Make Me a Blessing

I was a wild and crazy kid. A real holy smart ass. My childhood spiritual community was not a nurturing one, nor did it display an attractiveness that would make a child eager to choose the Sweet Jesus of the Bible stories. I came by my religious cynicism early.

Fortunately, in my home I saw Jesus in a better light. We were a passionate bunch, totally to the left of legalistic. My parents knew what they believed, and it was traditional fundamentalism, but as my Dad used to say, it was "faith with feet". He and mother believed that you had to walk the walk if you talk the talk.

They were "blessers". They lived to bless others. I remember going "calling" with my mother. She had a regular schedule of visits to shut ins and the elderly. We would dress in our best and board the trolley at the end of our street and travel out of our neighborhood to bring a cake and cheer to somebody's Aunt Mabel. Or we'd walk a few streets over to the elderly woman who never had visitors and never got out of her house. I loved being with my mother at those times. We would walk along, holding hands, and giggling like friends. I knew she was doing something sacred, something more important than the mundane details of daily life..

Dad was known for being the guy in the suit, shirt and tie guy. You never saw Mr. Mac looking tattered. In fact, the already tied tie was hung on the footer of the bed each night. If he received a call to go and minister, the white shirt went on and then the tie, then the suit. He brought a steadiness, a reliability to difficult situations. I loved going to preaching gigs with him. Because I was so unpredictable he would have me sit on the platform steps while he preached. I had a front row seat on the expressions on the audience's faces when Dad brought God down to our ordinary lives.

One fabulous time Dad, Mother and I went to a day long service in New Jersey. I had to be about 12 at the time. Dad had a garter snake in an aquarium. It was an illustration of sin. Sitting in the stuffy church with all the old people, getting my cheeks pinched and slobbered on by the spiritual Aunties, I certainly couldn't have guessed what was going to happen to Dad's carefully planned sermon. He picked the snake out of the tank and held it aloft. The congregation gasped with surprise -Dad announced "SIN is like a serpent!" and with that, the snake wiggled wrong and Dad dropped it. Chaos ensued. My mother and I looked at one another and laughed until tears poured down our cheeks. Wouldn't you know it, the people loved it and Dad was invited back often, but he could never top that performance.

Back to the crazy, cynical child... our church sang the hard core hymns - without accompaniment or speed. For a family who loved music as much as we did, it could get nasty. But one day, sitting there on the squeaky folding chairs, making rock-a-babies out of my mother's handkerchief, they sang the hymn Make Me a Blessing - and I was suddenly captivated. Why at that time in that place? Literally heaven only knew.

Out in the highways and byways of life
Many are weary and sad
Be to the helpless a helper indeed
Making the sorrowing glad
Make me a blessing, Make me a blessing!
Out of my life, let Jesus shine
Make me a blessing O savior I pray
Make me a blessing to someone today.

And the theme was set. For the rest of my life, my first foot out of bed in the morning accompanied the silent prayer, Make me a blessing today...

And that would never have happened to this wild, cynical, disgusted with religion kid, if not for the example of my parents who thought blessing people was more important than anything else in life. Not doctrine, not rules, not structured devotions - but simply being Jesus wherever they found the hopeless and helpless.

It transformed me at a very young age. And it can happen today to any other child who is ready for a touch of the Spirit. They only need the example...

Rust out or Wear Out?

In 1959 my parents moved here to Willow Grove from the city. It was a country paradise then although it eventually became a regular, run of the mill suburb. The house was pretty much of a shell. The yard was completely as is - a sea of mud with a storm ditch running through it.

Dad and Mom dragged my brother and I into the process of making a home out of the mess. Finished the inside, built my brother a beautiful bedroom in the basement with bathroom, and completely landscaped the yard, even building a rustic bridge over the ditch which we then rechristened The Creek. Dad got baby pines from our summer home in the mountains, mother organized flower gardens, and the steep hill of dirt was painstakingly whittled down to a pleasant grassy bank.

My Dad was 55 then. And he kept renovating and improving for the next 30 years. It wasn't until he was almost 85 that Dad began to slow down.

Heck, he didn't retire from his optical business until 79! And then, he and mother took on a pastoral role in several area nursing homes. At 84 mother was teaching her beloved women's Bible study group in their home and Dad, at 93 was her support with elaborate charts, illustrations and drawings, not to mention the perfectly presented refreshments.

And every time someone would warn him that he needed to take it easier and slow down, enjoy his retirement he would say - "I'd rather wear out than rust out." And he did. On Bible study night all was as usual - the support materials, the food, the sweet banter with "the girls" - by 10 pm he had a cardiac aneurysm and dropped dead.

David's mother exemplified the same principle. With terminal breast and colon cancer, barely able to stand, undergoing cruel chemotherapy, we found her outside raking leaves. David was alarmed and begged her to stop. He couldn't understand why his father allowed this. But she wanted to be doing all the normal things one does on a Fall day before it was all over.

Wear out before you rust out.

However, and here's the big but... notice I didn't say big butt although it might be true --

Got to be smart about wearing out. It's hot here in Willow Grove. Going to be 100 this week. Sure, we could have gone to the parade yesterday and sat in the heat. We could be outside today doing yard work. And part of me says, "You lazy thing, watching old movies all day and eating ham sandwiches and corn puffs. But the smarter half says, "Live to work another day." The world will go on without my help on this particular day.

Enjoy the movie, make some microwave brownies, walk around the mall, stay in the AC. As Scarlet says, "Tomorrow is another day!"

Introduction!

Online journal? Discussion starters? My life journey? All of the above!

One of my favorite things in life is thinking about stuff. I love sharing what I come up with and I love discussing things with others. We don't have to agree - in fact, its probably more fun and educational if we don't!

Yes, we could all stay in our comfort zones. Hold on to our parents' beliefs, our family political ideology, our particular church's view of God. But what would that do for anybody? Got to grow up sometime, and that means setting aside the traditional lens through which we see the world and opening ourselves up to discovery - even about tried and true, cherished childhood beliefs.

I find myself on that journey of discovery. Too much of life seems to consist of clinging like crazy to tradition. For me, I'm finding out that letting go of what someone else told me is true, and searching it out for myself, is very satisfying and fulfilling.

Sometimes that means mother wasn't always right about cleaning my plate. It could mean that just because the candidate isn't from my party doesn't make him wrong or a monster out to trash everything we hold dear. Or it could mean that I can't use a second hand God... Just because the pastor says so, doesn't make it true!

I've also become disillusioned with the divisions humans seem to make out of everything. Got to make everything into a competition. I'm right, you're wrong. My group's way or the highway to hell. If you're not in my group then God is not on your side.

I just don't envision God loving division. "Hear O Israel, our God is One!" And He is. I don't think He gets all bent out of shape because this one sees Him this way and that one sees Him another way. I don't think He clucks over Mormons or shakes His head over Catholic ritual, or cries when Jews gather for Rosh Hoshanna. I don't think He's keeping a list of who's doing what to whom, when and how many times. That's a human response - not a divine one. We wield the cookie cutters, not Him.

So that's where I am now. We're all in this together. Come talk, discuss, share and laugh with me!
Mama Willow