I wonder sometimes what I might find around the bend. “Around the bend” is an apt metaphor for the twists and turns of life’s pathway. No matter how long I have traveled my journey, no matter how much life wisdom I have gained, I never, ever know what what’s around the bend.
The pathway before me can frighten, even while I strain to see as far as I can into what lies ahead. The bend is sharp most times, and the angle hides my view. As I age, fear on the journey looms large, for I am completely aware of the dangers I might encounter around the first bend, and the next, and all the bends that are ahead of me. And yet, I am constantly graced with flashes of hope and faith whispering that what is ahead of me could be even better than what I have left behind.
The beautiful photo above by Steven Nawojczyk is a gift of calm waters bending in a gentle flow at the foot of a mountain, lightened by the golden rays of the sun. The image makes me believe that whatever is around the bend is lovely, peaceful, comforting, safe. And that is exactly what God would want me to believe, and woukd want us all to believe. I cannot help but think of the Psalmist’s affirmation that God “leads me beside still waters.”
In so many comfort-filled passages, the Psalmist offers sure and certain comfort. Hear the Psalmist’s words . . .
Keep me safe, my God, for in you I take refuge.
Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup;Â you make my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
Surely I have a delightful inheritance.
I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.   Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure . . .
You make known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.
— Psalm 16:1, 5-6, 8-9, 11 (NIV)
And hear the words of the Prophet Isaiah . . .
Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. Â
— Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)
And so “around the bend” is not so frightening after all. In God — “who makes known the path of life” —  there is comfort, safety, protection, constancy, and even joy. Thanks be to God.
Art: “Songbirds in Apple Blossoms” by James Hautman.
As I sit on my porch this morning in a light, refreshing rain, the most prominent sound I hear is joyous birdsong, different strains of music from a variety of birds that co-habit in our tiny bird sanctuary. A statue of St. Francis appropriately stands among the feeders and the suet. The hummingbird feeders are in a separate spot, providing a banquet of sweet nectar to these delightful birds, whose fast moving wings create their most unique song.
I love to listen to the songbirds, and we are graciously blessed to live in a neighborhood with very few sounds — no traffic, no motorcycles, no speeding cars, usually not even people voices. Just the birdsong, with an occasional tree frog and the wonderful southern gift of cicadas.Â
In my opinion, every bird is a songbird. According to scientists at The Nature Conservancy, the term “songbirds” refers to a wide range of bird species. Songbirds typically include finches, sparrows and warblers, but most often when someone is defining “songbird” they refer to beautifully colored birds that we’ve never heard of. The Nature Conservancy website features three: the Dickcissel, the Blackburnian Warbler, and the Kirtland’s Warbler.
I have never seen any of those birds, but I have heard lots of glorious birdsong. So I stand by my opinion that every bird’s a songbird. And in my better moments, I hear their songs as an offering to God, their songs of praise to God who gave them voice. During those times, I am drawn to the many beautiful and lyrical Psalms. This is one that is particularly moving to me
Praise the Lord, my soul.
Lord my God, you are very great;Â you are clothed with splendor and majesty.
You wrap yourself in light as with a garment;
You stretch out the heavens like a tent and lay the beams of your upper chambers on their waters.
You make the clouds your chariot and you ride on the wings of the wind.
You make the winds your messengers . . .
How many are your works, Lord!
In wisdom you made them all;Â the earth is full of your creatures.
There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number — living things both large and small.
When you send your Spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the ground.
You make springs gush forth in the valleys;Â they flow between the hills,
You give water to all the beasts of the field;Â the wild donkeys quench their thirst.
The birds of the sky nest by the waters;Â they sing among the branches.
— Psalm 104: 1-3;10-12; 24-25, 30 (paraphrased)
Many of the Psalms urge us to sing, to praise God with our voices.Â
Sing to the Lord a new song . . .
I will sing to the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.
As far as singing, well sometimes we are reluctant, holding back an imperfect voice that does not always make pleasant songs. Sometimes we are convinced that our singing would not be such a worthy offering of praise. So we should probably remember that every bird’s a songbird. And as for us humans, it might help to remember that every person has a voice, every heart has a song, every soul has a melody.
