Kitchen Table

God smiled the day Shelby boldly said, “I can work from anywhere in the lower 48 states. All I need is a kitchen table and wifi.”

The dark years of widowhood had given her a thin sense of invincibility, a silver lining, a super power that came from knowing she’d survived what was once unthinkable. And now, at age 60, she knew it was time—time to take off her wedding ring and begin living again.

And so it began—the adventure, an intentional act of opening her heart to the possibility of finding someone to converse with over coffee or dinner, perhaps see a movie or a play.

Friends from church recommended a dating app designed for the over 50 set, and Shelby gathered a few photos then went to her daughter for a little coaching.

A bit fearful, Shelby asked, “What do I do if some guy sends me a nude photo?”

Her daughter replied with laughter, “Tell him that stuff belongs on SnapChat.”

“Ok, then” Shelby thought, her eyebrows coming together creating creases in her forehead, “Let’s give this a try.”

After Shelby uploaded her photos and completed several questions, the app posted one photo over the prompt “How about we…” and Shelby wrote “… be authentic. Let’s meet for coffee, drinks, dinner (or Saturday morning hot stretchy yoga?) and see where it leads.”

No one showed up for yoga.

In the section called “Details” Shelby clicked boxes: Self-employed. College. 2 children; 0 at home. Christian. Non-smoker. Height 5’10.”

On a whim she did a little digging and discovered that only 3.9% of American adult males are 6’2” or taller. “That explains so much about my adolescence,” she quipped, remembering the awkwardness of being the tallest person in her 7th grade class.

Then, rising to the statistical challenge of weeding out 96.1 percent of men, Shelby set her profile to include guys 6’1” and taller.

She quickly discovered… MEN LIE.

Shelby first posted her profile on January 4th and 8 days later she met guy #1 for coffee. He was 5’7” at best.

On January 22nd she met guy #2 for dinner one weekend and lunch the next. He lived on a houseboat docked on the Mississippi, which promised summer fun, but it was winter. Shelby moved on.

Scrolling the app she challenged Bachelor #3 to a small wager on the Super Bowl, and accepted a lunch invitation from guy #4.

When she had lunch with #4 at a local diner, he was tall, clever, greeted her with a hug, and managed to overcome Shelby’s objection to being walked to her car. Apparently it’s an app thing. The guy walks you to your car, like it’s the front door of your apartment. “Good to know,” thought Shelby as she drove away, then later found herself wondering if he’d expected a kiss.

About the same time, Shelby side-stepped an invitation from a much younger man. “I’m flattered AND it would just be awkward,” Shelby said. “You’re the same age as my daughter.”

Then, on Valentine’s Day there were six messages from age-appropriate men.

Shelby, who didn’t much care for Valentine’s Day, couldn’t help but recall that time back in high school when the Future Homemakers of America had frosted cookies for a bake sale with “Happy VD.”

“That was great” thought Shelby, laughing out loud before listening to the messages and updating her calendar: coffee Wednesday with #4 (he’d walked her to her car), a drink Thursday with Bachelor #3 (he’d lost their Super Bowl bet and owed her a shot of Tequila), AND dinner Friday with #5 (he’d appeared on the app after she’d expanded her search to Minnesota).

As a woman who highly valued monogamy, this 3-night, 3-guy lineup left Shelby feeling stressed. After thinking about it for a bit, Shelby was convince authenticity was the way to go.

On Wednesday #3 didn’t show up for coffee. “Well, that’s authentic,” said Shelby, feeling a little snarky.

On Thursday, the tequila led to a margarita, appetizers and great conversation. When Shelby left the pub, she found herself looking forward to seeing #3—again.

During her drive home that night, #5 texted, and Shelby inwardly groaned. At this point meeting another guy seemed like a waste of time.

On Friday #5 rolled into town, selected a restaurant, then texted her. Shelby happened to be at a nearby car wash, so when he came through the door, she was standing at the host station wearing a 70s retro shirt, jeans and a pair of clogs with 3” wood heals—just in case he’d lied about his height.

If arriving early or Shelby’s enhanced height caught #5 off guard he didn’t miss a beat, greeting her with a hug. Then a moment later, when he went back out to his car to get something and he left her standing there, she gave him a smidgen of grace.

The something turned out to be chocolates in a red heart-shaped box. “So much for authenticity” she thought accepting the candy with a smile, hiding her true feelings about Valentine’s Day.

