ONE MORE WALK What We Love Can Help

A while ago, I started making cookies. I mean a LOT of cookies; not just your "I think I'll make a batch of Chocolate Chip cookies tonight" variety, but "I think I'd like to start a small business where making cookies funds what I want to do" variety. Pretty crazy, right?

What's even crazier is that my cookies are not any award-winning, be sure to look for my blue ribbon at The State Fair kind of cookies. While I do like to experiment, (I tried pickles in a batch, once. The jury is still out.) I use a very standard dough recipe. So in terms of marketing, I don't think I offer anything that unique in the way of the cookies I make. I just love making cookies and am delusional enough to think I could sell some to possibly help some other people out.

And the thing is, I'm not even sure why or how I landed on cookies for this. I have memories of making Christmas cookies, baking cookies with children, satisfying late-night munchies with college friends by baking cookies in the community kitchen, and buying ready-made cookie dough that you simply sliced and baked. What a genius that was! All of which may have cued my pantry for a day when its shelves would be full of canisters and cookie-making stuff.

I have wondered instead, however, if my making cookies came to me more like Forest Gump deciding to go for a run one day...

"That day for no particular reason I decided to go for a little run. So I ran to the end of the road and when I got there I thought I’d run to the end of town and when I got there maybe I’ll just run across Greenbow County And I figured since I’d run this far maybe I'd just run across the great state of Alabama. And that’s what I did. I ran clear across Alabama. For no particular reason, I just kept on going." https://curatedquotes.com/forrest-gump-quotes

Maybe this is how making cookies consumed me as well. One day, for no particular reason I decided to make some cookies for friends. So I made those and when I finished with them I thought I'd make some cookies for some folks going on a mission trip, and when I finished those I figured I could make cookies for a church social, a golf tournament, and a fundraiser. And that's what I did. For no particular reason, I just kept going.

I guess it really doesn't matter how or when making cookies became something I love to do. What does matter is why. A friend once asked me, "Don't you get tired of making all those cookies?" And it wasn't until she asked me, I realized I don't. Making cookies has become a meditative practice for me. It wasn't intentional. Instead, it's become a time and place where something familiar and rote allows me to reflect and think about those things that are not. Putting my hands to work at something I don't have to think very hard about makes room for thinking about what is hard. It tends to be the time when I let what I've watched and heard on the news draw near; when I let the worries I carry for those I love surface more fully; when I try to hold more faithfully the unimaginable needs of others; when I become more honest about my shortcomings, missteps, and failings; and when I pray. It also tends to be the time when I dream and allow my imagination to have its way; when I become more intently mindful of my blessings and something particular that graced my day; when I think back over tender memories and all the people I hold so dear; and when, even though, "I'm doing something," I'm most quiet and still.

It's a lot to ask of simply making cookies, but that's the thing. It's not difficult, tedious, boring, and certainly not a chore. Nine times out of ten the cookies I make don't stay in our home. They find their way into somebody else's. And this is my deepest "why" for making cookies. It's one of those tangible means of grace that invites me beyond myself. It calls me out of any paralysis, self-pity, or self-absorption to get re-engaged with the world. If I'm feeling stuck and overwhelmed by needs and concerns I know that I can't fix, making cookies for someone- as crazy as it sounds- gets me focused on what I can do to help the world's needs, however small and inconsequential it may be. For you, it might be gardening, delivering Meals on Wheels, volunteering at a local food pantry, writing, singing in a community choir, tutoring a child at your local school, preparing a dinner for a group of dear friends, faithfully sending cards, visiting those who can't leave their home, attending a Bible study or book club, staying connected with friends and family, making new friends, exercising, or creating something out of nothing, just for fun.

And who doesn't need a little nudge from time to time to get re-engaged... to learn again that we all have something we love that we can share and give... that can make a difference... offer some encouragement.... bring about some change for good? Especially when the world keeps slamming us with heartache, devastation, and loss. Who doesn't need to be reminded that human beings are amazing problem solvers, especially when the needs are great? I think Anne Frank must have believed this when she once said, “How wonderful it is that nobody needs to wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” I bet she liked to make cookies.

I hope even now, the wheels are turning on how what YOU love might aid and benefit some needs in your community and the world. Loving something can both be a gift to you, and offer some good to the world, as well. Which, while may seem pretty crazy, is healing and transforming. If you feel like sharing how you're "improving the world" with something you love, and would welcome some support doing so, Serving Tree would love to offer her support your way.

Ah Friends, may the things we love continue to be the gracious catalysts for "the moments we improve our world." Anne Frank's life was certainly a witness to this. May ours too. Oh may it be so.

