Glimmers
On the occasion of Christmas, 2010
I searched for her name several times in my foggy memory over the past several days. She was a part of my clinical pastoral education residency group at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in 1993-1994. I was remembering her in the context of Christmas’ soon arrival as I thought about something she had said about the same time of year in 1993. It fell to her as the chaplain on-call for the day to deliver a brief devotional message in the hospital chapel on the Friday before the Christmas break.
I could have looked it up, I suppose. I still have all the evaluations for the residency in my files and the group members are included, but I stubbornly resisted. Today, as I donned my sweats for my morning walk, her name suddenly popped into my head. Shelly. Shelly was an Episcopal priest in her forties, with nearly black hair and piercing blue eyes. She typically wore a white clerical blouse with a clerical collar and a skirt. Most often she wore a red blazer with it.
Shelly had suffered a stroke years earlier and with a great deal of determination and effort, she had recovered most of what she had lost. What remained was a bit of aphasia. She spoke slowly and deliberately and it took a bit of work to put her thoughts into words. “Wait, wait,” she would say when someone gave her a phone number to call. She would ask the caller to slow down and she would write it down and read it back to them to make sure she had recorded it accurately.
In her Christmas message, she re-told the ancient account of Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus. She talked of how God loved us and reached down to us, came to us in the form of an infant. It was all lovely and wondrous, she said, but it also required something of no small cost to Mary and Joseph. Babies have to be fed. This one was no exception. He would not survive, would not grow, would not speak and would not have amazed the hearers in Temple at age twelve had he not been nurtured and fed. He would not have performed any miracles or delivered the Sermon on the Mount. He would not have died on a cross or been raised from the dead, as Christians believe, had they not fed the baby.
Song after song this Christmas season reference this special, “most wonderful time of the year,” and it truly is wonderful. People smile easily, ask about other’s families and if they will get to see them over the holidays. And even though it is sometimes characterized by economic over-indulgence, it is just as often characterized by dropping money in red kettles, adopting an angel on a tree, feeding the hungry and Toys for Tots. Why can’t this Christmas kind of living and giving last all year? Shelly delivered the zinger with the answer right at the end of her Christmas message. “You’ve got to feed that baby.”
Merry Christmas
Jerald
Monday, December 20, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
I couldn’t help but smile. On the way to school this morning, Christian, my grandson, was singing. “Deck the halls with folly jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la.” This is the stuff of Christmas. Christmas carols, children’s eyes filled with wonder, lights on palm trees (we live in Florida), Charlie Brown yard scenes, snowmen and Santa Claus.
I have always loved Christmas carols. When they were small, my three girls would wear us out singing them. One year we made a rule that they could not sing them until after Thanksgiving. Looking back, I think that was a mistake. Sure, we got tired of hearing them then, but I think we squashed some of the joy bubbling up from our children’s hearts. We should have let them sing.
Like songs sometimes do, another song took me back to my childhood yesterday. We had a luncheon and party with co-workers, a part of which was a “Yankee swap.” When my turn came and I had the choice of an unopened gift, or stealing one from someone who had gone before, I went for the steal. I took “Christmas with the Rat Pack” from Fran Garrett who had hidden the cd inside his shirt, hoping no one would remember it. The Rat Pack, of course, refers to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr. It was “Silver Bells” sung by Dean Martin that took me back in time. It was one of my mother’s favorites. Suddenly I’m a 7 year-old kid admiring our spindly Christmas tree with the big glass bulbs with a gold and purple glass spire on the top.
At the time, my mother worked at Winn Dixie in Starke, Florida and my dad worked at the Florida State Penitentiary at Raiford. We lived on the grounds of the State Prison in a three-bedroom concrete block house with terrazzo floors. I loved it there. On Christmas Eve, there was a party at the Community Center, a big log building with wooden floors. There was food and music and afterward we went home and opened our presents. Silver Bells, spindly Christmas trees, bicycles and roller skates. The stuff of Christmas past.
