Allowing God to Reconnect Us

Lately, particularly since the deaths of my mothers, I have given a great deal ofthought to the connections I have with family, church family, colleagues, and friends. The loss of loved ones will do that to you. 

In the midst of this wonderful life that I have, there are moments when I feel lonely. It has always been so; for I can remember a particular incident when I was in my early twenties. I had broken up with a long time boyfriend, my job was not all that fun, I had stopped going to church and I found myself drifting down a lazy river into a big blue funk!
I had little clue in those days as to what "event" depression is and found myself adrift more each day!

Late one afternoon, drowning in this river of loneliness, I decided that the only thing to do was to pack up my things, leave my job and family and friends, and head off to a new place where I could start over. As I packed up, all I could do was dwell on how terrible it felt to be lonely and have that loneliness noticed by no one.

I had packed my last box and was preparing to pack up my Datsun station wagon when there came a knock at the door of my State Street apartment. When I opened the door, there stood a newer friend who had been one of my professors in college. He and his wife often had me over to dinner; in fact, I had met my latest boyfriend through them. That said, before that day, he and his wife had never stopped in at my apartment to visit without calling.

As he came into my apartment, he took one look at the boxes which held the contents of my life, and, without ever mentioning them, said, "Marianne and I wanted to invite you to come over to dinner this evening. We know it's short notice but we hope you can join us."

Our Family Remembers Andrew Flowers Barnett, Jr. - Funeral Naming October 13, 2018

There are days that are made for pulling out the cherished family photos

and letting the and the stories that accompany them come to the surface.

Memories of home, family, and belonging.

Today is such a day as we celebrate the life of Andrew Flowers Barnett, Jr., son, husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, great grandfather,   Dad, friend, neighbor, advocate.

To know my father-in-law was to know his story for he told it with great detail and humor and – at times – song; a story often supported by statistical information he had gleaned from the professional magazines and journals he consumed. Whatever point he was attempting to make usually included the words “Statistics show.”

While his story is way too large to share in its entirety, it is filled with smaller narratives shaped hugely by family and friends, faith, and the Navy.

Dad’s story began on the Outer Banks of North Carolina where he was born to Andrew and Nellie Barnett. His childhood was idyllic in many ways filled with fond memories of spending time with family and friends: playing in the dunes and water with his brother, his friends, and his dog Jack, fishing, going to school and church. Often he would go with his Dad on Ocracoke Island and to other stations while he performed his Coast Guard duties.

His mother was determined that her sons Andrew and Sigma would get a really solid education so the family moved off of the Outer Banks to Elizabeth City. There Andrew devoured the books in the library, endeared himself to the librarian, and began a lifetime habit of reading voraciously – though seldom ever reading the same book twice.

After he graduated from high school, Dad attracted the attention of an accountant in town and went to work for him. It soon became clear that he was adept at all the skills necessary to be an accountant.

It was in Elizabeth City that his Dad took him along for a visit to the home of Ray and Irene Hayman. While he didn’t meet their daughter Betty Lee at that time, eventually they would through Dad’s friendship with her brother Ray; and, in 1948, he married the loved of his life!

Dad decided not to make a career in accounting and instead chose to join the Coast Guard. However, there was a hitch. The Coast Guard did not provide housing for married enlisted personnel; so he joined the Navy!

After undergoing training up on the Great Lakes, he was recognized as the sailor most likely to succeed! And I think it is safe to say that he did!

As first Mark and then Sharon came along, Dad and Mom were working together, studying hard together, to get Dad into Officers Candidate School and then to the Supply Corps School. Even as they did, they built a home and family wherever they were out of an abiding love that bound them together.

No more was this made clear than when Dad served on the Kennedy.

The family received word that there was a terrible collision with the Belknap. When the Kennedy returned from that deployment, Mom, Mark, and Sharon were waiting as the ship docked. When they spotted Dad up on the bridge of the ship, they called out to him. He didn’t see them. So they whooped and hollered and waved until he finally did. The look on his face was priceless. And Mark noted that he would never forget how his Dad’s face lit up at the sight of his family.

From birth to now, Mark and Sharon have been the apple of Dad’s eye –

who he never failed to tell or demonstrate that he loved them. In fact,    “I love you” were his last words to them. The faithful father, who suffered from dementia, not only recognized his children as he neared the end of his life but from somewhere deep inside himself wanted them to hear just one more time of his love for them. What a gracious gift!

As Mark and Sharon married and had children, Dad grew into the role of grandfather, connecting to each uniquely.

When Shelly was in middle school, her grandparents went with her and the German club on a trip to Europe. One of the places they visited was Paris. Shelly was really interested in impressionist art then and wanted to see all the museums that had impressionist exhibits, especially of Monet. Granddaddy really didn’t get this and said he thought that all the paintings looked fuzzy and amateurish. However, he listened to Shelly talk on and on about them and was very receptive to learning about them. In fact, he claimed to really appreciate impressionist art by the time their trip was over. That Christmas he gave Shelly a book of Monet paintings and wrote the sweetest message in it about memories from their European trip. Shelly still has it on her bookshelf.

When Matt was eight years old and their family was living with the  grandparents at their Tanglewood home, he stayed in the study where he was terrified of the washer and dryer that were in room next door,  and couldn’t sleep. Andrew came down and found Matt crying. Matt told him what was wrong and granddad asked him what he thought the noise was. Matt replied that he didn’t know but he was scared. Granddad opened the doors and showed him how the machines worked and why they made the noises they did. He then told Matt never to fear the  unknown; to investigate what it is; learn how it works; learn how to beat it if need be; and then – if he was still scared – to run as fast as he could!

Jessica remembers a time during her college years when, at the end of one summer, she came down to VA Beach to stay with the grandparents

for a week or so before Mark and I were coming. Her car was loaded with all the stuff she was taking back to school and her cat Simba who was coming to the grandparents condo for the first time! The trip went well until she was on the bridge between tunnels and had a flat tire. Somewhat panicked, she called g’dad who called the bridge police to let them know what had happened. Then he came to where she was, hugged her, and made her feel that all was well. That would be the same trip in which Simba jumped up on grandmother’s writing desk and put a long scratch in it, which didn’t please her. But when granddad heard about it, he simply chuckled and, sticking up for his granddaughter’s cat, called Simba “a fine gentleman,” making grandmother and us laugh; quickly working to make a not so good situation better.

