or my nephew, 

depending on who he was talking to. Marqus was the only son to 

my sister-friend who I’ve known since we were 15 and 16 respectively. 

I had known him all his life. Just as his mother and I were “sisters”, 

my daughter and he claimed each other as “siblings” or as “cousins”, 

depending on whom they were talking to.  Marqus was a natural leader, 

a loyal friend, a beloved son and confidant, one who loved hard. If he claimed you, 

he stood up for you.  He didn’t back down.  Three years ago he didn’t back down, 

and was shot and killed.  He was unarmed. The man who shot him 

was never charged. There was barely an investigation.  

 His life didn’t warrant an investigation. Just another Black man dead.

For many, many millions of us this day …. Grief has a name.  

TRAYVON BENJAMIN MARTIN.

And through these experiences, we carry our collective hurt and grief and our cry for justice, and God calls us to something else.  For this time, during this hour, I think God calls us not to stand our ground, but to stand and bear witness. I think God calls us to stand for our loved ones, stand for those who came before us, to speak our truth, but to stand as representatives or allies of living history. 

And while we do that, we draw strength from the knowledge that out of our pain, comes our purpose.

God reminds us that the way of the cross is not a journey of sweetness and light, meadows and wildflowers.  The way of the cross is rocky and rough shod.  But God does not leave us defenseless.  God asks us to lean not to our own understanding, but to yield to the call, draw strength from God, slap on our armor and war with the powers of spiritual darkness.  We war by staying prayed up – we pray for ourselves, we pray for our loved ones, we pray for God’s people everywhere.

We stand for justice.

We stand for the ones who have paid the price.

We speak truth to power.

We do not suffer in silence.

Here these words of Ephesians 6:10-18 from The Voice:

¹⁰ Finally, brothers and sisters, draw your strength and might from God. ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God to protect yourselves from the devil and his evil schemes. ¹² We’re not waging war against enemies of flesh and blood alone. No, this fight is against tyrants, against authorities, against supernatural powers and demon princes that slither in the darkness of this world, and against wicked spiritual armies that lurk about in heavenly places.

¹³ And this is why you need to be head-to-toe in the full armor of God: so you can resist during these evil days and be fully prepared to hold your ground. ¹⁴ Yes, stand—truth banded around your waist, righteousness as your chest plate, ¹⁵ and feet protected in preparation to proclaim the good news of peace. ¹⁶ Don’t forget to raise the shield of faith above all else, so you will be able to extinguish flaming spears hurled at you from the wicked one. ¹⁷ Take also the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

The bible commentary from this passage offers much:  Paul knows that the real battles and dangers we face are not against flesh and blood. The enemies we see are real enough, but they are animated by spiritual forces of darkness that stay strategically hidden from view. These powers often reveal themselves in institutional evils—genocide, terror, tyranny, and oppression—but the weapons needed to combat them are not earthly weapons at all. What is needed, Paul advises, is to stand firm in God’s power and to suit up in the full armor of God. Although the devil and his demon armies are destined for destruction, they are serious threats now and must be resisted and beaten back. For Paul, the best offensive weapons we have are the word of God and prayer.

¹⁸ Pray always. Pray in the Spirit. Pray about everything in every way you know how! And keeping all this in mind, pray on behalf of God’s people. Keep on praying feverishly, and be on the lookout until evil has been stayed.

These powerful weapons are tools we need to make sure that our fight remains righteous. We do not fight institutional evil with the world’s weapons of war. We who are called to the foot of the cross are the same ones who are called to be bold warriors on the battlefield of justice. We resist evil by not letting it stand unaddressed. Standing our ground means meeting the power of spiritual darkness with the power of a resurrected Christ. We cannot do that in silence.

There is work to do my friends. We have just been given a wake-up call. 

DO NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP.                    

And all of God's people said …Amen.

The Miscellaneous Children

“Congratulations”, the email said, “I hope you feel validated in your ministry.” We celebrated with you in spirit”.  This in response to my email indicating that I wouldn’t be present for regular church service because the agency I am blessed to be the leader for, had been nominated and selected for an award, and I would be accepting the award that day.   

That congratulatory email sent me into the cave—that cave of silence and introspection—that place of silence I retreat to when things are too hard and too heavy to bear.  No way for the sender to know that I would somehow be triggered into doubt and despair and the ever spiraling “what if’s” of my interrupted path to ordained ministry in the church denomination that owned my heart.  No way for the sender to know that, though I had begun the process of thawing out from the big freeze that had become my latest coping mechanism, that simple sentence – “I hope you feel validated” – would send me back into lock down, and into a hole from which the only way out, was to crawl out on my hands and knees and to prostrate myself at Jesus’ feet in surrender to whatever it was that God was saying, whatever it was God wanted me to see, whatever it was God needed me to surrender to—again.

