December 16

“Wednesday Night Epiphany”

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Matt teaches at MCC at 8 o’clock in the morning.  We have gotten into a pattern on those mornings—Matt gets up at 6 to take a shower, then comes back to wake me up so I can go to the gym or get started on schoolwork.  I don’t like getting up early, and I don’t like going to the gym, but I’ve started to enjoy those early morning moments, seeing Matt’s smiling face when I first open my eyes, and enjoying a few minutes of quiet conversation before the rush of the day begins.  Although I know each morning that the peace and joy of these moments will soon give way to the mundane, hectic, and confusing everydayness of my life as a graduate student, they serve to remind me of the baby miracles that lie beneath the transitory disappointments and frustrations that always seem to overwhelm me for the rest of the day.

Last Wednesday, I was reminded in a startling way of how easily I lose my early-morning faith in a joy and peace that can transcend the difficulties of the task of living every day.  Magi Davis had had the inspiring idea that we should take the Mission Friends group to walk the labyrinth behind the church, so we could talk about different kinds of prayer and how we can serve others through our prayers.  I was so excited about talking to our first-sixth graders about the many different kinds of prayer they experience at our church and elsewhere.  Having been inspired by their caring attitudes and eagerness to work to help other people, I expected to also be inspired by their innocent yet wise spiritual insights as we participated in a reciprocal exchange of inspiration and learning.

It is possible my expectations were a little high for a Wednesday night that also happened to be two days before Halloween.  Laura, Eric, Maya, P.J., and Dakota wanted to talk about their costumes and trick-or-treat plans, and, to them, the most exciting part of the labyrinth experience was that it was dark and “spooky” outside when we went to walk it.  Frustrated, I “shh”-ed and threatened to go inside as they chased each other around the peace garden and jumped out to scare one another, Magi, and me.  When they finally all went into the labyrinth, one at a time, I felt like our experiment in spirituality had been a total failure.  I walked in last, keeping an eye on everyone, concerned our ritual would become a game of chase.

Then, as I watched the kids walking quietly, heads down, I realized that I had been much less respectful of the opportunity to seek God in the labyrinth than any of the children had been.  I had wanted control over the experience; I had wanted to explore spirituality within the confines of my own limited perspective, my rehashed, earthly thoughts on prayer and peace and restfulness.  I had wanted to put the experience on my mental resume (Walked a Labyrinth and Had Deep Conversation About Prayer, October 2003) without truly giving myself over to it.  As I began to stare at my shoes, and to think of how long it had been since I had quieted my mind and stopped mentally reciting my daily to-do list, I was awakened out of the false belief that I can just check God off on a list or experience prayer on my own terms.  I was embarrassed but joyful, as I always am when God reveals herself to me, and me to myself.

And a miracle happened.  As the Mission Friends got to the center of the labyrinth, they each silently took a seat on the rock or around it, not speaking, or giggling, or poking, but continuing their experience of prayer and of nearness to God.  I joined them, and we all sat in silence for a few minutes, then began a quiet conversation about our experience.  It was a new morning of peace and divine love, and we were all experiencing it together.  We knew that the moment, like all other awakenings, could not last forever, and that we would have to cultivate our faith in our experience through hours and days and weeks of mundane chores and empty conversation.  Even so, we must give great thanks to the Lord for such awakenings, which reveal to our conscious minds the blessings that we lose in our attention to everyday distractions.          

                                  —Layne Craig

December 17

“Baby Ray”

“Baby Ray” was a story in my first-grade reader.  Baby Ray lived on a farm.  One day the sun shone down on the farm — but didn’t see Baby Ray.  The kittens mewed because they wanted their bowl of milk.  The chickens scratched furiously — and vainly; no corn had been scattered to feed them.  Where was Baby Ray?  He was still fast asleep.  he was not awake.

I empathize with Baby Ray.  Waking up in the mornings or to my responsibilities is not easy!

In this Advent Season may each of us be awake — awake to appreciate the beauty and joy of this wonderful time of the year; awake to help those who are discouraged, cold or hungry; awake to share the opportunities for fellowship and service.