I’ll have some more to say about Christmas next week. But for now, let your mind wander back to your childhood Christmas days. Sure, all of the memories may not be heartwarming. Hopefully some will be. And if for whatever reason you find yourself having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit, listen to the children singing “Deck the halls with folly jolly.” That should do it.
Merry Christmas,
Jerald
I have always loved Christmas carols. When they were small, my three girls would wear us out singing them. One year we made a rule that they could not sing them until after Thanksgiving. Looking back, I think that was a mistake. Sure, we got tired of hearing them then, but I think we squashed some of the joy bubbling up from our children’s hearts. We should have let them sing.
Like songs sometimes do, another song took me back to my childhood yesterday. We had a luncheon and party with co-workers, a part of which was a “Yankee swap.” When my turn came and I had the choice of an unopened gift, or stealing one from someone who had gone before, I went for the steal. I took “Christmas with the Rat Pack” from Fran Garrett who had hidden the cd inside his shirt, hoping no one would remember it. The Rat Pack, of course, refers to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr. It was “Silver Bells” sung by Dean Martin that took me back in time. It was one of my mother’s favorites. Suddenly I’m a 7 year-old kid admiring our spindly Christmas tree with the big glass bulbs with a gold and purple glass spire on the top.
At the time, my mother worked at Winn Dixie in Starke, Florida and my dad worked at the Florida State Penitentiary at Raiford. We lived on the grounds of the State Prison in a three-bedroom concrete block house with terrazzo floors. I loved it there. On Christmas Eve, there was a party at the Community Center, a big log building with wooden floors. There was food and music and afterward we went home and opened our presents. Silver Bells, spindly Christmas trees, bicycles and roller skates. The stuff of Christmas past.
I’ll have some more to say about Christmas next week. But for now, let your mind wander back to your childhood Christmas days. Sure, all of the memories may not be heartwarming. Hopefully some will be. And if for whatever reason you find yourself having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit, listen to the children singing “Deck the halls with folly jolly.” That should do it.
Merry Christmas,
Jerald
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanksgiving 2010
Glimmers-Thanksgiving 2010
I will give thanks to you, LORD, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. Ps. 9:1
“Look Papa,” he said, “Its an Indian and a Pilgrim.” His little paper cut-out figures had been neatly colored by his 5 year old hands. “Nice work. Its getting close to Thanksgiving,” I said. “Thanksgiving?” he replied. I went on to explain that at the first Thanksgiving the Pilgrims and the Indians got together to celebrate a bountiful harvest. It turns out there is much more to the story. Isn’t that always the case?
In 1620, to escape religious persecution, the Pilgrims left England for America. They arrived in December of 1620, stayed mostly on the Mayflower through that winter, struggling with scurvy and other illnesses. By the time spring rolled around, nearly half of them had died. Their first attempts at farming didn’t turn out so well and an Indian named Squanto, a former slave in England, offered to teach them what to plant and how to grow it in America. 1622 fell far short of expectations as well because the way the community was organized didn’t produced the desired result. Governor Bradford wisely chose to do things differently and productivity soared. The following autumn of 1623 brought a bountiful harvest. The Pilgrims invited Squanto and Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoags (really, I’m not making this up) to bring their immediate families to join them for a celebration of thanksgiving. Little did they know that “immediate family” in Wampanoag means anyone closer than third cousin, twice removed.
So a host of people came, dragging five freshly killed deer with them. They all dined on venison, squash, various fowl (turkey was not in any records) lobster, beans and other things. No pumpkin pies. Along with the harvest bounty, what they had in abundance were thankful hearts. They were alive. The village was flourishing. They had never heard of political correctness, so they gave thanks to God for “blessing the harvest.” Imagine.
Now I won’t bore you with all the details, and there are many more and they are not really boring at all, but I need to get on to my primary point. We owe Thanksgiving Day as a national holiday not to the Pilgrims or Squanto or George Washington or even Abraham Lincoln whose proclamation still sends chills up my spine. We owe the day to a woman named Sarah Josepha Hale.
