ONE MORE WALK The Message of An Unexpected House Guest

We have a Praying Mantis that has taken up residence on our roof. I'm guessing our new house guest was drawn to the beetles, insects, crickets, and Blattodea- some of a mantis' favorite munchies- that may also be living up there. But quite honestly if we have anything remotely close to a "Blattodea" on our roof, I may have to move. Not that I have the first clue as to what one is. However, I could be wrong about all of this given the divine nature of Praying Mantises. It seems that in many cultures, these insect critters are a symbol of stillness and something of an ambassador for the benefits of meditation, getting quiet, and calming our minds. The Kalahari Bushmen in Africa go a bit further in worshiping Praying Mantis, considering them the oldest symbol of God. They believe that they often come with messages that may benefit and guide one's life. (https://usmantis.com)

Of course, I didn't know any of this when I took "our" Praying Mantis's picture. I didn't realize there was a divine messenger wanting to guide me on my way. I just did what I often do. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly took a picture. I tried to capture the moment, in place of enjoying and taking in a moment that could not fully be captured. I'm guessing this is all tied up in my confusion that possession and ownership seem somehow better than attention, care, and presence. If I own something and am able to contain it then I have it. It's mine. It's not lost, right? Then why do I always seem to misplace and lose my dang cell phone.... something I've owned and possessed for a long time?

I'm not sure why it's so hard to simply be present to wonder and mystery in place of feeling like I have to box them up and make them mine. I would love to just marvel at a beautiful sunset, take in the wonder of the Milky Way, delight in the joy of a child at play, hold the beauty of a flower with my eyes, or rest in an ocean sunrise without feeling the need to have evidence of them in a photo album. I would love to trust that what I take in with my heart, ears, touch, and eyes remains with me, and in me, whether I have a picture of it or not. And the thing is, I do. I have.

I still hold the memory of our youngest daughter hopping down some stairs, her ponytail, sticking straight up, happy as any child could be. Carrie Huneycutt, long gone to be with Jesus now, is still with me, unable to speak but stroking my hand in the nursing home. The bounty of flowers that flourished under a drain pipe for a season, a night sky of stars that cradled me and other campers to sleep on a ball field, another beautiful Fall on HWY 109, endless tables of delicious meals and life-giving conversations, holding the hand of someone I love, and a friend's artwork shimmering with light and hope are all still with me without any tangible evidence whatsoever that these too are mine. I have no pictures of any of them. It's only by some intention and a lot of grace that I have been able to take them in and be present to their wonder and mystery. Knowing this helps me believe I can do it again. Which is good because there are some things I want to be present to and take in now.

My dear, ever-grateful, oh-so-giving, good Dad is dying. Our youngest daughter, that happy child of 20 years ago, is engaged to be married. A dear friend's daughter is beginning a new round of chemotherapy, the denomination that nurtured and still supports me in my faith is in the midst of some excruciating labor, another friend is launching a new life-giving ministry, my good spouse, week after week, studies faithfully to preach the Gospel, there is all that I see and cry over on the evening news, there are flowers I hope to plant, a porch that is always calling my name, books I hope to read, conversations I want to keep having, places I would like to go and see, work I hope I can embrace, and cookies I want to bake. I want to be present for all of this. I want to care for and pay attention to the people, in all of this, that I hold and see. With God's help, I want to take it all in. I don't want to look away from any of it, even that which has already broken my heart. More than any pictures that may come from any of this, I want to show up for the wonder and mystery that's before me.

You may remember Jesus encouraging his followers not to worry with the following words:

".....do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:25- 26

These are not easy words to hear or read at a time when there seems to be nothing but cause for worry. And while our worry is sincere and very real, I've found myself wondering if this is also Jesus' way of encouraging us to be present to what's before us. In place of "worrying" about all that is happening and may happen, "Look at the birds..." by taking it in, and not looking away." We won't eliminate the suffering by doing so, but we will reinforce Christ's presence for good. I can't respond to something I choose not to care about. But I can lend my heart, prayers, words, and even hands and feet to something I choose to be present to and take in. I don't have to solve every problem, right every wrong, "possess" the answers, or "own" a plan. I just have to be open to the wonder and mystery before me. If I am, that's when "the message" and "guidance" may come. Rumi once said, "Listen to silence, it has so much to say." Perhaps that's part of what Jesus's words are encouraging here. As we take things in, are present to what's before us, find ways to simply be still, and listen we may discover faithful ways to respond to the worries of the world.