       “ . . . you know what time it is, . . . it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.”  Romans 13:11 

                               —  Mary Louise Baker

December 18

“Awakening to Gratitude”

I’d been a relative stranger to death for most of my life.  In 1969 my dear Aunt Ruth died while chatting on the phone with her cousin.  She was 94 and I was 21.  Hers was the first death that really jolted me.

Dodge, Van’s mother, died on Easter morning in 1992 at age 81.  She’d been sick just a few days, so it was a shock for Van to suddenly be an “orphan” at 45.  We really struggled with that loss for quite some time.

My dad, Lyman, died in 1994—just days short of his 81st birthday--after a routine medical procedure triggered a progression of complications.  When I was summoned to his bedside, I was just finishing a book about life after death and was in the midst of much doubt and turmoil regarding my faith.

In 1996, still searching for some answers, I began reading Simple Abundance and writing a gratitude journal, listing five things I was thankful for each day.  My first entry expressed “gratitude for Mom getting back to Kansas safely—going thru severe storms on her way home.”  We’d just enjoyed a good three-day visit.  Three months later, Van and I spent the 4th of July with her when I went back to Great Bend for my 30th high school class reunion.  Two weeks later, she and two friends were returning from a week in Colorado when a young, hurried driver hit them head-on while trying to pass a farm truck.  Peggy and Dorothy ultimately survived the disaster, but Mom, age 81, died three weeks later in a Waco hospital.

My August 9 journal entry:  “I am thankful for signs.”— “Last night my five siblings and I made the decision to stop Mom’s life-support today.  She’s been in a coma for most of two weeks and has fought valiantly against incredible odds.  It’s time for all of us to let go. We each said goodbye and goodnight, but the last one out saw the tear trailing down Mom’s cheek.  ***  It was 11 p.m. and everyone headed home, exhausted.  At 12:37 a.m. a bright aura-type light appeared at my bedside and awakened me. Twenty-five minutes later, they called to say that Mom had died. *** [Later, the ICU nurse pulled me aside to tell me that she had just remarked about the beautiful angel she noticed beside Mom’s bed (we had put one there several days earlier)---and at that very moment, Mom took her last breath.] ***  Van and I commented to each other about the white bird that had paced at the bottom of the hill in our backyard for the last two days and again today. (We’d not seen one there before--nor since.) *** This afternoon, Sharlande came over, having just returned from a mission trip to Santa Fe, along with our new pastor, Brett—and what a blessing she was to my family.  As she prayed with us out on our deck, we were joined by a hummingbird that hovered there with us.”

This series of events supplied me with some possible answers to queries but also triggered many new questions regarding the mysteries that life and faith hold.  And as I look back over my journal now, the things I repeatedly name as blessings are “family… nature…love and support of friends . . . church . . . quiet times . . . faith . . . laughter . . .  prayer . . . and hope.”  These blessings supply an abundance of answers for me now.  

                                 —Ibby Jones

“No Room in the Inn”

In 1990, as we set out on our yearly Christmas visit to see my folks in Texarkana, travel warnings of inclement, ice weather were issued.  At the time, Brad was nine months old, and Jeffrey was three.

Optimistically, Don and I thought we could beat the bad weather.  From the outset, however, travel was slow due to heavy holiday traffic plus the icy roads.  I’d never been away from “home” for Christmas, so turning back was not a consideration.  A trip that normally takes five hours total, mounted to seven hours when we were still 100 miles from our intended destination.

As the hour grew late, bumper to bumper traffic slowed to a ten mile per hour crawl, and impassable roads finally forced us to pull over for the night in Sulphur Springs, a task that initially sounded simple.  But there was “no room in that inn” or any for miles around.  Instead we were directed through town to a shelter at Wesley United Methodist Church.

Thanks to the caring pastor, kind church members, and the Salvation Army, we were given food and drink as well as a place to lay our heads.  Their compassion was bestowed on over 200 people that night.  Some of the recipients admitted that they had not been inside a church for many years.

