As his “favorite niece” it was an honor for me to officiate at the service and provide the eulogy for my uncle and family.  As I think about this Memorial Day, I reflect on the words I shared with them, in honor of my Uncle Tom and all those who serve.

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It is my understanding that the core values of the Navy are based on three words:  Honor, Courage, and Commitment.  These characteristics are the foundation for the Navy’s service to their country and their lives.  And for one who served in the Navy, Uncle Tom took these words and embedded them into his heart and mind.  Because of that, they became the foundation for which Tom lived his life and we have the gift now to come and reflect on what that meant to him and every life he touched.

Honor – Tom was proud to serve in the Navy for 28 years, knowing that as an Air Traffic Controller and teacher, many lives were in his hands.  He was honored and proud to serve in that capacity and held every life he encountered to that same honor and dignity as well; in the way he taught, led, mentored, and counseled.  He was also honored and proud for what the Navy did for him, the education he received, the awards that were presented on behalf of his service, in the honor that was bestowed upon him at his retirement; and he was honored with the care that he and my Aunt Mo received during his illness.

Tom was so honored to serve in the Navy that for anybody who came to visit him, including me; that visitor was blessed with the infamous Naval Air Station tour that included the grounds, the Naval Aviation Museum, the tower, and of course, the people.  If you were really lucky, he would bring in the Blue Angels for a special performance, just for you…at least, that’s what he told me.

Tom would be honored, yet quite humbled today, at the outpouring of support from all of you to Mo and to our family.  Thank you for the way in which you have honored his life and supporting us at this time.

Commitment – I know Tom was committed to his work, to his teaching, to his students, and to passing on the torch for those who continued the tradition.  One of his students signed his online obituary guestbook with these words:

To the family of Master Chief Pruett, Please know that the Master Chief personally touched many a Sailor… [he] was my instructor in….Georgia when I was an AC2. He was always a knowledgeable instructor and consistently squared-away in uniform, making an extremely favorable impression on this young Navy Bluejacket. …(Bruce Herman)

That is commitment and how the tradition carried on.   But if there was a unit that he was more committed to than the Navy, that would be his family.

To his sister JoAnn, my mom, you two committed to one another as you helped each other grow up through the years, as you cared for Granny and Grandpa in the different ways they needed. And as you were there for each other.  Mom, I have to say, that Uncle Tom was so committed to you that he never once told me any secrets that I could have use against you at a later time,  no matter how many times I asked.  From one with three older brothers…..that’s commitment.

To Scott, Tom, and Brett – he was honored to call you his sons and Michelle; he was honored to finally be able to call you daughter.   He wanted you to have what he could not, as all good parents do, pushing for college and to be the best that you can be, to stand up for what you believe in and to stand for what is right.  To step back and see how much you have accomplished and to see how much you love your mom – Your dad has passed on the tradition of commitment to you.

Mo – 46 years.  This doesn’t even scratch the surface of your commitment to one another.  He knows he got the better end of that deal.  He knows what you had to put up with and what you sacrificed all out of love.  Even though we ALL learned from his commitment to the Navy and to family, I can imagine that he would be the first one to say that he learned it all from you.

Courage – Courage is the strength to face whatever comes your way, whatever the opposition, whatever the danger or the struggle, and to face it all with dignity, bravery, and resolve.  Tom gave every one of us a lesson in courage as he courageously battled cancer.  He fought with strength and guts.  He gave everything he had.

People will be asking, why did he have to go through this suffering?  Why did he have to face cancer?  We do not know.  I will be the first one to tell you I do not know.  Some may ask, “Where was God? Why didn’t God stop this?”  I will also be the first one to tell you that just as I know that God does not give out diabetes or heart attacks, God did not give Tom cancer.  I do not believe in that kind of God.  What I do believe is that God was there in the courage that Tom had and in the way that courage was supplied.  God gives us the courage to face whatever hand we are dealt and He did the same for Tom.

