When Seeds Seem Few

I am weary

Seeds seem few

    A grain of gentleness here

    A kernel of kindness there

Just a spark, a sperm, a spore

Watered with tears of languish and longing

    And faith

    And hope

For a harvest of joy and gladness.

                            Based on Psalm 126

What I Like About Funerals

As a pianist, I have been to my share of funerals. Some of the deceased I have known well, some all of my life. Some have been just mere acquaintances. And others I have never even heard of until receiving the call from the church or funeral home. From Olympic champions to men who plow the earth, turning down any kind of offer to play is a rare occurrence for me. It’s a sacred opportunity that few are given.

Of course, each funeral service has its own flavor. Some are incredibly sad. Others filled with gut wrenching laughter. But often times, both emotions are present … especially when family members speak.

But one of the things I love about funerals is the way I get to know a person. First of all, by the music that is requested. And it has been a gamut. From Chopin’s Etude in Eb to “How Great Thou Art.” Whereas the old hymns remain the most requested, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” “Go Rest High On That Mountain,” and even “Send in the Clowns” as the casket was being rolled out are just a few of the more noteworthy.

And secondly, I get to know the person by the stories told. I’ve always heard that funerals are for the living but if you know the deceased well, you might wonder whose funeral you are attending by all the wonderful things being said. [I know a preacher who “buried” the wrong person in his congregation. The guy who actually died was a scoundrel. The guy he “buried” and eulogized was a saint. No doubt, there was some confusion in the chapel that day.]  But, yes, I love the stories. I love to hear of the deceased’s life and how he or she made a difference in the lives of others. I am also very often challenged by the stories. For example, Some 11 years ago, I learned how one woman gifted her preacher, the one speaking, with a set of commentaries when he was a young pastor and just how much it meant to him. Just recently, I learned of a quiet farmer who lived his life with great integrity. The packed sanctuary and his workers filling the first two rows would have been evidence enough. 

There can also be a lot preaching that goes on during a service, but my take and experience through the years is that it’s the life lived that preaches. It is the kindnesses and love extended that speaks of God. It’s the one who has endured hardship with patience and grace that says God was with me. John Wesley said, “Preach the gospel. And when necessary, use words.” So many of the stories I hear during these sacred moments is nothing short of the gospel being preached. Which always beckons me to ask the question, “What does my life preach?” Does it preach kindness? Grace? Forgiveness? Humility? What stories can my children tell that will make people laugh [and I have given them permission to make fun of me, too] and that will call others to emulate? 

Henry Drummond, a 19 Century Scottish evangelist, wrote:

It is the man who is the missionary, it is not his words. His character is his message. In the heart of Africa among the great Lakes, I have come across black men and women who remembered the only white man they ever saw before — David Livingston’s; and as you cross his footsteps in that dark continent, men’s faces light up as they speak of the kind doctor who passed there years ago. They could not understand him; but they felt the love that beat in his heart. They knew that it was love, although he spoke no word.

What will people remember about me? What will they remember about you? What will our lives speak about Christ?

Preach the gospel. And when necessary, use words. 

Just an ordinary moment…

New Journal: Page 1

I closed my last journal with gratitude: to Christ for laying down His life for me; and with a prayer that I could serve Him with my life, even though just a pittance. Now may this journal continue to mark my steps in my journey — a trek that leads me more and more into an awareness of Divine Love … of Christ Himself.

Sea captains, led by stars, kept journals. Explorers. Generals. Real feet to the ground men and women filled pages with expeditions, explorations, conduct and adventures. Whereas I may never leave the state of Georgia, mine is no less a journey. A journey of my heart … of my life. Of significant moments, and most certainly the not-so-significant. It’s not about headlines — but heartbeats. Prayers, thoughts, laments and praise, wishes, longings … and hopefully, a whole lot of gratitude. A book that will go with me and grow with me on my journey.

So, Lord, bless this journal. Bless the empty pages with words. May it become a testimony to You, to me … to our journey together.

