Author: Rev Kathy

In this life, with all that threatens us, we need healing, forgiveness, hope, light. We need the holy. We need the Spirit of God. I share with you today a moving prayer by Bishop Steven Charleston.

Let the healing come, to every heart, to every mind and body, to every life that needs it.

Let the forgiveness come, the release from what is past, the freedom of what is new.

Let the hope come, to every person, to every family, that longs for an answer.

Let the light come, to every fearful corner, to every place of worry, to all the spaces that separate our souls.

Let the holy come, the simple pure love that heals and forgives, restores hope and enlightens our path.

Let the Spirit come, to do what we cannot do, to make whole all that is broken.

A longing heart searches for God. A longing heart yearns for communion with God. It is during difficult times when that is most important, during those times when we find ourselves disconsolate. I have had some of those times in my life, times when I languished in suffering. I spent a full year under the ravages of end stage kidney failure and the serious infections that accompanied it.

I temporarily lost my ability to write, to feed myself, even to recognize friends and loved ones. Those were my times of longing for God. Those were times of looking beyond this earth to truly experience Gods love, care and grace. I can report, without hesitation, that God was fully present during those hard days.

I spent fifty-eight lonely days in the hospital, much of the time hoping for visitors to show up to comfort me. I was not alone, but I was lonely. I became truly grateful for the nurses and the other professionals that cared for me. I was glad to see the people who cleaned my room and brought my meals. I remember the nurses who made sure I had sugar-free midnight snacks.

But it was God that gave me the comfort I so longed for. As a person of faith, I should not be surprised at that. But after a series of losses, even persons of faith search high and low for God’s presence. I had a longing heart.

That was a bad year, but a year filled with grace from a loving and faithful God. God’s love that reaches to the heavens reached out to me. God’s faithfulness that reaches to the skies reached out to me when I needed it the most.

“Awake, my soul! Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn. I will praise you, O Lord, among the nations; I will sing of you among the peoples. For great is your love, reaching to the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies.”(Psalm 57:8-10).

What color is silence? I contemplated that thought as I searched for an image for today’s blog post. Some say “silence is golden,” but I chose a purple image because, in its stillness, it spoke to me of silence. There is nothing going on in the image. It’s just still and luminous, making no noise at all . . . silent.

Gunilla Norris writes these words about silence:

In our present culture silence is something like an endangered species . . . We need it badly. Silence brings us back to basics, to our senses, to our selves. It locates us. Without that return we can go so far away from our true natures that we end up, quite literally, beside ourselves. We live blindly and act thoughtlessly. We endanger the delicate balance which sustains our lives, our communities and our planet. Can we remember our power as persons? Can we remind ourselves and others that, nurtured in silence, our awareness can lead us back to integrity and meaning? Each of us has and is a holy capability.

I have trouble with silence, often filling it with music. The truth is that I can hear God better in complete silence interrupted only by the sounds of nature. God may speak to me through the sound of a gentle breeze, the chirping of a finch, the music of a gentle rain, the crash of waves upon the shore. God may speak to me best of all when I am hearing nothing, during those times when God’s words reach directly into the depths of my soul.

It changes me. It restores me. It even makes me long for more silence. Gunilla Morris also says that each one of us “has and is a holy capability.” I embrace the holy capability within me in times of silence.

Where does one find hope? It is not just a superficial emotion that can be summoned on demand. Hope does not necessarily come to us when we urgently call for it. Hope is more like a state of being that dwells in the depths of the spirit. When all is lost in your life, you cannot find hope in activities. If you have lost a loved one, you cannot find hope in “getting beyond” your grief. If you have lost your health, you can not find hope in remedies, medical procedures and medications.

“Hope is found in the depths,” Paul Tillich teaches. These are his words of counsel:

If you find hope in the ground of history, you are united with the great prophets who were able to look into the depth of their times, who tried to escape it because they could not stand the horror of their visions, and who yet had the strength to look to an even deeper level and there to discover hope.