Tom’s courage came in the form of doctors and nurses.  Tom’s courage came from his family who sacrificed whatever it took to help him fight.  And Tom’s courage came from all of you, who wrote, called, visited, and prayed during this time.  And it was that courage that took him as far as he could possibly go.

You are going to have your own battles to face and you will need courage to face them.  Find courage with your family and friends; find courage with accepting help and hope from those around; and find courage in God Who is with you right now and Who loves you unconditionally; find courage in the One who will walk with you every step of the way and will carry you when you need.

So what can we learn from this:  from what we have seen in the life of my Uncle Tom Pruett?

Life is precious and we need to take time to live it.  He lived 67 wonderful years of honor, courage, and commitment, but he also had fun too.  I am standing up here talking about these core values but I also know that my uncle enjoyed life as well.  I know that there are many stories hidden underneath the surface that can and should be told, no matter how joyously incriminating they may be to him.  He deserves to have them told.

You are familiar with the poem, “Crossing the Bar” by Tennyson, It is about a man whose time has come to cross over the sand bar as the sun sets and as the light fades, to see his Pilot face to face.  But in that poem, the man makes clear that he doesn’t want there to be moaning and sadness as he is about to embark on another journey.  He wants the sounds of the crashing waves to be so loud that they cannot be contained.  Uncle Tom wants us to tell the stories.  He wants us to gather at the pool, pop open a cold beer, and laugh in such a way that it cannot be contained.  You see, we don’t know what storm we will face as we travel along the shore, and we don’t know when it will be time for us to cross the bar, but we do know how to ride the waves in the way that my Uncle Tom showed – with honor, courage, commitment, and a little bit of laughter along the way.  Amen.

Words of Committal and Benediction:

I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea.  The setting sun tinted its white sails with a golden light. And as it disappeared from view, a voice at my side whispered, He is gone.

But the sea was a narrow one, and on the furthest shore, a little band of friends had gathered to watch in happy expectation. Suddenly, they caught sight of the tiny sail. And at the very moment when my companion had whispered, He is gone, a glad shout went up in joyous welcome with the words, yes, here he comes!  (The Little Ship, by Anonymous)

(c) Rev. Linda C. Moore, given August 8, 2008

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For my Uncle Tom on this Memorial Day, may we all learn to live with honor, courage and commitment, in the way you did and in the way all those who serve do.  May your service to country and family inspire others in the way you have inspired me.  I will drink a sangria in your honor very soon.

Love, Linda

Your favorite Niece (Yes, I know I am your only niece.)

I am honored to be a chaplain, honored and blessed in so many ways.  Every single day chaplains walk into this unexplainable world of suffering and provide a prayer for whatever situation people face.  Chaplains sit beside patients and pray for their struggles, for healing, for comfort from the pain and light in the darkness.  We hold their hands with humbled hearts knowing we just became a part of the lives, even if just for a moment.  God places us in these moments and we accept them with grace and humility.

We are honored to sit beside patients and pray for them and with them every day. The blessings we receive for this work are abundant.  On the other side, you may be able to count the number of drawbacks on one hand.  One drawback I was reminded of today is the fact that it’s not often chaplains will have somebody sit beside them and pray for their comfort, healing, and hope.  We pray but it’s not often we sit still long enough and accept a prayer on our behalf.  It’s an occupational hazard I guess.

The folks of First Baptist, Richmond provided that prayer tonight.  Each month the church holds A Service of Prayer for Healing, for those in need of emotional, physical, or spiritual prayer.  It was a God given time for me; to be able to hear treasured words, see prayers represented by lit candles, sing hymns of hope, and receive a cherished blessing.  I wasn’t going to go forward and ask for prayer because I didn’t feel worthy of it.  I know. I know. Silly me.  Thankfully, God interfered and gave a breathtaking testimony through the words of a humbled soul.  And He added a few words from the book of James to let me know I needed to come forward.  So I did. I knelt down, shared some thoughts and asked for prayer.

It’s 11:30 pm and I can smell the scent of the anointing oil. I can feel the touch of their hands on mine.  I can hear the words and the prayer they shared with me.  And I continue to be blessed by the spirit of their gracious hearts.  Thank you.