Perhaps it's the message "our" Praying Mantis is offering me, and possibly you, as well. Be Still. Take It In. "Are you not much more valuable to God?" Which is good because there are some things I want to be present to and take in now. Maybe there's something before you as well. With God's unwavering presence, attentive love, and help, may it be so. For all of us, may it be so.

Blessings, Leslee

ONE MORE WALK Deep Water Companions

In a season when the waters of this life seem especially deep, I'm mindful of those who have come before. With All Saint's Day only minutes behind us, it's not hard to be mindful of those who have faithfully navigated the treacherous waters of the past. How good that their witness is still with us, remaining ever vibrant and bright, to guide, encourage, sustain, and show us the way. How good that their words and wisdom have helped shape our own. How good that when all seems lost this Great Cloud of Witnesses is holding us fast, praying for us, pleading on our behalf, remaining steadfast in their attention, and care. Somehow knowing that these "Deep Water Companions" of love and support are with us, makes our next steps not only possible but better. It can help us trust that we too can faithfully navigate what's ever before us as well.

I often think about how Jesus encouraged this sort of trust with his disciples.

“Push out now into deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” he said. (Luke 5:4)

As I've thought about it, I wonder if the disciples had any idea of how "deep the water," a life with Jesus, would be. I wonder if any of us do. Did the disciples know this was what they signed up for? Did they? And if they didn't, how long did it take them to start second-guessing their decision and think about going back home? Luke never tells us. We learn about their lack of faith, how fearful they are, and how they have to learn the same lesson again and again. But we're never told how many times they wished for a "do-over".... a different choice that would still have them home.

But then...maybe we don't need to know... because the fact is... they never do go back home... at least not for good. Once they said, "Yes" to Jesus they ... amazingly.... stayed the course.... deep water and all. And by their witness, we're invited and compelled to do the same. On days, when the deep waters of life seem especially frightening, I try to remember the faithful men and women who have gone before me... faithful souls who have traversed raging waters I can't fathom or imagine. I think about the evil forces they had to contend with and battle, how weary they must have become in doing so, and the longing they surely had for safety, security, their families, and home. I think about how they too must have been frightened and overwhelmed and how somehow, they, like the first disciples, stayed their course. Their witness encourages and inspires my feeble and fearful one.

By all of it, I'm reminded again... the only reason I'm anywhere in my faith is due to those who have gone before me in the path of faith. I stand upon their shoulders and because I do, when the deep waters of the world swirl around me, they will not overtake me... nor you..... Their faithful witness of staying with Jesus holds us up and helps us believe that we too can stay the course... no matter how deep the waters may become. The “waters” may often seem deep and overwhelming for you, but by your faith and witness, others are watching and seeing what a life with Christ can be. If the weight of your faith seems sometimes heavy… perhaps even especially heavy now...take heart… it’s just some inspired soul wanting to stand upon your shoulders so that they might go where you lead.

There are many Saints I'm holding close, just now. I bet you're holding some too. As we do, may these Saints also help us to be mindful of the faithful witnesses right in front of us, ordinary souls who are making the next steps not only possible but better by all the ways they keep choosing to show up, not turn away, and offer what they can and may. I am so grateful that the "deep waters" of this life are not ones we share alone. I give thanks that by Christ's leading and help, we too can be a means of help and love to those who feel as if the deep waters are overtaking them. Such gifts, I believe, will help us all stay the course no matter how feeble and fearful our faith may be. May it be so. Trusting that Christ and The Saints are with us in and through it all, may it be so.

Blessings, Leslee

ONE MORE WALK Those Who Help Us Breathe

We live on a little piece of woods that I love calling home... that is until I meet one of the wood's creatures that is trespassing where I don't think he or she belongs. While making some workspace in our shed this afternoon, a small black snake greeted me coiled on the arm of the rocking recliner I was hoping to use for the workspace. Why was I creating a workspace with a rocking recliner in our shed? To quote Wallace Stegner, "There it was, there it is..." No matter how puzzling the location and decor of this particular workspace may seem, you might be happy to know that when said black snake showed itself, I didn't scream or screech. I've come a long way with such things. Instead, I simply said, "Oh dear." Which I thought was hospitable enough to send Little Black Snake on its way. But no. Sadly, oh so sadly, the snake decided instead to slither back into the recliner. To which I promptly responded by turning the recliner over, multiple times, shoving it out of the shed, back in the shed, and beating it half to death. So much for hospitality. I still have no idea if the snake is in the recliner or not. Which as you might guess, poses a problem. I mean what do I do now? Do I dare sit in the chair, waiting for the snake to reappear or can I trust that my poorly executed imitation of Jackie Chan was enough to scare the snake away? The whole thing left me asking the question I sometimes ask when I can't fix something: "What am I supposed to do now when I can't fix what's wrong?"