In our hurried world, we often get side-tracked, but on that night, our priorities were quickly re-awakened.  For Don and me it was imperative that we find a safe, warn place for our children to sleep.  Rather than disappointment since we didn’t make it to Texarkana that year, I was filled with a sense of awe and peace.  Due to that experience in Sulphur Springs, Texas, we gained a small glimpse into the struggles Mary and Joseph faced on a similar night in Bethlehem many years ago.

                                  —Kristi SoRelle

December 20

“A New Awakening: To Be Home”

A young man and woman woke up one early morning and found themselves in another city in another nation and among another of God’s children in a distant land. Almost everything seemed different—food, music, norms, laws, customs, language, building, climate, and people—and yet it is also a part of God’s world of beauty, wonder, and complexity. Having lived and enjoyed, having wandered and wondered, and having explored and mugged up the erudition of these ordinary and yet remarkable community or communities for a decade, this couple (now no longer young couple) decided to return to a place they had always called “home.”

These returnees arrived “home” thinking, perhaps naively, that they could connect easily and comfortably. Possibly, they had overlooked the fact that, for good or ill, yesterday could not be the same as today. Much as the people, physical structures, institutions, and the artifacts are almost the same as they were a decade ago, much of the contents, psyche, spirit, and workings of this system (call it organism) appeared unfamiliar to them. These returnees then began to inquire, “What is ‘home?’” And “where is ‘home?”

A home, they believe, has everything to do with familiarity and unconditional acceptance. To be home is to be familiar with and understand the language, metaphor, spirit, signs, and the story of the home, to evoke memory and respect for that which is already there. Home embraces all that we are and all that we have; home makes use of the new phenomena we acquire elsewhere. A home is where, even in the deepest darkness, you can recognize the voice of the face you cannot see; where in the deepest darkness you can find your way around the kitchen table, the bathtub, the bed covers, and the Bible from the bookshelf because you can see them in your mind eyes; because you are familiar with their location and movement; because you have built a relationship—a connection—with them.

So having spoken so much about home-going or home-coming, and having arrived at the place they used to call home, the couple awakening to a new understanding of the true meaning of home. For some weeks, months, or years to come these returnees will continue to search for the meaning of true home, perhaps realizing there is not one place that one can call HOME.                                     

           —Robert & Christiana Owusu

“The Energy of Love”

Have you noticed how popular it is these days to dress up one’s e-mail with pictures or quotes, which are inserted as tag lines at the end of the correspondence?  A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from a friend with a quote at the end.  Without expecting anything profound, I read the lines.  Right away, I discovered that I was mistaken, because the quote stirred something deep inside me.  It resonated with my thoughts about humanity’s pursuit of life, and how we occupy our time with so many unimportant activities. I copied the quote in my journal and reread it for several days following: 

Some day,

after mastering

the winds, the waves

the tides and gravity,

we shall harness for God

the energies of love.

And then,

for the second time

in the history of the world,

man will discover fire.

—Teilhard de Chardin

As I began to reflect on these words, I thought about how determined we are to control the world.  We feel absolutely compelled to conquer every inch of the universe, including one another.  We are driven to excel.  We grasp for power through many channels, be it education, social status or economic success.  But these words by Chardin remind us that the most powerful forces in the world are often intangible.  Love is one of those mysterious forces.  We all know it exists.  We can feel it.  When someone we love dies, we experience that loss as if a part of our own body were gone forever.  The intangible becomes tangible.   

In his gospel, John tells us that God is love.  God is a mysterious force, but during Advent we remember that the intangible God became Emmanuel, “God with us.”  God entered the world as an infant, and all the power of God was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.  On the night Jesus was born, who would have believed this little baby would change the entire world?  However, this seems to be how God works.  God does not appear as we think He should.  God is not showy or flashy, but God works everyday miracles through ordinary people.

