Share your Lenten Disciplines with us during the 40 days of Lent
When I attended the Good and Beautiful God conference this past weekend, one of the speakers (Matt) gave us a list of spiritual exercises that he called “soul training.” One of the exercises was the concept of “De-Accumulating”. Matt explained that in order to grow in our faith, we must simplify our lives. He challenged us to get rid of the things in our lives that we don’t need, don’t use, or could do without. It gave me an idea. Why not give something of mine away to a stranger every day during Lent? I am not suggesting I sort out things in the basement and call Volunteers of America for a pick up. Rather, I decided to challenge myself to find something that could be very meaningful or beneficial to someone, to pray about who that might be, known or unknown to me, and then to journal my daily experience. On Wednesday, the first day of Lent, I am going to take my bicycle down to the Cabbage Patch. I’m guessing there is a child there who could ride a bike to the Patch each day after school rather than walk. I don’t know who that person is, but I am going to be praying about it for the next day and can’t wait to see what God does with my discipline.
“To a father growing old, nothing is dearer than a daughter."
Euripides (Greek Playwright, c. 480 BC)
I always wanted grandparents, but I never had them. I come from a line of “old parents”. My mother was almost 40 when I was born, and her mother before that was 48 when mom was born. Mom was the 5th child in a 20-year span. I never knew my grandparents. She never knew her grandparents. I think you miss something when you aren’t able to experience that special wisdom that grandparents give.
Paul adored my father, but in his last years, dad was not terribly fun to be around. He sort of lost that thing we think of as “the filter.” You know, the filter that keeps you fromsaying what your mind is thinking. Gone! And so I would have to put up with him blurting out things like “boy, there are a lot of fat people in this restaurant!” loud enough that everyone could hear. I learned to duck when I saw this coming. But the kids, well, they were young and didn’t really understand that this man was a wonderful soul in earlier days, a patriot who served his country in the Pacific in WWII, loved America and “the way things were”. How I wish they could have known the man who sailed with me in California, golfed with me, traveled to Presidential Museums and even art galleries and played a great game of gin rummy (I never could beat him!) .
I hated the last impressions Chase and Paul had of my father. Sometimes I wanted to scream “this is NOT who he was!” My biggest regret is the day that Paul left for boarding school. He came in dad’s room to say goodbye, but dad, being in so much pain, ordered us out of his room without even a goodbye. Paul was upset, and I tried to explain that it was “the pain talking”. But Paul, at 14, was too young to really get this. All he knew was the harshness of his grandfather’s voice and the reprimand to leave. Dad died two weeks later. Paul’s goodbye with dad is something I can’t quite shake.
Caring for dad towards the end was my duty, and I was blessed to be there for him. At this point, he was in the hospital. I would rise each morning around 6 a.m. and head for Baptist East, coffee and paper in hand. It was our quiet time, just the two of us. At first, he was still lucid, knew who political figures were, talked about the day’s news, and even mustered up a sense of humor, chiding Dave and me daily. But then one day he just stopped talking, and I had to read his feelings and his needs through his eyes. I pulled the big hospital Lazy-Boy right up next to his bed and sat and held his hand during the day. He seemed to be awake a lot, just looking at me. At one point, I talked to him about dying, which was monumentally hard for me, and he turned his head away from me. He was afraid, and I knew it. That made it all the more difficult.
My parents were raised in California in the bay area and met at a tea dance when they were in high school. In later years, their favorite song was “Moon River”. I know it by heart (remember “Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”) because I have heard that song my entire life. And so, on my father’s last night, after Dave and Mom said goodbye, I stayed with him, and sang to him the words he loved best. When I got to the words “wherever you’re going, I’m going your way”, I was crying a river.
I wasn’t there the next morning when he died. I overslept for the first time, and arrived about 15 minutes too late. I think he did not want me there to watch him go.
“History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again”.
Maya Angelou
Last evening I attended a fundraiser for The Healing Place, a nonprofit organization working with the homeless, offering recovery for those with addictions, and helping restore lives. The keynote speaker was Liz Murray. You may be familiar with her. She is an inspirational speaker whose life story was documented in the movie “From Homeless to Harvard” in 2003. She is a powerful speaker, and I found her story so overwhelming I had to go home and allow what she said to settle in my mind and heart.