If you're like me, it's a question I hold for a whole lot more than a little trespassing snake. It's a question that surfaces most evenings at 7:00 pm after David Muir and Norah O'Donnell have said, "Goodnight." I mean really, what am I supposed to do about what's happening in Israel and Palestine or the people in Lewiston, Maine whose community is forever changed by yet one more mass shooting? How can I possibly help the people of Ukraine and Russia whose new horrific norm is war or fix what quite honestly is frightening in our nation's Congress? And even closer to home how can I help those whose stories and circumstances are vastly different from my own? I can't make well the dear friend with cancer, fix the broken relationship between two sons, heal the heart-wrenching division among beloved church members, or mend the breaches of those who have drawn lines in the sand. I can't fix any of it.

And yet, no matter how hard it is, or how impossible it may seem, my faith calls me to respond. My go-to as of late is to watch back-to-back episodes of "Murder She Wrote. In a world where the needs seem to far outweigh the fixes, there's something very reassuring about knowing Jessica Fletcher will have it all figured out in an hour's time. However, as comforting and delightfully numbing as this can be, I'm pretty sure this isn't the response my faith is asking of me. While looking away and disengaging from the awful brokenness in the world is enticing and very tempting, if we're someone who holds fast to, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength... And love your neighbor as yourself." (Mark 12:29-31 NIV) then turning away isn't an option. Do we need to take some time to let what we read, hear, experience, and see absorb? Is it okay to have days where all we can do is take care of what's in front of us, sit still, have moments when all we know to do is cry, converse with trusted friends about how helpless and discouraged we feel, allow some comforting distractions to have their way for a time, offer clumsy vulnerable prayers, and have nights where we can't sleep? Absolutely. I'm not sure any response without some gut-wrenching reflection, pause, sincere compassion, and concern can find its way to a faithful response. The kind of response Gary Moran invited his congregation, Central United Methodist, in Albemarle, NC to consider.

Gary is a much-beloved citizen and friend in Stanly County, North Carolina. As a retired high school English teacher, still active tennis coach, a favorite in community theater, a Sunday school teacher, book club host, and dedicated community volunteer, he's someone, at least in my observation, who holds fast to Mark 12:29-31. So much so, that when he was asked to lead the morning prayer this past Sunday at his church, he did so by way of first offering an invitation to the congregation. Gary took it upon himself to find the names of all of the hostages presently being held in Gaza. He wrote each of their names on a card and placed them on the altar in his church's sanctuary. Before he offered the morning prayer, he invited his congregation to come take one of the cards and begin praying for each of the hostages.

Have you ever found yourself letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding? This was my experience after hearing Gary share this with me and a friend this morning. It's a breath I've been letting out all day. Sometimes the weight of all that's wrong can be so heavy we unconsciously stop breathing, lose hope for helping, and forget that there is still room for a faithful response. We can't trust that there is still something we can do. It usually takes a wise and discerning someone who understands that we're not called to "fix" all that's wrong and horrid in the world, only to respond as faithfully, with God's help, as we can. It takes someone like Gary to remind us, that if you're a person of faith, prayer is one of the greatest adversaries to all that's wrong in the world and is among the most powerful resources faithful people possess. It takes someone like Gary to remind us of The Light that is ever shining even in the darkest of places. How thankful I am for This Light and Gary's witness to it. So much so, that I'm changing my question from, "What am I supposed to do now when I can't fix what's wrong?" to "How can I respond to the needs I see with what I have and who I am?" I don't know how this will go with my little black snake, but I do know that I am now holding Amilia Aloni, age 5, one of the hostages in Gaza, and Tricia Asselin's Family, (Tricia was one of those who lost her life in Lewiston,) close in thought and prayer. Thank you, Gary.

May The Eternal Light holding us all, show us the way. And on those days when we can't trust that The Light is there, may this Same Light send wise and discerning someones to remind us The Light is still there. May we let out any breath we've been holding and believe that it's so.

Blessings, Leslee