God doesn’t ask us to do the impossible.  In Deuteronomy chapter 30, God tells the Hebrew people, “Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach.  It is not up in heaven, so that you have to ask, who will ascend into heaven to get it and proclaim it to us, so we may obey it? Nor is it beyond the sea, so that you have to ask, who will cross the sea to get it and proclaim it to us so that we may obey it?  No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart so that you may obey it.”  God was talking to the people about obeying the commandments, but these words are wisdom for us too.  They help us remember that God doesn’t ask us to do the impossible.  He asks that we stop striving and start loving our neighbor.

This Advent may God awaken in us a desire to love others more deeply.  After all, the most powerful force in the universe is at our disposal.  God wasn’t afraid to harness it.  He risked it all for us.  Shouldn’t we be willing to do the same?

                             —Carol McEntyre

December 22

 “Zanzibar”

During the Christmas season of 1998, Jason and I were wrapping up our year in Africa and three month overland trip with a month's stay in Zanzibar.  The room at the “wonderful” place we had found to sleep was the equivalent of a 10x10 storage unit with two twin beds, but walking through the white sand just outside our door brought us to hammocks perched on the edge of the blue undulating Indian Ocean just a few steps away.  What was not so wonderful was the lack of a clean shower and toilet and the strange bugs bites I awoke with every morning.  After two weeks in the same sheets, who knew what was breeding there!

We had decided to stay in Zanzibar for Christmas even though the tacky tinsel tree at the outdoor bar, summer weather, sounds of the ocean and sand between my toes during the Christmas Eve meal of lobster were far removed from our usual season of Advent and Christmas in Texas.  I awoke that Christmas morning without the usual wrapped gifts, stuffed stockings and a house filled with family.

 Later that day, a local woman dressed in her traditional clothes, a woman I had not seen before, walked toward me like one of the magi bearing a gift.  She gestured that I could have what was in her hands if I wanted it -- new sheets!  And I mean brand new, in the plastic, hopefully bug-free package.  And these weren’t just any sheets; these sheets had flowers on them!  I had spent the last three months in either my sleeping bag or my latest white set.  Everything about the sheets seemed like they should be familiar to me, but the person holding them, the sand around us, the bright blue ocean and open hut behind her were not familiar.

That night I made my bed with my simple, but much needed gift and I awoke the next morning swaddled and happy in my new clean sheets.  I had missed out on Advent activities and music that mark the season as the beginning of a new year of hope.   But the simple gift from the woman in Zanzibar was given to me in a place that made Christmas stand out like it never would have found it wrapped under my Christmas tree in Texas.  Waking that morning, I was surprised to learn that for me it did not take a December filled with activities to receive the gift of hope renewed that Christmas.  It just took one simple gift.      

                                  —Lela Wallis

December 23

“Awake, Awaken, Awakened”

Awake! Awake, greet the new morn.

Promise of God - the Christ Child is born.

From lowly beginnings He came to die

For our transgressions; He reigns on high.

Awake! Awake, give this life a whirl.

Enjoy each creation he made for the world.

Use all your senses- Sight- Feel- Smell.

Drink deeply from His life-giving well.

Awaken, Awaken His spirit in you.

That by His love you'll walk anew.

To follow the pathway wherever He leads,

Focused on Him and others’ needs.

Awakened,  Awakened now step out to serve.

He will sustain and give you nerve

To conquer all fears - take a firm stand.

Help spread the Good News throughout the land.

                   —Charlotte Carpenter

December 24

“Our Baby” (a Christmas Song)

 Mary:    The coldest night I can remember

               That’s why I’ve wrapped You up so tight

               Sleep warm, my child, in this manger

               No one will soon forget this night

 
Joseph: Do I call You Master?

               Or do I call You son?

               Do I teach You how to pray,

               Or do I learn?

               Do I show You how to paint

               Or just watch You create?

               Do You already know

               Everything You’ll learn?