We sometimes find ourselves at the “depth of our times.” We sometimes try to escape the horror of what is happening to us. From those low and dark places, it takes strength to look into a deeper level. But that is where we must look if we want to discover hope, the kind of hope that is a healing balm for every life circumstance. We may find comfort, solace, consolation in many places, but hope is found only in the depths.

The shoreline opens itself up for the gentle waves at eventide. It’s a tranquil scene that refreshes the soul in ways I can hardly understand. I like to go to the seashore, in my mind at least, just to see and smell and hear the surf as it comes and goes. It brightens my spirit and refreshes me when I most need it.

I spent two weeks on the Kenyan shore many years ago and learned to love the Indian Ocean. Monkeys played in our front yard, frolicked in the trees, and added to the delight of the scenery.

I love to watch the African sun light the ocean in magical ways, as only the African sun can do. There is nothing like it anywhere else I have visited. I will always have fond memories of our time in Africa.

Memories are wonderful for the soul. They can transport us back to places we loved and remind us of people we cherished. L.M. Montgomery wrote that “Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”

That is so true. And so I hold tightly to my good memories and vow that each day I live, I will make new ones.

The world is meant to be celebrated. Not that one would get that message during this political season when many of the candidates vehemently insist the the country is going to hell in a hand basket unless we elect them. They believe they can swoop in and save the day. They believe that our situation in this country is abysmal.

But there is another story circulating in America, and I like it much better. 106-year-old Virginia McLaurin got to fulfill her dream of visiting the White House and meeting President Obama and the First Lady. And they danced! A visit filled with joy and dreams come true! An opportunity to be celebrated!

Virginia McLaurin beamed as she spoke, “I thought I would never live to get in the White House. And I tell you, I am so happy. A black president! A black wife! And I’m here to celebrate black history. Yeah, that’s what I’m here for.”

So I’m for healing the world through joy, as Terry Tempest Williams writes:

Once upon a time,
When women were birds,
There was the simple understanding
That to sing at dawn
And to sing at dusk
Was to heal the world through joy.
The birds still remember what we have forgotten,
That the world is meant to be celebrated.

Lent can be a journey taken in the darkness. Yet, there is a sense about Lent that is so beautiful, so full of gentle light and new life possibilities. In some ways, Lent can be a new start for us, a chance to start all over with more wisdom and resolve. There is newness of life in Lent when we spend these forty days mindfully. There are new beginnings in Lent if we take the Lenten journey with hope and courage. Although Lent can be a time of darkness, a time of trying to open our eyes yet not being able to see our way ahead, it is a worthwhile journey. Each step on this journey can be one of taking a careful step at a time into a darkened place, yet knowing that the light will pierce the darkness.

In that kind of darkness, it does take courage to change things about our lives. It takes a desire to become all we can be and to move toward new beginnings resolutely. Giving up something for Lent is the popular thing to do. But it’s more life-changing to embrace something during Lent, to find ways to become more fully alive. Joan Chittister expresses a wonderful way to take the Lenten Journey.

Lent is a call to weep for what we could have been and are not. Lent is the grace to grieve for what we should have done and did not. Lent is the opportunity to change what we ought to change but have not. Lent is about becoming, doing and changing whatever it is that is blocking the fullness of life in us right now. Lent is a summons to live life anew.

Chains bind us and hold us captive. We can be chained by a variety of life circumstances: illness, aging, financial difficulties, addictions, family violence and abuse. We can be chained by our own perfectionism and self-destructive habits. We can be chained by our family members, our spouses. We can even be chained by our religion, which can be toxic rather than life-giving.

What we long for is the freedom to be who we are, to break the chains that hold us captive. Galatians 5:1 says it eloquently:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty with which Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

It is for us to determine what is causing our “yoke of bondage.” And then we must claim the liberty that is ours because Christ has made us free. What Gospel good news it is that we have the power to break the chains that bind us and that God wants us to do just that!