For those reading this, I have one small request.  If you find yourself sitting beside a chaplain one day, would you be willing to pray for them?  We say them a lot, but we don’t ask for them often.  We sure could use them though.

I am praying tonight for Chaplain Lynn and her daughter Alyssa, as well as Chaplain Mary Dell and her husband Bill.

The above photo was taken exactly a year ago today (Tuesday).  It brings back some cherished memories that I had with these beautiful youth.  Most importantly, it brings back a personal memory of when they ministered to me, a moment that I will be forever grateful, humbled and proud to remember.  This photo was taken on the last night the youth and I were together.  They were remarkable. Most all of them came. The one person who couldn’t be there wrote me a beautiful note, one that I still have with me.  The others, all of them, were there to celebrate five years together and to say goodbye. We joked and we played games.  We laughed and we cried.  We shared some meaningful moments that night, treasured moments between them me.  I can’t help but remember a night seven months before this when they ministered to me.

It was November 5, 2011 and we had our church business meeting with the proposed 2012 budget.  It was this day the church body made the decision to cut my position, a decision made without one word of discussion or concern shared in the meeting and a “quick gavel” to move the motion along.  The only word that came happened afterwards when I was criticized for how awful my clergy robe looked due to my weight gain.  Yeah, that was my morning.  I do remember one report I gave in that meeting.  It was a report about our youth, my youth, who participated in a wonderful homeless ministry the week before.  In the meeting, I shared that I saw Jesus Christ in the youth; in the way they reached out and touched many lives to help the homeless.  They made me proud.

That night, I saw and felt Jesus Christ through the youth again.  I was the one who had to tell the youth of the church’s decision to cut my position.   I asked the parents to be there too, I just asked that they waited outside until I talked to the youth first.  They waited patiently in the hall while I talked with them and shared the news.   Do you know what the youth said? Do you know what were the first words out of their mouths and hearts?  I tear up when I think about it now.  These beautiful, spirit-filled youth asked, “How are you, Linda?”  It was the first time that question was asked. These precious souls who in the real world are called immature, not ready, and selfish, etc., these precious souls asked me how I was doing with it all.  Yes, I saw and felt Jesus Christ through every single one of them that night.

I wrote my last newsletter article for the youth.  Here is an excerpt from that article.

If the time we’ve had together is any indication of your future potential, the opportunities are endless. You will exceed all of my expectations for who you will become. God has given you a voice and a heart to do all that you desire from the depths of your souls. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.

And you have given me the greatest gift that will never be taken from me. You gave me the gift of seeing and feeling the love and compassion of Jesus Christ in every one of you; through your spirit, your prayer, your laughter, your love, and your life. Never let Christ go and know that He will never let you go. Remember all that I have told you over these years. Remember all that you have done. Remember that I believe in you and know that you will always have a special place in my heart.

 To the youth, one year later….I have another message for you, a message of thanksgiving.  You have made me so proud.  I can’t believe six of you are graduating in a few weeks. Thank you for allowing me to be me. Thank you for accepting me for me.  Thank you for reminding me what it means to care for people.  I am serving as a chaplain now, with a future still unknown. However, you reminded me how to be there for people and meet people where they are.  You reminded me of the voice and spirit I have within me.  I could not ask for a better gift.

Yes, I saw and felt Jesus Christ through you then and I see Him now.  Thank you.

Several weeks ago I was sitting in the worship service when two children got up to read scripture with the Children’s Minister.  It was so nice to see children participate in a regular worship service.  As many of you know, children have a special place in my heart and any time they are a part of worship, I think their divine hearts add to the spirit and love of what makes worship, worship.   It was sweet and a blessing to hear them read.

Unfortunately, another voice went through my mind: a voice that said in the middle of a deacon’s meeting, “The children’s sermons are dumbing down the worship service.”  The person sitting next to this individual was the one who led the children’s sermons in worship.  Yes, that would be me.  Nobody said a word and when I realized that nobody was going to, I chimed in ever so quietly to remind them all that I was sitting right there, “Well thanks, (his name).”  Again, nothing was said.