DATED: March 27, 2021

A Christmas Letter to my Friends

December 13, 2020

My dear friends,

During this season of Advent, I have been thinking about .... pondering ... Mary and Joseph’s journey, their arrival, and their stay in Bethlehem; each section proving arduous in its own right. We sing “Silent night, holy night,” but was it really? If we asked that young couple, I imagine they would say it was messy and hard and disappointing on so many levels ... not to mention really scary at times. The journey probably wasn’t one either of them wanted to take. Yet in the midst of that hardship, the crushed dreams and the dashed hopes, hindsight reveals that God was working ... working to redeem the world.

We all take unwanted journeys. Life will have its moments ... its seasons ... of disappointments, of overwhelming loss and great sorrow, of intense pain. The flag of my own heart is flying half mast tonight as I remember my own brother’s funeral and burial on this date three years ago. Journeys are not always easy ones.

No doubt, this year has provided heartache, disappointment and fear for so many of you. And like Mary, these were journeys you didn’t want to take. But the good news is that just as God was working in Mary and Joseph’s journey, He is working in ours, yours and mine, to redeem.

Amidst the contractions and labor pains, among all the sounds and smells of her environment, I doubt Mary heard the singing of the angels or felt the excitement of the shepherds running to find her. But she did hold a newborn baby — a baby named Emmanuel. A baby named “God With Us.” 

My dear ones, that is also your story. It is mine. No matter how dark our journey is nor how afraid we might be, God is with us ... giving us courage in each next step, mercy in each new day, peace in every uncertainty, and hope in knowing that this is not the end of the story. He is with us, by our side, and forever good and faithful — yes, even when we can’t hear the angels singing.

Be blessed with this peace this Christmas ... the Peace of Emmanuel — “God With Us.”

With much love and grace to each of you,

Nancy

Now You See It; Now You Don’t

My eyes opened from a time of silent prayer to see a hummingbird perched at the feeder just a few yards from my own perch. As I watched him, I became aware of other activity. Tiny golden moths were finding breakfast on the suet balls on the feeder hanging on the other side of the deck steps. At first I saw just three or four, but as I watched more intently, I realized there were dozens of them swarming not only there but around the lantana as well. 

As I allowed my eyes to move further, I saw the grand design of my little world before me: a tremendous spider’s web stretching across the west side of wooden banister attaching itself to the water oak branches above. And at the top sat the golden silk orb weaver herself: a large banana spider. Motionless. It was at this point that I felt the Spirit of God well up inside of me and the only appropriate response was praise. 

As I continued to sit and look, my eyes were opened even more. I became aware of the other activity in my limited space. A cardinal dropped down and grabbed a sunflower oil seed from her breakfast tube. Her male counterpart chased a large squawking insect across the deck. A squirrel skirted across the lawn while another jumped from the roof to a low hanging limb. A leaf of ivy twitched off and on alerting me to a presence of sorts there ... a small clan of very tiny green frogs. Two hummingbirds zoomed by; the bully domineering his feeder.

And then as quickly as it came, it was gone. This corner of my world stood absolutely still. I could no longer even see what once was a huge, brilliant web. As hard as I looked, I could not locate it. Yet I was positive it was there. It was literally a “now you see it, now you don’t” moment. The sun had shifted and with it everything changed.

Manifestation and hiddenness. The alternating seasons of feeling the presence of God very tangibly in our lives versus a sense of His distance or even absence. And if you’re like me, the latter seems the more prevalent, which is probably by design and what Paul meant when he wrote his second letter to the Corinthians: “We walk by faith and not by sight.” One is a blessing; the other is a building. One is about experiencing God. The other is about gaining an understanding of the deep things of God, of learning to trust and of being kept by Him.

As I ponder these two seasons that cycle in and out, could it be that the season of manifestation is where God delights us; and the season of hiddenness is where we delight Him?

Just an ordinary moment...