My Lonely, Shy, (hopefully) Friendly Ghost

Our church offices are in a really cool 1950’s house, built back when Blue Springs only had one doctor in town. My office is in the former den, I’m guessing. It has wood paneling and a nifty built-in television set, with 13 channels  on the dial. Although the television no longer works, I love having my office in such a cozy, quirky space.

There is one other distinct quirk to my office.  I share my office with a ghost. 

He (she?) makes her presence known when I leave my office- sometimes. After I’ve pulled my door shut and walk down the hallway, I will hear a loud “thunk” behind me, as if someone has just flung themselves against my door. On a recent weekend, Jan and I were in the office before worship. She walked out before I did. I closed my office, and there was the noise. I didn’t think much about it and, realizing I had left something behind, I went back into my office. Once again, as soon as I left, there was a really loud “thunk.” “Okay,” I said aloud, “now you’re starting to scare me.”

Except that she isn’t scaring me, exactly. She intrigues me. By making her noise only when I leave, I gather that she is lonely and doesn’t like to be left alone.

Now that I have begun to notice these noises, I have started to ask others to listen with me. They wait, patiently and alertly, while I shut my door and walk down the hall. Nothing. I’ve asked several different people at several different times to listen. Nothing, except for quizzical (and maybe sympathetic) glances from the listeners. (“Gee, Sally, you’ve really been working awfully hard lately. . .”)  Apparently, my ghost is shy and doesn’t like to make her noise when others are around. 

I was the last one to leave the office tonight. My mind was on my shopping list as I walked out, when a loud “thunk” reminded me of the ghost I was leaving behind. 

Who needs Halloween when one has a ghost of one’s own?

If you know me at all, you know that the only ghost I actually believe in is the Holy Ghost. I know, also, that there are many things in this world that defy understanding. I’ve been casting around some for a logical explanation, and none has been forthcoming yet. Maybe something tragic happened in that room, or maybe it’s that the air conditioning creates some weird air pressure thing. Who knows?

I do love a good ghost story, though, because I know they don’t speak fully into reality, only into a human effort to understand that for which there isn’t a clear explanation. So here is my very own ghost story- Happy Halloween!

“Thank you for not having been THAT parent!”

“Thank you for not having been that parent!” My Daughter the Teacher told me those words last night, with some exasperation in her voice. She’s in a position with a couple of her school organizations to make decisions about which kids make the club/team/cut. She understands that some students will be disappointed, and she’s always ready to talk to any student who asks. When her email blew up this weekend after a Friday posting, though, it wasn’t the students who were contacting her. It was the parents who were upset that their budding genius/prodigy hadn’t been chosen.

“Thank you for not having been that parent!” No, I really wasn’t that parent. But I need to confess here and now that there was nothing I would have loved better than being that parent. There were times when I had to fight every bone in my body not to pick up the telephone or go to the school to right a wrong. However, Andy and I decided early on that the best thing that we could do for our kids was to teach them how to move forward though disappointment. Sometimes teacher or coach decisions were made for good reasons, and occasionally they seemed to be downright unfair. Sometimes friends would be unkind to them, accidentally or intentionally. I would console my kids and encourage them to find the best way forward. Internally, though, I would be seething, composing letters and phone calls that were never made nor sent.

“Thank you for not having been that parent!” In retrospect, there were some times that I should have been that parent that I wasn’t. There was a teacher whose dislike for my child seemed to play out in classroom targeting and incongruous grading. I know how those words sound to anyone reading them today, which was partly why I kept silent at the time. I wish I had spoken to the principal, because it turns out that there were other kids in that class having similar issues. 

“Thank you for not having been that parent!” I remember one time that I was that parent. My alma mater had not done an adequate job of recruiting my child, in my opinion. I called the admissions office to discuss my concerns, and the conversation did not go well. By the end of the phone call, the junior admissions officer was openly mocking me. My child ended up in just the right school and has done extremely well, thank you very much. Had my child actually wanted to go to my alma mater as much as I wanted that child to, though, my phone call would have totally sabotaged any chance. 

It turns out that God has placed parenting in the hands of amateurs. We’re all figuring it out as we go along. Sometimes we get it right, sometimes we get it wrong, and most of the time we’re not exactly sure which it is. I think that’s why God gave us love. Love will always cover a multitude of errors. If parents and kids can keep loving each other while each is figuring it out, then maybe we’ll be able to help create the next generation who’s going to save the earth. Love holds the answer.

A parent who loves through thick and thin. Yes, that’s the type of parent to be.

On Eagle's Wings

The immense beauty and the lingering sadness of the past week hit me fully during “On Eagle’s Wings” at my mother’s memorial service on Saturday. The soloist sang promises from Isaiah, words that had never seemed more personal than at that moment. Before her voice died out, the voices of the gathered congregation behind me swelled in the refrain, “And God will raise you up on eagles’ wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of God’s hand.” 

I hadn’t been able to look behind me at the congregation as I walked in, trying not to cry too much too soon. When I heard the chorus behind me, I couldn’t help but wonder: Where had all of those voices come from? I had spoken with many people during the visitation, but the voices echoing in the sanctuary behind me seemed to outnumber those whom I had met. 

The musical conversation between soloist and congregation continued through several verses. The word of the Lord spoken by the soloist in front of me was followed by the congregational refrain enfolding me from behind. My soul was nourished by God’s promises and by the community in those holy moments, and it continues to be.

Isn’t that the way that it always is at times of grief? I have been part of hundreds of funerals as pastor, and I have now been part of two funerals as child of my parents. Through all of these experiences, I have learned that healing comes from God, and it comes also from the people that God has placed in our lives. 

The well-crafted sermon which captured my mother’s beauty and God’s love brings healing. The food filling my oven and my refrigerator to overflowing brings healing. Scripture speaking directly to my heart in these days brings healing. Family traveling from California, Iowa, Georgia, North Carolina, and Missouri brings healing. Each card I open brings healing, as do the flowers and plants that fill my home. And of course, tears, of which there have been plenty, bring healing.

Jesus healed people in many different ways. There were some healings that were as one might expect, via laying on of hands and solemn words. Healings took many other forms, though. Jesus spoke words while he was nowhere near the person who needed healing. He grabbed some dirt and added enough spit to make a mud pie, which he then smeared on a man’s eyes. He even healed a women who touched his shirt stealthily in a crowd.

I’m really not surprised, therefore, that Jesus also uses music, sermons, casseroles, airplanes, automobiles, cards, flowers, plants, tears, hugs, and much more to bring about healing from grief. In Jesus’ hands, anything can be an instrument of healing from grief.

Thank you to each of you for being part of my own healing. 

Best of all, Mom and Dad now fully healed and are together, as they have always wanted to be.

For all of these things, I am grateful to The Healer.