Pastor Don's Ponderings

It appeared this morning on today's edition of Sunday Morning on the local CBS network, a segment about the banning of books in our school systems and, by extension, in our local libraries. Much of the segment gave credit for the bans to an organization ironically named, 'Moms for Liberty'. Liberty must certainly have a different meaning today from when I grew up, but I digress. As I viewed the segment and the related story concerning the backlash from others across the country committed to making books, all kinds of books, available to anyone who wants to read them, it occurred to me that if we do not take this kind of oppressive authoritarian behavior seriously now and try to stop it, the next thing you know they will be trying to ban lascivious flowers and their colors, wherever they may be found - because, you know, flowers include the colors of the rainbow - and so much more. Having just received some absolutely stunning pictures of Spring flowers at Diamond Valley La...

Your day has come. You raise your head and look around only to discover you are the only one raising your head to look around. Cautiously, you stand on tippy-toe and peer over your taller, non-descript neighbors, hoping on hope that someone, somewhere around you, looks just like you but, it is of no avail. You are alone as you are, in a field of others, with little choice of what to do for yours is a specific gift and calling. So, you bloom.  You bloom boldly, magnificently, proudly and beautifully. You raise your head to the sky and offer to the sun a bit of your color and to the sky a grand, 'Alleluia!'.  You catch the eyes of those who, otherwise, would have just passed by without a notice yet, in you they see the marvelous, delicious nature of God rising out of the mundanity of those around you. They are given reason to pause, to catch their breath and whisper a thanksgiving to the One who set you where you are. You inadvertently, maybe subliminally, transform the narrativ...

 I would never presume to speak for God, nor should anyone. That said, when I look on this young lady, my friend, Savannah Nunn, on the occasion of her Confirmation, I cannot help but wonder what it is God has to say to her, of her, in such a holy moment. What follows is a humble Pastor's pondering around such a conversation, in the form of a letter from God to Savannah as she is Confirmed: Dear Savannah, You make Me smile, even laugh with Delight on this sacred journey! Your quiet beauty lights up the Heavens, just as I always thought you would. Thank you! The stole which you made in the course of your Confirmation class is full of meaning and so very beautiful. Each symbol makes Me pause as I watch you grow in faith. The Descending Dove of the Holy Spirit, as pretty in the blue stained glass rosette window in the Chancel area of your worship home as it is on your stole, touches My heart deeply, for the Holy Spirit has been with you and your family since the beginning of your jour...

  I am not an athlete and, at my age, will not try to become one. Still, I am trying to become a healthier version of what God is creating me to be by working out, albeit somewhat sporadically, and the Spirit is trying to teach me a few things. So, of those true athletes who happen to read this and already know that of which I speak, please excuse the naïve observations of a maturing workout rookie. First, it is good to have something which takes your mind off of how exhausted you feel, even if it is only after about three minutes into your routine. I have found that having my ear buds tuned in and listening to my Pandora app set on the music of Victor Wooten is perfect. Wooten and friends have that perfect blend of changing rhythms in each piece of music, made all the better by the diversity of the music they play . . . some of which even I recognize! Second, and maybe more importantly, stop watching the clock. Stop watching the timekeeper on the piece of equipment you are using. ...

 Looking at this picture of our granddaughter, Liza, and grandniece, Lily, it occurs to me that our culture spends far too much time insisting on giving children answers, rather than inviting them to imagine, inquire and explore. Maybe if we spent more time considering the place of the princess or prince in our life, and less time insisting that we be named king of all there is forevermore, we would find more joy and laughter in life and less stress on our heart. In these days of Covid-19, nearing elections, the causes of injustice and inequality in our world, and the general malaise concerning the care and welfare of anyone other than the person in the mirror, take a moment to step back from all of your pat and certain answers and watch a child at play . . . and learn. As much as most of us disdain the inevitable youngster's questions of, 'Why?' or 'How much longer?', perhaps it is time we look to our Parent God and, as the child, ask the question . . . then wait f...

