14 Years – Ode to My Car, Ministry and Lessons Learned

I called the towing service this morning to see if they could meet me at the ramp off 288.  My car had been sitting there since yesterday afternoon.  My roommate let me take her car to see that my car was still there today.  I informed the company it was and waited for about 20 minutes for them to arrive.

During that time, I had flashbacks from the 14 years I had my car.  I didn’t realize until today but my car has been an important part of my ministry and sanity.  We’ve been through a lot together and most of it was to help others.   I recalled some of the work we did together.

When I was a Virginia Jaycee, I drove around the state to train other Jaycees in the area of Project Management so they could improve on their leadership skills, provide projects that improved the fellowship of their chapters as well as meet the needs of their communities.  I drove around the state to promote and celebrate Camp Virginia Jaycee, a camp for children and adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities.  I helped to raise money and sponsorships for campers to this camp where they could be free to do anything their hearts desired.  I spent my vacation time at the camp to see what it was like first hand and learned quickly how important my work would be, from their kisses, hugs, and words of thanks.  Yes, important work indeed.  

When I was a Customer Relations Trainer, I drove every day to share my gifts with those who were training to be new customer service representatives. For many, it was their first job and I was training them about life as much as about the work they were getting prepared to do. I trained those already working on the floor on how to relieve stress and enjoy their job.  I trained them on improving communication skills as well as how to improve in their computer software skills and most importantly, customer relations.

After I was laid off,  my car took me back and forth to the Baptist Theological Seminary, the Christian bookstore where I worked, and the two churches I served for four years.  We spent late nights, early mornings and multiple day trips together to get from one ministry to another.  I had to get to classes in the morning and work in the afternoon (or vice versa).  I remember once running late for a Missions mid-term exam, only to be stopped by a cop who wished me well on the exam, after he gave me my ticket.  Later the judge asked how I did on the exam and felt sorry enough for me to drop the charges.

After graduation, my car and I made the trek to Newton, Massachusetts where I served in my first fulltime vocational ministry position at a church.  We went through a LOT up there.  There were laughs and jokes in the car when I transported youth back and forth from one event to another.  We took a funny trip to Canopie Park with two funny sisters. There were a few trips back and forth to Overlook Farm, a part of Heifer International, to learn about how we can help third world countries in poverty and farm animal adoption.  I drove the car to many homes to fellowship and get to know families, to provide counseling and grief support when someone died, and to provide company for some of the elderly who were looking for simply a conversation with another friend.

I took the car around the state and region for personal retreat.  Maine, Vermont, Rhode Island and Connecticut.  We went across the state for horseback riding, leaf peeping, apple picking, beach surfing, blueberry picking and lighthouse catching.   There were many times we drove around in order for me to sharpen my photography skills. These trips brought some sanity back into my insanity.

It was during my time in Boston that she started to have troubles. We had to get a new transmission, tires, fan belts, batteries, brakes, oil things, hose stuff, and other items that I don’t remember.   Much to the dismay of people in Richmond, I learned how to drive like the Boston folks do. I had to in order to survive. The motto, “to each his own,” came to mind in regards to driving and dare I say many other moments I encountered in Boston.   During the winter months the car and I encountered many, many, many inches of snow.  We shoveled, swerved, drove carefully, slid once or twice, and were quite cold together on many days.  The extreme cold got the best of her I think.

We came back home after five years.  I answered an 18-month calling to be a chaplain at VCU Medical Center, about 30 minutes from where I lived.  That car got me there just about every day, to pray and be with those who were grieving.  With the car’s help, I was able to hold, dress, baptize, and bless stillborn infants for their grieving parents.  I held hands of those who would have died alone, if I hadn’t of been there to whisper God’s love into their souls. I met and befriended some wonderful nurses and respiratory therapists who ministered to those patients in ways that left me speechless.  That car allowed me to be God’s presence for those who were grasping to the least amount of comfort and hope in the midst of the pain and tears. That car’s determination allowed for me to support the medical staff in ways they had never been supported before.  Then at the end of the day, that car got me home after many shifts where I could not see in front of me from the tears in my eyes or the zone of heaviness I was in. There were times that when I arrived home, I couldn’t tell you how I got there.

