Puppies, Promises, and Candelight

The other morning, one of you walked into the church office with a little brown eyed, floppy eared puppy. Immediately, my attention leaped from all my day's tasks and responsibilities. I began dreaming about holding this little cute ball of furry goodness in my arms. Holding the puppy in my arms, I wanted her to be mine. I considered how I could make it possible to have this little creature waiting for me to hold her when my workday ended.
Spending a day to research puppy parenthood and finish my last bit of work related reading by candlelight; I came to an unsettling resting conclusion. A puppy is always irresistible. Something about their willingness to receive love and care screams out to my need to nurture life. But, like the candle I carried across my living room to my dining room, all young forms of life need to be carefully guarded from even the gentlest wind that can extinguish their delicate lives.
Stopping at this conclusion reminded me of the great joy and anticipation we face each Advent as we wait for our Baby Jesus to come to us in a small, delicate, humble setting. Our love affair with God coming as Immanuel (God with us) in that Bethlehem manger appeals to our most fragile senses. As Jesus comes as a child to adults, we can embrace the need to draw close to this God in the manger.
Christmas candlelight services are a great place for those outside of faith or church walls to come close to a message full of promise in this little Babe. As God comes to save us from gloomier looming realities he enters into the small to invite us to draw near. And, as we take this season to delight in the comforting joy brought by all young life, we prepare to carry this babe to adulthood.
Likeswise, we carry new believers with great delicacy and care to this Baby Christ. We wait like little children to adore his simple majesty wrapped in white swaddling clothes. As faith unfolds, we begin to walk with Christ into faithful maturity. He teaches us that his death would leave him far from cradled care. With blood-drenched linens he would leave his time to visit with us and vanquish death for our care and eternal promise.

Walking Through Hallowed Halls

Tomorrow is Halloween and Reformation Day. As a child the latter event holds actively vivid memories, but for most kids the first seems more significantly relevant. And, as the Oldies play in this local coffee shop, I am reminded that I had a kindly different childhood, and love to think back on all the silly moments that make up my past.
Sure, I have my share of Freudian parental struggles stored in my psyche, but I am free to recall so many little moments from two to sixteen. Today, I found myself at sixteen in khakis and a tucked in shirt with uncomfortable shoes I once thought cute. I walked through the park with Sundae to stumble into a paved road to my past. There, I derailed my quiet exterior into something reminiscent.
Leaping from anxious to smudging a smile across my cheeks as I remembered the once roamed the halls of BLS. I remembered all those little moments trailing from my locker into the entrance of Mr. Hen's chemistry class. Such thoughts like, "Are my stockings ripping again? Will Dan Cox ask me out? Oh holy crap, I forgot to work on those mole equations! Maybe Katie Sharkey will help me get a few free answers?" These little inner dialogues accompanied my teen years, and I can now look back to understand that my little moments of crisis turned into the comedy that I needed on this too serious of a day. Best, today isn't that serious and that's what's bugging me.
Lately, I can see that I am more than stuck in a life with dwindled responsibilities. I have work, some friend, and a few family responsibilities, but nothing much waits for me to respond when I hang up my coat in my neat little apartment each night. I can awake to call into work for a partial day off, and it barely seems to matter. I can freely take my chubby puppy to the park to soak in some old memories without a plan. And, I can find myself craving my old home life when I pour a cup of coffee and eat dinner by myself once more. I miss the little tensions that were accompanied with good company.
This ginger peach tea is delicious, but I guarantee you that I won't be thinking about it when I am feeling lonely, walking in the park on a beautiful day like today. I won't sit around thinking about the time in my life when it was so quiet that I spent hours online looking for noise in music. But, will I? As I turned the paved corner in the park, I had to admit that all my little memories of childhood seem to fit in niches that most people would not notice. It's like finding those old hidden closets that seemed to serve no purpose, but like to make up fantasies for hidden worlds lying behind its sealed doors.
It's comforting to know that today will one day matter. It could be the source of a long awaited smile or deep breath. Something in this time that just feels like roaming will become something hallowed like a name. It will be marked as a time in my life, and I am glad to call it my own.