Blessings, Leslee

ONE MORE WALK "Together"

While I don't tend to hold a lot of dates in my head, I do remember December 14, 2012. My parents were traveling from Ohio to my sister’s home in South Carolina so that we could all be together a few days before Christmas. Before leaving for South Carolina that afternoon, I heard the horrific news of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. My parents, however, because of their traveling, had not heard the news and had no idea about a place called Sandy Hook or how it was now forever scratched into our collective memory as a country. They entered my sister's home with the joy and expectation that the Christmas season often brings: opening presents, sharing a wonderful meal, and the blessing of spending time with loved ones they had not seen in a long while. My mother especially, loved Christmas and the sharing of gifts. So convoluted and disruptive was my thinking, that I remember feeling bad and hesitant about spoiling her joy by sharing the news. I couldn’t hold together the feelings and emotions that such a day presented. I never wanted to open presents less. I didn't know how to embrace the joy that was ours while other families in Sandy Hook had some of their greatest joy ripped from them. And at the same time, I wanted to cherish the moments we were sharing as a family. Trying to hold the joy of being with my family and the horrific loss at Sandy Hook was impossible. It made no sense how so much wonderful and the worst possible kind of awful could be happening on the same day, in the same world.

And yet, this seems to be the way life moves and gives, simultaneously, joy and suffering happening at the same time, all the time. While one family celebrates a joyful reunion, another family's world is obliterated by a school shooting. Wonderful birthdays and anniversaries are happy, jubilant gatherings while at the same time, bombs are destroying Ukrainian homes, hospitals, and schools. Delicious meals are prepared and offered in the company of life-giving fellowship while at the very same moment, prompted by a war that will not go away, Middle Eastern families are blindsided by attacks and terror, losing not only their homes and livelihood but loved ones they will never share table fellowship with again. The harvest and bounty of summer gardens make way for canning, plentiful farmers' markets, and freezers packed full for winter, while at the very same time and season, in another state or country, earthquakes, fires, and hurricanes destroy crops, make water unattainable, and have children scrounging in the dirt for anything that looks like food. Honest, courageous, thoughtful, and respectful listening is being offered and shared in coffee shops, at bible studies, Sunday school classes, in book clubs, on college campuses, and among those who value their relationships more than they value being right, while at the same time those serving on our town councils, state legislatures, and Congress struggle to communicate, refusing to work with those "on the other side."

And if we don't feel this throbbing tension here, I do think we feel it closer to home. After the death of a loved one, we catch ourselves laughing at a funny memory only to feel guilty for doing so. We scream at our child for running out in the middle of the road while hugging them, with everything in us, for dear life. We growl at our spouse for not going to the doctor because we want to have more years together rather than a few. We take out a loan to pay for a child's college education or make travel possible in retirement. Or maybe we risk losing the love and favor of those we care for because we believe the need to speak up or act justly is vital to the well-being of all. Even close to home, we're asked to simultaneously hold joy and suffering, abundance and scarcity, blessing and fear. It's enough on some days to cause me to run home, lock my doors, and take up knitting.

But this is what I know. Life will always be full of both. Joy and suffering, abundance and scarcity, blessing and fear they all live in the same house. We can't get out of this life without knowing and experiencing their simultaneous tension and presence. No matter how much we may want to create lives of isolation, turn a deaf ear to the world's horrendous need, or circle the wagons in an effort to protect our joy and security, it can't be done. Oh, we can choose to be apathetic, self-centered, greedy, and uncaring. But even those of us who have built fortresses of self-preservation and protection will be affected by the frailties and suffering this world brings. None of us get a free pass. Whether it be something that visits us personally or happens to someone we may never meet or know, Suffering's room is right next to Joy's. And there's not a new house anywhere where it will be different.

Which of course is why all of this is so hard. If only we could hold joy without feeling guilty for all those who have no or so little joy at all. If only we could reside in gratitude without any awareness of what so many others have lost or may never have. Maybe if joy and sorrow were not happening, simultaneously all the time we'd manage better. "Today, I will enjoy my blessings. Tomorrow I will sob at what I saw on the news." Not very helpful, is it?

But what I do believe is helpful is the thinking of my friend, Carol Wilson. If I understand right, Carol believes that in place of wrestling to hold joy and suffering together, as if we're trying to shove them in a box, forcing them to fit, or pitting them against one another, prompting competing emotions, joy and suffering can be held together lightly, as they come, as they are. In place of trying to deny or negate one's joys in light of the world's sufferings, hold them both as they are. Rejoice, celebrate, and give God thanks for every good and wondrous blessing, and at the same time sob, grieve, question, and pray for every horror and loss we learn of and see. They are not in competition. Instead, when gently embraced together they nurture and feed the other. Our joys and blessings grant us the agency, energy, fuel, vision, and grace to respond faithfully to the many needs before us and the world. The world's suffering and need confront our apathy, stir our creativity for problem-solving, connect us with people and stories different from our own, help us get in touch with our own particular gifts that we may share, and deepen our desire for compassion and service. I think you could care-fully say, that they deepen our sense and awareness of how we understand blessing.