Over the past two years, this car got me to see friends and family.  The Mazda and I drove out to see folks in Mechanicsville, Short Pump, the West End, to the city, and the Fan, as to accommodate for their families and busy schedules.  I went to church at First Baptist on Sundays and returned to the area for coffees and conversations, retreats to the VMFA, and worship with Richmond Hill.  My car got me to babysit two sweet browned eyed cuties, take photos of a blue-eyed blond, dinners at Kuba Kuba, and laugh hysterically around a table of cupcakes. I walked all around the city of Richmond, falling in love with RVA all over again and photographing every moment and mark I could.  After I finished my residency and had another Masters degree in hand, I was able to drive to the Inn at Tabbs Creek for a much needed vacation and developed a great friendship with the owners and their cat.  In January I was able to love and support a fellow chaplain in Charlottesville as we celebrated her daughter’s life, after her courageous battle with cancer came to an end.

Many of these trips and visits to see friends were mini retreats to get away when the frustration of being unemployed. The interviewing and searching took the life and spirit out of me as I keep getting rejections.  These trips gave me the chance to see people who have been by my side for two years.  It was a chance to worship and ask for God’s forgiveness and grace when I was angry and distant.  It was a chance to have monthly coffee and conversations with a spiritual colleague and friend.  But being this far away from folks took its toll on the car.  We had many visits to the mechanic, spending savings and deepening debt to keep it going.  About a month ago, the mechanic said there was nothing else that could be done.  What needed to be done was more than the car was worth and definitely more than the money I don’t have. I would be lucky if the car lasted through July (that was my hope).

There were a couple of things that I was glad to have been a part of just before my car died.   First, I got to drive it to Rockville to speak to a group of Girl Scouts about my faith.  I got to see a Flying Squirrels game with two beautiful and fun folks and I was able to have one last coffee and conversation where I learned a few lessons about life and relationships.

I was so mad yesterday when my car died.  I was coming home from an interview that was a ways away. I was apprehensive about driving my car, but I didn’t have a choice.  The interview came quickly and I needed to be there.  Coming home on 288, I could feel something going wrong and all the way home I kept saying, “Just get me home please. Just get me home.”   Well, it got me to the off ramp of 288 and Hull Street in the middle of rush hour.   I walked home in my black suit, wedged shoes and yes, tears in my eyes.  Please don’t lecture me about that. I already know things could have been worse. However, I was frustrated over events from the last two weeks and questions were running through my mind about what to do next and no answers with them.  I did give thanks to God for getting me  off 288 and for protecting me from being hit by cars as I crossed 8 lanes of traffic and along Hull Street.  I also thanked God that this didn’t happen before the interview.

I needed this car to last a little longer.  I tried my best to keep her limited in usage. I needed her running for some more use. Things didn’t go as planned.  Hey, when does anything really go as planned? We want everything to last longer than it does, don’t we? Our lives. Lives of those we love. Hopes. Dreams. Trust. Friendships. Relationships. Hell, love doesn’t even last. Does anything really last as long as we had hoped?  As long as we were promised?  No.  Not even cars. Sorry, I digress. I do that a lot. It’s a part of my character.

I woke up this morning and had these flashbacks.  I called my car “Maddie” and we did a lot together.  There were laughs, tears, deep conversations, heartbreaks, and retreats that came with our 14 years together. On long trips, I talked to Maddie. Yes I did and I know you’ve talked to your car too, so don’t laugh.  Maddie heard me sing in ways I would never want to offer to my worst enemy.  Although, I did sound just like Katy Perry and Christina Aguilera every time I was in the car.  I experienced so much about life with my Maddie and learned many lessons along the way.  Look at this photo and you can see the plates.  They read, “TRU2ME”.  I am not sure I’ve found the answer to what that plate means, but because of the many miles we’ve traveled, I’m a little closer to an answer now than I was yesterday.

Dear Churches, Please Don’t Celebrate Mother’s Day

Dear Churches,

Please don’t acknowledge Mother’s Day.

By all means, let’s celebrate Mother’s Day in the secular world and lift up mothers in all their glory, as they should be.  My siblings and I are taking our mother out Sunday and celebrating her. Enjoy.  Honor her in whatever way she deserves but in all that is holy, please do not celebrate Mother’s Day in the church.