3 ½ hours later, when #5 yawned, Shelby realized it was time to call it a night. He paid the check, held the door for her, then walked her across the parking lot. As they reached her car, Shelby opened the back door and tossed the chocolates onto the seat, then watched in horror as the candy skidded to the floor.

“Glad I didn’t open THAT box.” she thought, silently.

A moment later, when #5 took Shelby in his arms and kissed her, she didn’t want the evening to end. But, before she could object, he tucked her into her car and said goodnight.

Sometime later he texted an invitation to breakfast, making it clear it was her turn to pick the restaurant.

The next morning they split an omelet, then spent the day exploring her city. That night they enjoyed a play at the performing arts center, and made plans to attend church on Sunday.

God smiled again when, after church, the pastor in her city reached out to a good friend—the pastor in his, and before #5 arrived home, news of Shelby had already spread.

12 days later she drove to his city and met his daughter. Shelby kicked off her clogs in the entryway, and later discovered the dog had used one for a chew toy. Go figure!

The following evening, on the way to dinner with some of his friends, #5 pulled up in front of a house Shelby wasn’t familiar with and put the car in park. “If it’s ok, I’d like you to meet my mom.”

“Yeah. No.” thought Shelby, her face contorting into a grimace as she got out of the car.

A few minutes later, in the awkward silence, Shelby leaned into authenticity, “Well, this is awkward,” she said. “I haven’t been introduced to a guy’s mother like this since 1985.”

61 days later Shelby relocated.

Her sister uses the word Thunderstruck.

Shelby now works from the kitchen table in a cozy Rambler owned by #5. His house. Their home.

She laughed recently, recalling the words that began this adventure: “I can work from anywhere… all I need is a kitchen table and wifi.”

Then she sat down and began working on a new short story, her first few keystrokes revealing the title: Kitchen Table.

-rjw

Originally shared on 02/04/2026 at the Cultural Centre & Gallery Valentines Waffle Bar

The LORD makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him. Ps 37:23

What If

This is me, the image captured in 1978, on a classic family trip to California... a visit to Sea World, a day at Disneyland, enjoying the beaches of Los Angeles... three sisters in the back seat, mom and dad in the front.

Though many might observe that I was a clueless innocent, the landmark decision Roe v. Wade was one I supported and agreed with, even then. I already had a heart that championed women, having experienced betrayal years earlier, in fifth grade, when I realized that the faith community into which I had been born was not interested in me serving at mass unless I was a boy. 

And just a few months after this photo was taken, I experience sexual harassment during an after-class conversation with one of my high school teachers, doubly toxic because the teacher was also a friend of my father's and included in summer outings to Lake Holcombe and the Mississippi River. 

Now, decades later, I believe that my hunger to advocate on behalf of women was present within me at my birth or conception, divinely woven by God, perhaps since the beginning of Creation as described in the poetry that opens the Book of Genesis.

Today, the photographs of demonstrations surrounding Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization broke through my self-imposed fast from media. Alongside a disturbing and toxic patriarchal bias revealed in a book I am reading on faith models that embrace local and organic expression, the photos brought out the warrior-advocate within me. Even as I drive the handful of miles from the house where I am pet-sitting into the city where my church is located, I find myself pulling together words of protest and plans for active advocacy on behalf of women.

Despite my anger and pain, I arrive safely, find a seat and breathe deeply, exhaling the anger, then join in the worship and listen to the teaching. Somewhere within the hour spent here within the community of people following (admittedly imperfectly) the teachings of Jesus Christ, I find my heart searching for goodness and blessing.

Every viewpoint is a view from a point. --Richard Rohr, Center for Action and Contemplation 

What if...

... we are on the cusp of a new life-affirming season?

... the decades impacted by Roe v. Wade are coming to a close?

... another path lies ahead, a time when abortions will decline in number?

... more and more men (and women) embrace condoms, celibacy, monogamy, and parental responsibility?

... more and more women (and men) put down the weapons of seduction and manipulation?

What if the time has come when we will look at one-another and see the glory of our humanity (women and men) created in God's image?

Then God said, “And now we will make human beings; they will be like us and resemble us. They will have power over the fish, the birds, and all animals, domestic and wild, large and small.”  

So God created human beings, making them to be like himself. He created them male and female, blessed them, and said, “Have many children, so that your descendants will live all over the earth and bring it under their control. I am putting you in charge of the fish, the birds, and all the wild animals.”