Sarah Josepha Hale was a remarkable woman of significant literary skill. In a time when the education of women was not deemed important, her family made sure she was. Though she could not go to college, her brother went to Dartmouth and he shared what he learned with her. After she married Mr. Hale and had five children, Mr. Hale died leaving her to care for their five young children alone. They had been married for only eleven years.
Her gift for writing had not gone unnoticed and she published poems and novels and eventually became the editress, the title she preferred to editor, of Godey’s Lady’s Book, the most influential women’s publication of its day.
It was her lobbying effort over a span of forty years that finally convinced Abraham Lincoln to make Thanksgiving a national holiday, unifying various state celebrations across the land. As I read about her and her role in our national Thanksgiving celebration, I wondered about what drove her to such dedication to thankfulness. My guess is that her hardships were as much responsible as her blessings. Hardships have a way of seasoning our blessings, making them all the sweeter. That’s the way is seems to work with most people.
So you can thank Sarah Josepha Hale tomorrow as you give thanks for so many other things. And should you forget about her tomorrow, try singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” She’s responsible for that too.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Jerald
I will give thanks to you, LORD, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. Ps. 9:1
“Look Papa,” he said, “Its an Indian and a Pilgrim.” His little paper cut-out figures had been neatly colored by his 5 year old hands. “Nice work. Its getting close to Thanksgiving,” I said. “Thanksgiving?” he replied. I went on to explain that at the first Thanksgiving the Pilgrims and the Indians got together to celebrate a bountiful harvest. It turns out there is much more to the story. Isn’t that always the case?
In 1620, to escape religious persecution, the Pilgrims left England for America. They arrived in December of 1620, stayed mostly on the Mayflower through that winter, struggling with scurvy and other illnesses. By the time spring rolled around, nearly half of them had died. Their first attempts at farming didn’t turn out so well and an Indian named Squanto, a former slave in England, offered to teach them what to plant and how to grow it in America. 1622 fell far short of expectations as well because the way the community was organized didn’t produced the desired result. Governor Bradford wisely chose to do things differently and productivity soared. The following autumn of 1623 brought a bountiful harvest. The Pilgrims invited Squanto and Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoags (really, I’m not making this up) to bring their immediate families to join them for a celebration of thanksgiving. Little did they know that “immediate family” in Wampanoag means anyone closer than third cousin, twice removed.
So a host of people came, dragging five freshly killed deer with them. They all dined on venison, squash, various fowl (turkey was not in any records) lobster, beans and other things. No pumpkin pies. Along with the harvest bounty, what they had in abundance were thankful hearts. They were alive. The village was flourishing. They had never heard of political correctness, so they gave thanks to God for “blessing the harvest.” Imagine.
Now I won’t bore you with all the details, and there are many more and they are not really boring at all, but I need to get on to my primary point. We owe Thanksgiving Day as a national holiday not to the Pilgrims or Squanto or George Washington or even Abraham Lincoln whose proclamation still sends chills up my spine. We owe the day to a woman named Sarah Josepha Hale.
Sarah Josepha Hale was a remarkable woman of significant literary skill. In a time when the education of women was not deemed important, her family made sure she was. Though she could not go to college, her brother went to Dartmouth and he shared what he learned with her. After she married Mr. Hale and had five children, Mr. Hale died leaving her to care for their five young children alone. They had been married for only eleven years.
Her gift for writing had not gone unnoticed and she published poems and novels and eventually became the editress, the title she preferred to editor, of Godey’s Lady’s Book, the most influential women’s publication of its day.
It was her lobbying effort over a span of forty years that finally convinced Abraham Lincoln to make Thanksgiving a national holiday, unifying various state celebrations across the land. As I read about her and her role in our national Thanksgiving celebration, I wondered about what drove her to such dedication to thankfulness. My guess is that her hardships were as much responsible as her blessings. Hardships have a way of seasoning our blessings, making them all the sweeter. That’s the way is seems to work with most people.