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to thee. How great thou art! How great thou art!*
Amen.
* From the hymn, “How Great Thou Art,” a Swedish traditional melody and a poem written by Carl Boberg (1859–1940) in Mönsterås, Sweden in 1885. It was translated into German and then into Russian and became a hymn. It was translated into English from the Russian by English missionary Stuart K. Hine, who also added two original verses of his own.
So when the grand and glorious celebration of Christ’s resurrection is over, what do we do with our leftover joy? There is an easy answer to that. Celebrate Bright Week with laughter and loud singing, and look forward with great anticipation to Bright Sunday! You might be wondering what in the world I’m talking about. What’s Bright Week and Bright Sunday?
Well, just in case you didn’t know, Bright Week and Bright Sunday are real. genuine. bonafide things. Many Christian churches celebrate the Sunday after Easter as Bright Sunday, a day for joyful celebration. In fact, the entire week following Easter, called Bright Week, was set aside for the celebration of the Resurrection according to the 66th canon of the Council in Trullo:
. . . from the holy day of the Resurrection of Christ our God until New Sunday (or Bright Sunday) for a whole week the faithful in the holy churches should continually be repeating psalms, hymns and spiritual songs, rejoicing and celebrating Christ, and attending to the reading of the Divine Scriptures and delighting in the Holy Mysteries. For in this way shall we be exalted with Christ; raised up together with Him.
The custom was rooted in the musings of early church theologians like Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom, including the intriguing idea that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. “Risus paschalis – the Easter laugh,” the early theologians called it.
For centuries in Eastern Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant countries, the week following Easter Sunday, including “Bright Sunday,” the Sunday after Easter, was observed by the faithful as “days of joy and laughter” with parties and picnics to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. Churchgoers and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, told jokes, sang, and danced. Can you even imagine such hilarity in some of our most traditional churches?
Yet, theologians wrote about holy laughter. While languishing in a Nazi prison, Protestant theologian Jurgen Moltmann became fascinated by the ongoing celebrations of Jesus’ Resurrection by the early Christians that continued long after Easter Sunday. He called it “the laughter of the redeemed.”
And yet, we Christians are often viewed as offering a joyless and humorless Christianity.
Where is “the laughter of the redeemed?”
We have a Savior who, knowing that he was about to be betrayed, tortured, and crucified, told his disciples before his arrest:
“These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be full.” (John 15:11)
So where is our joy? Where is our laughter?
With great fondness, I remember the youth ensemble at First Baptist Church of Arab, Alabama singing an amped-up version of “Sunshine in My Soul,” lively, syncopated, full of unbridled joy! With a big smile on every face, the group sang this spirited, exuberant song about their sheer joy in Christ. Always, their offering of “Sunshine in My Soul” was a joyous event. I can hear it in my memory right now.
There is sunshine in my soul today.
It’s a glow so warm and bright.
That shines in any earthly sky
For Jesus is my light.
Oh, there’s sunshine, beautiful sunshine,
When the peaceful, happy moments roll.
When I look with love into my brother’s face, there is sunshine in my soul.
What a bright and joy-filled song! A perfect song for Bright Sunday.
Laughter, joy, fun, rejoicing!
I hope that during this Bright Week you will find sunshine in your soul. I hope that you will laugh hard and long during Bright Week, that you will pass joy along to those you love, that you will sing a song of joy or two, using your biggest, strongest outdoor voice. After all, it is Christ’s resurrection that we celebrate!
Photo by Tim Ernst. Harvest moonrise, Hawksbill Crag, Upper Buffalo Wilderness Area, Ozark National Forest, Arkansas.
I often think of my Aunt Eirene and wish she was still with us. She was the queen of lighthearted living, in good times and in not-so-good times. She had a beautiful, playful spirit. She was always bejeweled when she dressed for any occasion. She was creative, with many talents from drawing house plans to interior decorating to iconography.
