Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

“Doesthe plowman plow without stopping for planting, opening and harrowing their ground? They are properly ordered; their God directs them.”

Isaiah 28:24, 26 (Common English Bible)

This teaching asks the reader to imagine a farmer busy at work in their vocation—plowing the land and planting a crop that is useful. No work is more routine. No work has a more basic rhythm than preparing the soil, planting, then followed by regular watering until the earth produces food that feeds a family, a community, a nation. It is hard work, preparing the soil often under the scorching sun, removing from the ground anything that hinders or diminishes an abundant crop. Some soil may be rock-filled. Other soil may have old root networks from previous groundcover that was removed for the purposes of farming the land. Soil testing may reveal deficiencies that must be addressed with fertilizer before a healthy crop can be harvested. As with most vocations, knowledge of farming methods must be learned and continually developed as technology moves every aspect of farming forward. Yet, what remains is that farming is pictured by Isaiah as routine, everyday work.

Isaiah then startles. The routine, regular work of the farmer is directed by God! The routine becomes holy work! Many readers are surprised by this discovery—the discovery that God walks beside the farmer, under the sweltering sun, guiding, teaching, and strengthening the farmer in their important but often dull task that seems, well, so secular. But why are any of us surprised? What is so strange about the companionship of God with the farmer? A God that formed the heavens and earth with God’s own hands, who with the same hands pulled apart the waters that covered the earth that revealed the soil, the soil where God then planted the garden that would feed the first man and woman? God the creator, the farmer, the one who walks alongside the man and woman, directs their steps and lays out the parameters of the relationship that God intends with all of God’s good creation.

The distinction often made between the routine, ordinary work and sacred work is purely arbitrary. Why should we expect to find God only in the work of the clergy, the sacred task of administering the sacraments, the careful study of the scriptures, and the pastoral care of the troubled, the broken, and the disillusioned? Nor should we expect God to only show up when we are reading the scriptures, practicing the sacred work of prayer, and partnering with God in feeding the hungry, clothing those who lack, and meeting other basic needs among the under-resourced. Is the work of the farmer so far removed from heaven? We must not forget that in the second chapter of Genesis, God’s hands reached down to the earth from the heavenly places to gather soil, shaping from the soil both man and woman. Then God breathed into each of their nostrils God’s own breath, which gave them life. Each breath we draw into our lungs is a reminder that it is God’s breath that started life.

Sacred life is not separated from the secular. Nor is there ordinary work and holy work. As an instructor in my graduate studies once said, all work that meets the legitimate needs of another is God’s work, is holy work. There is no distinction. Jesus worked as a carpenter; the apostle Paul made tents. Brother Lawrence, a monk centuries ago, experienced the presence of God and God’s participation alongside him while he washed the dishes in a monastery. Farmers and dishwashers and clergy are all equal with God in the wondrous work that God is presently engaged in this world. The ground that Moses stood upon while speaking to God in a flaming bush was declared by God to be holy ground. Not because Moses was there but because God was there. Isaiah found God walking alongside a farmer and saw what many of us fail to see—that God is present and honors us in our everyday living. Isaiah only asks that we notice that God is right there beside us.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

THE COMFORT OF COMMUNION

“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take and eat. This is my body.’ He took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, `Drink from this, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their sins may be forgiven’.” (Matthew 26:26-28 Common English Bible)

The gospels tell us that on the night he was betrayed, Jesus had dinner with his closest friends (who were like family to him). He spent time surrounded by them, sharing bread and wine with them, offering ministry to and receiving strength from them. And just a bit later, he took a handful of them with him to the Garden of Gethsemane. They couldn’t change what was about to happen. But, their presence kept him from having to face it alone. Jesus both offered and experienced comfort at the holy table and through what we call “the communion of the saints.”