I remember one church that asked all the mothers to stand.   Another church provided flowers for all the mothers.  Another church provided plants to the youngest mother and the oldest mother in the congregation.   They were applauded, celebrated, lifted up in prayer and honored for being blessed by the gifts of God.  It is a glorious moment given to those who are blessed to have children and families.  What a moment to share and celebrate those women in the church who have gone above and beyond in life as they are honored for being mothers.   God bless them all.

emptiness
(c) Linda C. Moore

If you do celebrate it, please look around the congregation.  Can you see the pain in the eyes of the quiet soul sitting in the back of the sanctuary?  She lost her daughter six months ago to cancer and misses her little girl’s Mother’s Day wake up call.  What about the young man sitting to your left?  He is sitting alone and hiding his tears.  His wife wanted to be at home alone.  She couldn’t handle the shame that she would feel sitting in church. They were expecting their first child until three months ago, when she delivered a stillborn girl. All that is left is the receiving blanket they held her in, the ultrasounds photos hanging in her nursery, and the footprints and handprints that were delicately placed in the memory box by the nurse and chaplain.  To this day, her mother feels guilty and she did nothing wrong, except try to be the best mother and wife she always wanted to be.

Then again, things will look up next month. It should be better for the husband; because the church will forget to honor fathers in the same way they honor mothers.  It will be just another Sunday that he is not a dad.

Can you hear that?  Can you hear his heart hardening as the memories of abuse flash through his mind?  The pain of the belt snapping against his leg, followed by the sting that will forever be ingrained in his soul.   The sound of broken glass crashes through his mind, just like when his mother threw the vodka bottle across the room. All he did was ask her to stop drinking and read him a bedtime story.  He is in counseling now because he almost relived it all again, in front of his little girl.  Only she can soften his heart if he is willing to forgive.

The young woman doesn’t go to church on Sunday because it is the one place where she felt she could have been accepted and honored for being who God made her to be.  On this day though, the church reminds her that since she is not a mother, she is not worthy enough to stand and receive a flower.  She already feels worthless because she doesn’t have a husband, children, or people to call her family.  The last thing she wants to feel is dehumanized by the very place where it shouldn’t happen.  The church continues to honor families and marriages that were commanded in Genesis, and she sits in shame because she is unable to be fruitful and multiply.

She doesn’t want the recognition but she doesn’t need her pastor and the church to remind her that she is not worthy enough in the eyes of the church, as society has already made that clear. “You are not a mother? You are not a wife? What’s wrong with you?  What have you done?”

I write this piece for the infants I’ve baptized, dedicated and blessed who never took a breath, for the children whose lives were cut too short, and their mothers who I had no answers for.  I write it for all who try to live up to unrealistic societal expectations of what it means to be a “successful” mother, yet cries when she can’t hold her crying child anymore.  I write it for those who are abused physically, emotionally and verbally, by the very people who will be asked to stand in celebration of their motherly title, yet have no idea what that title means.  I write this piece for those who want to be accepted for just being made in God’s image and not everyone else’s expectations.

Alone, Protected by Light
(c) Linda C. Moore

I write this for those who won’t be in church on Sunday because they don’t want to hear in the one place where it should be safe, that being who she is just isn’t enough.

Sincerely,

A Voice for the Voiceless

Is It Too Late to Be a Girl Scout?

I want to be a girl scout.

When I was a child I wanted to be a girl scout. For whatever reason, I wasn’t allowed to.  My brothers were allowed to be boy scouts, but I couldn’t be a girl scout like my cousin Jennifer. We were the same age and she looked like she was having fun and I wanted to have fun too.   Oh wait. She will be quick to tell you that I am 6 months older.  I might as well clarify that before she does.  To this day, I don’t know why but I was not allowed to be a girl scout.  Sunday morning, I told that to a group of 2^nd and 3^rd grade girl scouts that very statement and they were surprised and confused.  This led to a wonderful morning of worship with these girls and acceptance of memories, hope, and opportunity.

I was invited to speak to this spirited group of girls about my faith.  What I shared gave them a chance to earn the pin with the words, “My Faith” inscribed.  From my understanding, they earned 4 badges and this pin on their overnight adventures this past weekend.   They had a busy weekend on the farm!!!

One of their leaders, aka, my friend Holly, shared the Girl Scout Promise and the Girl Scout Law with me, when she invited me to take part this weekend.