So you can thank Sarah Josepha Hale tomorrow as you give thanks for so many other things. And should you forget about her tomorrow, try singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” She’s responsible for that too.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Jerald
Monday, November 15, 2010
On Being 55
November 15, 2010
Some random thoughts on the beginning of my 56th year. I turned 55 on October 19th.
You can’t have a mid-life crisis at 55 unless you expect to live till you’re 110.
I’m getting used to “You look really good- for your age.”
I’m taking every senior citizen discount I can get!
I’m glad I still have all my own teeth.
Thank God for hair! Some people look really good bald. I’m not one of them.
If you are as young as you feel, I’m actually doing pretty well.
At my age, the one with the fewest prescription meds wins!
I can still buy my dream car- BMW- but not if I want to retire before 75. Keeping the old Ford.
Aging gracefully is the best revenge.
Grandchildren! ‘Nuff said.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Some random thoughts on the beginning of my 56th year. I turned 55 on October 19th.
You can’t have a mid-life crisis at 55 unless you expect to live till you’re 110.
I’m getting used to “You look really good- for your age.”
I’m taking every senior citizen discount I can get!
I’m glad I still have all my own teeth.
Thank God for hair! Some people look really good bald. I’m not one of them.
If you are as young as you feel, I’m actually doing pretty well.
At my age, the one with the fewest prescription meds wins!
I can still buy my dream car- BMW- but not if I want to retire before 75. Keeping the old Ford.
Aging gracefully is the best revenge.
Grandchildren! ‘Nuff said.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Friday, October 15, 2010
Blockin' and tacklin'
Glimmers
October 15, 2010
“Trust in the LORD and do good.” (Psalm 37:3a)
I became a Tennessee Volunteer fan in earnest when I was doing my clinical pastoral education residency at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville in 1993-1994. Every Friday the whole town, including the hospital, was festooned in orange and white in anticipation of the Saturday football game. It is the kind of thing that makes college towns everywhere so much fun.
Tennessee football has fallen on hard times of late. Last week we were beaten badly by a struggling Georgia Bulldog team that may at last have found its identity. The future looks even more foreboding and bleak. Next week we play Alabama. Alabama lost for the first time in 17 games last week. Facing them next has all the appeal of hand-feeding filet mignon to a wounded tiger. My apologies to Auburn and LSU fans everywhere, but it is the best analogy I could come up with.
But you gotta love Tennessee coach Derek Dooley. Tennessee has a bye week this week, meaning there is no game this Saturday. He said the Vols are not good enough to ignore basic fundamentals, so this week there will be no game planning for Alabama, they’ll focus on the basics- “blockin’ and tacklin’.” If you can’t execute the fundamentals, no game plan will ever be good enough. He is smart enough to know that long-term success can’t be achieved by focusing on short-term game conditions.
I was taken back to basic camp this week, schooled again in the fundamentals from an unexpected coach. We were talking about all the things swirling about- the economy, the Space Center layoffs, healthcare reform- and I could just feel my anxiety building as we talked. She feels it directly too, her husband works at the Space Center, but she said it has reminded her of some basic, fundamental things. She is God’s child. She isn’t in control of much of what happens. She can only do her job and care for people to the best of her ability. “The rest,” she says, “I’ll have to trust God with that.” To underscore the point, she said, “Really, it is the only way to deal with it.” The fundamentals. Blockin’ and tacklin.’ Even if Alabama is not the next team you face, if you can’t get the fundamentals right, you don’t have a prayer.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
October 15, 2010
“Trust in the LORD and do good.” (Psalm 37:3a)
I became a Tennessee Volunteer fan in earnest when I was doing my clinical pastoral education residency at the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville in 1993-1994. Every Friday the whole town, including the hospital, was festooned in orange and white in anticipation of the Saturday football game. It is the kind of thing that makes college towns everywhere so much fun.