Popular Stranger

Lately, I find annoyance soaring high within my thoughts. The thought of listening to my friends on the phone makes me want to roll my eyes and issue a breath filled bellow grunt. The thought of having to hear one more complaint and unwillingness to address the issue makes my brain burn and my heart lunge toward attack. The thought of my spilling something on my new shoes has me in a tizzy. Annoyed by others transcends my day's brightest moments. The lights go out as I shut my mouth to not respond, but annoyance always instigates a passive bitter quarrel.
To hear this, one may envision a person that cannot smile or has attached wolf like fangs to their decor. But, here they will disappointed to see the same old exterior seeking orderliness and subtle tones of relaxation. Annoyance just stands out when you see me finally react after another passive tongue slips a jab against my continual state of single hood. My eyes stare into a downward roll and then my posture slips to jello in my chair. When I am not reacting to the moment, I am trying to convince myself that today is a new day which can take an hour in my bath robe, and a slow scurry to try not to go outside. Annoyance for me tries to turn into avoidance, but those knowing me best know that I cannot hide because I am not a wimp, just quieted by moments.
Then, out of the blue, the least likely person to have any ability in my prior judgements of their persona starts to let the light shed on me. He asks questions that don't start off to be about himself, and for this I am most skeptical. I quietly wonder, "Why is HE asking about me?" I start to concede to shorter answers because I can only see one destination for these routed questions. It's the same old story, guys only want one thing. And, this person that is previously critiqued in my perceptual history of their existence neatly fits in a category that I never was. He was the epitome of popularity in a small former world, and for us to converse means that something egregious will collide.
Aggravated and intrigued, I find myself trying to blow the thought of all of him off. And yet, it kills me to know that I am being the unpopular one simply by my prejudice. The one person, this stranger that has made himself known by trying to know me, I am flicking off my shoulder like dander. He's a brother in Christ and I am putting him far off with my excuse assuming that his group deserves. Worst, it's all a weak foundation for treatment because his group never did anything wrong other than be people that I held in jealous contempt. My annoyance now slips into myself and I have no clue where to go since I have become accustomed with being annoyed outside of myself.
I wonder if I am just scared to cross lines that I have used to keep safe. This popular stranger has taken my attention to wonder a bit about why I think nobody wants to talk to me. He has taken my role of the stranger and let me realize that I must act in kindness which is the boldest action because so much of me wants to be justified to treat one person like the annoyance that they are. But, my soul hungers for more than justice. It seeks peace beyond annoyance.

Kiddo - Right - O Dreaming

Today, I awoke to one of my prophetic dreams. However, I could not remember what would happen. Does that defeat a prophesy? All day, convinced that something bad would happen despite the fact that I am pretty sure everything was 'hunky dory' (how do you spell that term?), I knew that I had to pay the piper by the end of the day.
See, the dream took place in a far off land, where gnomes fished for fairies and little boys happily threw mud at girls. Not a good place for the more feminine forms of life mind you. In this land of subtlety cute male dominance and giggles instead of painging screams, a new leading lady took her throne upon faded grey carpet and benath dull lighting. Yes, the coronation would be far less than grand, but somehow the triumph would latter ring out amongst the wee crowd.
Taking her seat upon the top of three blocked stairs, little people rushed to hear her plans to save the kingdom from pew-ed despair. With eyes brimming with overly sarcastic tears found in every Japanese cartoon's furry creatures' eyes, she pulled from her pocket the secrets to establish the unspoken kingdom. In silently hushed anticipation, the little people of non-midget origin crammed by her side to unlock the mystery with crayons and washable markers. In an instant, her voice rang out with melodies gloriously harmonic, enticing every blue winged bird to flutter in unison above the throne. The wee people cheered and the ceremony ended.
That's when I woke up from this momentary dream into kind sarcasm. And, dear reader, I must let you know that I dreamed only of a slight image of dull lighting and carpet stooped upon a three stair altar entrance for my children's message. All day, I stumbled upon half reluctance and half boredom totally keeping me from planning out my first children's message. I saw myself more like the princess of cinder than a crowned queen. Thus furthering a decree's fulfillment, something likened to another hollowly marked task.
But alas! I know that there is a hopeful ending. In minutes, I scanned far and online to find trinkets of treasure that could have been bought at full price for 4.95. I took the trinket's titles and came up with my idea for my message. In a momentary dash, I could save the wee people from silent despair that they might find solace in the sermon. By tomorrow's dawn, we will be unleashed from the spell of boring tasks and find a new king named Jesus to tuck us into more peaceful dreams. The End.