Meredith’s fondest memories of her granddad come from all the birthdays they have celebrated together. Not many people get to share a birthday with someone in their family so she has always considered it something very special. Although they enjoyed separate cakes – she being a chocolate gal and granddad enjoying his apple jelly cake – they always celebrated together another year of life. Meredith says that although this next year will be her first birthday without Da, she will never really be celebrating alone. She knows he will still be celebrating with her in his heavenly home.

Great granddaughter Maddy spoke to me of how kind her great grandfather Da was and remembers seeing him on his birthday last Sunday when he opened his eyes a little and she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Great granddaughter Margot remembers dancing with Da at the Hawaiian luau party at the Memory Center in June.

They were also involved in a “mock wedding” sometime in June in which Dad was the “groom.”

Great grandson Andy – well, the name says it all about his connection with his great grandfather that he will have all his life.

As each of us pulls out the old photos and memories of Andrew Barnett that touch our hearts, there are stories and smiles attached! Stories of weddings and births and baptisms and vacations and family life and wisdom.

When Mark and I were married, Dad gave us this advice: “Talk to each other and have a good sense of humor.” It is wisdom I have shared with every couple for whom I have officiated at their wedding. Not only did Dad impart that wisdom to us, after our wedding, as we were leaving for our honeymoon on the Outer Banks, Dad handed us a “note” filled with things to do and places to go – during our honeymoon!!

As Michael helped to care for Dad especially after he had gotten sicker,   

lovingly sitting with him for his meals among other things, he was the recipient of Dad’s appreciation and love, a mutual admiration.

While there are many more old photographs that elicit many more stories that could be told, I share just one more that Dad often told. When Dad’s memory loss began to be evident, he started retelling his Navy stories. One in particular stands out as he makes the transition to his heavenly home.

When he was the supply officer of the USS John F Kennedy aircraft carrier, he was summoned by the Captain who told him that the Navy had granted permission for a burial at sea for a veteran. The Captain told Dad he wanted him to design and conduct it. Dad had no idea what the procedure was for such a burial or how such a service would be conducted. And he said as much to his commanding officer who responded “You’ll come up with something.” Dad’s mind went into high gear! He cornered the commanding officer of the Marine detachment and told him that he needed his help for a funeral. Not believing what he had heard, the officer asked: “A funeral?” Dad told him that he needed Marines in full dress blues for an honor guard for a veteran. And he asked if he could swing it. The officer said, “Sure.”

Dad arranged for a Chaplain to conduct the burial itself. He arranged for the elevator to be set up for a funeral. The day came. The command went throughout the ship: “Stand by for burial at sea!” The great ship went silent and the sea grew still as the Kennedy glided to a halt. The honor guard lined both sides of the weighted casket covered by the flag of the United States. Prayers were said…scriptures were read…salutes were rendered. The casket was released over the side. At that, the command went throughout the ship: “Dismissed from burial at sea!” From deep inside the Kennedy, the engines came to life; the water started to churn; and the normal life of the ship resumed.

Dad’s tour of duty on earth has ended. We believe that he is in his heavenly home with Mom and all the family who have gone before him – a heavenly home not made with hands but eternal in the heavens; feasting at the banquet where Jesus Christ is the host.

In the words of Robert Louis Stevenson, (from his Requiem): “Home is the sailor, home from the sea.”

Note: The benediction used later in the funeral service was: “Home is the sailor; home from the sea. In the name of Jesus Christ, you are dismissed. Go in peace.”

A Tribute to Mom - Margie N. Pruett on the Day before Easter 2016

I have been given the privilege to speak on behalf of my Dad and sisters – a privilege I take very seriously. For each of us was shaped in many ways  by the unconditional and unwavering love of Margie Pruett.

  

There is a book in both our mother’s library -- and mine -- entitled Kneeling in Jerusalem,

in which the writer Ann Weems ends the section called Holy Week with this short poem:

   

                        As we approached Jerusalem

                          the crowd stood at the gate

                          and cried in tear-choked voice:

                        “We are lost in his death.”

                        Upon the hill the angels sang:

                         “We are found in his rising.”

Since the death of our mother last Saturday, I think it is safe to say that each of us has –  in our own way – been lost in her death. How could it be otherwise?

No longer do we have the opportunity to share that thought or idea that pops into our heads…or to phone her each day…or to seek her advice or understanding or to receive the unconditional love and support she showered upon us…No longer can she model for us her absolute determination to be a vessel of change wherever it was needed – in our family, the church, or in the community.

As you might imagine, our hearts are broken. And yet, if I were to leave us with tear-choked voices -- lost in her death -- it is clear that we would be missing out on the best part

of our mother’s remarkable life and great faithfulness!

  

Our mother was, by definition, one of the Easter people – for she believed she had been found and made anew by Jesus’ rising from the dead!” She was so confident in this that from January 10^th – the day the words stage four cancer were spoken, changing our family forever – to last Saturday morning, she spoke of being at peace with whatever happened and would not put up with any doom and gloom from those she loved because – to quote one of the Lenten devotionals she wrote -- “No matter our situation, we can depend on God’s grace to pull us through to the other side.”

What you may or may not know about our mother is that she was a woman of great hope – of happy endings! When she watched television shows or movies or read a book,

she wanted these to have happy endings! She wasn’t a Pollyanna in the sense that she thought everyone and everything was good. She simply held out a vision of the future

in which she expected happy endings, believing that God could bring about the impossible!

She didn’t just hold this vision. She lived into it with great determination, not because she was a do-gooder or a fixer but because she genuinely loved people; and constantly sought to widen her circle in order to share with others the love that God had showered upon her.

Her determined spirit did not come from The Little Engine that Could mindset that said,

“I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” Rather it was grounded in a prayer life that was contagious, caught by many who knew her.

When I was in my 20s, I participated in a young adult class which Mom taught on prayer. It was a transformative moment in my life as I saw the power of praying in all things, for my mother believed there was nothing too small or too big for which to pray. To this day, I even pray for a parking space when going to the beach or shopping or other crowded venues. While some would call this a waste of God’s time, our mother would have said that prayer is – in part – about our reliance on God for everything in our lives. [And in case you’re wondering, I always have a happy ending to my prayer for a parking space.]

In her marriage to our father, she found someone who understood who she was, though according to Dad, not at first. He met Mom when she was in Business College in Bluefield, West VA, where she finished two years of school in 15 months because according to our sister Sandi, “Mom didn’t drink…Mom didn’t smoke…Mom didn’t have fun!” Mom was boarding with her best friend Evelyn’s family – who turned out to be Dad’s relatives!