Sadly, the words, the silence, and the experience swarmed through my mind during the rest of the service.  I kept going back to a time that was extremely painful for me, when I was alone and when worship was no longer worship.  It was a scripted play that I acted in and the directors kept yelling at me to get the lines right.  The angelic voices of those children I heard earlier were silenced in the midst of the memories.

After worship I went to a place I hadn’t been in a long time, the labyrinth on the campus of Union Theological Seminary.  It’s a pathway to meditation, mindfulness, and spiritual freedom.  I was hoping to find time for quiet reflection as I walked into the labyrinth to search for the center.  It was meant for an opportunity to let go, forgive and learn from the past.  Coming out of the labyrinth, I could reflect and prepare for a better future, a closer relationship with God and a closer relationship with myself, remembering the truth about who I am and walk towards who God wants me to be.

Well, that did not happen – at least it didn’t happen the way I anticipated.   I began my meditative journey into the labyrinth and was a quarter of the way in, when I heard a distant voice say, “There she goes.”  The next thing I know, a 4-year-old girl entered the labyrinth and started dancing around.  At first, I tried to ignore the disturbance and keep my focus on God.  But I couldn’t do it and realized I wasn’t supposed to.  God’s focus was on me and God needed to communicate with me in a way I could understand on this particular day.

This moment wasn’t a disturbance at all.  This was a joyous and exuberant way for God to speak to me. This precious child danced with abandon and made her way through her journey and into mine.  Her parents apologized several times for “disrupting” me and I said, “Are you kidding? This is what my prayer is meant to be about today. This is wonderful!”  I stood with tears in my eyes and said, “This is exactly what the labyrinth journey is supposed to be about.”  I watched this angel dance, meditate, laugh, pray, run, sing, and scream her way into God’s heart, and mine.  She followed the path and crossed over the curves.  She sat down in the center and contemplated.  She jumped up and skipped her way back into the world, only to start all over again.

I happened to have my camera that day and asked her parents permission to take photos.  We exchanged email addresses and I sent them copies.   I stood there in awe of what I witnessed and received a wonderful and freeing message that day.  This sweet, spirited angel crossed my path of prayer and reminded me that my relationship with God, whether through dancing, prayer, writing, meditating, or even worship, is all about an intimate moment in time where I am free to be the precious child that God made me to be.  (Lest we forget that Jesus said we are to become like children in order to enter the kingdom of Heaven.)

After the family left, despite the child’s efforts to stay, I sat down for a few minutes to reflect on what happened.  I thanked God for sending that child my way and reminding me of what is truly important.  There are plenty of voices in this world that will do what they can to bring you down, no matter how wrong they are. There is also a voice within you, one made in the image of God, which knows exactly what you are capable of doing.  Above all else, allow that voice to be the one you listen to.  Allow her voice to dance into your path and remind you of who you are, even if it is during a worship service.  Because more than likely, that will be the message God wants you to hear.

Maybe the people in the deacon’s meeting will hear that child’s voice too.  I pray that some day, they will.

As a minister and chaplain, one would think I can come up with some comforting words to bring all this together, but I can’t.  As I sit with families of patients who suffered a cardiac arrest in the ED, I provide a presence knowing there is no way I can make things better.  I provide emotional and spiritual support for when they hear the words, “We did all we could. I’m sorry.”   My mom and aunt didn’t have that support. My aunt wished they had a chaplain.  Ironically, 15 years later, I am one of the chaplains who sit beside the family when they hear those words.  I stand at the patient’s ED room to pray for the medical staff and for the patient as they work to save a life.  My Dad didn’t have that prayer.  The only words spoken were, “We did all we could. I’m sorry.”

