PIVOTAL PERSON

Some people are pivotal in our lives. They are present to us at just the right time with just what we need. Fred Craddock was one of those people for me. This dear man died 2 days ago.

As a sophomore in college, I was in Dr. Craddock’s class on spirituality in novels. The seminar helped us explore the sacred in the mundane. I presented a paper to the class for my final. I wrote it and then presented the essence of it orally. I then turned in the paper. When I got the paper back, I had 2 grades. An A+ for presentation in class and a B for the written paper. The note from Dr. Craddock below the grades read,  “The moral of this is always speak, never write.”

So, I became a preacher. I heard a call to speak and I did.  But, I also wrote. I worked hard on writing sermons and articles, on communicating as well on the page as I did orally. Sometimes a word at the right time gives insight and challenges growth.  A pivotal point in my life.

After I had graduated from seminary I was preaching. I was struggling. My early training in preaching taught me to give a speech structured this way: “tell them what you are going to tell the, tell them, and then tell them what you told them.” (And occasionally end with a poem!) I struggled to know, “Where do I get the right to tell others what is truth?” And then I read the newly published book by Dr. Craddock, “As One Without Authority” and my life was changed. I remember the first sermon where I guided people on a journey of discovery rather than trying to tell people what to do.  I had much more fun and the listeners seemed to enjoy the journey of discovery much more than my telling them what I thought was true.  A  pivotal point that made preaching the delightful center of my ministry.

I think about Fred Craddock as I grieve his loss. His presence in my life was sheer grace. He had the courage to share his gift which struck me at a point where I needed that gift. Neither he nor I manufactured the relationship nor knew what would happen when we met. But my need and his gift resulted in my life changing. I call that grace.

And Dr. Craddock had another gift. His humility. He simply offered who he was, not forcing himself on others, not trying to control what others thought or did. He shared with quiet passion and compassion his insights and his wisdom. I never felt coerced. I was simply invited into his journey of discovery as he allowed me to run my fingers through the treasures of his  mind. I call that grace.

So, Fred Craddock is a pivotal person in my life. And no one can ever know how grace changed me. But, in this time of grief and loss, I can only say “Thank you” to God for having my life touched by such a kind and graceful soul.

TABLE CONVENTION

It was a beautiful day. The sun angled her morning light—trees casting shadows across the new fallen snow. The temperature had risen to a balmy 25 degrees—a veritable heat wave! More birdsongs drifted over the unmarked snow.

My heart was here—present—slave to the moment—absorbed. My soul sang with joy at the world of wonder that enveloped me.

And then I notice something. The picnic tables, snow laden and waiting, seemed to huddle together as if they were talking. They seemed to be in a winter convention, telling stories of better, less lonely days. They were remembering butts sitting on their benches, elbows leaning on their tops, chicken-fry crumbs staining their wood. 

And they seemed anxious for warmer days when snow would disappear and children would play around their legs while adults sat and spun stories into the air. They longed for the crowds of people, all nationalities, coming to share food and fun in the open spaces.

How is it that I created this fantasy? After all, I was so connected to the icy moment of sun and snow. Joy in the morning light had so overwhelmed me and here I was creating a table convention about warmer weather.

I think we are such complex and interesting creatures. We can celebrate the present with complete absorption—fully present to the world as it is—and at the same time lean into longing for a day that lies un-lived before us. At the same time winter wows us spring seduces us.

What an amazing thing to live this human journey!

DIGGING DEEP

The winter air was still, icy. More silent than usual. The only sound; my boots crunching in the snow.  Then I heard it. A scratching, a dry leaf rattle. I looked, and there on the white ground a red tailed squirrel, head in the snow, feet frantically scratching the brown leaves under the snow. It pulled out an acorn and ran up the dry limbs of a bush.

There, hunched over against the cold and with its tail wrapped, shawl like, over its back and looking like a mohawk on top of its head, it peeled the nut, dropping shells onto the snow. It worked its magic till finally it nourished itself on the nut.

When winter comes in our souls, we sometimes need to dig deep to find nourishment. When the icy wind of disappointment or betrayal freezes our hearts, we find it hard to get under the soul’s hardened ground to something that would nourish our hope. Fear piles up like snow over  the heart’s vulnerable membrane and we can’t find courage to move forward.

So, we have dig deep. We know life will wither in the winter if we do not dig through the cold and find the food that is hiding under the dead leaves of fall. The ground of our being harbors life in its dark and frozen soil. There are tastes of light, whispers of hope, scents of love. They may be small and hard-shelled, but when we take time to look, when we take time to unwrap them, they will give is enough to get through till the thaw comes. 

WINTER SKY

Sometimes it is just a picture. The winter sky chills. The sun, shrouded by faded, feathery clouds, struggles to do it's heating best. But, alas, to no avail. The frigid north wind reaches its icy fingers into the atmosphere and rips sun's spreading light. 

I watched this unfolding sky with fascination and curiosity. I was so overwhelmed with its contrasts and  the cloud's solar runway that I couldn't erase it from my mind. But, thoughts about it's meaning would not come unstuck so I could write them. So, today, it is just a picture for your reflection.

STARS

Where we live it is hard to see the stars. Outside our door I look up and there are only a few stars. I can see the big dipper by looking at the bright stars and drawing a line in my mind between them.

The problem is light pollution. Ambient light and humidity limits what I can see. Only the brightest stars are visible in the city.

But when I come to the sea and stare out into the black night, the sky is a cacophony of stars. I don’t see just a few stars, but see millions. I see what we used to call the Milky Way. It is a ribbon of glitter across the canvas of black.

And I also see the black spaces beyond. I know that there are trillions of stars, the light of which has not yet reached our eyes. And beyond that dark, I know there are thousands of galaxies made up of trillions of more stars.

These stars are like the stories of our lives.

There are a few stories we tell ourselves that make up how we know who we are. They are often stories that shine bright in our memory. They may be stories of sharp pain, trauma, ecstasy, love, achievement, betrayal, shock. These stories form our identity.

But, beyond the few bright stories we tell are thousands, yea millions of events that make up the galaxies of our lives. There are stories of subtle care, of tender touches we take for granted, of kindnesses that embrace us, of fears that haunt us. There are stories of smiles from strangers, of snuggles from grandchildren, of quiet silence with lovers. We are more than trauma, more than the bright stories we tell. 

And sometimes when we are driven out of the light of our lives and into the black night of our souls we remember those stories. We open ourselves to the fullness of our lives when the ambient light of normalcy fades and we are staring into the abyss of a dark and unknown future.

When you wonder about who you are, take time to listen to the quiet stories of your life. Allow new constellations to be formed and draw new lines of connection between those stories. Chances are, you will discover that your life is much richer and fuller than you might have thought.