It might take some fortitude. It might take patience. It might require courage. Most definitely, it will require our honesty — a candid, realistic self-assessment of ourselves and the circumstances that surround us. God grants us the power to break those chains and to release the bondage that constrains us. Wait no longer! Proclaim that you are free from your bondage, that you have broken the chains that bound you! It’s important.
The song “Free” sung by Faith Hill is inspiring. I invite you to listen to it at this link:

Here are some of the lyrics:

Life pulls fast changes
Winds blows past pages
All I see is I don’t need this
High-strung tight rope walk
Ticking time bomb clock
Scratch my name
Cut these chains

I’m free
Kicking out of that prison
I am free
Singing those words of wisdom
Let it be
Nobody gonna put the blues inside of me

Because of an annoying habit of sleeping late, I always miss the sunrise. It’s a shame, really, not to get to see the yellows and pinks of a brand new day. It is the time of day that holds great promise, a new beginning, a fresh start, a time to begin new projects and tasks, maybe even a time to dream a new dream.

Seeing the sunrise is a reminder that, whatever the problems of the night, the sun always rises and gives new light to our lives.

Bernard Williams wrote these words: “There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.”

Perhaps sunrise is a gift that brings us hope every day. And hope is the one thing that we desperately need. It gives us the strength to move forward and to anticipate a day brighter and better than we have ever experienced. The sunrise reminds us.

May your new day be filled with new hope as bright as the sunrise, new chances to start anew, new dreams to fulfill the longing of your heart.

I saw this statement on my Facebook page this morning. “I think of you as the woman who saves children. Thank you.” What a humbling statement that was for me! What an honor to be thought of in that way!

The truth is, though, that I have felt like a dismal failure at saving children. I have never forgotten the words said to me by a young victim of child abuse, “Why should I tell you anything? You can’t protect me. My father will find out I told and that will just make it worse.”

And tragically, his words were true. No matter what we tried to do, we couldn’t protect him from his abusive father. The abuse continued for many years and had a devastating impact on this child. The harm continues even now that the child is eighteen and far away from his father.

Children are harmed every day in this country that should offer protection for its children. Consider these statistics:

– In 2014, 15.5 million or approximately 21 percent of children in the U.S. lived in poverty. (feedingamerica.org)

– 15.3 million children lived in food-insecure households in 2014.(feedingamerica.org)

– Every year more than 3 million reports of child abuse are made in the United States involving more than 6 million children. (Childhelp USA)

– Children Die Every Day From Abuse or Neglect. In 2005, an estimated 1,460 children died as a result of abuse or neglect (USDHHS, 2007). Almost 76.6 percent of these children were 3 years of age or younger. Most child fatalities (76.6 percent) happened at the hands of parents (USDHHS, 2007).

– The United States has one of the worst records among industrialized nations – losing on average between four and seven children every day to child abuse and neglect. (Childhelp USA)

– A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds. (Childhelp USA)

– More than 70% of the children who died as a result of child abuse or neglect were two years of age or younger. More than 80% were not yet old enough for kindergarten. (Childhelp USA)

– 80% of child maltreatment fatalities involve at least one parent as perpetrator. (Childhelp USA)

– 555 children under 12 have been killed by firearms in the three years since the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, on Dec. 14, 201

There are so many more statistics that should shame us. there is so much that God wants us to do to protect the children. Yet, often we turn a blind eye to the tragedies around us. I cannot help but recall this Scripture:

And whoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the depths of the sea. (Mark 9:42)

May we all be convicted of our failure to protect our children. May we search deep within and call out our better selves to save our children, all of God’s children.

There are few sights as beautiful as a sunset on a river. The light is dim, inviting a time of deep relaxation and contemplation. The sunlight is bright, but understated, almost as if it whispers to the soul. Breezes are gentle and the cicadas sing their lyrical songs. Some have called them the crying cicadas of sunset.

The image above of the Maumelle River in Arkansas calls out to me, “Peace can be found in this place.” And I am reminded that places of peace in my life are rare. Although peace is something my spirit longs for, I am trapped in mundane days and meaningless scenes.

I escape with photography and art. When I cannot physically sit on the banks of a flowing river, the photographs take me there. Even when I cannot physically go to a place where cicadas sing, believe it or not, I can listen to them on YouTube! I readily admit that this is a rather pitiful facsimile of nature’s captivating beauty. But, still, my appreciation of art and landscape photography feeds my soul. I am grateful for the artists that bring the world to life with their images.