Liz shared with us her story of growing up with two drug-addicted parents. Her mother contracted AIDS and died. Her father moved to a homeless shelter, leaving Liz and her sister to fend for themselves. She was homeless by age 15, living on the streets, in the subways, in doorways, eating from a dumpster or whatever she could find. It was painful to hear, and her description of her life as a child of cocaine addicts created vivid images in my mind (and worse, in my heart).
Her story is an incredible tale of courage and perseverance. She stated that she always “imagined a life better than her own”, and that simple image sustained her and gave her the courage to persevere. Liz decided she would rise above the cards she had been dealt as a child, and so she did, applying to the Humanities Preparatory Academy at age 19 and graduating from high school in just two years. Liz won a full New York Times scholarship for needy students and was accepted to Harvard University. She left Harvard later for Columbia in order to return home and care for her father, who was dying of AIDS. After his death, she later returned and graduated from Harvard.
This is not the kind of courage that most people experience. She doesn’t mention faith, but she does talk about a mentor, the one gentleman who believed in her and gave her a chance at life by admitting her to the Humanities Prep Academy. As I peer around the room (there must have been 500 or more people there), it is clear her story touches everyone.
I return home, thinking about this evening, and wondering how my own meager courage can stack up to hers (it can’t, but that’s okay!) I can’t compare my life to Liz, but her talk does cause me to spend time in thought: in what ways can we be courageous? The first thought that comes to me is taking the fork in the road, knowing the world is following a different path. Or occasions when we know we need to apologize, but mustering up the courage to do so is really hard. I think of times when you need to stand up for someone, when you absolutely know it is the right thing to do, but it sure would be easier to stay silent.
And then I begin to ponder bigger things. I reflect on the courage it takes for a parent to wake up each morning knowing they have lost a child. The courage it takes to battle cancer with grace, as I have witnessed of late with several friends. The courage it takes to defend our country, thousands of miles away. How can my courage even begin to come close to that? The answer is, it doesn’t. But I rest in the knowledge that I have grown and become a more compassionate person by being in the midst of those who have greater courage than me.
“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity”.
Waiting, at times, feels like eternity. You know the feeling. Waiting for the phone to ring; the news that a loved one arrived safely at her destination. Waiting to hear if the college that your child is dreaming to attend sends the big envelop in the mail. Waiting for the bid on the house that is for sale. Waiting to hear if your child made the team, or got elected, or was nominated for something or another. Waiting to hear back from the doctor on a test result. Waiting tests our patience. Sometimes waiting tests our faith.
We’ve been waiting one week now to hear the test results of our friend Beth. She had surgery to remove a brain tumor. I have been turning this over and over in my mind today. Knowing won’t change the outcome, and the outcome is already determined, in fact, was already determined before she even had the surgery. But still, we are anxious and worried. I keep a positive outlook on this, remembering what a friend once said: “don’t borrow trouble”.
_________________________
I didn’t finish this post last night, and now I know there was a reason. The “end of the story” came this morning when I had coffee with Mimi, our brave and courageous friend who is battling cancer. She arrived for coffee at Java looking bright and happy, a twinkle in her eye, and an energy that defies the cancer within. We talked about trivial things, the kids, old friends, travels, and then moved on to the more serious things. She is the picture of faith and courage. She states, “God has seen me through this thus far. I know that God will carry me through whatever comes next.” Mimi inspires me.
My lesson today is that I realize that Mimi is not waiting. She is living…every moment, every day, every small thing. We leave our coffee and head to St. Francis for Tuesday Bible Study, and on the way in, Mimi stops to observe the first blossom on the dogwood. She seems to appreciate it in a way that makes an impression on me.
I leave our time together with a pledge to myself that I will work hard to stop my “waiting”. If I can remind myself of the most important part of the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy will be done”, perhaps I can rid myself of the anxious waiting for the little things in life.