Hear the Crik

Coasting on Youtube for the moment and came upon some reminiscent recording footage of Nickel Creek's last tour. Hearing their version Jackson Five's "I Want You Back" took me back to the upper balcony in Madison with my sister and lifelong friend, Alicia. On that continuation of Old Man Winter's frigid temper rolling through the encircling streets of downtown Madison, Alicia and I welcomed our trifled find of a common cup of coffee next to the Overture's elegantly bulwarked halls. Ensconsed in warm lighting tones and high cielings, we eagerly anticipated the final round of Nickel Creek's whimisical musical relay of our favorite tunes backed with subtle humourous squabbles from the band toward the audience. High above the stage's forefront trapsing upon the cusp of a direct swan dive drop, the acoustics bellowed in sweet harmony around our ears. Despite the distance, we heard the greatest sound quality in this place. To add to our sincerest hype, Sarah waved to us like the Senators in Star Wars. Our inner nerdiness welcomed the attention and reference. We were home.

"Who am I?"

Verse: Romans 8:1-8
"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to b a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do no live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.
Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God."

If you take the time to recall Paul's message from the previous chapter in Romans, you might get lost or remember Paul's conveyance of his inability to do what is good. For without Christ, Paul is unable to do anything of immortal significance. Without Christ, Paul is left to live a life that can only end with a mortal thump into being nothing. However, with Christ, he is transformed into living beyond himself.
Notice that Paul rapidly gets tongue-tied and lost when he recounts his identity that endlessly ends with him doing everything that he does not desire? See his tumultuous tumble from trying to do what is right and then turning back to living his life the same old way? And then, in the sweet outcry of chapter eight, Paul drops the weight of being a failure and exclaims something new.
It was like Paul was pacing a room looking for a solution and kept making the same mathematical error when he tried to add all of his goodness up, and he kept coming up with a negative number instead of a positive summary of his added goodness. Then, someone told him that his equation started with the wrong principles and handed him a few notes to correct his previous numerical quandary. Paul tried to add up himself once more with the new equation and suddenly for the first time, he had a surplus! Dumbfounded and excited, Paul clenched his gut because the new result made everything possible.
The moment beginning in the eighth chapter concludes that everything must always add Christ if it's going to be eternal. This isn't something that you add to your mom's best pie to make it last forever. No, this is something that can't just be added. It is a whole new way of doing math, and just as a note, I almost always failed math in school, so I like to get rid of math that just leaves me lost. But thanks to Paul's logic, I can add up what he's trying to say.
Life with Christ begins with a total flood at the beginnings of faith. It's a life completely absorbed and then transformed through the Spirit of Christ into something that leaves you and I identified with Christ. It's not only adding on a new name, it is an living as that new name: Christ.
Like Paul, when we try to survey, weigh, or figure ourselves out by the almighty question, "Who am I?", we will probably end up pulling an all-nighter like Paul. Left only to find that we just do not add up to what we were hoping for. The questions usually come after we've messed up. Something was done that just didn't match our plan or idea for 'who' we thought we were. Perhaps, it's that lingering loss created from your girlfriend telling you that you are not enough for her. Or, your parents don't understand how you got to be the mess that you seem to be these days. Or, you just don't know where you fit into the world, your school, your church, your friends, or yourself. The list for all our failures could drag on and on like Paul's confusing statements about doing everything that he didn't want to do. And, the questions turn into something so heavy that you could feel them pressing down upon each breath and step taken. The questions become everything. The questions start to feel like rocks in your hands that keep you from living like you want to. Rocks in your hands get in the way.
But then, someone or something, perhaps the Spirit like in chapter eight gives you full permission to drop those rocks. Better, a place to rest those questions, those rocks are put somewhere familiar but new. As those baptized, we can comeback to where our faith started. Our faith produces lots of questions, and always gives us a place to lay those rocks when the questions get too heavy for us. That place is united by the same Spirit we received at baptism. In our baptism, we were submerged into a new identity. We entered into a new life with God that lives out an identity of hope and forgiveness. Yahweh, the "I am" of the Testaments includes us to find our "I am" in the "I am" of Christ. In baptism, we are to always be washed of our temporary hangups, misguided actions, losses, questions, rocks(which can feel like forever at many times) and drop them into the waters of baptism. In baptism, we begin our equation with Christ. Who I am is who Christ is as the Spirit lives in me.
In baptism, I begin to live in faith that always begins and welcomes me back to finding who God is calling and creating me to be in the Word. It is through baptism that all are invited to live a new equation and identity in who Christ was and continues to be as the Spirit calls us to live in the Water of Baptism and the Word of God.
So, drop those rocks and remember your baptism. Go ahead and dive into the Word and see that the "I am" is more than part of who you are.
Cross references for Romans 8:2:
Ro 3:27 Where, then, is boasting? It is excluded. On what principle? On that of observing the law? No, but on that of faith.
Joh 8:36 So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.
Ro 8:10 But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness.
Ro 8:11 And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you.
Joh 4:10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
Joh 4:14 but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
Joh 6:63 The Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life.
Joh 7:38 Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”
Joh 7:39 By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.
1Co 15:45 So it is written: “The first man Adam became a living being”; the last Adam, a life-giving spirit.
2Co 3:6 He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant-- not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.
Re 11:11 But after the three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet, and terror struck those who saw them.
Re 22:1 Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb
Ro 6:18 You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.
Ro 6:22 But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.
Ps 51:12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.
Joh 8:32 Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
2Co 3:17 Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
Ga 2:19 For through the law I died to the law so that I might live for God.
Ga 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.
Ro 5:21 so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Ro 7:21 So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me.
Ro 7:24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?
Ro 7:25 Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in the sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.