As first impressions go, neither my Dad or Mom was overly excited about the other. Our father thought her to be meek, mild, and easy going; but, frankly, was not attracted to her –

nor she to him. However, after going back home to Delaware, he thought more about her and wrote her a letter, to which she responded. They began to write on a regular basis because Mom didn’t have a telephone because there were no phone lines in that area. Over time, their attraction blossomed, both feeling that their budding relationship was God-given.

After a whirlwind courtship, our father asked Papa, Mom’s father, for her hand. In her family journal, Mom writes that her soon-to-be inlaws were not too pleased that Dad was interested in a girl they didn’t know a thing about. In fact, his Mom said that she didn’t know any Nunns – our mother’s maiden name – but she did know some Nunleys and none of them were any good!

On December 28ths, 1951, our parents were married in the Methodist Parsonage

in Bluefield, Virginia. As Mom writes, “Big weddings weren’t in [Dad’s] thinking

at that time.” God had a great sense of humor to give him four daughters!

Our father says that he went into marriage believing – and I quote – like many men –

that he could be the one who made the decisions, that he would teach his new wife

what he knew. Well….that didn’t exactly turn out the way he thought it would – but somehow they found their way and were married for 64 years in December.

During those years, our father says our mother turned out to be the most determined person he knew. From the start of their marriage, when Dad was serving at Ft. Benning, Georgia, to the birth of Janet, to his return to work at the Seaford DuPont plant, to my birth, to his call into the ordained ministry, something for which my mother did not sign up but eagerly embraced, to four years of college and three of seminary, to the births of Sharon and Sandi, and all the exciting adventures that followed with family and church family and extended family, to loving sacrifices made on the behalf of all of us, our mother grew in wisdom and understanding and determination.

    

Her look was always outward to the next need that showed itself through family, church family, extended family, work or the community. She loved her family without condition and did everything in her power to give us happy endings.

Mom took care of her mother, even when it meant a daily trip after work from Clayton to Milford. She modeled for us generous hospitality as she hosted family gatherings

with tons of food which, almost always, included her homemade yeast rolls. Just so you know, these rolls were so loved that there were times after our children were older that my sisters, me, and our husbands would fight with our children to get the first ones hot out of the oven. Perhaps that was not one of our shining moments!! But Mom’s rolls were the best ever!!

Our mother modeled extravagant, thoughtful giving each Christmas. In our younger days, no matter how exhausted she was, she and granny would make our Easter outfits. And every year at the beginning of school, Mom would see to it that we had quality clothes, even when we didn’t have much money.

As we grew into adulthood and chose our husbands, my mother drew them into the family, showering them with the same unwavering love that we received, hoping that they would love us as Daddy loved her – wanting that happy ending for us!

Our mother had an extremely high work ethic which is instilled in each of her daughters and she encouraged us to do what we had the gifts and talents to do.

When the grandchildren came along, she spent time with them, looked after them when they were sick and we, their parents, needed to be at work, edited school papers, took them to Sunday School and worship, baked cookies with them at Christmas, and decorated eggs for the Easter egg hunts she would hold in their yard – though she could never remember how many eggs had been hidden. (I’m certain that Dad found some later with his lawn mower!) Along the way, they were made privy to who she was and her steadfast, determination that they know they were her beloved grandchildren…

As important as family was, she still had time for her church family, using her gifts of prayer and teaching and counseling; beginning ministries that are still in existence today. As she did, she touched lives and made many life-long friends.

   

Perhaps the most audacious vision given to her by God was the church start called  -- of course – Hope. In this, as in every undertaking, our father – and others – supported our mother in whatever ways they could, as she sought to fulfill her vision of a happy ending for all.

Our father’s assessment of our mother is that she grew into a different – but much better person – than the meek, mild, easy going person he thought he married who would let him make the decisions. Quoting the writer of Proverbs 31, he said that his wife was a woman who was “strong and respected and not afraid of the future…”

As her days were coming to an end, my mother sought to live them just as she had lived her life – with hope for a happy ending – believing the song of the angels that she had been found in Christ’s rising to new life!

There’s not a doubt in our family’s mind that the ending of my mother’s life is a happy one because of the God she loved, the Christ she followed, and the memories of us, of each of you, which she takes with her into her eternal home.

As I was leafing through the family journal which she had been working on for some time, I came across a quote that she had saved from grandson Eric after the death of her mother (Granny). Eric was about four at the time. He told Mom that he had gone to the park the other day with his other Mom Mom (Voshell). Mom asked, “What did you do?” Eric replied, “I swung and swung all the way up to Heaven.” Mom asked, “What did you do then?” Eric said, “I saw Granny and she was a superstar.”

If we could swing  all the way up to heaven today, we would see Granny and Papa and Mom’s brothers and sister, Joe, Woody, Minnie, and all family and friends who have gone before her -- the superstars of our mother’s life! Today she gains superstar status with God and enjoys the happiest ending ever – eternal life!

For this we say “Thanks be to God!”

Musings on One "Priority School" Leader in Christina

(Written as a letter of support for Stubbs Academy Principal Jeffers Brown)

 

In June of 2012, while sitting in our annual meeting, the seed was planted to form a collaboration with a school in our city. After reflection, I asked a teacher with whom I was acquainted to help us find a school that would welcome Grace Church as a community partner. Around the same time, in one of my weekly messages, I shared a vision for using our talents and abilities to nurture and support the educational growth of the children in our community.

After a close look at the schools in our area, Stubbs Academy seemed the right choice. After trying to contact the former administration, and receiving no response, the suggestion was made by one of our staffers, who had worked briefly in education, that we might begin to forge a relationship by sending goodies once a week for teachers and staff in their break room. Believing that building relationships is a good thing, that’s what we did. Weekly, home baked cookies and cakes were sent over to Stubbs with a note that said we were thinking of them and the important work they do. For some time, that was the extent of our relationship.

Under the creative leadership of Jeffers Brown, we were invited to become a community partner in helping the faculty and administration of Stubbs become more effective in transforming the lives of their students.