"I have provided all kinds of grain and all kinds of fruit for you to eat; but for all the wild animals and for all the birds I have provided grass and leafy plants for food”—and it was done.  

God looked at everything he had made, and he was very pleased. Evening passed and morning came—that was the sixth day.

Genesis 26:31 GNT

Rw

Chaos and Conformity

In the early years after the death of my husband there was at least one person in my bereavement group that raised an eyebrow when I disclosed that God had given me three close friends who were also therapists... 

... and I will disclose to you (at the risk of your raised and questioning eyebrow) that just hours ago I asked all three for insight and reached out to my accountability partner too. I am distraught.

Today I am the woman behind the mirror. I am feeling trapped.

The chaos that is COVID-19 touched my life (touched all our lives) then took me down for a count and retreated into the shadows and even now is lurking there. 

I gave up hugging and playing with my grandchildren, and instead left gifts on the porch, smiling and waving through the windows.

I complied with the distancing and mask protocols at local businesses and friends' homes.  

I gave up cash and used a debit card.

I experienced the symptoms listed on the CDC website, consulted my healthcare POA designee and self-quarantined, then sought out and received written confirmation of a POSITIVE Antibody Test Result.

I worshiped at a nondenominational church that created space for wearing masks or not, and fostered respect for those who chose like me and those who chose differently.

I endured being verbally accosted in a restaurant by someone whose views I shared (no mask) because I was choosing to wear a mask.

I now habitually keep appropriate social distances in check-out lines and give wide berth to those who are wearing masks.

I am self-employed so did not face the choice to vaccinate or be terminated, yet I grieve with and pray with friends who are weighing that choice.

I felt and feel empathy, caution and sorrow, but no fear.

That is, until today, when a text arrived, "The venue has asked our ticket holders to review the COVID-19 policy." 

My desire is to see my adult daughter perform in Elf the Musical this coming November. The venue's COVID-19 policy stands in the way of my plans. I am angry and quite cognizant that my anger is almost always driven by fear.

I am not a good sheep quietly grazing in a lush pasture. I find that I do not trust the earthly shepherds. 

I am wrestling within myself, holding fiercely to my belief that to be vaccinated is a freedom of choice issue. I find myself bristling like a porcupine at the pressure to conform. 

I experienced the same chaos when just six weeks after the September 11 attacks Congress passed the USA/Patriot Act, an overnight revision of the nation's surveillance laws. I felt fear.

I experienced the same chaos when my husband and I refused to press charges against a young woman, and the "evidence" was twisted implicating me in a misdemeanor. The district attorney brought me in multiple times during the year that followed, threatening to charge me with a felony when I refused to plead guilty to the misdemeanor of his choosing. I refused conformity. I felt fear.

This morning, the venue's demand that I be tested or vaccinated collided with my desire to support and appreciate the arts. The chaos of COVID-19 had found the weapon painful enough to push me toward conformity.

I confirmed by reading the venue's policy that proof of the presence of antibodies will not be sufficient to give me access to the building. I confirmed by phone that all 1200 seats are available for each of the performances, rejecting the CDC recommendation for social distancing.

I researched my options. I spoke with people who are intelligent and informed and trusted.

I ordered three tickets for Elf the Musical.

I made peace with the idea of giving these tickets away.

I am moving forward, not by conforming, but by becoming better informed. 

I may submit to the policy. 

I may stand outside the door with a sign that reads, "They won't let me in."

I contemplate the cost of conformity and weep as I am reminded of the writings of Martin Niemoller: "First they came for the socialist, and I did not speak out-- because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionist, and I did not speak-- because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out-- because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me-- and there was no one left to speak for me."

I contemplate rebellion and remember the words of the New York Times best-selling author Jordan B. Peterson: "A certain amount of creativity and rebellion must be tolerated--or welcomed, depending on your point of view--to maintain the process of regeneration. Every rule was once a creative act, breaking other rules."

I look at the calendar and count out eight months... the window most researchers speculate is the length of time the natural antibodies will be present.

I think about the risk of adverse reaction to injecting a vaccine in month seven while these antibodies are naturally occurring within me.

I look at the recommendations and policies of another venue with which I am familiar and count out the 14 days prior to the performance recommended for those of us who may choose to vaccinate in order to attend.

I research the risks and benefits of the available vaccines and select a local medical provider that could facilitate.