The Girl Scout Promise is –

“On my honor I will try: to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout Law.”

The Girl Scout Law -

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place, and be a sister to every Girl Scout.”

I was asked to share how I live my faith by one of those lines.  It was hard to consider since I was never a girl scout.  Then I got to thinking about what law and promise I do try to live by as I serve as a minister and a chaplain.   How do I share my faith, not just with the 9 girls that were sitting before me, but with every person I meet?

I told them I try to live my faith using a law that is actually close to what their promise and law are; The Greatest Commandment, as shared by Jesus in Matthew 27:37-39, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind.  And love your neighbor as you love yourself.”  The more I looked at both laws, the more I saw how close they were in their message and action.  We talked about the similarities.  They seemed impressed and so was I.  They also liked the fact that I showed them a way I pray for people or for myself by coloring. I have a coloring prayer journal that I use along with my writing journal. Who wouldn’t be impressed with the fact that you can pray in color?

I was impressed with them.  I asked what they enjoyed about being a girl scout.  Since I didn’t have that experience, I wanted to hear from them.  They shared many ideas, including the fact that they had friends, they have fun times together, they get to play, they get to learn, they get to camp and they get to do community service projects. I got to witness them learn and have fun as they participated in several science experiments, including my favorite Mentos and Diet Coke Geysers! Oh, and those cookies – Hey, did you know that the cookies they sold this year, also included cookies that went to US troops overseas?   Imagine being one of the courageous US troops, opening up a box of thin mints with a note from a Girl Scout that said, “thank you”?  Yeah, I would be honored and happy too.

I enjoyed my time with the Girl Scouts on Sunday.  I couldn’t help but be a bit jealous over their time together.  A bunch of girls hanging out together, accepting one another as friends, no matter what shape, size, age, color, job or IQ.   There aren’t any labels on them right now.  How beautifully freeing is that?!!  They truly enjoyed being with one another and I could tell they were friends.   A part of me wants to tell them to never let go of that.  That’s the cynical part of me that has life experience as an adult. When you grow up, life is not going to be this much fun.  There are stipulations on women and certain expectations that must be met or you won’t be honored and recognized for being who you are.  Sadly, those stipulations come from everywhere, including women and church.   At least that’s what it’s like now.   I hope and pray that will change before these precious girls grow up.  Until then, I hope and pray they know how much they are already loved and will forever be loved by God.

I hope and pray when they do grow up that the world will be different.  What I saw in those girls was the spirit that can break through the labels and boundaries.  Please o please world, let these girls carry that spirit with them, through the life skills and leadership skills they learn from being a Girl Scout and from being friends.   Parents, continue to do what I saw you doing Sunday, leading by example and letting them know they can do anything they put they mind to, when you love them, support them, model for them and encourage them.  What a gift to be given at such a young age. What a life long gift.

Is it too late for me to be a Girl Scout?

Ode to Dr. Israel Galindo

I have a lot to say and several blog possibilities running on my computer and mind.  However, this is National Teachers Appreciation Week and I can’t help but think about a teacher that has made such a huge impact in my life and I need to write about him.   I warned him before that this was coming some day and since the word is out that he is leaving his coveted seat at BTSR, to make an impact in at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Ga., I must write about him now. Here it is.

My Ode to Dr. Israel Galindo 

I knew the day that Dr. Galindo and I were going to get along just fine.  I was on the Christian Education trek at the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond.  One of the pre-requisites was to take an Intro to Teaching class.  I have a BS in Elementary Education from the teaching college in Virginia, Longwood.  I taught elementary school and trained adults.  We thought it was easier to take the class rather than opt out of it.  So here I was, in the Intro to Teaching, learning how to teach and we had to prepare a lesson on teaching. My lesson was on how to teach to the visual, auditory and sensing learners at the same time.

Before presentations were to begin, Dr. Galindo opened the invitation to come to his office and ask him questions, or let him see the presentation and recommend suggestions.  Out of the entire class, one person took him up on his offer.  Yes, you guessed it.  That would be me.   When I came to see him and get his recommendations, and in all honesty, to get his approval, the one question he asked me was, “What the hell are you doing here?”  It was that question and our talk following that I knew Dr. Galindo was going to have an impact on my life.