I like to say that Mr. Brown, and company, have invited us to do the things that traditionally parent organizations do: providing school supplies and backpacks; staffing the annual back-to-school block party; dipping ice cream at a math night for children and families; providing water ice on a hot Field Day; purchasing a salt water aquarium; funding a spaghetti dinner for an evening event for children and families; mentoring weekly; lending a listening ear; attending Priority School meetings and board meetings to support Stubbs; providing holiday gifts for teachers and staff as a way of saying “thank you;” working with other community partners to provide holiday gifts for children in the school; judging a bakeoff with baked goodies by the fathers of students; attending holiday programs, a civics bee, and graduation; purchasing uniforms for students.

The above list is given as a way of saying that Mr. Brown, and the faculty and staff he has assembled, understand the needs of the students and the families of Stubbs and make every effort to meet them so that the students, and those supporting them, can concentrate on the most important thing: their education.

There is a wonderful line in the book Blink: The Power of Thinking without Thinking written by  Malcolm Gladwell:

            “The key to good decision making is not knowledge. It is understanding.

             We are swimming in the former. We are desperately lacking in the latter.”

                                                                                                                           
As Principal of an elementary school that has all sorts of sociological conundrums, one of which is the extremely high poverty rate of the students’ families and all the catch-22s that accompany this, Jeffers Brown recognizes that in order to make good decisions for those whose education is under his care, he first has to understand their basic needs, their circumstances, the struggles facing their families, the reasons why they are underachieving in spite of their obvious aptitude.

Anyone who has spent time at Stubbs knows that that an environment has been created, under the leadership of Mr. Brown, in which teachers and staff seek to understand the students and parents with the longer term goal of instilling in them the joy of learning and the desire to excel in that learning, aka in Delaware as raising their test scores.

My heart has broken over the past few months as I watched the decision of September 4^th threaten to close Stubbs. Yes, if one looks only at test scores, it appears that the administration and faculty need a real shake-up. However, if one spends time at Stubbs, seeking understanding of what has been happening there over the last year and a half of Mr. Brown’s tenure as Principal, one could come to the conclusion that it does not!!

Jeffers Brown, along with his administration, has built a faculty that now works well together, that loves the students and continually seeks the best education possible for each. Much of the credit for the creation of this healthy environment has to do with this man who is professional, loving, caring, involved, smart, funny, and dedicated; this man who is passionate about his vocation with the children of our city; this man who has sought to understand his students and their families and who has the ability to guide his school into making good decisions for and with them!

 

Why Fit In When You Were Born to Stand Out?

In 1865, 12 men gathered together, one a pastor, and gave birth to a vision for Grace Methodist Church! Grace branched off amicably from St. Paul's Methodist Church, which was then in the city, and began as a mission outpost in Wilmington for Sunday Schools.
Educating women and children, helping them to learn to read, is at the heart of our DNA. The leaders of this start-up saw it as a calling and, along with those who caught the vision, pursued it with relentless passion.

At its inception, this church's reason for being stood out in this city. It was a timely mission and was instrumental in sharing a gospel of love and compassion that helped the people of Wilmington succeed in their daily endeavors. Lives were touched and improved, transformed, one might even say, as the founders of Grace Church made a conscious and godly decision to stand out in this city as a major player.

Over the generations, the church stopped its outpost Sunday Schools and the center of much of its educational ministry shifted to the church building at 9th and West Streets. As it did, slowly but surely, it lost its educational mission to the city, the reason upon which it was founded, and began to educate primarily those who walked through its doors. This proved to be a great success for many, many years and was used as a tool to invite new people to Grace Church. And the church continued to stand out in the city -- as a place to discuss the social issues of the day in an environment that was conducive to learning!

In the 1960s and 1970s, there was a noticable decline in the willingness of people within the church to participate in this sort of education venture. Attendance in these began to dwindle. By the beginning of the 21st century, this style of education was almost non-existent with only a small group or two in place.  For a church like Grace, which has education at the heart of our DNA, this felt devastating. No longer did it feel as if the church was on the cutting edge, as if it was born to stand out! It seemed as if it simply fit in with all the other churches in the city, one of many.

As the numbers in our Sunday morning attendance have continued to decline, it is easy to lament the changes that have taken place since Grace's spectacular beginnings. Yet if we return to our roots, to the heart of our DNA, if we remember that this church was born not to fit in but to stand out, I believe that we can recapture the God-given vision of those who started Grace, invest ourselves in it, and sing songs of celebration and joy instead of songs of lament.

Just as Grace began outpost Sunday Schools in order to help women and children learn to read, doesn't it follow that we need to be out there in the city, working with those who are in the business of educating the children of our city? Isn't that what our relationship with Stubbs Academy (Elementary) is all about? Aren't we trying to be agents of change through educating children as we  partner with Stubbs? Mr. Brown and the staff/teachers of Stubbs have welcomed us into the school with open arms - as the Church!! They know who we are and are happy we are in the adventure with them! Isn't it a good thing to give of ourselves to the children of this city, to build relationships with them, to participate in their education, so that they can become what they dream of becoming? So that they can know they are God's beloved children? This church was born to stand out in educating the children of this city! What is your role in this? What is God calling you to do?

Beyond our relationship with Stubbs, people like Paul Miller are working with other areas of education. Talk with him about the Delaware Design-Lab High School opening a few blocks away from Grace Church in 2015. Youth of our city will have the chance to attend this innovative school! It's another way in which we can be involved in educating the youth of our city!

With the closing of our preschool after 50 years, there is talk of starting a new learning center in Grace Church for preschoolers that would utilize storytelling, other arts, and technology. There has been conversation with Stubbs that it might be a starting place to help prepare those children who would feed into the school as well as for children in the church family and of those working downtown.

God did not call Grace Church to fit in the city; God called Grace Church to stand out in it! Standing out out takes prayer and purpose and passion and participation! This church was started with these! And from its beginnings, it stood out!

 

I Know That My Tomorrow Will Be Promising!

This morning I wandered over to Stubbs Academy around 9 am for the 5th grade graduation. Two of the youth I have been mentoring this year were graduating.  My expectations for the event were fairly low but I wanted to support both the youth and the wonderful staff at Stubbs, so I went!

As the parents and grandparents began filling the auditorium, and the conversation level began increasing, it had the feel of community gathering.  Across the aisle from me were a group of first graders who, I discovered later, were there to perform. Amazingly, they were waiting quietly and patiently, a tribute to their teacher! Anticipation was in the air as the fifth graders entered to Pomp and Circumstance.