 
Both:    O Christ, our child

               Dream Yourself to sleep

               For choirs of angels

               Are gathering to sing

               For today You were born

               Into this world a King

               But for now… You’re still

               Our baby

 
Joseph: Sleep, my child, until tomorrow

               The news will travel all the land

               A baby born in a manger

               The Chirst-child born in Bethlehem

 
Mary:    Precious, Messiah

               Do You know Your name?

               Do You know the number of the stars?

               Can You see Your future?

               Can You feel the pain?

               Do You remember how You made my heart?

 
Both:    O Christ, our child

               Dream Yourself to sleep

               For choirs of angels

               Are gathering to sing

               For today You were born

               Into this world a King

               But for now… You’re still

               Our baby                                      

                          —Ryan Richardson

 
December 25

 “Longing for the Child”

 When I was three years old, I stood at the front of the church poised to perform in the Christmas play for the congregation.  Although all of the preschoolers were dressed as angels, I was decidedly disenchanted with this role.  “Mary’s who I really want to be,” I had told my mother as she straightened the garland halo on my head.  I stood on tiptoe and gazed into the manger at the doll that was “playing” Baby Jesus.  With the imagination of a gutsy three-year-old, I somehow convinced myself that I was going to be Mary.   As the other children sang, I inched closer and closer to the manger, keeping my eyes trained on it.  Finally, I could stand it no longer.  I reached into the manger, grabbed Baby Jesus, and rocked him proudly through the rest of the song, in spite of my wings and halo, exuberantly thinking, “I’m Mary!”

During my first semester of graduate school, I lived in an international community of graduate students from all over Asia.  Only a few of us were American, so we spent a lot of time answering questions about American traditions around the holidays.  But I was oddly awakened to the memory of my three-year-old encounter with Baby Jesus when I heard a young woman from Kyrgyzstan announce that she was hosting a Christmas gathering for the graduate students with families to bring their children to, “Because after all,” she said, “Christmas is a holiday for children.”

When I heard those words, I froze.  Was it true that Christmas was only for the children?  I pictured myself standing on tiptoe, peering into the manger, trying to see Baby Jesus’ face.  I wondered, what would it be like to stand beside that same wooden manger now, no longer standing on tiptoe, but leaning down to get a look at His face?  I closed my eyes to imagine it, and thought of how it was no longer the excitement of holding Baby Jesus that I longed for.  Rather, I longed to be saved—to be rescued from the pain and betrayal life delivers after the imagination of a three-year-old has vanished.  Suddenly, I opened my eyes, startled by the image of the baby looking up at me:  His young, dark eyes searched mine.  The warmth was overwhelming.

Perhaps it is when life brings us to our knees that we really understand why He came, and we are awakened to the reality that Christmas is not just about the children.  It is about searching for the Child who came to love us, and who saves us with each gaze when He looks up at us from the manger. 

                                    —Erin Cline

December 26

“I Wonder . . .”

There are lots of new rules now about how to care for infants, or at least new in the last twenty-five years.  Babies no longer sleep on their tummies, but must be put “back to sleep” on their back.  And so I wonder, “Did Jesus sleep on his back or his tummy in the crèche?

Babies now have disposable diapers and heaters for the disposable diaper wipes.  What did Mary find to diaper her child?  How did she keep up with the laundry?  How did she trim his nails so that he wouldn’t scratch his face?  Where did she find antibacterial soap to wash her hands before handling her son?

The hospital nurses immediately wrap newborn infants very tightly in cotton blankets, enclosing their arms and legs close to their bodies.  They call this “swaddling.”  Kerry asks me, “Is this new?  Have they always done this?”  I reply that I think Mary did this for Jesus.

Fathers are now closely involved in the pregnancy and birthing process.  How involved was Joseph? Did he breathe with Mary through the pains of labor or allow her to rest her aching body across his shoulders?  Did he take the midnight shift, bring the Christ to Mary to be nursed, and nestle him back into his straw bedding?  Did he immediately begin to wonder about the future of this unexpected Son – his higher education, athletic talents, or skill with woodworking?