She invited me into her iconography world by urging me to go with her to a week-long iconography workshop on Weeks Bay, a beautiful, serene spot near Fairhope, . Weeks Bay is described with the phrase “where rivers meet the sea.” With its stunning marshes and shorelines, it made a perfect backdrop for a week of rest, creativity and spiritual experiences.
As the sun set each day, we lingered near the river and wondered about the delightful reality that this river’s current actually meets the sea’s tide. Then, after a pleasant community dinner, we enjoyed creating sacred icons in an atmosphere of soft music and quiet conversation that always included talk about how our icons were taking shape, the blending of colors, and the strokes of the brush that had to be precise.
“It’s not looking right” was a frequent comment. And always someone would reply that we were doing very well and that we should prayerfully continue. My aunt would constantly call attention to my icon, making sure that everyone within earshot knew that her niece’s iconography was the most beautiful she had ever seen. The workshop was a creative and spiritual week that enriched my life for years to come. For that, I am grateful to my Aunt Eirene, one of my two fun-loving aunts.
But there is another thing that I remember fondly about Eirene. Music! Thanks to Eirene, I may have been the only toddler in the world that could sing every word of dozens of songs from the early 1900s . . .
Shine on, shine on harvest moon up in the sky;
I ain’t had no lovin’ since January, February, June or July . . .
I’ll spare you the remaining lyrics. But to this day, I sing along to the Pandora tunes of Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and even the songs of the Ziegfield Follies — every word!
I thought of Eirene just the other night when the gorgeous harvest moon appeared in the night sky. I thought of her gifts to me — music, painting, dancing, and most importantly, lighthearted living. By nature, I’m not particularly lighthearted, so it’s important for me to have lighthearted people in my life for balance.
If you look around, you might find fun-loving people who could add a little laughter and levity to your life. I don’t know about you, but I can use more of that lighthearted living.
Jesus said that we are worth more than many sparrows. Perhaps he knew that knowing our worth would elude us. It truly is difficult to recognize our worth. It is even more difficult to recognize our sacred worth and to know that God deeply values the persons we are.
In 1904, songwriter Civilla Martin went to visit a bedridden friend in Elmira, New York. Mrs. Martin asked the woman if she ever got discouraged because of her physical condition. Her friend quickly responded: “Mrs. Martin, how can I be discouraged when my heavenly Father watches over each little sparrow and I know He loves and cares for me?”
On her journey back home, Mrs. Martin completed the writing of this new hymn text:
Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come, why should my heart be lonely and long for Heaven and home, when Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He: His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…
“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear, and resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears; though by the path He leadeth but one step I may see: His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…
Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise, when songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies, I draw still closer to Him; from care He sets me free; His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…
The words of that hymn ring true for me as I recall the many times I have needed God’s protection and care. Based on several scriptures, this hymn and the scripture that inspired it has comforted many people in need over the years.
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 New International Version (NIV)
Today you are being handed a towel of servanthood with your name on it.
Those are words written by Nancy Hastings Sehested for my ordination service on March 29, 1992. From that day to this, the power of that towel has been a part of my life. I won’t lie. There have been times when I wanted to lay it aside, get out from under the high calling it symbolized.
In 1996, I was presented an actual towel of servanthood by my church family. That towel has remained with me, a reminder of God’s sacred call to ministry. I took it out of its box last week and contemplated the flood of memories it holds.
I thought of patients I encountered as a hospital chaplain. I remembered their pain and suffering as if it happened yesterday. I remembered baptizing a stillborn child as her parents held her close.
I remembered the mother who prayed for a miracle in the hospital chapel after her son was injured in a car accident and declared brain dead by the doctor. I remembered the very moment he miraculously woke up and started his path toward healing.
I remembered the funeral of one of my church members, also a dear friend. I remembered the sheer joy of living and working with the people of Uganda. I remembered the day I preached my first sermon as a pastor.
I am grateful that the Holy Spirit abides with me and reminds me of my call — the grief, the pain, the labor, and most of all the joys. Remembering inspires me.
The Comforter, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and remind you of everything that I have told you.