I miss my Dad.  I still don’t know why he had to die on my birthday.  Nobody has been able to tell me yet.  Before 1997, I celebrated my birthday with giddiness. I liked the attention.  It felt good to have people showing their love and affection to me.  Even that Thursday in 1997, I answered the phone at around 3:00 am, thinking that someone was wishing me a very early birthday.   A voice from within said to me, “Don’t say a word.”  Instead of a friend calling to wish me a happy birthday, it was my aunt. “Your mom and I are at MCV.  Your Dad had a heart attack tonight and he didn’t make it.  He’s dead.”  No. It wasn’t a birthday greeting.  I miss my dad.

That night my father was ready at the funeral home.  It was mostly family and close friends who were there.   On this day, I wouldn’t go in the room with him. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t going to see my lifeless father on my birthday. People understood and came into the waiting area where I stayed.  My cousin Gordon hung out with me most of the evening.  He helped me to laugh. I felt loved.  I will never forget that.

Ironically, I am a chaplain in the hospital where they did all they could.  I worked with the cardiac patients my first semester as a resident.  I was amazed at how far medical technology advanced in 15 years.  I saw patients who recovered from inconceivable odds because they had the best of the best doctors and tools.  I watched men and women who with newly transplanted hearts, walk down the hallway with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes.  I cheered them on. I stood in front of them and danced to make them move and laugh.  Then I sat beside their bed and prayed voices of thanksgiving, just weeks after speaking uncertain prayers for whenever a heart may come. When life was once uncertain, these patients started new lives and new births.  Every year on the anniversary of their transplants, the patients declare “It’s my birthday today!”  That day changed all the previous birthdays.

When I was born on February 27^th, the nurses told my Dad that I was a boy (I have 3 older brothers).  My Dad said, “Shove it back in there”.  He wanted a girl.  I was Daddy’s girl.  Everyone knew it: from my mom, to my brothers, to my dad’s buddies on the construction sites.  He worked construction all his years.  That’s why he had the most wonderful tan in the world.  Just don’t ask him to pull up his shirt.  A construction worker who fed a family of six, and he still managed to teach me a few things.

He taught me to fish with a bamboo pole and bobber on the pond in our neighborhood.

Nags Head Pier

He introduced me to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and fishing off the Nags Head Pier.  We started a Father’s Day tradition shortly after that.  Every Father’s Day, Dad and I got up early in the morning and went to Buckroe Beach to go fish off Buckroe Pier.  Sometimes we drove down to Nags Head for the day and fished off the Nags Head Pier.

When I did children’s sermons in the worship services, I always had a special message on Father’s Day Sundays.  I brought a fishing pole to the service and told the children about my fishing trips with Dad.  It was important that we spent time together.  Jesus Christ also spent time with his Heavenly Father.  I talked to the children about how important it is to spend time with our Heavenly Father, who will teach us so many things, most importantly – that we are special and we are loved.

Before 1997, I had birthdays when I was giddy and excited.  15 years ago, all that changed.  This day is not so exciting and celebratory now.  Right now, I can’t imagine it ever will be.  I am thankful for people who call me, wish me a good day, take me out, and reach out in ways that allow me to feel loved.  That means a lot in a way I wish I could tell you.  Know that throughout the day though, I am thinking about my Dad.  I have to because this day is no longer about my birthday.  It is about the day he died.

I will spend time with both my Fathers today.  I will spend time with my Heavenly Father.  I need to learn from God about my life and what it’s meant to become.  I haven’t done that in a while and God is sitting on the pier waiting for me to arrive.  I can see a fishing pole ready for me to cast and see what’s out there.  He has some things to teach me and I need to listen to Him.  I will also spend time with my Dad. Because I am working, I will be back at the place where he died and wonder how it happened and wonder what if a chaplain was there for support.  I will wonder if I can be that chaplain that my family and Dad didn’t have.  I want to make them both proud.

Dad, I miss you terribly.  You loved me, taught me, and showed me what it means to work hard and do what is right.  I wish so much you hadn’t died on my birthday.  But if there is anything good that came out of it, it is this.  You were taken to Heaven. You met God on this day and started a new life with Him, watching over me.  I see you standing beside God today and I know you are smiling.   The last 15 years have been hard, but I take comfort in knowing where you are.