Before we leave bible study, Mimi quietly hands me something from Thomas Merton that she carries with her. She says she reads it daily and it sustains her. It reads:
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 that 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 will I 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"
We still don’t have any news from Beth, but I am going to try and rest in the knowledge that God will walk with us through anything. Tomorrow, I am going to focus on things other than waiting.
“I know God won't give me anything I can't handle; I just wish
He didn't trust me so much”.
Mother Teresa
It’s Saturday night, and I have been promising Curtis (our Sexton at church) that we would come and help him cook and then go and feed the homeless, but something (as in “social” or “travel”) always got in the way. But tonight was different, and we had no plans, no reasons not to go. So I asked Dave if he wanted to go to church and cook with the crew and then go downtown to the Salvation Army center, where Curtis feeds the homeless every single Saturday night. It’s a plan.
I admit that I am very uncomfortable with this plan, but I know from experience that the very things I don’t want to do turn out to be a blessing, so with a wing and a prayer, I trust in God that this, too, will be rewarding. Cooking was fun. I met two darling girls who are seniors at Sacred Heart who have been doing this for service hours for two years. And I met another young man, a sophomore at UK who comes home to Louisville every weekend to serve the homeless. These teenagers have such a heart for service and do it so naturally. I, on the other hand, am awkward and uncomfortable and frankly, a tad scared.
We drive in a caravan to the Salvation Army on Brook Street and the first thing that surprises me is the number of people gathered outside the building, all waiting for their Saturday night meal. There must have been 200 people. Instinctively, I feel fearful, wondering if someone will do something that might make me feel uncomfortable. I am totally out of my element here, and wondering why I am here. Is there some lesson I need to learn?
Curtis has everything totally organized. It runs like clockwork. The set up, our jobs, and the rules are all in place. My job is to hand out candy at the end of the line. I am not surprised at the looks or demeanor of the people. Their clothes are mismatched and dirty; some are talking to themselves. I observe a few whose hands shake; Dave comments later that he was very troubled seeing the women. But there are many things that make an impression on me. First, I see the love that Curtis has for this ministry. He calls them together for prayer and I hear him shout, “I love you!” to them as he calls them in for dinner. I also see their respect for Curtis and I know what he has built over the years has made a huge difference in their lives. They call him “Chicken Man”, due to the fact that he brings fried chicken every week.
While in line, giving out candy, I am struck by two things. First, the people are very respectful. They say “yes m’am” to me and thank me for my time. A few are more emphatic, saying “God bless you for coming to serve!” Secondly, some of them are really funny. One guy says “no” to the candy because “he don’t want to lose any more teeth” while his buddy does a belly laugh and says “at least YOU HAVE TEETH”. I have to admit laughing out loud. The line is longer than usual, according to the volunteers who have been there for a while, and I begin to worry that we will run out of food. I have to remind myself that Jesus fed 5,000…. And while we did run out of macaroni and cheese, there was more of everything else, enough for seconds, and interestingly, my very last Snickers bar went to the very last man in line.
More importantly, I realize they, like me, have pride, no matter how dire their circumstances. That is why they are genuinely thankful for our service. And while their circumstances may be entirely different from my life, I am acutely aware that their hearts are no different than mine.
About 15 years ago, I
received a letter asking me to join a bible study group at St. Francis.I remember being a bit surprised,
because bible study at an Episcopal Church is a bit of an oxymoron.But the two women who were co-leading
were women I knew fairly well, and it seemed like a good idea.I assumed it would be pretty low key,
nothing like the “bible thumpers” I conjured up in my mind.
The study, in fact, was
really good, and this Catholic-turned-Episcopalian who had never studied
scripture was pretty mesmerized.Our group evolved over the first year and by the second year there were
seven of us.We asked our
Associate Rector, who was new to St. Francis, if he would come in and lead us
for 6 weeks, since we found we were getting a little off track being on our
own.We had no idea what it would
lead to at the time.He was great,
and made us tackle things like “praying out loud” and teaching us that Satan
was indeed real, and not always a guy wearing red horns.