The ceremony was very well done and received by all. A highlight of the ceremony were the speeches of the young salutatorian and valedictorian. Both were well spoken. One of the sound bites in the valedictorian's speech that stuck with me was this: "I know that my tomorrow will be promising thanks to my teachers!" Her words were an incredible tribute to the teachers she has had at Stubbs! The fifth grade team clearly is invested in the education of their students and is concerned about the worth of each. They have made a great impact on these youth who come from varied backgrounds.

As our church has partnered with Stubbs this year, in order to help the youth attending there have promising futures, I have had the joy of getting to know this group of educators who works overtime to help the youth and their parents be successful! The tone is set by Mr. Brown, the Principal, who supports the teachers and staff in doing what needs to be done in order to provide an education that will prepare and support. I feel so privileged that he and others on staff have allowed our church family to join them in this venture.  We want every youth at Stubbs to be able to say: "I know my tomorrow's will be promising" thanks to something or someone at the school.

In a city labelled the most violent of its size in the nation, what if everyone recognized the value of what a good education will do for the youth who live here? If we do, maybe more youth will come to the end of a school year and say: "I know that my tomorrow will be promising, thanks to - someone from Stubbs!"

We Got the Apartment!

In my "Hangouts" app today I saw this message that warmed my heart:  "We got the apartment!" It means that, come July 1st, our daughter will have a place to live! The decision to move from her current apartment was put into motion when her Con Ed bills this past winter were over $600 monthly in a 400 and something square ft. apartment! As she started looking for an apartment, I told her I would pray that she would find the "right" one in a timely fashion.  Today that prayer was answered! An apartment in a co-op in Forest Hills, Queens, twice the square footage of her current apartment, will be her new home hopefully for a long time to come!

"We got the apartment!" is a testimony to the faithfulness of God and friends who joined us in praying for Jessica's housing needs. I am grateful for the circle of friends, family, and colleagues who are always willing to put their prayers with mine. What a blessing!

"Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Let your petitions be made known to God through prayers and requests, with thanksgiving." Philippians 4:6

About what are you anxious? Instead of spending your days worrying, consider praying and inviting others to pray with you! I can testify to the power of people praying together! It's amazing amd life-changing!

In response to God's affirmative response to our daughter's need for a new apartment, I say "Thank you, God! Thank you!"

Really?

There is a conversation in a favorite writing from my childhood between two characters, Cheshire Cat and Alice, that seems appropriate on this final day of General Conference.  It goes like this:

Cheshire Cat:  Oh, by the way, if you'd really like to know, he went that way.
Alice: Who did?
Cheshire Cat: The White Rabbit.
Alice:  He did?
Cheshire Cat:  He did what?
Alice:  Went that way.
Cheshire Cat:  Who did?
Alice:  The White Rabbit.
Cheshire Cat:  What rabbit?
Alice:  But didn't you just say - I mean - Oh, dear.
Cheshire Cat:  Can you stand on your head?
Alice: Oh!

As I write this, I continue to listen to General Conference via live streaming and I wonder when it was that we lost our focus as Christ's Church known as United Methodists.  When did we begin having conversations that talk "around" each other instead of "to" one another?  When did we begin skillfully switching the subject so we did not have to deal with the real subject at hand?  Like the Cheshire Cat, we have become adept at this.  As the Cheshire Cats of General Conference ask "Can you stand on your head?", the Alices, confused by the change in the direction of the conversation, simply say:  "Oh!"

This is an acceptable way for the legislative body of our church to act on our behalf?  Really? 

Through the Eyes of a Child

My uncle Woody died yesterday. I received the news in a text from my mother, his sister. Interesting way to receive the news about the death of a family member - even one I have had no contact with for many years. Funny how that happens! For years, I saw my Uncle annually when we made the trip to the Bluefield area where my grandparents and my mother's siblings lived. After my grandfather died and Granny moved to Delaware to live with our family, I saw him infrequently, only when a significant celebration was held for my grandmother. I guess notification by text seemed fair enough.

On this day after, here are my initial memories, all fond: Uncle Woody was always an earthy kind of guy, a coal miner, who smoked cigars. He was the first adult in my life to tease me. He loved teasing all his nieces and nephews. Some of us gave him the response he wanted, while others ignored him; but all of us knew that he loved us! As ancient as these memories are, they are still clear, even today.

By text I have learned that Uncle Woody's funeral will be held on Tuesday, most likely. With no clear idea of when the service will be, I cannot even consider attending; so between now and then, I plan on doing what I would do if I were officiating at such a service. I will reflect upon my memories of my Uncle's life, consider what scripture I would use, and write something in memory of him. Even though I am 57, it will be written through the eyes of a child, a child who loved her Uncle Woody.

Do We Expect to Hear from God?

In every daughter's life, there has to be at least one life-altering lesson she learns from her mother. I have given a great deal of thought to this lately as, in my late '50s, I have felt compelled to take a deep look at my life-long relationship with my parents and their lasting influence on me.

For some daughters, the most significant lessons they learn from their mothers have to do with gender specific roles. I did not learn how to manicure my nails from my mother, even though her nails always seem perfectly manicured to me. I did not learn how to care for my hair from my mother. I did not learn how to be a "girly-girl" from my mother, even though I suspect she is just that! Most of what I learned about clothes and makeup and hair and other such things came from my oldest sister, who had a great distain for the way I presented myself as we were growing up and always let me know; close friends in early adulthood and now who encouraged me; a daughter whose fashion sense is delightful; and a husband who has complimented me from the first day of our marriage each time I came home with a new outfit.

The major life-lesson my mother taught me goes much deeper than mere appearance and has served as a foundational value for me. My mother taught me the importance of praying, of having an intentional daily relationship with God in which there is the expectation that in the act of making myself present to the Holy, God, in return, will speak to me, will guide me, will make God's desires known to me.

My mother taught me this lesson so well that when God spoke audibly to me, calling me into ministry, in February of 1981, I recognized God's voice and answered "yes." It was not a stretch for me to believe that it was the voice of the Divine. It had been modeled for me in my parents' home as I was growing up. Little did I know that it was one of those transformative teachings.

Often I hear people debate whether God speaks in the 21st century. Because of the life-lesson taught to me by my mother, I personally have no doubts and, until I remember that everyone did not grow up with my mother, I am amazed that anyone would have such low expectations of God.

I have learned that if I am to hear from God, I have to prepare a place in me to receive what is being spoken to me. I do this through silently reflecting on the sacred stories of the Bible, by disciplined prayer, by inviting others to pray for me, through communal worship, and by growing more space in each day to listen for the voice of God. Some days I am better at this than others. Engrained deeply within my heart and soul and mind is this life-altering lesson taught to me by my mother. I cannot get away from it. It lives within me, this expectation that God will speak to me, to others, and to the world! Thank you, Mom, for teaching this lesson!