Happy Birthday to both of us. May it be so.

All month long, I’ve been seeing my colleagues and sisters in ministry Facebook about the Martha Stearns Marshall Preaching Month for Baptist Women, a chance for churches to support women in ministry and give them the opportunity to preach in the pulpit.  This is the first February in several years I haven’t done that.  I didn’t have the opportunity to preach this year.

My roommate asked me the other day if I miss preaching.  I had to think about that for a few minutes and realized that I do miss it.  I miss studying the lectionary and writing down my questions.  I miss reading the commentaries and finding answers to some of those questions and more questions to ask.  I miss doing my mind maps to organize my thoughts.  I miss the moments when the sermon seeps through the keyboard and onto the screen, coming together in a way I never imagined.  I definitely miss getting behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings, saying a quiet prayer and then sharing the words that God asked me to speak.  Then when I am done, I sit down and let out a small sigh of relief, thinking I’ve done my best.  The rest is up to God.

So yes, I miss preaching.

However, I look at what I’m doing now. I am a Chaplain Resident in a Level 1 Trauma Center hospital.  I am doing something I’ve not done before – at least not to the work and depth I am doing now.  I am studying. I am researching. I am asking questions and searching for answers.  More importantly, I am bringing a message to those who are lost – not an evangelical loss, but lost in a place where they are afraid. They may be grieving, hurting, or searching for their answers.  I don’t know what I will face when I enter a room, but I still trust that God will guide me wherever I need to go.  The difference between being in the pulpit or being in the hospital room is hard to say.  I prepare what I can.  I quietly pray before I enter and lift up a breath of release when I leave.  The difference is I may never say a word when I hold a patient’s hand.  We may laugh, cry, or just sit in the quiet reflection.   There will be prayers of grace when a family watches their loved one take her last breath; or words of healing for the elderly man going into surgery.  I will hold a falling mother in my arms as she hears that her daughter died in the car accident or her son died by a gunshot wound.   I sit with a family when the doctors say the words they never want to say, “There is nothing more we can do.”

In the other part of this ministry, I will hug a nurse who experienced her first death and pray with the secretary who is having a difficult time at home.  I pray with the nurse whose patient hits too close to home for him and cry with the doctor who told the family, “There is nothing more I can do.”

When the day is done, I walk to my car wondering if I’ve done my best and then I leave the rest of it to God.

So yes, I am still preaching.

You were in my Prayers Today.  May God’s Love be with You Always.

When I opened up the card, a beautiful message greeted me.

You were in my prayers today, and I wanted you to know so that you will be open to grace that comes your way.  I asked that you feel the love of God like a gentle breeze when you need inspiration…that your faith remain unwavering through all of life’s challenges…and that hope be the burning light that always guides your way.

I got a card for a friend today.  I got that card for me.

And I plan on opening that card every day.

Gentle Breeze

The Light of Christ was shed by:

• Watching my favorite ballerina dance and seeing the surprise and love on her face
• Walking around Carytown with one who hasn’t given up on me
• Waking up in Richmond on Christmas Day
• Spending time with one who has seen me at my worst, heard my irrational thoughts, and still accepts me for who I am.
• Chaplains’ sense of humor
• Sushi Sundays
• Covenants and conversations over coffee, filled with grace and peace
• Roommates who took me and kitty in and gave me shelter, food, warmth, laughter and grace – without strings or judgment
• Reaching out to one who helped me through some tough times before, and is ready to do so again
• Hugs and prayers before worship
• Hugs and smiles after worship
• Finding light through my camera and seeing the beauty of Richmond
• Arianna’s, Crossroads, Kitchen 64, Starbucks and Wasabi – and the company present
• Unconditional love of the four legged kind
• The hope and belief that all of these folks have in me, and the love that is felt through and through
• Hope in the tulips that will one-day bloom on this path

Gracious God, I can’t thank you enough for giving me life.  You hold me in your hands and mold me into pieces of clay that are not yet complete. I have no idea what will be made of these pieces, but am honored that you continue to work in me and through me to make those pieces real.  Oh boy do you have patience in me. I am humbled by your grace and the gifts you have given above.  Those people are gifts and I am blessed by their spirit. Your light comes through them. They are people and moments that fill my cup and heart.  Undeserving of such love, thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for loving me through them.  Thank you for loving them.  Thank you for loving all.  Amen.