As the sun moves beyond the horizon and the night sky darkens, I read from the Psalms, taking in the ancient wisdom and giving my fear to God.

Praise the LORD. Praise the LORD, my soul. I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live. Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save. When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing. Bless are those whose help is in the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD their God... (more)

Rw

Midway Telephone Company (again)

 Among the list of posts unpublished in 2011 were six drafts

~ the fifth draft entry contained this 1949 news:

The Medford exchange of the Midway Telephone Company installed its first dial tone Saturday afternoon, which was added to the equipment for the purpose of convenience to the customers. When the receiver of the phone is lifted and the line is clear there is a distinct tone that can be heard. After the first number has been dialed the tone disappears if the line is clear, and if it doesn't it is a clear indication that the line is out of order or in use.
—The Star News, 3 March 1949 The Time Machine

dusty family treasures

The child-me remembers
the power often going out
in high winds, winter storms,
sitting around our table,
me with my sister and mom,
soft candlelight. When winds
rattled windows, dad wasn't
at home with us. As a lineman,
he was out in the storm, atop
telephone poles, making repairs.

me
1:25am arrival

The story of my birth is set in a winter storm, the onset of labor inviting my dad in from a bitter cold winter night ... when I finally arrive and my dad is called into her hospital room, mom bursts into tears, a response to the overwhelming exhaustion and my dad's well-intended observation: the long fingers of this baby girl.

morning glory
4:23am arrival

Decades later, holding my newborn,
family connections, nuances echo,
the hands of my daughter are crested
with the long slender fingers my father
first noticed in me.





Morning Glory was in her first year of college, University of Minnesota, when a new family tradition began. A 4:23am birthday call from me, her mother, woke her from a deep winter's sleep.
 

The next year she set a alarm and answered a very chipper "hello mom" - she'd been waiting for predictable me.


For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.
Psalm 100:5 NIV


Rw
.
17 Jan 1962 Weather temp -22º with wind chills approaching -40º

re-published today from 01/02/2012

Autonomy

At sunrise on the Saturday before Easter, I drove a few miles south to leave on the front porch a birthday surprise for my daughter-in-law and granddaughter (the one who just turned two). In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic and safer-at-home guidelines, being present to witness the blowing out of the birthday candles is not worth the risk of me bringing the virus into their home. My heart finds joy in photos shared on social media and rests in the assurance that this season of isolation will pass...  On Easter Sunday my daughter and I spoke via Zoom, a new-to-me audio/video conferencing platform. She sent me the invitation entitled Digital Coffee. I clicked on the link and we chatted: me from the corner of the kitchen in Missouri, she from the newly synthesized at-home-office in the corner of an extra bedroom in Wisconsin.

My daughter and daughter-in-law, along with my son and son-in-law are strong, intelligent adults who cared for me in the early years of my widowhood, when to stop breathing was my daily prayer. In this, the fourth year of the widow-journey, my mental and emotional health are stabilizing. I am embracing life and finding joy again. Yet, in this pandemic and with the recent lowering of the at-risk age to those of us over 50, I am mentally addressing life's inevitable end. 

The conversations are difficult. No human wants to imagine the end of life for someone we love. Yet, the protocols for the end of my life are in place. My son is the executor of my will. My daughter is person designated in my healthcare power of attorney. 

On Saturday morning, during our Digital Coffee, God opened a moment for saying the difficult words, reminding my daughter that if I become deathly ill I want no extraordinary measures to prolong my life. 

I am not being an alarmist. I am doing my homework. Early studies are showing that loved ones who are diagnosed with COVID-19 and decline to the point where we are put on ventilators will not likely leave the hospital.

"It's very concerning to see how many patients who require ventilation do not make it out of the hospital," says Dr. Tiffany Osborn, a critical care specialist at Washington University in St. Louis who has been caring for coronavirus patients at Barnes-Jewish Hospital. [more]

One of the tenets of my faith that held me steady at the death of my husband is that life itself is in the hands of our Lord, that the days of our lives are numbered, perhaps from the moment of creation itself.

I am inspired by the lyrics of Light Shine Bright:

I wanna magnify Your light 

I wanna reflect the sun
Cut like precious diamonds
With the colors by the millions
This is the only world we know
And for now this rental's our home
If we gonna be a reflection
Gotta make this third rock glow

This is earth is our rental. Eternal life is on the other side.

Jesus promises: "My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am." John 14:2-3

My daughter once observed that autonomy is something I highly value. Faith is essential too.

