As I walked Lee Ann and Victoria out to their car, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair. She was dressed in her pajamas and was accompanied by a hospital employee. The woman had no bag of belongings, just the pajamas on her back. They were both perusing the cars as they pulled up to the hospital. I heard the employee ask the woman as a vehicle approached, “Is that your ride?” The woman stretched her neck looking to see if that was the person to deliver her from the hospital. It was not. I silently prayed for her.
I was invited to join their conversation when Chris, the rehab therapist, mentioned she was from Sewickley. As we engaged in conversation, she seemed to know about me and the Sewickley United Methodist Church. As I sat at the kitchen table, she looked at me and said, “I want to thank you and your church for praying for me and my family. I am Katie Parish’s mother.”
Why do so many hate? Why do so many say to some of God’s children, as I said to that cute little bunny: “Don’t you dare go into the church. You don’t belong there. You will just cause havoc and make the people upset.”
As I sat there listening to the funeral liturgy, a 27-page booklet (but who was counting), I could not help but think how my life would be different if my father had been an active church member, and we were reared in the Ukrainian Orthodox tradition.
For the past several weeks, I have been car shopping. I really do not like that process. I went to three different car dealers, and after doing my due diligence, I purchased a vehicle. And that is when it happened.
I recently read of a rather strange proposal: Jake Hess said his wife laughed at him the first time he asked her to marry him. She explained how he asked her, “Would you like to be buried with my people?”
I stood in the doorway as he walked down the steps with his head hung low. As he walked down the sidewalk I heard him begin to sob, and between sobs, I could hear him cry, “I just want to go home! I just want to go home, and no one will help me.”
John’s story of the first Easter is vivid, rich, and full of fascinating details. In John, the little things, the details, are often pregnant with meaning. There is an interesting detail in John’s Easter account—everyone was busy running.
The Season of Lent is 40 days, not counting Sundays. Sundays are always considered little Easters. The number 40 is an important number throughout the Bible
The other day, I was putting Eliana (my three-year-old granddaughter) down for a nap. She asked, “Pappy, what is your favorite color?” I responded, “Ellie, I like purple.” She quickly responded, “You can’t like purple. That can’t be your favorite color.” “Well, why not Ellie?” I asked, “Why can’t I like purple?” “Purple is a girl’s color. Only girls can like pink and purple,” she said.
As we stand on our tippy toes ready to open that “brand spanking new” New Year, I can’t help but wonder what is in store for us this year? Do we eagerly step into 2017 with excitement and enthusiasm, or do we cautiously step into the New Year with fear and trepidation?
As I journey through Advent to Christmas, checking off each item on my list, I am very much aware that the idea of doing something with Christmas is what keeps us from understanding what Christmas is all about. After all, Christmas is not something we do. Christmas is something done to us, for us, and in us.
A few months ago, before the start of the new school, there was a great commercial for school supplies featuring happy, dancing parents and pitifully sad children. That familiar Christmas song “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” played in the background. I couldn’t help but laugh when this commercial came on at the sheer joy of the parents and deep sadness for the children that it was back to school time.
Nancy was recently contacted by a stranger who is helping one of Nancy's distant relatives work on this relative's family tree.