Tennessee football has fallen on hard times of late. Last week we were beaten badly by a struggling Georgia Bulldog team that may at last have found its identity. The future looks even more foreboding and bleak. Next week we play Alabama. Alabama lost for the first time in 17 games last week. Facing them next has all the appeal of hand-feeding filet mignon to a wounded tiger. My apologies to Auburn and LSU fans everywhere, but it is the best analogy I could come up with.
But you gotta love Tennessee coach Derek Dooley. Tennessee has a bye week this week, meaning there is no game this Saturday. He said the Vols are not good enough to ignore basic fundamentals, so this week there will be no game planning for Alabama, they’ll focus on the basics- “blockin’ and tacklin’.” If you can’t execute the fundamentals, no game plan will ever be good enough. He is smart enough to know that long-term success can’t be achieved by focusing on short-term game conditions.
I was taken back to basic camp this week, schooled again in the fundamentals from an unexpected coach. We were talking about all the things swirling about- the economy, the Space Center layoffs, healthcare reform- and I could just feel my anxiety building as we talked. She feels it directly too, her husband works at the Space Center, but she said it has reminded her of some basic, fundamental things. She is God’s child. She isn’t in control of much of what happens. She can only do her job and care for people to the best of her ability. “The rest,” she says, “I’ll have to trust God with that.” To underscore the point, she said, “Really, it is the only way to deal with it.” The fundamentals. Blockin’ and tacklin.’ Even if Alabama is not the next team you face, if you can’t get the fundamentals right, you don’t have a prayer.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Beware of Backdrafts
Glimmers
October 1, 2010
James was a wise man. I suspect he gained wisdom the usual way, from experience. No doubt somewhere, someone he trusted gossiped behind his back, defamed his character and sent his relationship up in flames.
We control a big horse with a small bit, and a big ship with a small rudder, so we should not be surprised that a small thing like our tongue can cause big problems. Listen to how James describes it.
a small thing that makes grand speeches
a flame of fire
a whole world of wickedness
set on fire by hell itself (James 3: 3-6)
The words that roll off our tongue in thoughtless moments can cause a great deal of destruction, like an out of control fire. Chuck Swindoll, a noted pastor and author, offers some good advice about controlling our tongue and the words that so casually roll off of it sometimes. He says our words need to go through four gates before they are uttered.
Gate 1 : Is it confidential? (If so, never mention it.)
Gate 2 : Is it true? (This may take some investigation.)
Gate 3 : Is it necessary? (So many words are useless.)
Gate 4 : Is it kind? (Does it serve a wholesome purpose?)
(Swindoll, Living Beyond The Daily Grind, p. 50)
This is America, of course, and you have freedom of speech guaranteed by the Constitution. But even that has limitations, the most famous being yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theater. In short, you are free to say almost anything you wish at anytime. Say… have you ever seen the movie “Backdraft?”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
October 1, 2010
James was a wise man. I suspect he gained wisdom the usual way, from experience. No doubt somewhere, someone he trusted gossiped behind his back, defamed his character and sent his relationship up in flames.
We control a big horse with a small bit, and a big ship with a small rudder, so we should not be surprised that a small thing like our tongue can cause big problems. Listen to how James describes it.
a small thing that makes grand speeches
a flame of fire
a whole world of wickedness
set on fire by hell itself (James 3: 3-6)
The words that roll off our tongue in thoughtless moments can cause a great deal of destruction, like an out of control fire. Chuck Swindoll, a noted pastor and author, offers some good advice about controlling our tongue and the words that so casually roll off of it sometimes. He says our words need to go through four gates before they are uttered.
Gate 1 : Is it confidential? (If so, never mention it.)
Gate 2 : Is it true? (This may take some investigation.)
Gate 3 : Is it necessary? (So many words are useless.)