Holding joy and suffering, at the same time, will never come easy. Yet, if we do, choosing to hold them "together," as they are, as they come, we may discover that in place of paralysis, isolation, or being stymied by overwhelming feelings, we will become agents of healing, comfort, life, love, and grace. When I look back on December 14, 2012, what I didn't know then, that I know now, is that it was the last Christmas we shared with my mother. I try now to hold that day as it came, with suffering and blessing, joy and unimaginable loss. I do so mindful that every blessing my mother poured into me granted me the ability to not look away and care when a tragedy occurred. I do so ever mindful that God is holding this world and all of us in it. It's just as Corrie Ten Boom believed “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still. God holds all of us, each of us, and all that this life has to give. Every joy, every suffering, God is holding it all.

Blessings, Leslee

ONE MORE WALK "The Right People"

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I have days where my best-laid plans fall apart, moments where someone else's poor choice spills a mess all over my nice design for the week, and disappointments that leave me feeling drained, frustrated, and mad. They tend to be moments when I reach for the cuss words I keep stored in my back pocket for just such times as this. I'm willing to bet you have days and moments like this as well, but probably without the cuss words.

The thing is, these moments don't come often. My life is truly charmed with grace and blessing in abundance. But when they do come, they're infrequent and surprising enough to derail my normally sunny disposition. In other words, I whine and complain. That is until I remember "the right people." You know, the people gifted to our path that bring us to our knees in humility, remind us to "get over ourselves," and look again at the life we're so blessed to have and live. And they do so without any self-righteous judgments, chastising words, or indictments to stop whining. Instead, these "right people" are gracious, open, and thoughtful, embracing life with everything in them. They're not even aware anyone is watching how they live. Rather, they show us by unassuming example how to honor and treasure the breath we're so privileged to breathe.

But here's what I know: If ever there were people who deserved the right to complain, cuss, and scream, they would be it. They are people who have every reason to act differently than they do by what they must live into every day. Some have a debilitating disease that's working hard to rob them of their mobility. Some have an incurable illness, ever threatening the length of their life. Some have had their hearts torn to shreds by the unexpected death of someone they love, or by a death they had to watch, come. Others are in the midst of living with a pending loss, an excruciating reality that makes it hard to breathe and can't be described, so unthinkable is its terror. Others still are the family, friends, and caregivers,... loved ones,... who faithfully carry and hold all that the rest of us never see.

And yet, in place of being defined by what they've lost or are losing these "right people" choose to live. They refuse to be defined by circumstances that make their lives difficult, challenging, and on some days unbearable. They embrace, instead, the opportunity to take a boat ride, with friends, even though their limiting mobility makes it challenging to get on and off the boat. In the midst of learning the need for more cancer treatment, they plan a tailgate party for the upcoming Clemson-Wake Forest football game with those they love. They happily support a friend's small business efforts while graciously caring for the ongoing needs of many others. They create a foundation in memory of their beloved son to help some older adults have decent housing. They have conversations about life though death is lurking, keep giving and sharing even as life keeps taking, and offer compassion, help, and wisdom when their own hearts are breaking. They sing songs of hope and love even as others dismiss them and their life as wrong. They stand up for others when their dog tired and just want to go bed, show up for someone hurting, and listen to the pain of another when their own pain is tender to the touch, and they see those whom the world has forgotten, when they themselves have been overlooked. They are "the right people" not because they're better, smarter, richer, or have more faith. Rather, it's their hard-won, often tedious, daily choices that make them "right." Regardless of their circumstances, they get up every day, embracing life as a gift not to be taken for granted.

Are these dear souls perfect, without a bad day or maddening moment to their name? No. Are their horrendous challenges and overwhelming circumstances to be celebrated as something God given to make them stronger, wiser, and somehow better for the pain they and their loved ones endure? ABSOLUTELY NOT! Do they sometimes scream, "WHY GOD?!," cuss, snap at those trying to help, feel defeated and discouraged, and sob with deep pain and sadness? Yes. Yes. Are there some whose dire circumstances are so great that they remain bitter, unhappy, angry and alone? Tragically, oh so tragically, yes. They are all as human as the rest of us. But "the right people" I'm thinking about have one difference. They have discovered and found a way to hold onto the gift that life is.

These "right people" know life's fragility in some ways we may not. In place of their circumstances limiting them, their vision is bright and understanding keen. They take very few things for granted. They are ever curious about the world around them, are grateful for every gift, and delight in every wonder that greets them. The spider spinning her web is as miraculous as a new galaxy. They love the people around them with abundant intention and joyfully welcome new friends to the table, believing God has just granted one more gift their way. They have a deep desire for justice, a hunger to learn, and are determined to make a difference for good. The stories of both friends and strangers are ones they want to know. Life, and all that's in it, is sacred to them in ways that I often forget and see. And it's this, that makes them, "right."

And by their witness, I'm called back to what I already know. I too can and want to be about all of these things. Life IS sacred to me and to you, as well, I bet. We know and see all of what these "right people" do. We've only perhaps misplaced it by upsetting disappointment and paralyzing need. We just need somebody, "right," to come along and remind us again of the sacred gift of life before us. Mercifully, they've come. They're here. Look around. Even now there is someone "right" before you. ... before me. Better still, maybe you're the one being "right" for another. Maybe I am. I sure hope so. Life is too sacred and good for us not to be "right."

Blessings, Leslee