Where were the grandparents?  How did this young couple manage to travel a long distance, give birth to a child, and get him safely back home without the cadre of proud grandmothers and grandfathers?  Surely, it takes at least six people to survive the first week of life with a newborn.

Did Mary have time to sit and watch her new son sleeping?  Did she gaze in wonder as he stretched and arched his little body?  Did she listen to his funny baby sounds—groans, sighs, aborted sneezes, yawns, burps, and mews?  Did she watch his chest rise and fall with breath, and pray to God that she would never have to see that body not breathing?

Did she rise early and creep over to where her miracle was sleeping and wonder with mothers everywhere, “How does this happen?  How does this beautiful promise of life come so perfectly formed to this earth?”

Did she quietly whisper to him, “Awake, awake my son and greet the new morn”?  Did she softly stroke his cheek, not to awaken him, but because she just had to touch that precious skin?  Did she lift his still-sleeping body from the manger and hold him close to her just to smell and nuzzle his tiny head?  Did she ever imagine the impact one tiny Child would have upon this earth?

       Oh God, for life precious and new,

       For your clear signal that life is still worth living,

       For the pure love of a new baby,

       We thank you.  
                                     Amen                                 

                                 —Loeen Irons

December 27

“In the Middle of the Night”

Some mornings when I awake to the fresh mercies of the new day, my heart fairly bursts with gratitude. I step outside, breathe in the cleansed and cleansing air, and thank God for the miracle of morning.

But what of those times when the waking is unwelcome? When it’s long past midnight and the rest of the world is asleep? When unresolved issues wake me or keep me awake? When my head is crowded with regrets or anxiety? What do I do when I find myself awake then?

For those monastics who followed the Rule of Benedict, 2:00 a.m. was the time for Vigils, the first of eight calls to prayer during each day. (Of course, they went to bed soon after Vespers and Compline, at seven or eight the evening before!) “Praying the hours” was part of a monastic pattern that helped keep them continually awake to God’s presence.

Corinne Ware calls this monastic practice a “rhythm of remembrance.” In her book, St. Benedict on the Freeway, she suggests this ancient pattern of prayer can be translated for use in twenty-first century life. Whether or not we recognize the reality of it, God is always present and every moment holds holiness. Ware writes, “The hours are for gently holding us in a remembrance of God’s presence.”

So, if we find ourselves awake at the unwelcome hour of Vigils, she suggests: “Rather than toss about in your bed, get up, refresh yourself, then ask God to stand vigil, that is to oversee what you cannot. Sit quietly, breathe deeply, and give your cares away for awhile. They will be safe in God’s hands until you can take them up again.”

This confidence prepares us for the next “hour,” the time of Lauds when we wake gratefully and praise God for the new day. The God of light who gives us new mercies each morning is the same God who enfolds us when we find ourselves in darkness. We can rest in God’s faithfulness, whatever the hour.

                              —Judy Prather

December 28

“Morning Mysteries”

A lot of people are astonished by the fact that Ashley Thornton and I, both part of the much-reviled class of human called “morning people,” go walking almost every morning before the sun comes up.  These walks nourish my spirit as well as stretch my legs and mind.

The beauty of the pre-dawn is subtle and often fleeting but abundant when we make a point to observe it.  The world is dark and shadowy as we venture out, and we are glad to be together.  Yet we are richly rewarded by any alertness that we muster, for as Barbara Kingsolver admonishes: “Be still, and the world is bound to turn herself inside out to entertain you.”  The sky is our constant companion.  We note the phases of the moon and have come to know a few constellations well; much of the year Orion greets me as I step outside.  In August, the pavement still warm from the previous afternoon, shooting stars from the Leonid meteor showers streak across the sky.  On another day the weedy vacant lot between our houses becomes magical as a car’s headlights suddenly turn hundreds of dandelion puffs into quicksilver.  In early summer, the scent of mimosa hangs heavy and heady in the damp dawn air.  The bird song changes with the seasons and occasionally drowns out the voices of the humans.

