As I reflect upon the summer’s theme of “Resting,” some recent startling personal experiences have challenged me to cope with that concept.
First, as many of you know, I live above the south end of Carter Lake, and as I write this, we await possible evacuation orders. My landlord lives above my apartment. Our cars are ready to be packed with treasured keepsakes, important papers, medication, and a suitcase. The thought of doing so is surreal: What do I really have to take should we need to leave? Isn’t it all just “stuff?” In this computer age, can’t “things” ALL be easily replaced? IF the house burns to the ground, would it really be a total loss—aren’t I just hampered by all that stuff that has to be stored, dusted, maintained, and eventually disposed of, one way or another, especially since my daughter is a minimalist and has no interest in owning the family keepsakes her mother has been hoarding for her all of these years?
Hmmm…. The process of deciding what to take, what to leave, and what not to worry about is exhausting. I can sort of prepare but not really. Worrying doesn’t help but I do it anyway, because by day the skies are filled with smoke and helicopters dropping water from Horsetooth, while by night, the ridge is ablaze. Yet, so far, the amazing firefighters who do their work have not been able to put a dent in this disaster.
Ugh. So I wait. And pray. Keep things packed. Try to stay busy…. all for naught.
The second unexpected event happened Sunday afternoon. Those of you who were in worship know I asked for prayers for an elderly woman who I am helping to move. It’s an overwhelming task for her.
When I got to her home, which has an upper and lower driveway, I asked her where her cars were. She bluntly said they were in the drives. Her VW camper was missing from the upper drive but finally I saw the Saab hidden by bushes in the carport. I knew better than to argue so I just began to help her with her projects. A person came to the door and told her that on Monday construction would be done on her street. If she wanted any parking places in front of her house, she should put trash cans by the curb to save room.
As I was leaving, she remembered to move the cans. They are kept near where the camper was. Suddenly, she said, “My camper is gone!” We called the police and I took her to a parking garage where the thief had gotten it stuck on a low ceiling when trying to exit the garage. Coincidently, the security guard had just discovered it, called the police, the officer found her insurance and registration, and was about to call her. Despite letting air out of the tires, and trying to put the camper in reverse, it could not be extricated. The Fire Department used the Jaws of Life and chain saws to cut the roof off and finally the camper could be towed.
Neither of these events—a forest fire or a stolen vehicle—were part of the day’s plan. Isn’t that often the case? We get up in the morning, think we know what our day will be like, and all of a sudden it takes an unexpected turn, going in a completely different direction than we ever expected. Sometimes those are nuisance issues: a matter is easily solved by a quick call. Then there are the life changing ones: news of a life-altering diagnosis paralyzes us, as do sudden job problems or family issues. We never imagined life would go that way! What next? Truly, how will we cope?
I don’t have the answers, however, I do know that when my life has taken the many bizarre turns it has, my faith has served me well. My faith isn’t magical or logical. I cannot explain it, nor document it. Certain Bible passages give me great comfort, most especially 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is all you need, for my power is greatest when you are weak.” (Good News Translation) As does the knowledge that I can pray using no words, whatever words, or just silence, and God will hear me, know what I seek, and answer accordingly.
This is all the reassurance of faith. None of this comes from being a minister, from going to seminary, from knowing “how” to pray, or from having the answers. This is all from choosing: from choosing to trust that God will guide me and help me think clearly, should the fires come; that God reminds me to choose to remember the Golden Rule when another is struggling; and most especially that God reminds me to choose to know that because of my faith I’m not alone. It’s the most comforting thought of all in an often overwhelming and exhausting world.
In faith,
Rev. Elizabeth Endicott