– John 14:26
Today, I placed my towel of servanthood in a visible place so that I would see it every day. That’s where it really needs to be, to help me remember.
Good things happen. Life is filled with them, but sometimes we hardly notice. My husband and I woke up this morning, ready to enjoy another day of life. The mockingbird in the neighborhood is still singing his ever-changing song. The hummingbirds are still buzzing around the feeders. The leaves are beginning to take on fall colors. The morning breeze has a new Autumn crispness.
Sure, life has its challenges. I am dealing with health issues every day. I worry about my husband. I worry about the future. I miss my grandchildren who live far away. Most of all, I feel a sense of dread about life changes.
But I don’t want to let those feelings overshadow the good things. Yes, most of us fear change. I like to remember, though, that every good thing that has happened in my life happened because something changed.
Maya Angelou wrote, “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”
So let the changes come, as inevitably they will, and I will embrace the good and beautiful things they bring my way. Good things happen!
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.  – James 1:17
Sometimes life needs a little whimsy. Too much seriousness is bad for the soul. Try blowing a dandelion into the wind. Watch celestial pictures form in the moving clouds. Paint colors randomly on a blank sheet of paper.
It’s a good thing to break up a serious life with some whimsical experiences. It lifts the spirits and makes magical things seem more possible. Plan diversions on a whim. Try some playful things. Do those fun things that are so hard to do for such serious-minded folk.
I love the words of Robert A. Heineken in “The Cat Who Walks Through Walls.”
For millennia philosophers and saints have tried to reason out a logical scheme for the universe… until Hilda came along and demonstrated that the universe is not logical but whimsical, its structure depending solely on the dreams and nightmares of non-logical dreamers.
I think I’ll just drop the logical for a day or two. A little mirth and whimsy will do me good!
What a clear, bright day this is! Hot, yes, but still bright and beautiful. As I sit here with my morning coffee, I am struck at how grateful I am for my life. It does present its challenges, but for the most part, I am well, safe and loved beyond measure.
It is true that when I don’t feel well, I see the dimmer side of life. I worry and fret over my health. I wonder what the future holds. I entertain dark thoughts of fear and uncertainty. But those days come and go, leaving me in relative contentment and in gratitude for all the things I enjoy.
What a delightful sight to watch dozens of hummingbirds from my kitchen window! What a joy to hear from my grandchildren with a new photo! What fun it is to watch my flowers grow (or maybe wilt) in the sunlight! What a wonderful thing it is to be close to a loving family! What wonderment there is in enjoying all things bright and beautiful!
I love the hymn text written by Cecil F. Alexander and published in 1848:
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flow’r that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.
The purple-headed mountains,
The river running by, The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky.
The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.
The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
To gather every day.
He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.
Grateful today for all things bright and beautiful!
I remember the sheer excitement of getting a brand new box of crayons. It was nice to get a box of eight crayons. At least they were new and I didn’t have to search through an old, ragged box of broken crayon pieces. When I got a new box of twenty-four, I knew it was a special day. But getting the jumbo box — sixty-four crayons and a crayon sharpener — left me ecstatic.
Getting that jumbo box never got old. I never lost my sense of excitement when I opened the box. Those crayons started my love of color and the sheer joy of putting colors on paper.
Those new-box days were rare. More often than not I searched through bits and pieces of crayons that had long since lost their points. They would still color, but coloring was not such a joy when all the crayons were broken.
Still, coloring with broken crayons was a reality of life. I made the best of it and even managed to create a few masterpieces. Once in a while, I would come up with a new way to use them, like melting the pieces between wax paper sheets and making “stained glass.”
Now that I’m grown, I realize that life is filled with broken crayons. I use them anyway and do the best I can with the pieces. The important thing is not to give up on your broken pieces. Use them. Create with them. Try to enjoy them. Marvel at your own colorful masterpieces. Don’t despair over broken crayons. Broken crayons still color!
I simply decided to be happy again. It was my choice, after all. I had been through a grueling coup in my nonprofit organization. Friends and colleagues of many years betrayed me in very hurtful ways. I lost all that I had worked for in the previous ten years. The community lost a significant resource. I lost long time friends.