Holding onto His promises.

R

resource: talking about death and dying

photo: me. a brunett in the '70s.

Restless

The afternoon light fades into evening, then is overcome by the darkness of night. The social distancing implemented to flatten the curve of the pandemic leaves me restless. I stare at the ceiling fan in my bedroom. My introvert longs for human interaction. I cannot imagine the torment this must be for the extroverts. I am thankful for my daily conversations with my roommate and one brief exchange with the Fed Ex guy who delivered a package on Monday. On Saturday I take time out and listen to an author-friend explore Elijah's story. She describes her own journey adhering to the Safer at Home guidelines and invites us to do the same... to sit in our emotions, our sense of isolation, disruption and loss. My mind wanders backward in time: The Great Recession, Ebola, 9/11, Y2K, Cold War, Space Shuttle Challenger, AIDS Epidemic, Jonestown Massacre, and assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and President John F. Kennedy ... poverty, wealth, faith, doubt, divorce, marriage, widowhood, pregnancy, childbirth, growth, strength, love. Using a black pen I write ill-equipped, lost, scared, distracted, loved, blessed, befriended, scattered, faithful, concerned, adrift, self-doubt and assured on the line-less white paper in front of me. The virus is contagious. Panic is contagious too. The author encourages us to journal our thoughts on COVID-19's impact and our experience. I draw a horizontal line across my page and make a timeline in response to her question: How will we use these days? Be calm. Be kind. Be patient. God is bigger than whatever evil threatens to emotionally crush me today. 

R

I leave you peace; my peace I give you. I do not give it to you as the world does. So don’t let your hearts be troubled or afraid. -- Jesus, in John 14:27 NCV

The Dream

This morning, waking just before 3 a.m., I realize I had been dreaming---vividly.

I am in a large stubbled field at night. Though there is a partial moon, most of the light is coming from the headlights of my car---a mahogany red VW Rabbit I drove 25 years ago. I am walking behind and away from the car. I am walking with purpose to the edge of the field where the area is wooded primarily with deciduous trees. As I move toward the woods I see two wolves and hear a third.

In the dream, I stop, then slowly reverse my motion, walking backward in the direction of my car.

The alpha male is in an alert resting position, his abdomen to the ground, his front legs positioned to rise quickly. He doesn't stand nor threaten me.

From the moment I see him, he never lets go of my gaze.

I am aware that I feel fear.

I reach the car without incident and open the passenger side front door.

When I am safely inside the car and the door is closed I look down to see a black lab on the floor, sitting upright. There is ample room for him and my legs. My first impression is that this dog is a familiar pet, one once belonging our family, specifically to me or my son---Lady, Midnight, Dozer or Dee Dee. After I wake I realize that several years ago during Theophostic prayer sessions God appeared often as a black lab: steady, protective, comforting, familiar, love. Unconditional love.

In the dream I effortlessly move left into the driver's seat, put the car in gear, then do a u-turn, screaming at the wolves, driving fast, tires kicking up dirt as my u-turn takes me close to them before driving away.

The wolves do not retreat. The alpha remains at rest; he does not stand nor startle.

As I experience the u-turn in the dream, the directions I feel are not as we as a society agreed or established here on earth---North South East West. The wolves are north of the field and in the dream east and west are reversed.

The lay of the land feels very Iowa---the harvested field being table-top flat. The dirt, though, is not the rich black top soil Iowa is blessed with but the less fertile brown of a parched Wisconsin field in autumn, or even the crusty clay-infused topsoil of surburban eastern Missouri.

Returning to sleep, then waking a couple of hours later, I realize that the fear I feel in the dream is within me. I am concerned about the fragility of my human body. And, it is the God-infused strength in my soul that empowers me to meet the gaze of the wolf---to stare back courageously into the eyes of the predator.

R

Jesus called his twelve disciples to him and gave them authority to drive out impure spirits and to heal every disease and sickness… “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves… do not worry about what to say or how to say it… you will be given what to say, for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” Matthew 10:1,16,19-20 NIV

Willow

Less than a week ago, my friend asked for prayer. 

My friend is an advocate and leader in anti-trafficking---a woman on the front lines. 
She had committed to assisting a woman caught in a dangerous web. 

The prayer was for the first step: moving the woman (let's call her Willow) out of the neighborhood where her car had been stolen and her apartment had been burglarized. My friend's husband would assist. A third volunteer was desirable; none were available.  