a blogging we will go

Months seem to flow as quickly as my morning cup of coffee. into my dazed mind. Each day becomes a regular routine reaching for some spout to pour out the mundane with the seemingly significant notes tantalizing each bud of sipped sensation. And yet, those minor keys seem unnoticed by the masses due to my poor marketing schemes. Everything stays compacted within my mind's eye and never meets the moment to stain another journal page. So, it's time to find a new brew and a blogging we shall go. Maybe then, I will pay attention to my life and learn to share it with others, even if I am the only one that reads this thing.
Currently, I am transitioning between one life to another. I am not dying, though that is somewhat relevant. Instead, I am moving from La Grange Park to Aurora and turning in my days as a nanny into a something with an official title: The Intern. Some relationships have tried on Romanticism but came out as folly. Those are days I am ready to exchange but bear the temporal shifted puzzle to try and fit my jagged piece back into the friend zone. It seems like life has become a mulling of tasty spices covering the same old juice. The familiar fades away into the old as the new prepares to find that it will not be as different as before. And this equivocal exchange I hope and despise within the next sip of chilled coffee that cost too much for beans and juice.
For the past couple of years, my life became easily defined by the plans I set each day. Mostly, these plans were my established routine created to push me through working long hours and completing sometimes the most boring schooled hours of my life. I planned to literally work my way through school because I knew that it had to be done. Backing this old school form of Germanic duty that runs deep in my father's Lutheran theology books that I spent endless hours pouring over words spit up by Luther, my sense of duty turned all sense of living into something subhuman.
Two summers ago, I sat in my apartment bedroom knowing that I was about to embark on a routine with no prospective man-centric relationships. Nor would I be flouncing about Europe with my most artistic friends. And despite my mother's greatest wishes, I would not be moving into my newly prized remodeled home on some west coast shore. On top of that, every one's life would move on in as slow or as quick as mine, but we would be moving transparently without notice of each of our daily lives. I sat there on that matted sandy carpet knowing that my life looked upon a voided future as books and class notes would soon unleash their power to fill the various empty caches. Crying for one last time, I stood up to become the girl that sits here wondering what good entered my days in Chicago. I miss the South, but need time here to have one last sip that I forgot to take when I was drunk.
The thought breaking me back into a possibly more socially interactive realm amongst friends, family, and colleagues moves me in hope. However, the pulsating vein of this thought recognizes that new life circumstances never takes me far from the last beat of my life. Yet this wearily routine duty spent years clinging to any sight of something new. I believe that is what hope does when it is needed most. It pushes toward change. And this change is not a mere progression. Hope recognizes the present and spends time leaping beyond to the necessary unknown. In that thought, I would piss off Kierkegaard and comfort him in the same breath.
This next year, I am not entirely sure of what I hope for. But like this moment as the rain comes pouring down from a quiet sky, and a father scrambles back with his young children and stroller to find shelter; I can see exactly what I want. I want to risk the storm's force but know that I always have shelter in something really existing. I hope that God hears us though I find him hard to hold onto when I am sleeping. I hope that I have something moving me from my heart that transcends this shell of a woman. I hope that I want more than I can imagine because ministry does more than deal with life, it leads to new life. And all along this hopeful journey, a blogging I shall go.

People Ask to Listen, But Do I speak?