All this frozen in the cave-ness, in the middle of the time that I should be writing a sermon because somehow I am now on the rotation and it’s my turn. OY!

Routine is generally a good antidote when one is on spiritual lock-down. My routine is running a busy agency where no days are exactly the same. My agency is such that the running joke is that we show up every day just to see what’s going to happen next. There is nothing really routine about my daily work routine. We do what needs to be done, we do it with care and with heart, and occasionally something magical, mystical even, happens. 

The mystical happens for me a lot at my agency. I am spirit-led so I recognize it when I see it. Daily, I lean into the Holy Spirit to lead, guide and direct me. I do this because for the most part, I generally don’t know what I’m doing.  This perhaps seems an odd thing to say or even admit. But the simple truth is that the work unfolds and evolves and is only slightly predictable. On any given day we gear up, prepare as best we can, and simply move from one task to another because we know what needs to be done, and we are reasonably sure we are doing the right and appropriate thing.  Nothing is ever certain. The work, is very like life; you go on – day by day—doing what’s necessary—because to not do so is irresponsible—there are people depending on you—lives in the balance—bills must be paid—people must be tended to—and even if the world ended tomorrow—that’s tomorrow—this is today—and stuff TODAY needs to be dealt with.

So, while turning my face and attention to my routine, a story unfolds smack in the middle of the team meeting – during the round the table check in—a story – a life story about families, about alcoholism, about mental illness, about abuse and childhood neglect—and how one team members son, until very recently, never wanted to go to his grandmother’s house out of fear of being left there like the other miscellaneous kids that were there. These miscellaneous kids had found a haven at the grandmother’s house.  This grandson, even at his tender young age,  knew on some level, that these miscellaneous kids had been abandoned,  maybe not physically, maybe not completely. But for some reason, those children had found a safe haven in the house of someone not officially their family.  That inner sense of possibly being abandoned made him afraid. So he simply refused to go, or be left there without his parents.  

And since we were clearly off the agenda of the meeting—and because this is actually how we roll at our agency—we stopped; we paused in that time and space where the Spirit of Truth showed up – we paused for that spirit to spirit connection that was happening …and I spoke up ….”I was one of those miscellaneous kids”, I said, I was one of those kids that found a safe haven in the neighborhood—that house where that lady lived—who let you play and gave you cookies and really looked at you when you spoke.  That lady – an angel from God really—who didn’t ask why you were there, just enfolded you in with the rest.  The moment passed, we carried on with our agenda. Tasks were delegated. On to the next thing.

But the story of the miscellaneous children, of which I was one, wouldn’t let me go after that meeting.

I tried and tried to write a normal type sermon, a text, a title and three take home points, but the words wouldn’t come together in a way that seemed real or true.  So, I went to the text this week to see what David or Paul or John had to say about miscellaneous children and their journey through life.  And there, right there did Spirit speak --and pierce through the veil ---and demolish my unbelief and my lack of faith.

  

For like Paul, or in his earlier incarnation, Saul, I have been a true believer. I have been a grasping on with both hands soldier for the church.  Some would say, simply by virtue of my membership in some of the most fundamental Christian denominations, that I was very, very orthodox or conservative, if we want to go there, in my Christian belief and practice. My daughter could tell you old stories of my “issues” with Halloween, and of my being firmly in the camp of “keeping the Christ in Christmas”.  I’m BETTER NOW.  Somehow though, even though I was very fundamental, I have always been a social worker, even before I was officially a social worker – because we are BORN not MADE—and the realities of people’s lives dampened my enthusiasm for “all they need is Jesus”.  Because even back then, I knew that, yeah, they needed Jesus, but they also needed someone to help them get their faces out of the mud, and to help them get food in their bellies, and to help them get to safe shelter FIRST—and then maybe I can tell them about Jesus.

So, reading about Saul, before he was Paul, I understood Saul’s zeal for the Jewish faith.  The Old Testament historical account of the journey of the Children of Israel, had taught the Jews of Saul’s day, that disobedience of God’s laws and God’s ways would cost them dearly, so they held fast to what they thought they knew.  It was Saul’s job to root out and destroy that which would endanger the nation, that which would tip the balance of that tricky little dance of home rule that the Jewish authorities had worked out with the Roman authorities. Saul, and his Jewish countrymen and women were children of trauma, historical and culturally embedded trauma.  As a survivor of trauma, I understand the language.  I understand about clinging to a person, clinging even to the dogma of the family, because this is what you know, and it is terrifying to know or even think of the consequences, the known consequences of straying off the path.  Straying off of the path will get you exiled away from your land, all that you know, all who you love. You will be abandoned by your God, and cast out to spend your days outside of the city gates, away from love and safety, separate, apart, no longer considered worthy to be cared for. Trauma. Those lingering effects will keep you lock step committed to a cause, a person, a country, a political system, a way of life, because THIS. IS. ALL. YOU. KNOW.  THIS is all you’ve been taught. There is safety and belonging by staying within the lines of all you know, all you’ve been taught.  So, Saul, in his zeal, pursued to the death, those who, in his mind, would rain down punishments on his country, on his people. Saul was good at his job. Saul, by all credible reports was a smart guy, a dedicated guy, a passionate and determined guy. A guy who embodied the mission, and pursued it with all he had.  This was how he came to be on the road to Damascus. Pursuing to the death those who would tear down the fabric of safety and security he and his countrymen and women fought and died for across the centuries. 