Driving through the countryside in the Spring of the year I pay special attention to where daffodils and surprise lilies poke through with their welcome of warmer days. Often, if one pays attention, you can see by the presence of unexpected flowers where a farm house once stood, where a flower garden used to proudly bloom or where once a driveway was marked with a colorful welcome to strangers. If you pause long enough to consider it, you can hear the laughter of children, the bellowing of cattle in the long-gone pasture or even observe laundry flapping in the wind, all reminders that few things stay the same and generations do pass, along with the things they held precious, including their toys. Abandoned swing sets and forgotten teddy bears may well be two of the more notable markers of my age, the remnants of childhood play now quiet and forlorn. Other assorted playmates would be the toy tractors and implements which, outgrown, found themselves silently left in the forever...

I love the photography of my friend and colleague, Fr. Jerry Schweitzer, who resides in Northern Indiana. He publishes a daily meditation which includes his photographs and, truth be told, most days I find myself just looking into the pictures he provides and imagining my place in each setting. Jerry, and so many others like him, have the God-given capacity to see with God's eyes, to intuitively capture a moment, an event or an environment, and then invite others to marvel with them at the sight. This scene holds me fast . . . On the shoreline of Lake Michigan, at a place where once someone sat and took in its beauty and power, where a fence divides the land to the place where the waters cannot be divided, and where under snow and blustery winds there still resides the vestiges of summers past: The windswept grasses tell their tales and shifting sands reveal their secrets. Here we meet ourselves. Here we see our reflections. Here we tremble, not for Winter's wind, but fo...

I grew up in a family who attended Sunday morning worship every week, no questions asked. Mom played the organ, Dad taught Sunday School and was on the Church Council, Mom was part of the Women's Fellowship, we kids were part of the choirs and youth groups and everyone in our family was expected not only to show up, but also to participate. It was, and in many ways still is, who we were and are.  Going to Sunday morning worship no more makes you a Christian than standing in a garage makes you a car. Yet, if you never stand in a garage you will never know how a car feels when it is cared for and protected from the elements, just as if you never go to Sunday worship you will have a hard time experiencing the Love and Care of God made manifest in the gathering of the congregation. This may not be perfect imagery, but you get the idea. The Church, the gathered faith community, the congregation, the faith family, whatever you want to call God's people gathered together in the...

One day last Fall I had the opportunity to ride a few rounds in the combine with my brother, Larry, as he clipped off another field. For those who are not accustomed to such a sight, this is a soybean field and we are sitting in the cab of the farm's John Deere combine. What you see in front of you near the ground is the header of the machine, the reel turns in a forward fashion bringing the standing crop into the header, which then moves it back into the rotary separator in the largest portion of the combine. The soybeans, once separated from the stalk and pod of the plants, will then move by way of the clean grain auger into the hopper on top of the machine and the residue of the soybean plant will be chopped and scattered behind the machine. It is really something to watch, especially when you can do it up close from in the cab sitting next to the operator. A ride with Larry in the fields is seldom just a ride. The cab is his office for a large amount of time in Fall, so as...

Every once in a while I have to take the time to walk in the pastures of our family farm. This old cottonwood tree is in our East pasture and has stood the test of time longer than I have been alive. I know it has been struck by lightning numerous times, has had multiple honeybee swarms make their home in its branches and trunk, been rubbed against by hundreds of cows satisfying an itch against its bark, and has had the land around it shaped and reshaped numerous times over the decades as our family has striven to manage the large amount of water which flows in that area of the farm. This tree is a survivor . . . and the cows still love it and the shade it provides on a warm Summer day. Coming back to blogging is a bit like walking the pasture towards this tree: It is nice to return to the places and things which are solid and standing the test of time. So much of our technological age is transitory, including the social media sites which tantalizingly draw our attention for a mom...