As of my early bedtime last night, today was to be a snow day. Before the sun could arise in a blanket of rush hour delaying mush, I found nothing white to keep my sanity warm. Instead, the storm delayed and I lay in bed with no hope of work breaks or the joy of not being rushed in the wee hours of winter. Lying in bed, I felt the same queasiness that interrupts many happy moments or long late rests. Without the snow falling at this very moment, there is no hope for a timely delay. Instead, it was time to put on my boots and go early into work. But, tension mounted like toothpaste being purposefully squeezed in its capped tubing. I felt my legs hollow beneath my heavy head and puffy eyes. The pressure behind all my thoughts stirring like frozen slush in my head screamed for me to find an exit from this rushed day. Lying there, I tossed in a sea of misshapen blankets, and dove to the shallowest shore for a disappointing idea. I could call in sick with yesterday's news. But, I could not stop thinking of all the loose ends such as unpacked lunches, unfolded laundry, and endless other meaningless chores that would not be done in my honor. And then, I felt a piece of jagged ice crush in the back of my head. Another morning in the dark making decisions about petty things I worry about too much. It was time to reset my alarm, and later call my boss to tell her that my body was unable to make it in due to stomach upset. But truthfully, I had that yesterday. Clammy hands and cramping swells in my belly did not stop me as I awoke to utter gut wrenching pains on the day before today. However, another headache came like the breeze after a storm.
My boss demonstrated sympathy and informed me that one of her kids had some stomach upset as well. I found it odd that for once my body was not lying. But there I lied in a see of delusional failure. I hate to hide the truth, but the truth seems to find its way out into the light. The truth was that headaches rarely are enough of an excuse for work. For work is a headache most days. But, weeks filled with headaches will make you sick and risk feeling like a failure for a little while. All I wanted was some relief for a day. I just wanted to rest and release this squeezed tension pressing upon my skull. And, I would not find it lying there in my little bed.
I would have to get up and have my vision restored. According to my sister and WGN, it was not too bad to drive outside on this February morning. And, it was not too impossible for me to pop some more Excedrin and a cup of coffee to get me up and moving to Costco's Optometry Unit. Realizing that the world was not stopping for slushy moments, I gathered my rain boots and car keys and headed out my little safe realm into the land of bulk prices and free afternoon food samples.
Upon my entrance to bulk discount Mecca of the Western Suburbs, I admitted to being Cristine Schafer of Homestead Road and received notice that the optometrist would be slightly behind schedule due to an early car accident. That was the moment that chiseled deep in my mind and began to pick away at the ice crushing my heart the past couple months. Someone simply doing their job for me to have vision took a risk to be here for others and me. And, as I met my doctor, he was far from thrilled to be here for his long list of patients that day. Thankfully, for once, I could actually feel bad for this gorgeous man with a grumpy demeanor.
I sat there staring at a small cartoon house on a hill moving from clear to blurred view. From right to left eye, this house has been the same one I see every couple of years. It does not change despite the weather. Always, it sits upon a bright farm green hill with no cows or parked cars in its non-existent garage. Instead, it sits there for you to see it fade from clarity to a brightly blurred summer colors of whites, greens, blues, and reds. I never understand this part of the exam. Simply, like the house, I just sit there to let someone else try to figure out its purpose. But, as always, I never have a clue why I am staring at this same old little house. But, I do know that it is an important part of the procedure despite my ignorance.
