A Sad Weekend Ahead, and a Sweet Kitten

 I turned around twice, and it's already near the end of October again. I'm just now finishing my 2026 planner, and life is getting busy, BUSY, BUSY!!

Sadly, we are in the final stages of preparing for our Pastor's retirement dinner. He has been at New Jerusalem for 34 years. I remember the day he moved into the office, although I wasn't aware of that at the time. My grandmother had died, and her funeral was that day. Mom was the church secretary and would come to think of Randall Cauble as another of her children, although she never called him by his given name. That was, in her judgment, improper and disrespectful. She felt as comfortable sharing her thoughts with him as if he was one of us. There were many, many conversations between the two of them. Mom talking about her family - concerns about what we were doing, how we were doing it, and why didn't we just follow her directions. Him, talking about his family, worries about his mother when she was diagnosed with dementia, and the joy of discovering that he and Vicki were having twins after many years. Both of them discussing things going on in the congregation, and eventually, bigger concerns about the direction our denomination was taking. By that time, our family had moved back to Hickory, and we were members there. 

Pastor has been with our family through many happy and sad times. He married our son & daughter-in-law, Dale and Raye Lynn. He baptized all of our granddaughters - and would have baptized our grandson, too, if he had not been out on disability at the time. He walked with us - Karen, Jamie, and me - through Mom's heart surgery, heart attack, stroke, and was with us at her death. He mourned her alongside us, and reminded us that she was in heaven and no longer in pain. I consider him and Vicki to be my brother and sister, just as much as the biological siblings I was given.

Sunday is his retirement dinner, although he has officially been retired for nearly a month. We will soon have a call committee, and our church will begin the arduous process of finding our next pastor. As much as I know this is natural and necessary, I dread the whole process. No one will ever replace Pastor Cauble in our hearts. And it seems so cruel that he is required to find another congregation and not stay with us. They are a part of our family, and I cannot imagine them not being there on Sunday mornings. Yes, this is a normal part of the process, and has gone on for a very long time, but it seems unnecessarily painful and cruel - both to us and to him and his family.

As usual, it is entirely too late, and I need to be heading to bed. Our new kitten even has enough sense to know that. He just came in to look at me with a question clearly written on his sweet face - "Mom, are you coming? Please?" 

Ode to a Survivor

It’s a bright, early Spring day. The sun is sharing its light and meager heat over everything. Even though it’s what I’d call chilly outside, as I pull onto the dirt road, her jonquils - Easter flowers - are shining. Bright yellow against the green background of grass and weeds. The original bulbs were lovingly planted many years ago, some even before I was born. Inside the hard, red, North Carolina clay, those bulbs have reproduced many times over. At one time, the name “Weaver” was spelled out and visible during this time of year. Now, that clump of bulbs has died out. Not to worry, though. The descendants of those flowers are spread all over the yard, mixed with larger daffodils and tiny narcissus. Added to the yellow will soon be traces of orange and cream on single stem – but occasionally double or triple petaled blossoms. She was always so happy when her yard began to bloom. Never was it a neat “city” yard. The grass was whatever came up – probably some variation of Johnson grass or orchard grass, mixed with moss and clover. Back then, country folks didn’t have time to worry about a neatly manicured yard. They were busy going to work, then coming home to work more. Flowers were their way of prettying up the home that they worked for.

I remember the first time I met them. Her, all of 4’11”, and him, 6’ something. They were so different, but somehow were perfect together. That day, she sent home a jar full of these beautiful, sun-shiny flowers to brighten my mom’s day. And after that day, I was one of their grandchildren, just as surely as if I had been born into the family. She was very much like one of those flowers. A survivor. She only had one child – a son, who died in a farm accident when he was 41. He had five children, all still young. They helped their daughter-in-law raise them the best they could. They outlived their son, but that one flower spread, and still continues today. 3 – 9 – 13 – 18 – 22 – 27 – ?

These beautiful flowers are survivors too. They come up earlier than most other blooming things, well before the last possible freeze here. According to science, they are equipped with a kind of antifreeze that will allow them to survive through cold conditions that would kill most young, tender plants. They get trampled on by deer, coyotes, cats, and people, and although bruised and battered, still survive. Their hollow stems seem so fragile – just like her tiny body – but God gave them both what was needed to survive tragedy and continue to bloom.

Wherever God has planted you, bloom, survive, and thrive. Show the world that with His help, you can make it!

 

The Journey Matters

How can it be that Christmas is nearly here? I haven't finished with half of my shopping, and my house feels hopeless. Regardless, Jesus is coming - soon! I mean, we will celebrate His birthday in less than two weeks.

Christmas was always my mother's favorite time of the year. But I've gotten to where Advent almost overshadows Christmas for me. I love this time in the church year. We look for, or even long for, Jesus' second coming. In our church, we sing, "Prepare the royal highway, the King of kings is near!", and "O come, O come Emmanuel, to ransom captive Israel..." Our scripture readings are about the prophecies of Messiah from the Old Testament, and Jesus' teachings about the Kingdom of God and its coming in the New Testament. We prepare to celebrate Christmas, but we also anticipate the time when all of God's people will gather in paradise. 

Meanwhile, the busyness of the modern world makes the time fly past. Before we know it, we will be drinking something hot and wishing for the warmer days of spring. Isn't that the way it goes? When I was a kid, I would desperately wish for summer vacation. My grandma used to tell me not to "wish my life away," and I remember wondering how she could possibly understand how I felt. I am the same age now as she was when I was 10-going-on-30. I imagine that our grandchildren feel the same way about me now - "you're old, how can you understand?" And yet I still find myself wishing for some point in the future to be here, or to be over. Advent reminds me that the journey is every bit as important as the destination. Joseph and Mary made the journey through their lives to get to that night in the stable, and every minute of their lives - whether hard or easy - led each of them to be the faithful people they were. They both trusted in God's plan for their lives and ended up raising His Son, who would be the long-promised Messiah.

May every step of your journey bring you just that much closer to spending eternity with our Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. Blessed Advent to you & yours!

Kay