Many years ago I served a church near Charlotte, NC, that, rather than gathering on Christmas Eve, always observed Christmas Night Communion. They thought the last act of Christmas should not be unwrapping presents, eating turkey, and watching football. Instead, it should gathering as a family of faith at the Lord’s table to say “Thank You” for the true Gift of the season. It was not a large church. They had a small staff. There were no Associate Pastors. One particular year while I was serving there, my mother had been buried on Christmas Eve. But, there was no one else to lead the service and serve the Sacrament on Christmas night. So, I was present—broken, wounded, empty, going through the motions, but present. I had a four-year-old child at home who didn’t understand the sadness in our house at Christmas that year. My father was with us, having lost his wife of almost half a century. That night I seriously struggled just to be there, let alone to provide anything of meaning for those who came to worship. When the first group of congregants who had received the bread and wine stood, they didn’t return from the altar to their pews. Instead, the person at the end of the altar walked over to where I stood and hugged me. The next person did the same. And the next and the next until they had all held their minister close in a gesture of sympathy and love. The following group who knelt for Communion did the same thing before returning to their seats. Eventually, every single individual who came forward to receive the Sacrament that night hugged me before returning to their pews, many whose faces were wet with tears. For all the books I had read about theology, and for all the courses I had taken in seminary, I think that was the night when I learned what “the communion of the saints” actually means. 

In church, we receive the comfort of Christ’s promise, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their (our) sins may be forgiven.” And, when tough times come, we also receive comfort from the communion of the saints, those who hold us close and hold us up so that we may survive the darkness.

Joy,

“If you keep track of sins, Lord—my Lord, who would stand a chance? But forgiveness is with you – that’s why you are honored.” Psalm 130:3,4 (Common English Bible)

Anne Lamott imagines a common caricature of God as an uptight, judgmental perfectionist who loves and guides you and then, if you are bad, roasts you: a God as a High School principal in a gray suit who never remembered your name but is always leafing unhappily through your files.[i] Fortunately, such a God is unknown in this Psalm. Composed as an individual prayer, Psalm 130 begins with a plea for help. This prayer is made from “the depths” (verse 1), a dark and bleak place and, apparently, there is nowhere else to turn. We are not told what the darkness is. It may be the loss of someone deeply loved. Perhaps the prayer comes from fear of those who threaten harm. Or, maybe, the prayer gushes forth from a keen sense of personal spiritual poverty. The reason for the prayer doesn’t matter. We all know darkness. Each one of us has made a cry from “the depths” at some point in our life. And, along with the person who makes this prayer, we ask for God’s mercy and care.

Suddenly, right in the midst of the prayer, confidence in God’s persistent mercy, is celebrated: “If you keep track of sins, Lord—my Lord, who would stand a chance? But forgiveness is with you—that’s why you are honored.” Memories of God’s mercy in the past strengthen the expectation that God will continue to demonstrate mercy. More, it is this character of God—one who assiduously grants mercy again and again—that God is honored among the people. Mercy is an eager expectation precisely because of God’s character! The one who prays now transitions from “the depths” to hope. This affirmation of faith moves from one generation to another because it is built upon the sturdy “honor” of God: “that’s why you are honored.” It is right there that we uncover the precious nugget, the valuable gem of this prayer—God’s honor. God is honored because God refuses to “keep track of sins.” God’s honor is in moving “honorably” toward us, entering the depths of our darkness and restoring light and life to our lives through forgiveness.

God has nothing but the best for us. In the weeds, and thorns, and brokenness of our lives, God sustains us and cares for us. Though we have hurt God, and others, God forgives us. God behaves honorably with us. There’s that word again—honorable. God is “honored” because God moves toward us with forgiveness which the Bible calls, “honorable.” Remember that when in those darkest of dark moments, we wrestle with forgiving ourselves. If God calls forgiveness honorable, do we dare now behave in a dishonorable manner by a failure to forgive ourselves? A man walked out of a church service just as the Lord’s Supper was about to be shared. One of the two pastors quickly grabbed a large piece of bread and a cup and followed the man to a nearby park. The pastor offered the man the bread and cup. The man said, “I don’t deserve that!” “Neither do I”, responded the pastor. “But strangely, God’s desire is to honor us with this bread and cup—to honor us with God’s forgiveness. Will either of us dishonor God with our refusal?” 

Anne Lamott rejects the caricature of God she creates and so should we. God is not a High School principal in a gray suit who never remembers our name. Not a God that continually examines the file of our life, seeking to produce a record of wrongs. This Psalm shows us a God that refuses to keep a record of our wrongs and neither should we. Sin remembered creates a chasm—a chasm between us and another, a chasm between us and God. That is why the apostle Paul boldly asserts in his letter to the Church in Philippi that, “I forget about the things behind me and reach out for the things ahead of me.” (Philippians 3:13b). Should any of us chose to play the comparison game, the game that “my sin” is so much greater than Paul’s sin that he so easily dismisses, remember, Paul held the coats for men as he watched them cast stone after stone upon Stephen until Stephen was dead. That nightmare of a memory Paul forgets as he now accepts God’s forgiveness, forgives himself, and reaches forward for the goal of living fully in Jesus.