He knew that I didn’t need to be there.  He knew that I could have taught the class on how to teach, but my mind and all that comes with it, took me straight to his office.   That was also his red flag to recommend to me the idea of Family Systems Theory.  Yeah, he knew there was more stuff there and to be in church ministry, I was going to need it.   This conversation with Dr. Galindo also led to the one question that will forever be ingrained in my mind, “What’s this really about?”

Dr. Galindo became my mentor, friend, brother, colleague, and the teacher who made a difference.  He gave permission for me to have Playdoh and crayons in my class as a learner.  He gave permission for me to be imperfect.  He gave permission to say that I have great experience in my work and I can share that with others.  And most importantly, he gave me permission to become the person God made me to be.

I went to Cuba (his homeland) for my Mission Immersion Experience we connected over our experience and talked about a lot.  He took part in my ordination service and wrote a prayer that I kept on my desk to read every day.  When I graduated from seminary and Galindo University, I wanted to go and hug him after I received my degree, but thought the better for it.  I didn’t want people to know that I was the most favorite student he ever had. That wouldn’t be right. When I didn’t win the Christian Educator Award, I have to admit I was a little upset, but then I realized something else.  I won something more than the award.  I won Dr. Galindo’s respect.

His education and assistance helped me long past seminary.   After graduation, I accepted a call to a church and served as Minister of Christian Education.  To put it gently and kindly, it was a challenging experience.  I won’t go into the circumstances but I believe my experience became one of Dr. Galindo’s BFST case studies.   Yes, you can congratulate me at any time.   There are two important pieces of information that you need to know.  I would not have survived the five years of my ministry if it weren’t for Dr. Galindo.  First, he recommended me to take part in the Leadership in Ministry Family Systems workshop that is held twice a year.  And as a God given moment, the workshop met about 10 minutes from where I lived.  I took part and received some valuable help from fellow clergy and coaches who knew what I was going through.

The second piece of survival was the fact that he answered all of my phone calls and pleas for help.  I had him on speed dial.  Dr. Galindo knew I am an Enneagram 6 and encouraged me to work on my photography as a part of my spiritual practice to help me through this time.  He is an artist too and that helps him.  Check it out.  When I started interviewing at churches again, he helped me through the interview process.  He was my superhero.  He still is.

I know this blog entry is going to kill him, although at the same time he will be honored and maybe even do some shameless self-promoting about it.  He likes to do that sometimes, especially when he has a book to sell.  He even posted a review I wrote about one of his books. How cool is that??   Even though Dr. Galindo already knows the impact he has had on me, I want the world to know what a difference he made.

It is National Teachers Appreciation Week.  Teaching is in my soul.  I wanted to be a teacher since I was a little girl.  I am no longer in the church setting, but I do believe I am still teaching as I follow a passion for chaplaincy.  I am teaching what was taught to me; by the man I consider a friend and a hero.  He saved me from a few tough situations and some terrible storms. More importantly, he saved me from myself in order to find my voice, and that has made all the difference in the world.

Thank you, Dr. Israel Galindo.  I still owe you lunch at the Jefferson but until then, I hope you can accept my thanksgiving and forever gratitude for what you did for me.

Note: There is a wonderful photo of Dr. Galindo and me after graduation.  Unfortunately, it is packed in the storage unit with everything else.  Be assured that it will be in my next office when the day comes, right next to the prayer and a can of Playdoh.

Nobody Else But My Lord God

From Me,

Below are two prayers that I say/read/write when the emotions are running a little rampant.  I say these prayers through the anger, disappointment, laughter and tears.  I am angry and confused.  I am full of tears and joy.  I am tired and frustrated.  I am grateful and humbled.  I am all of these things and yet I still look to my God for guidance and assurance that things are ok and I am not alone.  Who else can one look to for unconditional love and trust but to the One who gave it all, without expectation, without boundary, without label, without broken promise, without disgrace?  Who else can one look to without fear, resentment, animosity, and shame?

Nobody else but my Lord God……

 

From Merton,

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

- Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”

 

From Paul,

I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be  strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.  I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

- Epistle to the Ephesians 3:16-19

A Blog Post from God, sorta

I wanted to take a minute to say thank you and acknowledge my friend, Jenny Call. She is a wonderful mother who blogs about her life as a mother, minister, wife, woman, chaplain, counselor, friend and everything else she does. She does so much and I am in awe of the person she is and the follower of Christ she models for me.