(c) 2011, Linda C. Moore

I read an article in the January issue of Guideposts Magazine that author Debbie Macomber has a daily practice of choosing one word to focus on as part of her meditation and devotion for an entire year.  Each word has changed and enhanced her life and relationship with God.   Since reading her article I have been wondering if I were to do the same thing, what word would I chose and why?  If it’s one that I will focus on for 365 days, it needs to be an important word that will have a lasting impact on my life and my relationship with God.

As I think of a word, I can’t help but reflect on 2011 and everything that happened.  The moments are abundant and thinking about them is overwhelming. Maybe if I chose one word to focus on, that will help to discern what I have learned and how I will mature.  Four words come to mind.  All of them are important in my life right now, but I recognize the need to narrow the list down to one.  Let’s see if I can do that.

Humility

I am humbled at the moments and places where God uses me.  God sets me in the precious arrival of life, the heart-breaking moment of illness, and the gracious stillness of death.  When I think that the next minute can’t top what I’ve encountered, God provides another breath-taking pause in my work and ministry.  It has been during the summer and fall where I have been learning to be a presence for God and share God’s word, even without uttering a sound.  I hold a hand, sit at bedside, or share a tear.  These have been moments of grace I will never forget. I walk down the halls of the hospital not knowing what I will face when I enter a patient’s room.  God knows and for whatever reason, has allowed me to enter in and be that presence.  I am humbled.

2011 also brought opportunities to encounter people who quite honestly, didn’t seem to know what the word “humility” meant – at least not in their words and actions. I hope that I am wrong.  This area is where I struggled the most.  How did these words and actions come out of people and how do I respond as a person of God?  I wish I could say I responded with dignity and grace but I can’t.  Sometimes I did, but many times I got angry or worse, I believed everything that was said to me or done against me.  I didn’t pray or think with humility as often as I could have.  Maybe that’s where I need to work on my humility and allow God to take care of what I can’t.

Trust

I have to be honest with this word. I lost trust. I lost trust in people.  That’s been one of the hardest results of 2011 and I am still coming to grips with that.  When I put my belief and trust in others, I was deeply hurt in ways that are still being revealed today.  People said they were going to be there but weren’t.  People said they had my back but didn’t.   For reasons I am not at liberty to say, I lost trust in this institution built by the people called the church.  It’s had to build trust back when you expect people and church to be who they claim to be.  What’s sad is that I can see and feel the anger in these words and that hurts.  I don’t like feeling this way and it’s going to take time to let go of the anger and begin to build trust again.  People are human and churches are filled with people, including me.  Recently, I realized just how hard it’s going to be for me to build trust in the church again.  I know it has to do with my being unwilling to be as unguarded as before.  I get that. That’s why I recognize this is an area for me to work through.

There is another area of trust I need to improve. When I first got back to Richmond, I developed a list of goals that would allow me to begin the healing process. One of those goals had to do with building God’s trust in me again.  I failed at what He needed me to do.  I need to regain God’s trust.  I shared this goal with a friend of mine who said, “God’s never lost trust in you.” I can hear him telling me that right now.  Those are words of assurance that are whispered over and over in my mind.  I know he is right but somehow I feel like I’ve let God down.  Did I break God’s trust or mine?

Compassion

Specifically, I am talking about self-compassion.  For those who know me, you understand I don’t have much of that.   It’s something I’ve had to work on for some time and it hasn’t come as easily or as quickly, as I would like.  Grace, mercy, forgiveness, kindness, and this compassion are not words that come in my daily practice, at least not when it comes to providing pastoral care to myself.