Joy,

---

[i] Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, 25^th Anniversary Edition (New York: Anchor Books, 1994), 29.

“If an army camps against me, my heart won’t be afraid. If war comes up against me, I will continue to trust in this.” Psalm 27:3 (Common English Bible)

For some, the greatest struggle of faith is uncertainty. One man spoke to me following worship recently and commented, “I find this Jesus you speak of very attractive. And I have no doubt that living as Jesus taught will positively impact a life. My difficulty is this, what can we know for sure?” The writer of these words in Psalm 27 records an ancient answer to this question that remains very present for some people: “What can we know for sure?” Here, the author makes an honest assessment of the world—a world that is fearful of hostile armies and war—and affirms that, nonetheless, trust in God will abound. Anyone would be grateful that this author is so confident in the presence and power of almighty God. Yet, the question remains, “How shall we find that same confidence?”

Gene E. Bartlett is helpful.[1] First is the consistent witness that God is a loving God. Naturally, this unwavering witness through the ages fails to prove the existence of God. Simply, it asserts agreement that if there is a God, that God is a loving God. Yet, an honest and fair reading of the Bible demands some attention to the cultural norms that shaped the day when these words were written. In the day of Scripture, the notion of “father” was much deeper and richer than our present use of the designation. More than a biological identification, “father” was one who had authority and commanded respect. Unquestioning obedience and honor were expected. So when Jesus addressed God as “Father,” Jesus was making a theological claim—obedience was expected before proof was received. And throughout the ages, as men and women struggled imperfectly to obey God, the consistent experience was love, acceptance, and forgiveness. A common experience through thousands of years of struggling to live faithfully does, at the minimum, hint at the possibility of God’s existence.

Second is the conviction that men and women are responsible creatures. We may shirk responsibility at various times in our lives but none of us can escape the conviction that, ultimately, we are personally responsible for the direction our lives will take. We have the capacity to decide to move in one direction or another, to love or to withhold love. Each person senses the freedom to make decisions that will impact their lives positively or negatively. Except in those cases where there exists some mental deficiently or handicap, the common experience is that there is a tug in those decisions to move positively for the benefit of others and oneself. From where does that tug come; the tug toward kindness, goodness, and mercy?

The third is the common experience that good is more powerful than evil. So pervasive is this thought that it is woven throughout the pages of science fiction. Look at the popular movie franchise, Star Wars. Anyone familiar with it has had the words, “May the force be with you” engraved upon their minds—“the force” is a force for good. Bartlett observes on this one point that in the long sweep of history, there is evidence after evidence that good beats evil at every turn. How is that so? For Gene Bartlett and countless Christians, the answer cannot be a coincidence. Behind the consistent witness of being deeply loved, behind every conviction of personal responsibility, and behind every experience that good is a greater force than evil is the notion that present is a common source. For many millions of people through the pages of Scripture to the present day, that source is God. “What can we know for sure?” The answer is these three things. And they all point to something much deeper.

Joy,

---

[1] Bartlett, Gene E. “Some Things We Know Without Proof”, In The News in Religion and Other Sermons, New York: Abingdon-Cokesbury, 1947, 96.

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

“Jesus said to her, `I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though they die’.” John 11:25 (Common English Bible)

If you live long enough, you will lose someone or something you love: a person, a home, a marriage or romance, a job, a pet. Even moving from one place to another involves the loss of a community of friends and a sense of belonging. So, what can we do when grief has us in its grips? Among other things, we can practice the fine (and healing) art of remembering.

(1) Things We Know From Those We Remember.

The New Testament book of Hebrews states: “We have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us.” (Hebrews 12:1 CEB) They are there—the ones who taught us our most valuable life lessons. They remain around us and within us as long as the lessons we learned from them are remembered and applied. Your mom’s devotion to church, your dad’s commitment to family, your professor’s insistence on academic (and personal) integrity, your friend’s loyalty, your neighbor’s positive outlook—all those influences made (and continue to make) you what you are. The donors may no longer be present, but the impact they left behind lives on. And, thus, in a very real sense they live on, too. “We have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us.”