Her lastest blog post is about her precious and feisty daughter Maryn. She recently turned 5 years old and they celebrated her birthday.  Jenny’s words celebrated Maryn’s life thus far, as the person she is and will become. Oh boy! Watch out world!  I cannot wait to see what she is gonna do and who she is gonna be!! Be prepared.

I want to thank Jenny because she loves her children dearly and she isn’t afraid to share it with the world. More importantly, Jenny isn’t afraid to share how she feels about her children, with her children. I know it’s hard to imagine that a parent wouldn’t do that for their children, but sometimes they don’t and it makes an impact. Jenny writes about her children on her blog and she tells them every day through her love, her actions, and her words, how she feels about them. It’s something that unfortunately some children don’t hear. These words and actions aren’t shared by the mothers to their daughters.  Jenny is the example that all mothers should live by.  Please, before your children grow up, do what Jenny does; tell them how much you love them. Show them how much you love them, about all of them – the blessings and the challenges. Tell them what you love about them. Be specific. Celebrate their spirit, their spunk and even their feistiness. It’s worth celebrating. Celebrate the person they are becoming right before your eyes, before it’s too late. When you do that for your children, while they are still children, it makes a difference. As a teacher I know.  When you don’t do it while they are children, that makes a difference too, even in their adult world.  As a daughter, I know.

For various reasons, I don’t have the ability to write about my children and all they are and who they will become. I didn’t have the same celebratory words and blogs growing up as Jenny’s children do now. Jenny’s words reminded me that it’s not too late to hear those celebrations, from my heavenly parent.  Today I did something I hadn’t considered in a while. When I am struggling with my own identity and insecurities, I write. I pray. I consider what God would tell me, what God has told me, through dear friends.  Those friends who care and speak to me with their words, their actions and their love. God speaks to me through them, or in God’s own way; all of which allow me to feel the celebrations and hear their words.

Yesterday’s journal writing became a blog post from God. Yes, you read that right. I decided to write in my journal as if God were doing the writing. I began with prayer and then started the writing with, “Dear Linda,”.

It sounds a bit strange I know, however it became therapeutic for me. I wrote five pages yesterday and it’s not finished. Apparently God has more to say. I put the pen on my paper and allowed it to go in whatever way it wanted to. It was God’s voice talking to me, sitting at a desk and writing a letter…to me. God knows my thoughts, my insecurities, my pain and my fear and responded to every one of them in this letter.  I hope you can understand when I say that I had no control over what was written yesterday. I just let the paper and the pen speak through the words that God put on paper.

I won’t share all that was written because that’s between God and me. I imagine though you can understand with the hurt and the fears that a child of God might have, reading God’s words makes one feel better and feel more secure in God’s loving embrace. In fact, I felt like Jenny’s daughter Maryn. Imagine Maryn hearing Jenny’s words, the words from a parent who knows what it means to love unconditionally and the beautiful mother who loves every part of Maryn, the good and the uncharacteristic qualities. Just like Jenny, God loves the person you are and the person you have yet to be.  God did the same thing for me yesterday. Through a “blog” in a journal, God told me how much I am loved, every part of me, inside and out. God loves the good in me and the (cough, cough) unique qualities that make me, me. God has loved me through the pain, the fears, the unknown, the tears, the laughter and the joy. God loves me, as a precious child made in God’s own image.

Here is one piece from the entry  I will share.

Remember the children, the precious infants you cared for at the hospital? Remember the one who never took a breath and the print you made of his tiny hands and feet? Remember the one you baptized as she laid still in her daddy’s grieving arms? Remember the 1-month-old going through meth withdrawals and you held him every day, with your secured and loving embrace, your loving words whispered in his ears? Remember the seven-month-old who died in the car accident and you loved her, talked to her and cared for her as one of your own. You carefully prepared her motionless body so her broken momma could say goodbye? Do you remember how I gave you the gifts and the passion to care for those children in the way you care for all the children, young and old, that you meet at bedside?

Linda, remember the words you said to those precious little ones?

Linda, as I hold you in my embrace I say the same words to you. You are one of my own, my precious child and I couldn’t be more proud of who you are and who you will become.  

Lay your fears and burdens upon me as you allowed those precious souls to do the same with you. Let me wipe away your tears and hear your prayers through them.

