Christian Potpourri

The newsletter I just sent out is one of the hardest newsletters I’ve ever written, because of too much news. Too much gloom and doom on the markets. Too much gloom and doom with the jobless and impending job losses. Discouragement is the drink the world is serving right now and I have drunk too deeply.
I refuse to imbibe any longer. I am the daughter of the King. This world is not my home. I have drunk from the cup of forgiveness that has been poured out from the Cross. I wear a crown. I have been given a place to live that so supersedes this earthen orb, it defies the imagination of any mortal man.
I have a place at God’s table. I will never be in need for He is my Father. I will never be hungry or thirsty.
I have a place in God’s kingdom. He has prepared it for me in advance of my coming, and I will live there forever.
I have a place in God’s heart. Though I do not yet walk streets of gold, I am in His heart. He loves me.
There is nothing that can separate me from His love because of Christ in me. Ever.
So while I remain in the world I am not of it.
I will seek to glorify Him. I will not let the world rob my joy.
I will seek to honor Him, though the world may not be willing to do the same.
I will entreat others to hear His message.
I will not let earthly cares destroy my witness.
I will stand firm on the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Alpha and the Omega.
I will not be moved.
By the power of Christ in me.

He walked along the fringes, keeping as far away as he could, but his cries told a different story. He was calling out to us in his isolation. We would hear him from time to time as he traversed the neighborhood, on the prowl for whatever came his way.
When he came close enough for us to see how skinny he was, how thin, we began to put food out for him. He was walking the fringes but he was also skirting starvation.

We watched him from the screened porch and speculated over his origins. Had he been dumped? Probably not. Too suspicious of people, too feral in nature. So were there other brother and sisters out there in the woods? If so, they had traveled an opposite path.
We would see him peeking at us over the day lilies at the edge of the woods, his keen green eyes a match to the green of the grass, his black coat giving him the look of a panther on the prowl. But he wasn’t just hungry for food. He was hungry for love.
Weeks and weeks we talked to him; we told him he was a pretty cat. We set the food bowl closer and closer into our territory, slowly edging him toward civilization. I would walk tentatively over to him from time to time as he ate. When he retreated I would back off, hoping he would see I was not the enemy.

More weeks passed, and he finally graduated to eating on the uncovered deck next to the screened porch.
Soon after I would put the bowl within arm’s distance and sit while he ate, talking to him. I would inch the bowl closer and closer each time I sat with him until one day he was so close I extended my hand and stroked his head. He didn’t display much surprise, but he let me know he enjoyed it. From that moment on he was a goner; I’ve never seen a cat respond so quickly to the human touch, nor become so trusting where there had once been suspicion. Every so often a noise or an unfamiliar movement will give him a suspicious stance, but it’s quickly dispelled. The cat has fallen in love with us….and we with him. We wooed and the cat responded. Now the old cat nature is gone and a loving, wonderful nature has taken its place, and the cat will never be the same.

Isn’t it funny what love will do? Jesus talked about love a lot, about loving your neighbor as yourself. When the disciples showed some confusion
over what Jesus meant by ‘neighbor’, Jesus set them straight with the parable of the Good Samaritan: everyone is our neighbor. I don’t
know how the disciples felt when they heard that, but sometimes I find it easier to love stray cats and roving raccoons than my neighbor.
Yet I ask…what would the world be like if we wooed our neighbor to Christ with a love like we showed to that feral cat? What would my little world be like? How would it change?

So, what am I missing here? If I do not love my neighbor I’m missing Christ’s point and His admonition to love others. I am also missing out on the opportunity to witness how Christ can change lives, human lives, for the better.
They say cats have nine lives. I only have one. I’m going to pay more attention to the fringes and ask the Holy Spirit to help me listen for the cries. Someone somewhere is walking along the spiritual outskirts waiting, and wanting, to be wooed.

And with God’s help, I will respond.

Over the past few weeks my thoughts have been on our Gulf Coast and the devastating consequences of the oil spill. And I must tell you, in honesty, there have been times I have collapsed into weeping.
Now I know I’m not the only one who has struggled with emotion over this. But is has been a strange, yet understandable occurrence to talk to people only to have them say, “I can’t think about it. I can’t look at the pictures. I know what it would do to me.” Well, I did look and that’s why I’ve been such a mess at times. Still am, at moments.
Then I think about God and His plan for us. In my moments of deep sorrow over man’s ability to taint everything he touches, I remember that it was not God, but man, who devastated what God wanted to give us. It is not God’s intention that things be corrupted and destroyed; it is the natural, sinful part of us, and we will continue to be destructive until time is no more. I should not be surprised. It’s what man does.
So when I see the awful pictures of dead birds and sea life, when I hear of the lives impacted by the economic toll of the oil spill, I let my mind wander back to the Garden of Eden and I remember the promise that all will be restored. I think about heaven and what it will be like, a paradise brimming with life, love, joy and worship of the Creator, Almighty God, and His Son, Jesus Christ, Restorer and Redeemer. I don’t know what it will be like, but I do know there will be no more crying, no more pain, no more suffering; the old will have passed away and the new will have begun. And it will last forever.
Even though we have the hope of heaven, we cannot live on this earth and not sorrow, sooner or later, over large scale injury of any kind. And I imagine that if you’ve pushed the thoughts and pictures away, it’s only a temporary escape. I’m not encouraging you to face it if you’re not ready. But there will come a time. And I want you to know I will be praying for you. Let us pray for each other. Let us pray for those on the Gulf Coast. Let us pray for our waters, our shorelines, and our wildlife. Let us pray for those who are trying so hard to stop the leak. Let us pray for those who are trying to save the wildlife and clean the beaches.
Let us thank God for the beauty, the treasure He has given us in this world.
Let us thank Him for His promise of eternity, of restoration, for those in Jesus Christ.
I’m so grateful, so thankful that I have that hope.