The bible study was so good
that at the end of the year, he told us he was going to start a Tuesday Bible
Study for the entire parish.In
addition, he informed us that WE would be the leaders of the break out groups.That started something short of a small
war.First, we didn’t want to be a
part of a larger group, and furthermore we didn’t want to break up our circle.We’d been together two years and were
really getting to know each other.Secondly, we asked, how in the world would we ever be able to “lead” a
small group in study?We argued
and pouted (well, I was the one who pouted) but in the end, we knew we had no
choice, because over 75 people had already signed up for the fall.Today, it is going strong, with over
125 people a year.
As for our group of seven,
we decided we would continue to meet on a separate day of the week, select a
book or bible study, and tackle it on our own.So, throughout the years, we’ve met once a week, and we’ve
studied numerous books.Because we
are all so different, we bring different perspectives and insights to the
studies, and the learning experience has been wonderful.
Growing up, I didn’t have
any sisters, something that sets me apart from the other six women in our
group.I am also the one with the
“little family” that the group has heard once
too often from me.How I
long for a life with brothers and sisters and cousins and grandparents, all
within a mile or so of each other, all in the same town!But our group, affectionately labeled
“The Thumpers” by one of our husbands, has been there for me countless times
over the years.When I fell down
the front steps and broke both my wrist and my elbow, on the very day we were
moving into our current house, they were there, all six of them, the morning
after, unpacking boxes, arranging my closet, putting dishes away in the kitchen
and books in the bookcases.It was
almost worth the cast on my arm!When my brother died unexpectedly, and then my father a year later, they
were there, without being asked.Suddenly, dinners appeared and arrangements were made and I didn’t have
to think about a thing.But more
importantly, we are there for each other emotionally.All the time.We have all walked the walk of losing someone; for most of us, we have
lost one or both of our parents, two of us have lost a sibling, one has lost a
child.We have supported each
other in so many ways:the
challenges of an illness, child raising, parent caretaking, job changes, and
more.Every week we end in prayer
for one another.It was really
uplifting to know that these six friends are with me in spirit every day.
The part about the Thumpers
that I love is how different we all are.None of us grew up together, in fact, we are different ages, from
several different towns, different personalities and strengths that all come
together to complement one another.Since the world can be a pretty mean place to live, its nice to have a
group of friends where you never have to worry about being judged.More importantly, we have a trust that
binds us.
I always wanted a sister
growing up.God made me wait a
pretty long time, but in the end, He gave me six.
“The best
remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere
where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only
then does one feel that all is as it should be, and that God wishes to see
people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As long as this exists, and
it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for
every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that
nature brings solace in all troubles”.
Anne Frank
After a trip to Chattanooga to see Paul, our son, Dave and I
continued on to North Carolina (to our home in the mountains) and I was so
surprised by the spring blooms.The skies were cloudless, sunny, and with the temperature near 60
degrees, we took a long walk with our dogs, Mason and Bailey.It was fun to just slow down, in
particular after such an emotional weekend. We noticed the new buds on all the
trees and bushes. There are tiny purple flowers in the grass, the rhododendrons
have huge green buds, and my Nikko blue hydrangeas are budding on old
wood.The waterfall by our house
could be heard from our front door, and I concluded there must have been a
great deal of rain of late.
Dave and I have been preparing the past few days to lead the
Sunday Adult Education Hour at St. Francis this coming week.The book we have been studying on
Sundays is “The Good and Beautiful God” by James Bryan Smith (referenced in
earlier blogs).This Sunday’s
topic has to do with “Slowing Down”. I have focused intently on the message
this week, deliberately challenging myself to stop and appreciate the little
things each day.
Yesterday afternoon, after returning from our walk, I stopped to
check on my climbing hydrangea.I
reflected how impatient I have been with this flowering plant. The first year I
planted it, late August, it was only a 6-inch stalk.It only grows about 12 inches the first year, maybe another
2 to 3 feet the next year, and then the third year it takes off, adding another
10-15 feet. The old saying about
the climbing hydrangea is “the first year they sleep, the next year they creep,
the third year they leap!” This summer will be the third year, and I cannot wait
to see the progress of my hydrangea as it continues to climb the wood pillar to
reach the peak of the roof.Yesterday,
I read in our book, “The Good and Beautiful God”, about the old oak tree, how
it grows for only two months a year and then spends the next 10 months
establishing its roots and sustaining its growth.I see the connection between this and our spiritual
life.James Bryan Smith states
that periods of silence and solitude allow us to gain strength to act in wisdom
“in the hustle and bustle of a busy world”.He states, “In slowing down, we can hear the Holy Spirit
whisper that we are loved, and then we begin to reflect he glory of the Christ who
is within us.”
"Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in
facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to
conquer it. "
Tagore
Our Rector, Robin Jennings,
once said in a sermon“we all want
to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.”That drew a hearty laugh from the congregation, but at the
same time, it hit home in a quiet place in my heart.Most of us fear dying.We love our lives and families and friends and dogs and all the beauty
of this earth, in spite of our trials.I’m not ready to go, not one bit, and so when my friend, Beth, faces
this reality, I am brought to my knees.
Yesterday Ellen drove down
from Cincinnati and we, along with our college friend Charlotte, went down to the
hospital to visit Beth before her surgery to explore/biopsy/remove her brain
tumor.I am not sure what I was
expecting, but I know I was not expecting the kind of fear she had when we
walked in the room.It was written
all over her face.She didn’t need
to say a word.So we were there
for her, just like 30 years ago in college, but now drawn together by something
awful and frightening, rather than by those loose promises of reunions and
dinners that we never get around to doing.Another lesson learned, another promise to myself:I will not put off seeing old friends.
I felt a strong need to calm
her fears.We all did.And we all did in different ways.Charlotte, ever the southern lady,
wanted to make her comfortable by “tidying up the room” and arranging the
flowers.I found this
uplifting.Ellen brought items
that sustained her through the very premature birth of her daughter Gracie (my
godchild).She is an amazing
child, born 3 months early, who has deep insights on life and faith.I believe the angel that watched over
her early on sits squarely on her shoulder.But that is a story for another day.
Back to our time in the
hospital…we all moved in an out of laughter, stories, tears, the conversation
switching rapidly from nonsensical things to the serious.As time passed, Beth’s face seemed to
relax a bit, and she told us that we had really lifted her spirits and helped
alleviate her fears.We hug and
kiss and gather in a circle and say a prayer and that is it for the night.And then we drive home together,
quietly, each reflecting on the situation and the whys and what ifs.I didn’t sleep very well last night,
awakening to Beth’s sweet face every hour or so.It occurred to me that we go for long periods without
seeing or speaking to those we love, those friends from the past.This year, I promise myself, I will
make sure the reunion we have talked about for the past five or so years will
happen.I will not only see the
old friends, but the parents of a few childhood friends that I constantly think
of but never visit.That’s my
discipline for today. It took a serious illness of an old friend for me to
focus, again, on things left undone.Tomorrow is a new day, and I intend to start anew.
"Worry
and courage have a lot in common. Both are emotional states. Both are created
in one's mind. Both have an influence in what we will or will not do. As
infants, we are born with neither. Both will have a major impact on our
character. This is where they differ: Worry limits us and causes much distress.
Courage expands our abilities and gives us feelings of hope and empowerment”.Pliskin
Yesterday was a very difficult day.Our 16-year-old son, Paul, was in an
automobile accident.He was
driving to Chic-fil-A late yesterday afternoon with his friend, Seth, when he
missed a red light and was hit by another car.Paul’s car flipped, was pushed across two lanes, leaving
both boys hanging upside down. The back and side windows were blown out and the
car was totaled. They were taken to the hospital, and both boys, by the grace
of God, walked away without injuries. The driver of the other car was also
uninjured.The paramedic told me
it was a good thing we were not there to see the car because “you would never
believe anyone could walk away from this accident”.To say we are grateful does not suffice.
After receiving the call, my first instinct was
to jump in the car and drive.Paul
is a junior at the McCallie School in Chattanooga, and on a Friday night in the
rain, the drive would be over 5 hours.Dave is in New York, with a delayed flight, as usual, and Chase and her
friend Ann Lawson are at the movies.I cannot describe how difficult it is to be here alone when he is there.I just want to put my arms around my
young son.But Dave puts his foot
down and tells me I am not to drive tonight, in the rain, in particular not
being of sound mind at this point.All the wonderful adults at McCallie assure me that Paul is fine.Paul’s advisor, Brent, calls twice to
talk, and Mr. Mancke, the school counselor, a man of tremendous faith and endearing
qualities, is at the hospital within minutes, and he calls me, too, and helps
calm this overly emotional mother.