Linda, I say the same to you. 

Nobody Messes with Boston

My heart is still heavy for the city of Boston and all of those impacted by the bombings Monday during the marathon.  I lived in Boston for five years, and if there is one thing I learned from my time, it is the passion and spirit that rose from this very day.  Patriot’s Day is a state holiday and two major events always  take place in Boston.  The Boston Marathon begins early in the morning and the Boston Red Sox always have a game at Fenway at 11:00 am.  The finish line of the marathon is in Copley Square, a heavily populated and popular part of Boston.  Trinity Church and Old South Church are there. The Boston Library, John Hancock Building, three major hotels as well as many businesses and restaurants are smack dab in the heart of Copley Place.  The T Green Train runs just underneath.   On any day, there will be a lot of people but on Boston Marathon Day this place is filled to “maximum capacity” (and then some) with family and friends from around the world. They are there because of the Boston Marathon.  Workers, runners, fans, staff, security, police, rescue, volunteers, and many others whose life on this particular day is filled with blue and yellow colors and marathon madness.

I say all of this because I have never seen a city rally around with such passion and spirit as they do in Boston for the marathon.  It’s truly an awesome experience to be a part of.  I was a spectator a few times and it would be nothing for me to sit out there for 4-5 hours cheering on the runners.   One year, a runner stopped to tie his shoe in front of me and thanked me for cheering folks on.  And I was one of thousands out there.  The fact that this is an international event brings this attack to an international magnitude.  People from all over the world descend on Boston for the marathon and people from all over the world felt the bombs.

Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.  I have no idea why in the world anybody would want to hurt, kill or harm innocent bystanders but they have.  I don’t want to speculate who that is.  Anyone who would do this doesn’t deserve that time and honor.  What matters to me is the target that was attacked.  Boston was attacked.  Somebody hit the city on the very day that brings pride and honor to their home.  Not just any city in the United States got hit.  It was Boston.  Nobody messes with Boston.

Whoever did this apparently doesn’t know Boston very well.  Boston is full of spirit and fight.  Bostonians are passionate about two things, sports and brotherhood.  The attackers managed to find both of those passions at one time.  The photographs and stories from the past 48 hours are proof positive of the brotherhood that goes deep into the soul of Boston.   The people matter and nobody is a stranger when it comes to helping one another through a tragedy.  The attack didn’t weak this city.  The attack just made Boston stronger.   Nobody messes with Boston.

There is no denying the fact that Boston is intense.  Go to a Red Sox game during the pennant race.  The intensity is just as strong whether they win or lose.  Try to get on the T at 5:30 in the evening.   Come to a Patriots’ game wearing a Peyton Manning jersey.  Remind a Red Sox fan of Grady Little’s coaching mistake a few years ago (that one still breaks my heart).  They are intense and they’ve got heart.   When I interviewed for the position I had in Boston, I spoke to four different groups.  The first question every group had was “Can you cheer for the Red Sox?” When I wore my green stole in church, people wondered if it represented the Celtics.   If one of the Boston teams lost, you heard about it and so did the team.  If they won, it was a matter of fact.   Nobody messes with Boston, not even their teams.

It wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone if they saw me walking around the city with my camera.  I’d jump on the T and head to a destination unknown and spend the day exploring the town.  You could have found me in the North End at Mike’s Pastry, or around the Garden of the Boston Celtics.  I headed down to the Boston Harbor and Rose Kennedy Park. I walked the Freedom Trail through Faneuil Hall and Paul Revere’s House, to Columbus Park and the fountain.  I explored Boston Common with the Memorial Day flag display or the Christmas tree in the winter.  Every time I walked by a fire station, I stopped by to say hello and thank them for their service.  Whenever I saw a police officer or EMS worker, I stopped and thanked them.  Whenever I went a hospital in Boston for a visit, I knew I was in the presence of greatness.  They know what they are doing and are passionate about doing it right; not for themselves but for the people they help. The emergency workers, hospitals, and police are the best of the best. Nobody messes with Boston.

Yes, Monday was a terrible day in the light of celebration and pride.   My heart is heavy and my prayers are full but there is a smile on my face from the stories I keep hearing.  If there is anything good that comes out of this horrific situation, it’s this – everyone around the world will learn what I already know.

Nobody messes with Boston.  Nobody.