(2) Things We Know For Those We Remember.

The Gospel of John tells of a promise Jesus made to Martha and Mary following the death of Lazarus (their brother). He said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25) Only one chapter later, Christ made a promise to all his disciples. The NIV phrases it this way: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” (John 12:32) Jesus assured believers that his resurrection would not be a solitary journey but, rather, that he would take his friends with him. That’s what we know for those we have loved and lost. Beyond this life is another life where death shall be no more.

A clergy friend told me of a woman in his church who lost her husband and her son-in-law in an automobile accident. Her world was torn out from beneath her, leaving her understandably devastated. In time, however, as my friend put it, “she came back to life.” Psychologists call that “new normal” (the time when you have processed pain sufficiently to move forward again). He said she told him that the key for her were some words written by a friend who sent a sympathy note. The words simply said: “What feels like the end for you is a new beginning of unbroken joy for them.” “My love for them was stronger than my sadness for myself,” she told my friend. “I learned to embrace their new lives of unbroken joy.”

“We have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us.” As long as we remember the love and lessons received from those who went before, they will live on in and through us. 

“Whoever believes in me will live, even though they die.” Those who we have loved and lost are not really lost at all. Instead, when Jesus made his journey home, he took them with him to new lives of unbroken joy.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

WE LAUGH TO KEEP FROM CRYING

There’s a lovely Presbyterian church not far from where we live that, on Wednesday mornings, has a study group called Laughter and Lamentations. What a great name for a class in this day and age! Some suggest (not just comedians, but psychologists and theologians, too) that sometimes, the more we hurt, the more we need to laugh. And there are always things to laugh about. Humor is not a denial of reality. It is, instead, a gift by which we cope with reality. That theme is beautifully explored in Dr. Susan Sparks’ book Laugh Your Way to Grace. (Woodstock, Vermont: Skylight Paths Publishing, 2010)

My mom (who from time to time battled depression during her life and who possessed a wild, and sometimes bawdy, sense of humor) often laughed her way to grace. She used to say, “We laugh to keep from crying.” The Bible frequently says pretty much the same. Job lost about as much as one can lose: family members, property, land, farm animals, the support of friends, and physical health. But, in the midst of almost indescribable suffering, as the NIV puts it, he was promised that in time God would “fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouts of joy.” (Job 8:21)In his Sermon on the Plain (Luke’s rendition of the Sermon on the Mount), Jesus talked about poverty, sorrow, and grief. But while dealing with those undeniable realities, He added, “Happy are you who weep now, because you will laugh.” (Luke 6:21) In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the word Easter literally means “God’s laughter.” Following the most dire and desperate of all the events in human history, the crucifixion of The Messiah on a Roman Cross, Easter came. The stone was rolled away. And according to that ancient liturgical tradition, the heavens were filled with the sound of God’s laughter, the boundless joy of knowing that sin and evil and death had no power anymore. We laugh to keep from crying. But even more, ultimately, we laugh because life wins. Love wins. God wins.

Norman Cousins’ best-selling book from years ago, Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient (New York: Norton Press, 1979), told of how he went into remission from a serious illness for which there was no known cure. For hours at a time, Cousins would lock himself away and watch films by the Marx Brothers and old episodes of Candid Camera. He belly-laughed as he viewed them. Laughter produces endorphins which, in his case, began to effectively battle the autoimmune disorder that was crippling him. Eventually, doctors were unable to find any trace of the disease whatsoever. Apparently, the Old Testament Book of Proverbs was correct when it wrote that, “A joyful heart helps healing.” (Proverbs 17:22 CEB) “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” 

When things are stressful in my life, in addition to practices like prayer and journaling, I often watch videos by comedians like Leanne Morgan, Stephen Wright, and Martin Short as Giminy Glick, or I turn on the TV and watch old episodes of Andy Griffith or new episodes of Only Murders in the Building. “We laugh to keep from crying” because, in truth, humor really is good medicine. The Bible even prescribes it when stress or fear has us in its grips. We cannot (and should not) ignore the reality of human pain—our own or that of others. But in the midst of it, or perhaps at the end of it, the Book of Job promises that God will “fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouts of joy.” Or, as Jesus put it: “Happy are you who weep now, because you will laugh.” That may be the gift of grace we need sometimes just to survive. 