The Road to Damascus, the text says, is where Saul’s life, got turned upside down and sideways, and all he knew, all he understood was ripped away by a supernatural visitation by none other than the risen Savior himself, who blinds him with his holy illumination and at once separates him from all he knows, and chooses him for divine purpose.   When Saul is healed by Ananias, the text says that “scales fell from “ Saul’s eyes. I submit that those were more than physical scabs that fell, but Saul’s heart and mind were changed—in that moment, Saul, now Paul, was given new sight, new INSIGHT about God, the world, his life, his purpose. 

So as I kept trying to put together a regular sermon, with a title, and three take home points, I continued my review of the lectionary text for this week when God coaxed me out of the cave of frozenness with Psalm 30, where through the words of David, God spoke plainly and gave me new eyes to see--- that in the year of my defeat, awards and accolades abound.  Because you see, this most recent accolade, for which I received the congratulatory email, was not the first. In the 16 months that I have been sitting outside the city gates, set adrift by the church of my heart, there have been several awards, and magazine features, books launched – lot’s of praise and fanfare for me, and for this agency where I serve, and where I lead. And that was all fine and wonderful, but it was still not ministry, or at least not considered ministry, by those with the power and authority to name a thing as such. It didn’t matter that I believed the work I was involved in was sacred, it only mattered that what I was doing was not leading people to sit in the pews of a local church, somewhere—or at least that’s what I was told.  

So when you are in the cave, you need for The Word to talk to you, and from the words of David in Psalm 30, came this prayer of praise:

“God—you brought up my soul from the dark cave, you did not let my foes rejoice over me;  O’Lord – awards and accolades abound for this sacred work, in the year of my defeat.  You, O’God, thawed out my heart through the love, acceptance and validation of my gifts, you allowed me to experience Resurrection – you ended my exile, my isolation from your house.  You reclaimed me.”

It was like the scales falling from my eyes.

After Paul's encounter on the road to Damascus, this adult child of cultural trauma became a miscellaneous adult child of trauma. Abandoned by all that had been his foundation.  Now having to rely on the help and kindness of strangers, strangers who offered their help, reluctantly, but out of obedience to the risen Savior, stepped past their own comfort zones to aid in the healing and help of this enemy, turned brother.  And for Paul, accepting help from those who would give it, even those who gave it reluctantly was only the beginning of his journey of going where he was led, talking to people who mistrusted his motives, never again being accepted back into the family of his birth.  Paul was now a part of the miscellaneous community. That community that Jesus built with his body and with his blood.  Those reclaimed to the heart of God.  Partnering with people he didn’t know, humbly, because of his past misdeeds, Paul didn’t necessarily feel worthy to be among their numbers.  Many of these, who might have been his family of choice, could not accept who he ultimately became.  Paul was a miscellaneous adult child, called to do a great work, without the grounding that had served him his entire life.  Yet, in the end having the legacy as perhaps the greatest disciple of Jesus.  

Miscellaneous kids often have trouble with acceptance and belonging. It's hard to trust anything but your own truth. Many times they are difficult to understand. Hard to know.  Once they believe something, unless they have an encounter on the road to Damascus, they are often immovable forces.   God has to get their attention in a big way, to bring a new level of awareness.  Before this latest award, I had been living in my own version of the road to Damascus.  God’s illumination kept growing ever brighter, the longer I resisted coming out of the cave of frozenness, that place of safety and retreat.   

This text, marks, only the beginning of Paul’s ministry. All that he initially feared would come to pass—he would be rejected by family and friends. He would be ousted from his faith community. Even the new people that might have been his friends because of their now shared belief system, could not forgive him for his earlier misdeeds and did not fully welcome him into the fold. But then that was not his purpose.  Paul’s purpose was to be the instrument God used to bring to pass the Gentile Church, and he fulfilled that mission, unto death.  Paul had to go his own way to fulfill his mission.  Scripture tells us that he knew, in the end, that he had fought the good fight.