Dr. Kristin Neff, Associate Professor in Human Development and Culture at University of Texas at Austin, writes that self-compassion,  “involves being touched by and open to one’s own suffering, not avoiding or disconnecting from it, generating the desire to alleviate one’s suffering and to heal oneself with kindness. Self-compassion also involves offering nonjudgmental understanding to one’s pain, inadequacies and failures, so that one’s experience is seen as part of the larger human experience.”[i]  I immediately see the words: touched, open, heal, kindness, nonjudgmental, and understanding, and I recognize the importance of not only providing compassion for others, but for myself.  So why can’t I?  The bar I set for myself is extremely high, one that has been with me for a very long time.  Unfortunately, I have been unable to reach that bar. No matter how hard I try, that bar is always beyond the touch of my hand and heart and I suffer consequences beyond my understanding.  Yes, apparently this compassion is a work in progress as well.

Sacrifice

I come to the word “sacrifice” and I think of Jesus Christ and what He did on the cross.  I think about that night in Gethsemane, but I also think about all the nights before that.  Jesus sacrificed His life before He died on the cross.  Look at the life Jesus led and the sacrifices He made to speak out for God and live out the two commandments that hang above all other laws of the land.   Yes, Jesus died but He lived first and sacrificed so much, to do what is right.

(c) 2010, Linda C. Moore

I have done nothing to scratch the surface of giving back to Jesus. I have my times when I recommit my life, stand and write my covenant over again, sit and pray for forgiveness and find myself lost in wilderness looking for a way out.  At church, we had a contemplative service during the Advent season.  There was an opportunity to come forward for prayer and then take Communion from one of the ministers.  I couldn’t do it.  At that moment in time, I was overwhelmed and felt unworthy of taking in the sacrifice that Jesus Christ made for me.  I thought, “I hadn’t done anything to deserve this,” so I didn’t partake.

You can see my messed up theology at the moment.  It’s not what I normally practice.  It was an extremely vulnerable time for me. That night, I was overwhelmed with emotion after some very intense weeks between the hospital and classes.  I know better than to deny myself the invitation of Communion. I’ve served Communion to many over the years and the invitation comes for those who are at any point on the journey with Christ, including the vulnerable soul sitting within me.  Still, I know this moment was when I realized I could sacrifice much more for the One who sacrificed so much for me.

When I reflect on the words humility, trust, and compassion, they seem to have one thing in common … sacrifice.  When I sacrifice my time, devotion, heart, and journey for God, then the other words just might fall into their rightful places in my life.  When I surrender what is desirable to me, whether it is work, play, control, time, anger, or addiction, I can break down the barriers that keep me from strengthening my relationship with God and live by the commandments taught to me by Jesus: love God with my heart, mind, soul and strength; and love my neighbor as I love myself.  See those last words, “as I love myself”? I can possibly break the barriers that keep me from strengthening my relationship with myself.  That would be a bonus.

2012 is going to be a challenging journey to be on. It will be tough to get to the point of where I think I can be, but it is a sacrifice I am willing to make.

I come into these walls,
            Unknown of what the day will hold.
                        Uncertain of where God
                                    Will guide my path.

I have no idea
            Where I will go
                        Or what I will do,
                                    When I walk these halls. 
 
I know I am called here
            For those in despair,
                        For those in celebration,
                                    And for those in grief.
           
I am called to be here for You, 
            And I am humbled.
 
I am humbled by these moments.
            When I enter a room,
                         I am a presence, a healing touch,
                                    A comforting word, or a moment of grace.
 
I am humbled by these moments.
            When I celebrate life, mourn death,
                        Standing in awe of resurrection and I wonder
                                    How is this even possible?
 
I am humbled by these moments.
            As I enter these walls,
                        For You have asked me to. 
 
I come to You this day and ask for your healing touch,
            Your comforting words and your moments of grace;
                        To reassure me, hold me, and provide whatever I need,
                                    So I may be that presence for You.
 
I am humbled and ask You now;
            Hold me, guide me, and carry me
                        As I enter this day with You.  Amen.