Joy,

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

Philippians 4:13 (New Revised Standard Version)

Confidence is such an important part of God’s desire for us, for our wholeness in life. It is really a form of positive energy that moves us forward. That great preacher of another generation, Norman Vincent Peale, identified a positive attitude as ‘power’ for meeting all of life’s challenges. Positive thinking or confidence is our equipment that increases the odds that things will turn out the way we hope they will. It is a matter of the mind—a matter of changing our reality by changing our focus.

The root of the word confidence is confide. Confide is derived from the Latin language by placing two words together, (con) which means, “with” and, (fide) which means “trust” or “faith.” Confidence has to do with trusting within a relationship with another. The apostle Paul is teaching here in Philippians that we are asked to place our trust in Jesus. As we do, the very strength of Jesus flows into us and strengthens us. Our confidence grows. God’s foundation for confidence is regularly spending time with Jesus so that we begin to know Jesus as intimately as a good friend or spouse. As that friendship with Jesus grows, the knowledge of how God intends to use us also grows. The knowledge of our life’s purpose then releases confidence that we are capable of anything when we trust Jesus’ strength coming alongside us.

A pastor and friend of mine is often identified as the Energizer Bunny. As someone once noted to me, Tom doesn’t walk into a room—he bursts into a room! His confidence comes from a close walk with his Lord. He knows God’s claim upon him and is aware of the gifts he has for ministry. This knowledge gives him poise and bearing. He can enter a room full of strangers and experience ease for the simple reason that he knows who he is—a man of God who trusts that God is with him in the moment. Consequently, strangers see his confidence and think, “Here is someone I am comfortable approaching because he is so comfortable with himself.” “Here is someone I want to approach because of his positive energy.” Tom’s presence in a room elevates the energy in the room for everyone. Tom is confident because of his close trust and walk with Jesus that is nurtured each day.

To build that kind of energy, that level of confidence, you must first own that you are uniquely made and like no one else. For years I wanted to be like my friend, Tom. The difficulty with that kind of thinking is that I never owned that I am uniquely made for a reason. The world is richer because Tom walks into rooms. But the world is also richer because of who I am—a quieter man who also walks into rooms and immediately identifies those standing in the margins. They are the ones I engage first. I introduce myself and ask them to share with me who they are. I listen to them and value them and watch their own sense of self-value begin to rise as a result. To witness this then strengthens my own confidence. Second, I stop telling myself that I don’t have the gifts of Tom, but that I do have gifts, and talents, and ability forged from years of ministry that add value to others. I stop selling myself short. Uniquely made and endowed with gifts that add value to my small part of the world—that is my bankroll. In relationship with Jesus, these are the things that bring confidence. These are the things that strengthen me.

Joy,

“But I know that my redeemer is alive, and afterward he’ll rise upon the dust … Whom I’ll see myself – my eyes see, and not a stranger’s.” Job 19:25-27 (Common English Bible)

A course I teach every semester at High Point University is entitled “Biblical Themes.” It’s designed to explore the great themes of our Judeo-Christian faith: Law, Grace, Sin, Salvation, the Centrality of Love, the Search for Meaning, Incarnation, Spirit, etc. One of the lectures is always about Theodicy (a theological consideration of the reality of suffering in a world governed by a good God). Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote a book about that entitled Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People? (New York: Shocken Books, 1981) It became a bestseller because the book’s title is a question almost everyone asks if they live long enough. 

Our classroom session on theodicy is always based on the Old Testament book of Job, a study in human suffering vis-a-vis the existence of a loving God. Job lost everything a person can imagine losing … except for his belief in God’s presence. He was grief-stricken, angry, confused, unsure why he had done his best in life and seemingly had been repaid with nothing but hurt and heartache. And yet, even when a loved one told him to “curse God and die” (Job 2:9), he did not give up his belief in the Divine. Mind you, he did feel that life was unfair. He did feel Covenant had not been honored, even though he had kept his end of it. He didn’t just glibly say, “It is what it is.” Job kept crying out “Why?” Suffering made no sense to him, as often it makes no sense to us. But amid questions for which he could find no answers, Job never let go of one fundamental belief: “I know that my Redeemer is alive ….” (Job 19:25)