Although many of us are imprisoned by our lives and separated from sunsets and rivers, God finds ways to caress our souls and fill us with grace. For me, art is the medium, my pathway to relaxation and contemplation. I can look at this photograph of the sunset on the river for hours, and I can find in the image the peace I so need. Even the stillness of the image moves my spirit beyond my circumstance. It’s called Contemplative Visual Practice, and it includes the following steps:

*Bring your attention to the present.
*Take several deep breaths and release them slowly.
*Release the to-do-lists yet to do…you can always pick them back up later if you wish.
*Gaze over the photo…take it all in…just as it is.
*Pause for several moments.
*Notice if a particular area of part of the image keeps drawing your eye.
*Notice if it is the entire image which is resonating with you.
*Savor what you are noticing.
*Let your imagination free to ponder the possibilities of what the Spirit is saying to you.

(https://theedgeishere.wordpress.com/2016/02/17/lent-2016-holy-conversations/)

I thank God that I am able to escape through images, especially when sunlit rivers are so far away.

I had an artistic experience yesterday that presented a small lesson. I decided I wanted to try my hand at a watercolor painting. Now, you must understand that I have no idea how to use watercolors. On top of that, I have barely a thimble full of artistic talent in me. But, still I tried.

I started with a wonderful piece of art to look at. It was painted by Richard Stevens, a brilliant artist from Hot Springs, Arkansas. I had no plan to copy his art, just to use it as a guide, thinking that if I studied his light and dark areas, I would be on my way to a personal masterpiece of some kind.

What I learned anew about watercolors is that you cannot control them. They flow where they want to flow and bleed where they choose to bleed. So in an instant, my painting took on a life of its own!

Reminds me of life in a way. We can lay it out like we want to, choose the “colors” we love, plan the central plot, but try as we might, we cannot control the outcome. Life flows like a watercolor painting, and the finished product is always a serendipity. We simply have no control.

By the way, I actually kind of liked my little painting, although it looked nothing like the work of Richard Stevens. And I discovered that having control isn’t the best plan anyway.

As far as life goes, it really is best to leave it in the hands of the master artist, a God who is full of grace toward us. So, thank you, God, for my complete lack of control. Thank you for painting my life with your colors, not mine. Thank you for even a thimble full of artistic ability. Thank you for the gift of creativity. Thank you for your unending grace.

The Lenten journey always prompts me to take stock of my faith. It is not enough to simply know my religious preference as a Christian and a Baptist. It is more like finding the very center of my faith and examining what is there. My deepest roots are in the Greek Orthodox Church where I was raised during my childhood and early teen years. At age eighteen I found what I describe as a personal faith, a faith that I carefully examined and chose as my own.

In spite of the rancor it caused in my family, I became a Baptist. I was educated at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. I spent two years in Uganda, East Africa as a missionary. Years later, I would be ordained as a Baptist minister. I fleshed out that calling first as a hospital chaplain, later as a pastor of a church for nine years, and most recently as Minister of Worship at New Millennium Church in Little Rock, Arkansas.

But my faith is so much more than these ministry positions. I recently read an article by Caitlin Flanagan, Contributing Editor to The Atlantic, on time.com. Her description of Christianity put my own faith in perspective:

Christianity . . . is the religion of forgiveness and grace and clean slates, of sins washed clean and all of those things that have kept so many of us broken down old sinners going for so long.

When all is said and done, apart from ministry positions, religious affiliation and church-going, mine truly is the religion of forgiveness, grace, clean slates, and sins washed clean. Thanks be to God.

At times, we who are believers temporarily forget that we believe. Something interrupts our life in ways that can throw us off center. Circumstances assail us with doubt until we wonder if we believe at all anymore. It is a frightening place to be, especially for those of us who have most always had an unwavering faith in God.