Gate 4 : Is it kind? (Does it serve a wholesome purpose?)
(Swindoll, Living Beyond The Daily Grind, p. 50)
This is America, of course, and you have freedom of speech guaranteed by the Constitution. But even that has limitations, the most famous being yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theater. In short, you are free to say almost anything you wish at anytime. Say… have you ever seen the movie “Backdraft?”
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Sunday, September 5, 2010
3 Seconds
3 seconds. That’s all it took to change Chris Hubbard’s life. 3 seconds is how much time he says elapsed between noticing the car crossing the median and being violently thrown from his motorcycle. 3 seconds.
Seated in a wheelchair, his right arm bandaged and bound in a sling, Chris Hubbard used his left arm and left leg to position himself in the front of the room. He had come to speak to us about United Way and the difference it has made in his life. He took out a few pieces of lined notebook paper and began to read. “I’m Chris Hubbard.” “ I used to live in Brevard County. I had moved to Alabama a few years ago, but I still had some business interests here.” “Last year, I had come to take care of some business concerns and having finished with those, I was riding my bike on 528. I remember seeing the car coming toward me. The next thing I remember is waking up in Holmes Regional Medical Center.” He went on to tell how when he was able to comprehend what had happened, he discovered his right leg was no longer there. His right arm was badly crushed and the medical team was not certain it could be saved. Though his right arm is not back to full functioning, he credits the excellent care he received for having a right arm at all.
“Every day I was in that hospital, I dreamed of the day I would be able to get out,” he said. “As soon as I could get out, I planned to kill myself.” His sense of loss was overwhelming. He had lost his leg, his family, his businesses, his home and his sense of who he was as a person. All as a result of those 3 seconds.
As his condition improved, the case management team helped him connect with Joe Robinson and the staff at North Brevard Charities. “They didn’t just give me a place to live.” “They saved my life.” North Brevard Charities, a local United Way affiliated agency, is helping Chris rebuild his life. A nurse by profession, he is back in school at age 47, training for a new career. With their help and support, he is looking forward to the day he again has his own home. “After my accident, I wanted to die.” “Now, I ‘m really glad I didn’t.”
3 seconds. That’s all it took to change Chris Hubbard’s life. 120 seconds is all it took to fill out my United Way pledge card.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Seated in a wheelchair, his right arm bandaged and bound in a sling, Chris Hubbard used his left arm and left leg to position himself in the front of the room. He had come to speak to us about United Way and the difference it has made in his life. He took out a few pieces of lined notebook paper and began to read. “I’m Chris Hubbard.” “ I used to live in Brevard County. I had moved to Alabama a few years ago, but I still had some business interests here.” “Last year, I had come to take care of some business concerns and having finished with those, I was riding my bike on 528. I remember seeing the car coming toward me. The next thing I remember is waking up in Holmes Regional Medical Center.” He went on to tell how when he was able to comprehend what had happened, he discovered his right leg was no longer there. His right arm was badly crushed and the medical team was not certain it could be saved. Though his right arm is not back to full functioning, he credits the excellent care he received for having a right arm at all.
“Every day I was in that hospital, I dreamed of the day I would be able to get out,” he said. “As soon as I could get out, I planned to kill myself.” His sense of loss was overwhelming. He had lost his leg, his family, his businesses, his home and his sense of who he was as a person. All as a result of those 3 seconds.
As his condition improved, the case management team helped him connect with Joe Robinson and the staff at North Brevard Charities. “They didn’t just give me a place to live.” “They saved my life.” North Brevard Charities, a local United Way affiliated agency, is helping Chris rebuild his life. A nurse by profession, he is back in school at age 47, training for a new career. With their help and support, he is looking forward to the day he again has his own home. “After my accident, I wanted to die.” “Now, I ‘m really glad I didn’t.”
3 seconds. That’s all it took to change Chris Hubbard’s life. 120 seconds is all it took to fill out my United Way pledge card.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
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