In true miscellaneous kids fashion … the writings ascribed to Paul are hard to understand at times. His motivation often comes to question. His purpose is often challenged by the powers that be. But if there were ever a take home message from the text this week, it is that even though the powers that be doubt you, reject you, count you out, we still must show up every day, to whatever work God has called us to, and present ourselves as willing servants of the most High.  We still, no matter our circumstance, “affirmed”, lauded and celebrated or NOT, we still must SHOW UP fully each day to meet the DAY.  We show up, if for no other reason then, just to see what God’s going to do NEXT. We remember that we are simply grateful that God chooses to use us in the feeding of His sheep.  We are not sure, when we are being brutally honest with ourselves if what we are doing is ministry in the traditional sense—but we absolutely know that when we look into the face of the one standing before us expecting rejection, but receiving acceptance instead—we know for sure—that the work we do is holy.  And in that moment, graced with a sense of the sacred, we can surrender to calling it, not a work, but a ministry.  And after all that, the only thing left to say is, Amen. Amen.

Cycles

There is something about cycles, and something that calls us to live in, to mark the cycles of life.  On this first day of the year 2013, this is the first time that I have not had a strong sense of movement, of change, or even a sense of “beginning again” on this, another New Year’s day.  Could be a sign of aging. For as long as I can remember, I have marked this time as unique, for it was, well, the first. And for many, many reasons, we always pay attention to firsts; first loves; first dates; first days of school, first communions, first “whatever’s”. 

My firsts are no longer marked by years, or months, as much as days, hours, minutes even.  The cycles of my life now begin in odd places—mid-day, mid-month, mid-year, off season, seemingly off track.  My cycles have begun with a new job, a new career focus, a new family situation, a new challenge to rise to, a new learning opportunity, a new relationship to navigate through, and lately, two things that have stood out from the crowd of firsts, a new and serious medical condition of a loved one, and walking a new path outside of the flow of a local church community.  Those last two things are what I call the cycle of the before and after. 

Anyone who has walked the journey of a potentially catastrophic illness knows exactly what I mean by the before and after.  You begin each day with “what absolutely needs to be done”.  Anything that doesn’t absolutely need to be done is simply not important. Yet, there is something settling about cleaning the house, decorating for the holidays, washing the dishes, re-organizing the closet.  These small things that could wait until tomorrow or another day, have taken on a new level of importance.  They help to bring order; to add a sense of control over the immediate.  Fortunately, my loved one’s illness is not considered catastrophic, but it is serious, and it has been life changing.  The cycle of the before and after.

The cycle of disconnecting from a local church community began exactly one year ago.  January 1, 2012 was on a Sunday.  I didn’t go to church that day. The previous Sunday, Christmas Day, and the day before that, Christmas Eve, I was in the pew, content to simply be there soaking up the presence of God with my fellow worshippers on one of our highest of holy days.  For an hour or two, I could sit and absorb the scriptures that were read, the songs that were sung, the messages of the devotions delivered, and forget during that space of time, that life as I knew it, was seriously altered.  At that time I would not even let myself feel the feelings of being denied ordination by the committee tasked with that role.  All sorts of coping mechanisms kicked in to help me ride that out.  Talking to people about it was not helpful. Which is no small irony given my day job.  There were a small few that I trusted enough to share the details and my churning emotions.   I started this blog as a way to simply let people know that I was OK. But even that became laborious and I had to begin simply marking the days, the cycle, in new ways.  One of those new ways was completing the process of becoming a published author.  Another was settling into the role of the first call of vocation.  It would be the first time in years that I was singly focused.  And of course, all of that even took a backseat to walking the health journey with my spouse.   

So as I reflect on this particular cycle, I find that I miss those moments when I could sit and soak in the presence of God without being distracted by new ritual and new liturgy. I find that there is indeed comfort in the familiar. My relationship with God remains comfortable and familiar. Meeting up with God’s people in unfamiliar spaces and places is… hmmm … not so much.  Some would say, well, why not go back to the familiar and the comfortable?  And my answer would be because I am compelled to go forward.  I do not know where the journey forward leads.  I am trusting God to let me know when I should stop and sit awhile.

Today, this New Year’s Day feels very much like most days, another day to do the right thing, however God leads, with whatever and whoever crosses my path.  It’s another day to remember that I am connected to a Source who sustains me and illuminates my steps on this unfamiliar path, and to whose purpose I yield.  Today and every day I praise God for being my source, from which I draw strength and peace and joy and direction.  It’s a new day. It’s a new year. God is forever unchanging and forever making things new.  I am so grateful to be comfortable with that particular paradox.  So, it’s a new day and a new year.  It’s another day to be challenged and surprised by the happenings on the path of life I walk.  It’s another opportunity to trust and follow the one who leads me on it. 

Hello 2013! Glad that I am here to meet you.  I’m ready. My answer is yes. Let's go!

Shalom

Jdw