Paul and I talk throughout the evening, and I try
to impress on him how blessed he was that he and Seth were spared any
injuries.I told him my prayers
for safety (my daily prayer) were answered today in a big way.
I started by saying it was a difficult day.The other part of the story is about my
friend Beth, whom I mentioned yesterday.She is a college friend, fellow Pi Phi, former roommate, along with
Ellen, after we graduated from college.She fell down the stairs on Thursday, was taken to the hospital, and
diagnosed with a brain tumor.She
will undergo an operation on Monday here in Louisville.Keep her in your prayers.
And then, last night, amidst all the tears and
emotion, my friend Laurie from Birmingham calls.We go back a long way.Her son, Billy, and Paul have been friends since they were 10 years
old.I remember the day they met
in Montgomery, Alabama, at a tennis tournament.Billy walked on the court, dressed in all whites, with a
bandana on his head.I thought to
myself, “oh boy, here’s one with an attitude”.
I could not have been more wrong.Billy is a young man who is humble, thoughtful, and generous.There’s a reminder not to judge a book
by its cover!In any event,
they became fast friends, as did his older sister Madelyn and Chase, also the
same age, and the fact that they spend summers in NC close to us has been the
making of great times together.Laurie tells me of a friend of Billy’s, also 16, who died from injuries
sustained in an automobile accident about three weeks ago.He was a talented, brilliant young man,
an Eagle Scout, on his way home from a debate tournament. She encourages me to
read his mother’s journal on Caring Bridge.And so, this morning, unable to sleep, I arose to read the
journal from start to finish.His
name was Clinton Taylor and his mother continues to write daily as her Lenten
discipline.I am amazed at her
faith, and thinking mine is rock solid, her writings simply toss me off of my
rock.After the death of her son,
she writes:
"Real trials in
life are not ifs--they are whens. In fact, life's most profound lessons
cannot simply be observed, they must be experienced. It is there, in
actual seasons of heartache and loss, that we gain greater insights into life,
faith, and our need of God. To that end, James wrote, "My brethren, count
it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of our
faith produces endurance." James 1:2-3
Clinton’s mother, Honey, continues to write
throughout Lent, challenging her friends and all those reading Caring Bridge to
reach out, do something for someone, be there for someone.I am aware of the parallels of what she
is doing and what I hoped to do with this blog.So much has changed in the three weeks since I started
writing.I began an exciting
journey thinking of all that I could “give” to those who needed things more
than me.It quickly turned down
another path.Giving was not just
“the stuff”… but the real stuff.The phone calls. The letters and notes.
The visits. Being kind to a stranger. Slowing down and appreciating God’s hand
in everything beautiful in this world.Being there for someone. That is the real meaning of “Someone Needs It
More Than Me”.Life is precious,
life is fragile, and we only have a promise of this moment, today.And so I will make the best of this day,
and with continue to be humbly grateful for all that I have been given in life,
and for the precious gift of family and friends.
"Like farmers, we need to learn that we cannot sow and reap the same day".
Anonymous.
Today was one of those really joyful days, the kind you remember long after they are over. First, Chase is home, and every day with her is a joy. Second, we crammed lots of 'Someone Needs It More Than Me' into our schedule, starting with taking dinner to her grandmother. Later, we packed up the last of the "stuff" in the back of my SUV, with a goal of delivering it all, officially eliminating the piles that have taken over our house for the past three weeks. We left mom's for the West End School and my directional challenges kicked in. Shall I just say we were 30 minutes late?