I'll go, I offered.

Less than an hour later, in a neighborhood unfamiliar to me, carrying hastily packed boxes and bags from an apartment, I found myself praying in the chaos that God would help us take with us the things that mattered most. 

Willow's mattress was rolled and pushed into the backseat of one vehicle. The sturdy wood bed frame miraculously fit in the hatchback of my car. Bedding, swiftly packed clothing, kitchen essentials, personal care products and other necessities filled a third car. Occasional tables and painted canvasses, revealing Willow as an artist, were gently added. I prayed again. So much was being left behind!

In the 90 minute window allotted, the plan unfolded. Willow packed and we loaded for 40 minutes. Then, Willow locked the apartment and left with a trusted advocate to get the keys to her new place. Meanwhile we drove 9.6 miles to the new apartment attempting to avoid rush hour traffic. We arrived ahead of Willow and unloaded. Then we waited.

In the waiting, time was unrestricted. Feeling unnerved I asked my friend about the chaos, the reality of so much being left behind, the undermining of Willow's humanity --- her sense of safety. 

My friend was comforting and encouraging, and openly shared about similar moving experiences... the necessity of an escape plan, the need for vigilance. And, how God changes our lives, the provision of her current home where she feels safe.

Her honesty left me with the realization that this is the first time -- as a person whose life was predominantly safely middle class married -- that I am personally engaging the silent threat of chaos. 

A few months ago I stored a nylon cinch sack near the safe that holds my passport and other documents, determining that if escape were necessary (natural disaster or human threat) I could walk cross-country the 3 miles to my son and daughter-in-law's house. 

In recent days I find myself pondering, in Hollywood apocalyptic style: What else is essential to take with me? 

From my growing library (153 books counted today) I am selecting these books: The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough 1977, The Shack by William Paul Young 2007, The Transforming Friendship by Leslie D. Weatherhead 1928, and Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell 2005.  

I am a flawed, human and fragile encourager, a speaker and writer of words. 

My spiritual gift is exhortation.

Willow is gifted. She is an artist.

In the chaos she chose to bring her paintings.  

I will bring four books.

R

Hub Caps and Sparrows

I’d been ignoring the sound for weeks, while simultaneously monitoring it just enough to know it was metal scraping against something and it originated in the rear end the well-worn Mistsubishi that is my car. In this season of economic challenges, oil changes are the extent of the maintenance, and the scraping of metal doesn’t typically indicate a need for oil. I am convinced it is an exhaust clamp, or pipe, or muffler rusted and ready to go skidding down the freeway at the most inopportune moment and that the funds in my checking account will not be enough to cover repairs. 

On this particular morning, windows open because it was such a beautiful day, I drove across the parking lot and the sound grew loud enough that it could no longer be ignored. As I monitored the problem, I realized the sound occurred more frequently when I accelerated and slowed down when I put on the breaks. Tired of the low-voltage anxiety of ignoring the sound, I found a parking place in an empty row, got out of the car, and put my ear to the asphalt—fully expecting to see an epic failure somewhere in the exhaust system. Surprise and delight rushed to greet me when my mind confirmed my optical observation—all is well. 

I got up from the pavement and brushed some pebbles from my knees. Standing beside the car for a moment I am baffled, not quite knowing what to do next. Then I looked down and discovered that the plastic hub cab on the rear tire was hanging loose. I kicked it a couple of times, gently, to force it back into place before taking a closer look. The overwhelming majority of clips designed to attach the hub cap to the rim were broken. Only one intact clip remained. Breaking the final clip, I removed the hub cap and tossed it into the back seat. As I pulled out of the parking lot the noise of metal scraping no longer accompanied me. The 2003 Mitsubishi seems to run just fine without the hub cab.

All this to say that ignoring the noise didn’t ease my anxiety, it just camouflaged my worry. This misadventure clearly reveals my wavering ability to trust in God’s provision. In sharing this story with friends recently, I found myself saying—and hopefully more faithfully believing—that God cares for me and for you more deeply and fully than He cares for the sparrows, that our Creator is a generous God, and with faith we can rest in the assurance that the worrisome economic challenges we face are hub caps in God’s economy. 