When at last Job got his moment to pose his question to God about why he had suffered so seriously after having done his best, God answered, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations?” (Job 38:4) It was not a curt or unkind response. Instead, it was God’s way of replying that even if the reason for suffering were explained to Job, no mere mortal could wrap his mind around it. Furthermore (and even more importantly), getting an answer to “Why?” wouldn’t change a single thing. If you could determine why an illness or accident took the life of a loved one, that knowledge wouldn’t bring the loved one back. It wouldn’t change anything. So, God helped Job understand that the important questions are not “Why?” but instead “What?” and “Who?” What do I do to survive? To move forward? What resources do I have at my disposal? What friends provide shoulders I can lean on? What inner strengths do I need to call to the surface? And, Who is God? Do I make God into the enemy who caused the pain or the ally who will help me survive and overcome it? Knowing why something happens doesn’t undo it. But knowing what steps to take and who is the God that promises to walk with you on the journey help one to survive it.

I remember hearing my friend Peter Rubenstein, a retired rabbi from New York City, say, “All that the Hebrews were called to do when the waters parted was to take the next step. They did so believing that God was walking with them. Sometimes taking the next step is all we can do, and it is enough.” His words were biblical and absolutely true. Just take the next step. You don’t have to heal in a day or a month or by any imposed calendar or guideline. Just take the next step, one step at a time, one day at a time, and trust that even when you don’t understand, still the One who loves you is walking with you – day by day, step by step. “I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth … I myself will see him with my own eyes.”

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

Matthew 14:13, “When Jesus heard about John, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.” Matthew 14:13 (Common English Bible)

An out-of-state tourist in Florida was fishing in a marshy inlet when his small boat capsized. Hanging onto the side of it, the man feared there would be alligators in the inlet and his life would be at risk. He cried out to an old fisherman on the shore, “Help me! Please! The alligators will attack me.” The old guy didn’t even look up. He just called back, “There ain’t no gators in this inlet. There used to be, but they’re all gone now.” With that, the fisherman relaxed. The sun and water were warm. He decided to enjoy it and did a slow, lazy backstroke toward land. Growing curious, once more he shouted to the man on the shore and asked, “What did you do to get rid of the alligators?” Again without looking up, the old man answered, “We didn’t do anything. The sharks ate `em.”

Daily life with its rapid pace, incessant demands, strains and stresses sometimes makes us feel like we’re surrounded by sharks. Financial crises. Relational estrangements. Health concerns. Social pressures. Guilt. Grief. Loneliness. The expectations of others that seem impossible to fulfill. There is no magic wand to wave that can make it all disappear. So, how do we cope with our pressure-laden reality? How do we survive the sharks in our waters?

When the stresses of the moment and the needs of the masses bore down upon Jesus, scripture says “He withdrew … to a deserted (solitary or quiet) place.” (Matthew 14:13) He didn’t run away from life, but he did retreat long enough to “restore his soul.” (Psalm 23:3) He understood that in order to continue pushing forward with strength and effectiveness, sometimes temporarily we have to pull back just to breathe.

Norman Vincent Peale used to tell a story about his close friend, Desi Arnaz. Both as a  performer and, especially, as head of Desilu Productions, Arnaz’ responsibilities were mammoth. He told Dr. Peale that one way he coped with that was to slip away from time to time to a small house on the Pacific coast. He would take off his watch as soon as he entered and not put it back on till he left. While there, he ate when he was hungry and slept when he was tired. Otherwise, he would bathe himself in solitude and silence, watch sunrises and sunsets, and give his mind a chance to rest. He said he always returned home with renewed energy and deepened creativity. “He withdrew … to a quiet place.” We all need that. For you it may be reading, quilting, biking, hiking, gardening, golfing, swimming, fishing, museums, movies, or a host of other things that restore your soul. You cannot outswim the sharks if you are weary. You cannot be of significant help to anyone else if you are exhausted. That’s the reason The Ten Commandments include the instruction to set aside personal time for sabbath (rest). “He withdrew … to a quiet place.” If Jesus needed it, so do we. Take care of you. It’s the only way there will be enough you left to take good care of anyone or anything else.

Joy,