Finger Pointing

We live in a world where finger pointing is a part of the daily menu of life. One only has to tune in to the national political conversations, from Iowa to New Hampshire to South Carolina, to hear the accusations flying, the fingers pointing. It seems to happen naturally as candidates seek to differentiate themselves, one from the other. Some could say that I am pointing the finger at these candidates as I write. Just goes to show how easily it happens!

Five days with my great-niece Margot, who is approximately a year and a half, has shown me that finger pointing can have a positive connotation. Whenever she cannot find the precise word in her vocabulary to fit the situation, or does not feel like making the effort to come up with necessary words, she simply points her finger. If she wants someone to move to a particular place in the room or upstairs or outside, she points her fingers. If she needs more water, she stands in front of the fridge, points her finger, and looks authoritatively at the adult she decides should get her drink, and the deal is sealed! If she wants to join you on the sofa, she points her finger at the place she wants to sit and someone places her there. If she wants to be read to, she points her finger at her book and someone responds. When Margot points her finger, she is not trying to be bossy; she is asking for someone to work with her, to help her do the things that she cannot yet do on her own.

I love my great-niece's concept of finger pointing! What if we embodied this concept? What if, instead of accusing others, finger pointing became about helping others do the things that they cannot do on their own? What if, when others pointed their finger at us, we viewed it as a request for us to work with them? What would happen if we let a little child lead us?

The First of Six Weddings

Yesterday afternoon and evening, our family held the first of six weddings for my great-niece Maddy. Maddy, a four year old, made the decision that she is going to have six weddings in her lifetime. The first was to be yesterday. Of course, she said with a smile, I won't have a husband at this one. I told her that was ok and that she was in luck -- that I am a pastor and could do (officiate at) her wedding. That intrigued her for a moment, especially after her great-grandmother explained what a pastor is and that I am one, really; and then she continued to make plans for the first wedding.

At first she wanted it to be downstairs in her condo; but as she talked, she decided to have it upstairs in her g'grandparents condo. Her outfit, she finally decided, for the first wedding was a pair of Fancy Nancy pjs that I had brought for her. As soon as she tried them on, she knew that was the outfit. She had a scarf on her head, her initial idea of a bridal veil; but after trying to get the slippery cloth to stay on her head, I suggested that we might fashion one for her - out of tissue paper. G'grandmother, always eager to foster creativity, hunted up tissue paper and the Virginia Beach version of Project Runway began, a low budget version. How we wished her g'mother was in town. She could have fashioned one with ease! The bride-to-be, just as Fancy Nancy would have done, created a work of art to be used in the veil. I then began to fashion the tissue paper into a veil, using tape and hair pins/clips. As strange as it looked, it was a hit with Maddy! So accepting of the gift offered!

Maddy wore the veil throughout the evening, while playing, eating dinner, and still playing. I kept wondering when the wedding would take place. At the end of the evening, when Maddy's parents gathered their children to take them home, and no ceremony had taken place, I thought that Maddy had simply moved on to something else. As she hugged me, she said, "My first wedding is done!"

Ah, I realized, the wedding was the afternoon we spent together as family, playing and eating and enjoying each other's company, creating the environment for the wedding, living out the wedding ceremony, for better or worse, as we went along! Out of the mouths of babes! I think my g'niece may have come up with the perfect idea for how a marriage should begin - low key, in the midst of established relationships, very naturally! I suspect this would take the stress out of the wedding day and might even change the divorce rate!

A little child shall lead us!

There's Got to Be a Morning After

It is the morning after Christmas. Memories of Christmas Eve worship and Christmas celebrations with family and friends still linger in the air. "A child is born to us!" At church, children in costumes retelling the sacred story. Candlelight caroling. A teenager portraying a shepherd reminding us of a God "made small enough" for us. A spirit of joy. At home, a quiet Christmas with Mark and Jessica, much different than any other I have experienced in my adult life. It was a leisurely Christmas, the celebration lasting much of the day. The making of angel biscuits for our traditional Christmas breakfast of sausage, angel biscuits, and grape jelly; the opening of gifts, one by one, so we can savor the moment, just as I have done all of my life. Calls and texts to and from family and friends, wishing each other a Merry Christmas! Snacking on meatballs, blue cheese bacon dip, and eggnog. Watching Christmas dvds. Baking dessert - spice cake with carmel icing, a favorite of Mark's and Jess'. Cooking a delicious dinner of beef brisket, mashed potatoes, stuffing, roasted carrots and brussel sprouts. The first Christmas in memory that we did not eat turkey/ham. I didn't know if I would like the change, but I did! I think it's a new tradition! Christmas Day wound down with the three of us together. Our day ended with Mark driving our daughter to the Amtrak station so she could return to Manhattan, her home. It was one of the most enjoyable and joyfilled Christmases I have ever experienced!

The thing about Christmas is that there's got to be a morning after! For some people, like our daughter, this means returning to work as usual! Others are hustling and bustling around town on this day known as the biggest return and exchange day of the year to take back gifts. Others are spending the day taking down Christmas decorations, making sure that, by the end of the day, there will be no sign of Christmas 2011.

I have always enjoyed the morning after Christmas. Christmas, and all the celebrations of it, are still dancing in my head! It is a day of quiet reflection, a warm, fuzzy day, as I think of a God made small enough for me. Small enough for me to wrap my heart and head around. How amazing is that?

Later today our close friends are coming to visit and our celebration of Christmas will continue. In fact, we have 12 days in which to enjoy Christmas with family and friends; to look for the ways in which the Word made flesh is transforming us.

There's got to be a morning after Christmas! Relish it! Enjoy the new possibilities it brings!

How Silently, How Silently

I'm up early this morning. Somehow can't sleep as images of Christmas dance in my head! It's the time in the season when I am pulling together all the details for church and home and, with heavenly help, hopefully remembering all I need to remember.

Interestingly enough, as I am piecing together in my mind the rehearsal for Christmas Eve that will take place later this morning, and, at the same time, going over my gift list to make certain that I have not forgotten any "special someones," a line from "O Little Town of Bethlehem" keeps playing in my head: "How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given!" As Pastor Phillip Brooks penned these words, was he experiencing the same Christmas "anxiety" that I am experiencing? Was he concerned that the details of Christmas for worship and home would be so loud that he, that we, might miss God's Christmas present?