My husband, Bobby, and I have been talking, as much as we’re able, about what’s happening to the coast and in the Gulf of Mexico. So far he’s the only one with whom I can actually talk. Everyone else says, “I can’t talk about it”. And I understand. To talk about it, to open up to it, is to knowingly allow yourself to become consumed by grief. I let my barrier down and at times it has consumed me.
I watched a newsclip from WEAR today. A man broke down and cried. He has lived on Pensacola Beach all of his life. He recognizes that the beach the way we’ve always known it, is probably gone forever. I felt a kinship with him, and I cried. I cannot imagine looking out at the Gulf every day, walking the shoreline, seeing the impact. If I’m in such distress, imagine this man’s.
In my search for something positive to allay the grief, I’ve looked up other oil spills, hoping to find some consolation, some relief in the fact that yes, eventually things get better. Not perfect, not back to normal, but better. And it does. I’m looking for hope. And I’m talking to God a lot. And I’m praying. The following email, sent to me by my Mom, is something I have found to help:

At 2 p.m. Sunday, June 6, the 81st Annual Blessing of the Fleet will begin. As tradition stands a wreath remembering those fishermen who lost their lives at sea will be dropped into the water signaling the beginning of the blessing parade. Most Reverend Robert P. Morin, Bishop of the Biloxi Diocese will then bless each boat and its crew one by one for a safe and bountiful season.

As this takes place we invite congregations across the Seashore District and the Mississippi United Methodist Conference to join our Catholic brothers and sisters in prayer for our seafood industry and our community as we face the uncertainty ahead. Use this prayer in your Sunday worship service or take a moment and join wherever you are at 2 p.m. to pray.

May we be bold to pray…

For our seafood industry, especially the fishermen and their families
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For those businesses whose livelihood depends upon the Gulf
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For our local, state, and national governments as they guide the recovery
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For BP
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the families of oil rig workers who lost their lives and those who’ve lost their employment
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For our Gulf Coast community as we face this uncertainty while still recovering from Hurricane Katrina
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For our neighbors in Louisiana who already face the devastation of this disaster
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the wisdom to use the gifts and graces that you have given to be a part of the solution.
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.

O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures. Yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great. — Psalm 104:24-25 NRSV

Let us pray,
Eternal and loving God, we pray with humility this day as we confess our failure to protect this wonderful world given to us as home for this span of our lives.

By the mighty wind of your Holy Spirit, move once more upon the waters, giving capacity to those who work to stop the gushing of oil far beneath the surface of the Gulf of Mexico.

Protect your creation through us, giving us wonder, wisdom and will to be faithful stewards of everything you have given in the natural world to grace our lives.

We do in this moment consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air. Through Jesus Christ, we offer our thanks and praise to you, Mighty God, Three-in-One. Amen

(This closing prayer was offered by Bishop Hope Morgan Ward, Bishop of the Mississippi United Methodist Conference immediately following news of the oil spill.)

Dear Readers, I am filled with untold grief for what is going on in our Gulf of Mexico. I have tried so hard to remove myself from news and pictures, only to be reminded that I need to face what is going on. Truth is, I’m trying to face it and it’s not going very well. I’m not finding any kind of balance at all. There are some kinds of grief that are overwhelming.
When 9/11 happened I remember feeling like the world had stopped. I grieved not only for the people who died that day, I grieved for our country and what we had lost: our innocence in thinking nothing like that could ever happen. Thank God it hasn’t happened again.
Katrina happened and I cried and cried as I watched the human toll and the suffering of so many. I grieved for what I thought our country should be and was not: shelter in a storm. Now that storm is over.
Now this horrendous oil spill. I see the toll on our beautiful beaches and shorelines. I see animals slowly suffocating from the sludge-like ooze. I see water turning the color of orange, and red. And I am iinconsolable because I don’t see it stopping. Why can’t they do something?
I talk to people and they say, “I can’t watch it. I can’t take it.” But what’s going to happen when we all HAVE to look? It’s going to be such an awful picture. What we’re seeing now is nothing to what we’re going to see.
I don’t know why I’m writing this tonite. I just don’t really have anybody to talk to. Nobody wants to hear it. No one wants to get upset. I really do understand. I wish I could not look. I wish I could NOT see. But I feel it so intensely. The beautiful Gulf Coast and Gulf of Mexico is no longer beautiful. It has become an ugly, ugly animal graveyard, and there are more and more graves being dug because there is no end.
Dear Lord, I know you are in absolute control. I love and trust You.
But I am in distress.