Chase had not visited the school in about 16 months and she was amazed at the changes that had taken place. As we walked from floor to floor, I too, reflected on how far they have come in the three plus years since this dream was conceived. Funny thing is, I stop and look at a hallway maybe 30 feet long with donated schoolbooks (stacked 3 feet tall) and I am overwhelmed. My deep-seeded need to be 'organized' makes me want to jump right in and get these books in a bookshelf, and now! But Deb tells us that bookshelves are underway and a group will come in eventually and get it all organized. Same goes for the future music room, future theatre, future this and that. I admire the tremendous patience they have in watching this vision unfold. Again, a reminder that everything is always "in God's timing."
Deb tells us that they have 7 boys graduating from 8th grade this May and every child has been accepted into a variety of private schools in Louisville. While many schools will provide scholarships, in most cases the scholarship is partial, so the challenge is finding someone or some organization to fund their high school education. I make a mental note of this, thinking how wonderful it would be to be a part of educating a young man, turning his life around in ways he would otherwise never experience.
Later in the day, we go to the Cabbage Patch for the weekly art lesson. Chase is a hit with the young ones, a few clamoring to sit next to her. We get started late, and the kids come in, one by one. I am acutely aware that it is 20 minutes past starting time and we are still waiting "patiently" for the rest to arrive. Well, everyone else is waiting patiently. Patience is indeed a virtue, but not one of mine! The art lesson is wonderful and colorful and the children are really, really involved and loving every minute of it. I look around at the many volunteers and think about how generous they all are with their time and their hearts.
As we are driving home, we talk about the children and the volunteers who make it all happen. Deb showed us a room full of nearly new office furniture donated by someone just yesterday. And a brand new LG Washer and Dryer. And bedspreads for the dorm rooms, each hand-made by someone. When I ask her where all the help comes from, she tells me she doesn't know, but it is there when they need it, that people just "show up" and bring food and work tirelessly without even being asked. I love that kind of unselfish spirit. It is catching, and I want the feeling to last.
At the end of the day, I get news that a friend of mine, one of my Pi Phi sisters I spoke of last week, has been taken to the hospital after a fall down the stairs, and they have learned she has a brain tumor. I am reminded of the fragility of life and the tremendous need for prayers, faith, and hope. It has been a joyful day, but one that ends in quiet reflection.
"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint". Isaiah 40:31
“The credit belongs to those who are actually in the arena, who strive
valiantly; who know the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spend
themselves in a worthy cause; who at the best, know the triumph of high
achievement; and who, at the worst, if they fail, fail while daring greatly, so
that their place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know
neither victory nor defeat”.
Theodore Roosevelt
In past writings, I have
shared with you stories of people who have given of themselves, people who
define the meaning “Someone Needs It More Than Me” with perfect clarity. I’d like to share another. It is a story
about a couple who traded their affluent life to start a boarding school for
homeless boys in Louisville.What
I love about their story is the “story behind the story”.The former headmaster of Kentucky
Country Day, Robert Blair, had the opportunity to ride in a police cruiser one
night.He had an encounter that
changed his perspective and ultimately changed his life.It made him reflect on the profound
contrast in the lives of the children he witnessed while in that police cruiser
that night and the life he lived each day walking the halls of Kentucky Country
Day.
The events of that particular
evening led to a dream of starting a boarding school for boys in a building
that was 85 years old, in total disrepair, and in a dangerous part of
town.These are the kind of things
dreams are made of, yet, the kind of things that seem virtually
impossible.I often reflect the
blind faith that the Blairs had in facing so many obstacles, how they strove
“so valiantly” to ensure that these boys would have a chance in life.Along the way, they faced so many
obstacles; the sort that would make me want to give up.If you could have seen the building
before any renovations, you might have looked at the tasks (as I did) as just
too overwhelming to ever complete. But the Blairs had a vision, and they had
perseverance. No matter what the got in their way, their faith sustained them.
There is no question that
God’s hand has been and continues to be in this ministry with the West End
School.St. Francis has had dozens
and dozens of people cook meals, volunteer their time, and pray for the success
of this mission and for the boys personally.It has been a joy to watch the building transform (you would
not recognize it, start to finish), but far more importantly, to watch the boys transform. I am inspired and moved
by their generosity. The West End School is indeed a worthy cause and a triumph
of achievement.All at the hand of
God.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and
rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves
treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do
not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be
also.”Matthew 6:19-21
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