"How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given!" In the midst of bombs blaring, soldiers and civilians dying, soldiers returning home, politicians posturing and losing sight of the human beings they are serving, a weakened global economy, unresolved health care concerns, churches struggling for life, God gives us the most amazing Christmas gift: One who restores the world to wholeness, the Prince of Peace!

How is it that we fail to receive it? Is the packaging too subtle? Should it have been wrapped in elegant paper and tied up with a gorgeous bow? Or in bright reds or greens with a candy cane adorning it? Are swaddling clothes too passe, too out of our experience, for us to even recognize the gift? Is God's gift, the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, doomed to be relegated to the nativity scene we have set up in our church or home?

"How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given!" These words won't let me go! As I finish up coordinating the details for Christmas in church and home, I sense they will be with me, reminding me, calling me, to have "eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart to receive" God's Christmas present to me, to you, to the world:
"For unto us is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord!"

What we do with the gift, once we receive it, is up to us. I'm hoping that I, that we, will unwrap the gift in 2012 and do with it something significant for the transformation of a world. I'm hoping that I, that we, do not leave it gathering dust on the shelf like that candy dish shaped like a chicken Mark and I received for our wedding almost 30 years ago, not wanting to get rid of it because someone went to the trouble of giving it to us; but never quite comfortable enough with it to use it. I'm hoping that we use it to make a difference in our homes, our city, our community, our nation, and our world.

For unto us is born!

What the MBTI and That Pesky Speck Have to Do with Each Other

This week Iwas reminded of two things that have been invaluable in my adult life: the Meyers-Briggs personality test and a verse from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Oddly enough, the same person was the reason for both of these coming to mind. He is a person I don't know very well; but hopefully, as time passes and trust builds, we will discover a way to respect and enjoy one another.

I am convinced that each of us has an achilles heel, a weakness of some sort that makes us vulnerable. It is my own particular achilles heel that led me to see the "speck" in someone's eye while failing to see the "log" in my own. As happens, when we judge someone else harshly, I reacted negatively, creating an obstacle in this new relationship we are trying to build. It's not the first time that I have rushed to judgment. As much as I would hope, it will probably not be the last time.

In an effort to try and understand why this happens, help came from an unexpected place: from the person I had judged hastily. He shared as to how he had recently taken the Meyers-Briggs personality test and talked about the results. All of a sudden, I was reminded of the test's helpfulness to me 30 years ago in coming to terms with my personality, with why I do the things I do, why I react in the ways I react.

With that thought in mind, I went home and took the MBTI online. It turns out that two of my letters have changed. While my basic personality has stayed the same, I am now an ENFJ, no longer an INFP. As I read what the overall personality traits of an ENFJ are, I understood why I rush to judgment when I feel hurt. I understood why my first reaction is to see the "speck" in someone elses eye while failing to see the "log" in my own. While this does not take me off the hook for my reaction, I know this is a natural part of me, a most vulnerable part. I understand that I am not a bad person. I am wonderfully made by God!

Why am I writing this? I think it is important that we own the vulnerabilities in our personalities, accept them for what they are, invite God to transform them, and then believe that has happened!

Children, Eggs, and an Easter Greeting

At the beginning of last week, or perhaps even the week before, I came across the idea (no, I don't know where it came from because I failed to make it a fav) to use when chatting with the Grace Church children in worship on Easter. The idea was that many centuries ago, in some church, people would bring a red egg to Easter worship. During worship, they would hand it to someone as they offered the greeting: "Christ is risen!" The recipient of the egg would then say: "Christ is risen indeed!"

Do you know how difficult it is to find a red Easter egg? Or to find red dye? Hmmm....I suspect we all know that has something to do with food and red dye; but that's another story for another day. Anyone who knows me knows that when an idea comes into my mind, I don't give up until I figure out a way to carry it out.

In the meantime, Jeff Blackwell, our Director of Community Building & Programming, had ordered items for the children's Easter egg hunt. One of the things he had ordered were Splat Eggs. They are clear and have what appears to be an egg yolk in them. They move all around, somewhat I'm told like an implant, and go "splat" when you throw them against a wall. But I am digressing...

I asked if I could use the eggs - so that solved the problem of whether or not I would use real eggs for the children. Jeff said "yes." And when I was in the craft store on Thursday, I found red pouches in which I could put the eggs. It seemed too perfect. All I needed to do was to figure out what to say to the children. If only it had been that easy.

On Saturday evening, as I attempted to put the eggs in the red bags, I discovered they would not fit -- too small. My wonderful husband volunteered to go to the craft store and try to get larger red bags. Alas, they had only white or ivory. I went with the white having read somewhere else online that people in churches had given out white and gold eggs on Easter.

I cannot tell you the fun I had during my time with the children on Easter Sunday. After introducing the Easter greeting to them, I shared that I was going to give each one of them an egg as I greeted them with "Christ is risen!" Their response was to be "Christ is risen indeed!" I went down the line of children (and parents), handing out eggs, offering the greeting, and receiving their response. Then I invited them to go on an egg hunt. I had hidden foam eggs in the Easter flowers around the empty tomb. They hurried over and found their egg. Then I asked them to go to someone in the congregation, hand them the egg, greeting them with "Christ is risen!" I asked the people who received them to respond with "Christ is risen indeed!" It was a joyous moment in our Easter celebration. It is a remnant of Easter which I hope we will all carry with us.

Christ is risen! Christ is risen! Indeed!

Christ is risen! Christ is risen! Indeed! I love Easter! I love the pageantry of Mary Magdalene coming to the tomb at sunrise; the image of the empty tomb; the angel wondering why Mary is weeping; the beautiful colors of spring flowers and the "left-over" palms forming the garden around the tomb where the risen Jesus first speaks. I love that he first speaks to a woman! Easter opens up all sorts of possibilities for us, our faith, our churches, our world!

As a pastor, I have always been moved to tears on Easter. In some way, it is akin to that watercolor or musical work or poem or play that is indescribable - there are no words to describe it - as it finds its way deep into the recesses of my heart and emotions, bringing a joy so incredible that all I can do is weep.

As I looked at the sun rising over the river yesterday morning during our Sunrise worship celebration at the Riverfront, as we were singing, "Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia," I experienced God anew! My response was to weep! Later, as I sang the Easter hymn The Day of Resurrection, with the organ and brass accompanying, again the tears flowed! The presence of the risen Christ was real in a new way.