But I have counseled with many a person who has lost her way and who finds herself questioning her belief in God. I recently had a long email conversation with a man raised as a Christian, but who simply did not believe anymore. I find it enlightening when a person dares to doubt God out loud. I find that the raw honesty of that person creates an even stronger foundation upon which to rebuild faith.

Bishop Steven Charleston wrote this about belief and unbelief:

I do not know, or pretend to know, the why and how of what I believe. I only know that I hear the sound of something moving through the winter branches, riding the sharp wind, speaking in an older language than words. I trust, more than I understand, watching and listening, waiting for the clouds to tell me secrets, for the water to sing a song from before the birth of fire. I am not here to tell you what to think. I am only here to walk with you as we follow tracks in snow.

So may each of us find refreshment and renewal in the questioning of our belief. May we find God again in the places we walk. May we trust even when we don’t understand.

Communication of faith through images is a powerful means of sharing. The images I use in my blog are often just as important to the message as is the written word. The images speak to me, and I hope are inspiring to you as well.

Today’s image reminds me of the fresh newness of the morning tide, it’s ever-changing pulse that mirrors our ever-changing lives. What a challenge it is to navigate life’s changes, to grow old, to meet the challenges that beset us, to face the obstacles of living. The good news is that navigating life’s changes means that we are in the midst of a life well lived. It means that when we fall down, we get up again, over and over again. It means that when we encounter stones in the road, we continue the journey.

John Dyer wrote, “The most amazing thing to me about the sea is the tide. A harbor is totally transformed in a very short space of time by the arrival or departure of the sea.”

Perhaps that’s why the tide is so life-giving, having the power to transform us as we watch it’s ebb and flow, strengthening us as we take in both its crashing waves and its gentle arrival on the shore. So is our life, made up of crashing waves in one minute and gentle flow in the next.

Today, I pray for you the light of a new morning to light up your day. And as you continue on the Lenten journey, may you find peace and fresh hope.

While Lent brings us the message that we are dust and to dust we shall return, it is not intended to be forty days of minimizing our worth. Yes, it is a time of confession and repentance. But it is not a time for self-denigration.

Why do we often have trouble honoring ourselves? Why do we doubt the wisdom that is within us? We have such a tendency to devalue ourselves. To do otherwise, we sometimes believe, is to be arrogant, to be self-centered. But there is more than enough going on around us to bring us down. There are plenty of people who disparage us along the way. The truth is that many of us struggle with our self-image for a variety of reasons.

The messages are many . . . you aren’t smart enough, or attractive enough. You aren’t outgoing enough, or athletic enough. Somehow, from some place very early on in my life, I bought in to the idea that I’m just not good enough.

Gaining maturity, unfortunately, does not erase those early messages. But there is good news. God honors us from the inside out. Created in the image of God, we are good enough! We just need to believe that about ourselves. I love this quote from Bishop Steven Charleston:

Honor yourself for the vision within you. It is both who you are and who you are always becoming. It is the reflection of your soul, the mirror of your deepest faith. It grows and changes, but at its core is an abiding wisdom, an understanding of life that escapes the grasp of words to explain. You have an intuitive spirit, one that sees as only the spirit can see, not limited by time, but beyond the physical, out into the wide reaches of sacred reality. Honor yourself for the vision within you, for no one else sees exactly what you see.

If, like me, you slow down your frantic pace during Lent, you are left open for deeper introspection. That in itself can be troubling in some very real ways. For me, slowing down results in a magnification of my challenges and problems. When I take stock of reality, I often find myself focused squarely on the problems I am facing. It’s no fun, but it is real.

And life’s reality is one of the things Lent is about. It isn’t about fantasizing and having magical thinking about things. It is about looking at circumstances the way they really are, facing off against your problems, being honest about your emotions, being realistic about your situation.

Lenten introspection may not always be uplifting, but it is good for us. It helps us open our eyes for an honest glimpse of our lives. It helps us lean on the strength of God when we recognize our frailty. It helps us move ahead on life’s journey, even if what is ahead frightens us.

As you journey through Lent remember this advice from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Don’t be pushed by your problems. Be led by your dreams.”