Moments later, I am silent sitting in a chair spelling out letters that do not spell a word, but they answer if I can understand my own vision's competence. There in the chair, I sit waiting to see if I know my own capabilities to see the difference from blurriness to clarity. And, I begin to wonder if this doctor has heard an answer to a question he squeezed in after that house on the little hill. For a moment, I find that my answer was as simple and eschewed as these rambled letters.
Now, you are as lost as I for knowing the question floating between this and myself slightly tanned man closely staring into my eyes for health purposes. But, he was asking for truth. More so, his question beckoned a little vision outside the obvious answers his questions could have beckoned. While I sat blind about that little house and the rest of the routine procedures, he asked, "What is the difference of Christian Education and regular education?" Before I could respond with an answer, he tagged on, "And, don't just tell me religion." At that moment in the faux leather chair, I looked into my foggy mind for a clear answer and then back at his dark eyes, and responded, "Basically, I will work for a church and work with families and kids. It's like social work, but with Jesus." He repeated my response in a gently hushed tone, a slight departure from his previous grumpiness, and then asked me to keep my eyes open as he did the air puffer test. I never know how not to blink like a maniac after those tests. And, I never think that my answers about my future job are any different or intriguing as I wish them to be. But the fact of this morning was that all I was trying to do is survive. Survival does not bring about automatic clarity. It screams for hope but threw in the old gym towel after the last game.
But here in the sweaty eye locker room, I wanted for the game to not be over. I hoped that somehow I could try again to answer this question with more than an abbreviated reply. I wanted more, and I think that he did too. But, he was courteous enough to let me leave into the high sky rises of bulk paper towels and plasma televisions.
However, I left with only my contacts and headed into my fogged car window bubble to ask myself his question until I had an honest answer. I wanted to know an answer from myself. The music played in the background, and then it hit me harder than any headache. God loves me as miserable and unresponsive as I am when talking to gorgeously grumpy men. He loves me enough to let some stranger ask me the questions I have been too despondent to ask myself. And best, he loves me like that eye doctor. He sees my need to have some clarity in this winter mess and looks over my grumpiness because he wants me be released into his surrounding care. He loves me despite the fact that I fib and lie in bed with no care for others or myself. And then, the tears uncapped the pressure in my little heart and relieved the throbbing pain dwelling in my head. At that moment, I wanted to tell the doctor about One that wants us to learn that the most important things are invisible: the young lead the old, and the blind do see. I wanted to tell the doctor that answers are here among us. I wanted him to have a moment's relief from his burden. But, I drove to write this down that one day I might have an answer for others and myself on the most uncertain days. People are asking to listen, but there comes times when we must prepare to hear them that we might speak beyond ourselves. But thanks be to the Living One that uses the most blurred same old conversation on a little hill to stand out in our lives.

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