But that was several yesterday’s ago. I suffered a great loss, and grieved that loss for at least a year. I learned that the decision to be happy again is my own decision. The choice to hope again is my choice.
It was a good day when I made that choice. It was a good day when I made peace with the past, when I thanked God for the positive things I accomplished. It was a good day when I decided to be happy again!
The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and to have courage when things go wrong.
― Laura Ingalls Wilder
Thankfully, that’s where I am today. The painful yesterdays are but a slight mist. The tomorrows are bright with hope.
Frederick Buechner says, “All moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.” So true! Every moment of life is full of astounding possibility. In just one moment, a butterfly can flit from one bloom to another, a cardinal can light on the bird feeder outside my kitchen window, my seven year old granddaughter can wrap her little arms around me.
Life can be whatever we make of it. It can be rife with grief or covered with chaos. But life can also be grace, pure and lovely grace. That was God’s plan for our lives from the first moment in Creation.
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth… And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:1, 31)
And so on this bright, sunny day I plan to spend each moment with mindfulness, acknowledging that life it self is grace.
And for each of you I pray that grace and peace will be yours in abundance through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. (2 Peter 1:2)
We can either stay bitter or we can get better. The choice belongs to each of us, to take what life has given us and allow it to make us a better person, or to allow it to defeat us and tear us down. The choice is that simple. No one escapes life without downturns and little devastations. People sometimes hurt and betray. And we have to respond to all of that by taking sure and certain steps beyond the hurt. Those steps could be called “the dance.”
We are on a journey of twists and turns, times of happiness and times of hurt. Between who we once were and who we are now becoming is where the dance of life really happens. I want to be wide open to the rhythm of the dance, open to its creative movement in my life, willing to embrace it with my entire being.
The dance demands that.
Either we fully join our hearts with the music or we sit it out and miss it altogether. Those are the choices. There are no other alternatives. Dance or sit! As for me, I want to take the journey dancing all the way!
I love the lyrics of the song sung by Garth Brooks, “The Dance.”
“Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain
But I’d of had to miss the dance.”
Yes, life is fraught with pain, but we take it along with the joy. The two go together, are inseparable. And if you choose to avoid the pain, you will miss the dance. Joy and sorrow come together, and those who know the greatest joy are those who also knew great sorrow.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
The dance is filled with both joy and sorrow. Bishop Charleston describes the dance:
The dance is not over, even if the night grows long, even if others have left the floor, for as long as the band plays on, as long as music fills the air, the spirit within me will move, move in time to the sounds of life, to the rhythms of change. I age but I do not grow old. My dance goes on, and when I have no ground beneath me, I will dance on air.
You shall go out with joy, be led forth in peace. The mountains and the hills will break forth before you into singing, and all of the trees of the field will clap their hands. – Isaiah 55:12
What an expression of pure joy! It’s the kind of joy I long to experience, to live my life in praise to God. Such joy doesn’t come naturally for me. The toils of life push me down, and often disturb my joy. Problems and concerns often assail me. But I believe that there is a secret to finding joy, prayer and singing.
It works every time, no matter how grave your circumstance. Sincere prayer, giving praise to God with your whole heart, and singing songs of joy are remedies for the blues. And God desires that we experience that kind of joy.
I think it’s all about making life’s journey a spiritual journey. Wendell Berry writes about such a journey.
The world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet, and learn to be at home.
When my journey turns the corner leading to sadness and I am feeling melancholy, my cousin always says, “Be joyful!” That is very good advice. Feeling joy brightens my journey and invigorates my physical, spiritual and emotional being.
“It’s not looking right” was a frequent comment. And always someone would reply that we were doing very well and that we should prayerfully continue. My aunt would constantly call attention to my icon, making sure that everyone within earshot knew that her niece’s iconography was the most beautiful she had ever seen. The workshop was a creative and spiritual week that enriched my life for years to come. For that, I am grateful to my Aunt Eirene, one of my two fun-loving aunts.
God of the Sparrow 🌱 By Kathy Manis Findley 