"Now let the heavens be joyful! Let earth the song begin!
Let the round world keep triumph, and all that is there-in!
Let all things seen and unseen their notes in gladness blend,
for Christ the Lord hath risen, our joy that hath no end."

The sacred story of Easter moves me from tears of sorrow to tears of joy! The problem is that as I step away from Easter, while I am eager for the memory and meaning to linger, it often fades. Its vividness fades. Life becomes ordinary again. It occurs to me that, when life becomes ordinary, so does the way I live.

As Easter people, we are not called to be ordinary; we are called to be an extraordinary witness in an ordinary world. There is nothing ordinary about the good news of Easter: "Christ is risen! Christ is risen! Indeed!" This season of Easter, I am going to attempt to be an extraodinary witness, a person who exudes the joy and promise and possibility that comes from knowing the risen Christ! I sense this could get interesting!

It's Snowing - on a Saturday

Whenever it snows profusely on a Saturday, knowing that Sunday is coming I am always slightly confused. Is it meant to stop all activity for the entire weekend? Or just for today? Is it meant to slow us down and remind us of what it means to stay at home? Is it God, the artist, painting a scene so incredibly beautiful that we can do little but simply enjoy it?

As I look out our balcony window at the thick flakes of snow, falling with complete disregard to tomorrow, to worship and a visit from my friend Dee, both of which are presently in question, I am touched by how peaceful everything appears. It's as if all the problems of the world have receded for today. The falling snow has leveled the playing field of our agendas and schedules.

When it snows, we always lose something. In the case of the Pruett-Barnett household, we will not be returning our zillion boxes of Christmas paraphernalia, which I worked so diligently yesterday to repack, to storage. Our loss concerns only our time; while the losses of others may be a great deal more costly.

When it snows, we always gain something. In my case, as I look at the snow flakes falling, each one unique like fingerprints, I delight in knowing that the one who designed the snow flakes to shower snow upon the earth designed me for a specific purpose. If the Creator could care so much about snow flakes to make a mold for each one, what has that same Creator done in making me?

When it snows, the adult in me is reminded that there is a need to simply enjoy life; to put on our boots, our caps, our gloves, our coats, and go out and play; to fall backwards into the snow and make a snow angel, to roll snowballs and make a Frosty or to throw them at friends. Tomorrow we'll figure out how to dig out the car so we can get to Grace Church or even whether or not Grace Church can be gotten to. In the meantime, over a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows, I'm going to enjoy the winter wonderland that is being prepared for us. I hope you enjoy it too.

Prayer:
Gracious God, who watches out for each one of us, be with those men and women in service occupations that put them out on the roads this snowy day. Keep them safe and warm; get them to wherever they need to go without harm to themselves. Especially be with the crews who are cleaning the roads of our state, the streets of our cities and towns, and parking lots. Give them the strength they need to complete their tasks. Thank you for their dedication and their willingness to place themselves at risk. In Christ's name, we pray. Amen.

Where is God? Look for the Love!

At the heart of life is love: God's love for us and our love for God, neighbor, and self. The most precious treasure of the Christian Church is the love we have been entrusted by God to share. As with any treasure, knowing its incredible value, a local church can choose to keep it for ourselves, to dispense it parsimoniously, or to share it generously. I have the privilege of serving a church where people practice the language of love, a love that makes God visible.

Recently, a representative of the Seaman's Center at the Port of Wilmington spoke in worship about the concrete ways in which God's love is offered to the sailors entering the Delaware port. She offered her thanksgiving for the good work of Nan Ransom, a Grace Church member, who volunteers her time at the center with sailors who are often out on their ships, away from home and family, for nine months out of the year. She told the story of one sailor who mentioned that he had a daughter who was an avid reader. While in the Port of Wilmington, he had wanted to find her a copy of Alice in Wonderland but could not. Nan heard this; and when she left that afternoon to go home, she went to a bookstore, found a copy, and saw to it that it was put into the sailor's hands. Such a simple act of love; yet it made God visible to this sailor.

"How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses to help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action." 1 John 3:17-18

I was moved to tears this week when I received an email from one of the Moms in our church family who shared a project that her elementary age son is working on. It is called "MJ's Christmas Wish Project." Marlen read about the local Sunday Breakfast Mission and its need for persons to take on the finishing of rooms in its new building. After learning about the good works of the mission, Marlen felt he HAD to help. There are two rooms he would like to see completed: a handicapped accessible family unit room 135 and a small learning center room 161. If you go to http://www.mjschristmaswish.weebly.com/, you will see what is needed for this project to be completed. A local bank has committed to matching contributions that are made up to $10,000! Not only is Marlen displaying a love that makes God visible; he is asking us to step up and do the same.

"How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action."

Recent mission trips to Mississippi...Tennessee...preparing monthly meals for the ministry of caring in the city...connections to various outreach/mission opportunities in the city and beyond... These are part of the precious treasure of love that we have been given to share.

What is next for Grace Church? Like MJ, you tell us. What concrete expression of love would you like us to enage in as a church family?

Back Home Again

For much of my adult life, I've been a fan of John Denver. Years ago, when I was a student at Wesley Seminary in Washington, he did a concert at the National Cathedral. That sealed the deal for me! Since our mission team has returned home from Nashville, the refrain to one of his songs has been playing in my head: "Hey, it's good to be back home again; yes, it is."

While I love going away from home, there is always something sweet about coming back home. Maybe it's having the familiar at our fingertips; or perhaps it's the spouse who is so delighted with your return; or could it be that home is so comfortable, so inviting?

The mission trip reminds me that everyone wants a home that is inviting. No matter who people are and where they are from, no matter what the state of place in which they live, home is important.

Whenever I think of the trailer park in which our team worked, I will hold in my mind the image of the trailer in which Paul and Edwin put in a new water heater. On the first day, when the Shalom Zone staffer took us to this home, as I stood in the living room and kitchen, looking around, I noticed that the walls were a soft, warm yellow. The young couple shared that they were expecting a baby and were getting their home ready to receive him. Canisters in white and the same soft yellow graced the counter tops. Their trailer will never make House Beautiful, but it would make Better Homes.

Will anyone ever be able to say definitively what makes home so important? Maybe not. What I do know is this: When I walk through the door of the home that Mark and I share, I'm thinking, "Hey, it's good to be back home again; yes, it is!"