As we move through Lent, we are not alone, but are cradled in the arms of a loving God. Problems do not separate us from God. Obstacles of life do not separate us from God. Acts of confession and contrition do not separate us from God. They draw us ever closer to the gifts of grace God offers us and free us to be led by our dreams.

I would like to introduce you to Hope’s Journey, a support system for survivors of violence and abuse. Hundreds of persons have found spiritual and emotional care through Hope’s Journey via email communication. At times, face-to-face help is daunting for persons who have been victimized. Many of them are too intimidated to even leave their homes. So email communication has become a transformative lifeline for them.

If you or someone you know would benefit from this kind of help through email, please contact me at kathymfindley@gmail.com. It may seem a bit impersonal to seek help in this way, but I have communicated for months with several people who began a healing journey through our email communication.

Just today I received a new request for email support from a young woman who has recurring episodes of post traumatic stress. The idea of email support works for her at this particular time in her life. She has had a great deal of personal counseling and trauma therapy through the years, but for now, she prefers spiritual and emotional guidance through email.

Hope’s Journey was founded in 2013 to provide spiritual and emotional care to persons who have been harmed by violence and abuse.

Mark Sandlin offers us two thoughts that should be written on our hearts at all times:

You are dust; to dust you shall return.
You are stardust; there is a universe of potential within you.

What a wonderful thought to begin our forty days of Lent. Yes, it is true, as we read in the book of Genesis (3:19), “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We are also reminded that Job repented “in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:6)

But as we look at ourselves introspectively during the Lenten journey, it is good news to know that we are not only dust, we are stardust.

Consider this quote from physics.org: “We are all made of stardust. It sounds like a line from a poem, but there is some solid science behind this statement too: almost every element on Earth was formed at the heart of a star.”

Inside of us, making us who we are, is a tiny part of the universe. It’s science. It’s physics. But it’s also just a little speck of divine mystery. Perhaps it is a part of what is special about us.

It is no small miracle that we were formed “at the heart of a star.” What a mystery is God’s vast creation. God created us out of great love. But if this small part of God’s creation can be explained by physics, it is no less a miracle.

We are dust, and to dust we shall return. We are God’s, and to God we shall return. And I want to believe, too, that a bit of stardust makes me who I am.

May you live these Lenten days in the warm embrace of God. May you hear God calling you to come apart from daily routine and rest a while in a quiet place so that your spirit might be lit with Resurrection light.

Ash Wednesday often brings my spirit to a halt. In the earliest centuries, Christians who had been immersed in persistent sin had ashes sprinkled on their bodies as a sign of repentance. Around the tenth century, believers began to signify their need for repentance by having ashes placed on their foreheads in the shape of a cross.

Today, many churches have Ash Wednesday worship services where worshippers are encouraged to openly acknowledge frailty and sinfulness. In a world that often expects us to be perfect, Ash Wednesday gives us an opportunity to freely confess our imperfections. The imposition of ashes on our foreheads are symbolic of our confessions.

So as my spirit sits in holy stillness today, I ask myself where I go from here. Where will this Ash Wednesday take me? What willLent’s forty days hold for me this year?

I considered giving up my blog writing for Lent, but that didn’t feel right. There is something about writing every day that is transformative for me. Yet, I have to admit that I sometimes tell myself that my blog of random thoughts is not something that anyone wants to read every day.

I often threaten to quit writing. But every time I do, I have a flood of mildly profound thoughts that beg to be recorded. So I keep writing, and every once in a while, I receive the blessing of hearing from a reader that benefitted from my words. Most of all, I write as a personal discipline, a spiritual discipline that forces me to engage my heart and my soul.

So how will I move through Lent? I will continue to write. I will post a daily Scripture on my Facebook page, hoping that even one Facebook friend might be lifted just for a moment from the activities of a busy life.

Most importantly, I pray that you will experience a holy Ash Wednesday and that your Lenten journey might be a time of spiritual growth and renewed faith. Today, may we symbolically mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross as a reminder of the crucifixion of Jesus. And then let us move through Lent holding tightly to the hope of the resurrection.