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. – Matthew 10:29-31 NIV

stairway

The stairway to heaven, a journey, descending, slowly, often painfully slowly, one step at a time, resting, engaging the person next to me, a step above or a step below, help and hope, faith overcoming fear, excavating the dark -- the darkness within me -- changed by miraculous Light, i journey further, until i reach the bottom, the posture of Christ on the Cross, arms spread wide as i lay face down, my heart beating aloud Love one another the way I loved you.

Rw

i am not this person

i am not

... this person

... ... who misses appointments and is late for meetings
... ... who responds to your email a day after you needed the answer
... ... or finally writes that letter of recommendation 51 days after you asked for it.

i am not

... this person

... ... who remembers today is special to you but doesn't send a card ... or call ... or text

how did i become this person?

... To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Rev 21:6 excerpt

Rjw

What We Talk About When We Talk About God by Rob Bell

Celebrating the growing sense that our Spirituality is in some vital and yet mysterious way central to who I am as a person ...

 I believe God is with us and for us ... ahead of us, pulling us forward ...



Rw

Leap of Faith

magnet by papayaart.com

Are there times in every life when panic sets in? When we find ourselves in circumstances that leave us feeling trapped?

This week as Fellowship explores the first chapter of Exodus, the midwives Shiphrah and Puah are new to me.

The king of Egypt tells them, "When you help the Hebrew women in childbirth and observe them on the delivery stool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live."

The consequences of disobedience are unspoken.

As the story unfolds, we read that the midwives fear God and do not do what the king of Egypt asks. Shiphrah and Puah do not murder the male babies in the shadow of childbirth, make it appear as though children were stillborn, died of natural causes.

In choosing to let the boys live do the midwives risk their own lives? Are they afraid?

Called before Pharaoh and asked why they have let the boys live, the midwives answer, "Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive."

So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became
even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God,
he gave them families of their own. — Exodus 1:20-21 NIV

When I am feeling trapped or cornered, I often want argue my way out, teach 'Pharaoh' about right and wrong, instead of trusting God to guide my actions and my words.

Instead of panicking and trying to take control, I'd be so much better off  in remaining quiet, choosing as my transportation a leap of faith.

Rw

fellowshipcf.org

structure

Faith is a delicate balance.

Clinging tightly to the brittle theologies
vs upholding the teachings of Christ.

Embracing a rigid doctrine of broken humanity
vs intimately exploring God's Word.

Grasping only tidy black-n-white beliefs
vs touching and tasting miraculous Creation.

My indoctrination into the Catholic faith, my 12 years of CCD, laid a good intellectual foundation in the 10 Commandments and a faint heartbeat for the calling articulated in the Sermon on the Mount. more

Like an art student who studies color, form and structure, but never engages a blank canvas, I learned to color inside the lines, held the Treasure in a sun-dried jar of clay.

In recent years I am experiencing re-formation. The jar of clay that was once me is broken, the shards crushed and finely ground, then mixed with tears. I am on the Potter's wheel, learning to submit to the artistry God intends for me.

But you, [Timothy] man of God, flee from all this, and pursue 

righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness.  

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life 

to which you were called when you made your 

good confession in the presence of many witnesses.  

In the sight of God, who gives life to everything, and of 

Christ Jesus, who while testifying before Pontius Pilate 

made the good confession, I charge you to keep this command 

without spot or blame until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ,  

which God will bring about in his own time 
—God, the blessed and only Ruler, 
the King of kings and Lord of lords,  
who alone is immortal 
and who lives in unapproachable light, 

whom no one has seen or can see. 

To him be honor and might forever. 

Amen.

—from the writings of Paul, 1 Timothy 6:11-16 NIV

Rw

Inspired by: Container and Contents
Image credit: Grigory Stepanov

Tenacious Oak

My much neglected morning devotional opens with this verse:

By faith we understand that the

universe was ordered by the word of

God, so that what is visible came into

being through the invisible.

Hebrews 11:3 more

The question that follows is:
"What in God's creation feeds my spiritual life the most?"

Trees
the seasonal cycles of deciduous trees
the coming back to life after winter
the seed helicopters on the maples
the tenacity of oak leaves over winter
the sounds of birds
the scrambles of squirrels
the branches catching the movement of the wind
the shade on a warm summer day

Reading my 'chapter a day' I find myself nodding in recognition at Paul's words:

The desire to break camp here and be with Christ is powerful.

Philippians 1:22-26 MSG excerpt

I am like a tenacious oak leaf hanging on through the winter, assured in the arrival of spring.

Rw

Photo by Vasyl Nesterov more