In the end, though, it is the human element that propels us forward.  I often wonder what the neighbors think, hearing gales of laughter from the quiet streets.  We analyze husbands, family, Baylor, Lake Shore, all in loving detail, as we stride along.  And finally, the lights of home appear, first on the sidewalk and then in the glow from our bedroom windows.  Tom is up, running the electric razor across his cheeks in a sleepy stupor.  Ashley and I part at the corner.  The eastern sky is beginning to lighten, and we are off to our respective days, better for having been together in the mysteries of daybreak.

                               —Becca Sharpless

December 29

“O What a Beautiful Mornin’!”

There are times when we get wake up calls that disturb our sleep and erase our dreams. These times we start our day seeing life as a chore to be endured and work to be quickly finished so we can escape again to slumber.

There are other times when we are awakened with sweet kisses or soft voices of loved ones, times when we are called out of bed to meet life fully awake and refreshed.

We have recently been invited to awaken here at Lake Shore. The soft voices of fellow travelers that we love, anam cara we have shared our burdens and joys with have reminded us of time’s fleeting presence and that we have slumbered while the world and God’s ever revealing love has continued unabated. The Holy Spirit has, like the smell of maple smoked bacon or the whisper of a Rocky Mountain rain shower, shaken out the cobwebs of inaction and lifted our eyelids to an ever higher horizon.

We have been called (ever so gently) to open our doors and hearts to fellow travelers who wish to walk with us as equals. The move to having one membership, one grace, one fellowship is an exhilarating move. We as Baptists have awakened before. We were called to examine our attitude toward slavery, the equality of women, the mixing of races and the place of children in church in the last one hundred and fifty years. Each time, some Baptists awoke and some pulled the covers over their faces. I am proud that we at Lake Shore are mindful of the time and are greeting the new morning with a song and a smile.

                            —Rick Allen

December 30

“The Nudging of God”

O Lord Jesus, in this hour let me hear again your call, “Follow me.” My steps are prone to wander. Come therefore, I pray, and make your way clear before me.  Amen.

“As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.”
                                  --Matthew 4:18-22 

“And now, for the first time, the Lion was quite silent. He was going to and fro among the animals. And every now and then he would go up to one of them and touch their nose with his. . . . Those that he had touched instantly left their own kind and followed him. . . . At last he stood still and all those he had touched stood in a wide circle around him. All were utterly silent, all with their eyes fixed intently upon the Lion. . . . The Lion, whose eyes never blinked, stared at the animals as hard as if he was going to burn them up wit his mere stare. And gradually a change came over them. . . . The Lion opened his mouth, but no sound came from it; he was breathing out, a long, warm breath; it seemed to sway all the beasts as the wind sways a line of trees.”          
       --C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew

When Christ renames us, through our baptism or revelation or a calling to a new ministry – we are compelled to respond. To awaken. What eyes, what warm breath or cold nose have you allowed to call you out of normal?

In this moment of quietness 
I have heard your call, my Lord.

Now, lead on, and I will follow.  Amen.

                             —Chris Homiak

December 31

“Prayer for a New Year ”

“I lie down and sleep; I wake again,

For the Lord sustains me.” Psalm 3:5, NRSV

O Generous God

of mercies new every morning,

who remembers our sin no more

O Childlike Creator

who calls out to the Universe and the sun at earth’s horizon

day after day, saying: “Let’s do it again!”

O Steadfast Savior

who never slumbers,

but keeps vigil over our souls

O Patient Spirit

who tends to our wounds and transforms

our bitterness into gentleness and love

 We stand amazed in your presence,

and we marvel at the gift of every breath!

Even if we lie down in despair,

fearing the darkness will swallow us,

you still sustain us and, indeed, we wake again!

 Let this awakening and renewal we experience

in relationship with you

be a beacon of holy energy, peace and compassion

in this shell-shocked world.

Allow us the privilege of serving in your name,

making us more and more awake

to the needs of your children far and near.

And may we surrender our hearts to the

simple “Let’s do it again” joy

of joining in your eternal mission of grace!

Amen

              
—Deborah E. Harris