There's a good chance that if you had a conversation with me anytime between last Thursday and late Sunday, I probably have little to no recollection of it. It's not that our time wasn't important, it is simply that I have no real memory of the past week.
On Friday evening, Quincy came home to find me "asleep" on the floor in our family area. I had no remembrance of how I got there, or what I was doing on the floor, and when asked, I just shared that I, "was tired." I went to our bedroom, got ready for bed, and climbed into bed and went to sleep. The next day Quincy had an early day full of events with the theater, and so I slept in. I had been fighting some kind of "bug" since the previous weekend when I "thought," that I had a virus that had been circulating in the schools and our neighborhood. Being a chaplain, I find myself in a lot of places, and I am used to following COVID protocol, but what was happening in my body started several months ago. On Saturday evening I drove myself to our local hospital, where in the ER I had a minimal blood pressure and hadn't been able to eat in four days. I don't remember much, and I have to laugh because when I took my first shower on Wednesday of this week, I discovered a number of band aides in a number of places that I had no clue how they got there. That's when I realized just how sick I actually was. As I write this, I am home and under care of any amazing team. After my second encounter with COVID, an issue I have with my immune system became more than just a shadow in my life. It presented itself in the light, and had no plans to retreat. For over twenty years, I have lived with a condition that I knew would one day welcome a fungus, bacteria, or virus into my life that my broken immune system would not be able to defeat, and I would die from it. As I tell others, "I made friends with death a long time ago. Perhaps that's why I'm a hospice chaplain?" I was diagnosed with more than one type of bacteria... four to be precise, AND a parasite! "Parasite" was not one of the things on the list I had filed away in my mind of life-limiting options. How wonderful! To think that something was actually finding life while bringing me closer to the end of mine! Not a very romantic way to die. I remember years ago when leaving a clinic after surviving cancer and a woman remarking, "You must really understand why God gave you cancer? You know, how it's part of God's plan?" It took everything I had a "Christian" person not to completely allow my head to explode with her comment, and to carefully allow the words to flow from my mouth in a way that I didn't sound like a lunatic. I just remember looking at her and saying, "So you think God did this to me as part of God's plan for me and my life?" She shook her head like a girl in class who just was told she was brilliant by the teacher, as she affirmed my response. I do remember her look when I responded, "Look lady, my God didn't 'give' this to me as part of some historic, Biblical encounter with the Creator. God should have hit me with a damn bus. It would have been quicker, cheaper, and my kids would have had an amazing story to tell their friends." She tried to get away and I continued, "God didn't do this to me. I live in an imperfect world, surrounded by imperfect people like me, who make imperfect decisions. My parents should have never had children to encounter a world where carcinogens would pollute our water and air, and I should never have chosen to live in Houston, where the EPA allows for more pollutants to exist because we keep our nation moving with the energy we provide. No ma'am, my God didn't do this, but my God hears my prayers and has a plan for my life as I continue to live in this imperfect world." I was always told to put a little "tremble" in my voice so that people will either think I'm crazy or serious. I believe if I had added the tremble at this point, she might have ran in fear of me. Instead, I needed to have her hear that the God who created all of us, loves us. And that is what I still believe, even as my body struggles with new medications, a new team of caregivers, and an understanding that each day is a gift. For years I have been caring for the "least of these," as one who has taken this role seriously. I have not always made good decisions in life, or with my health. I'm currently sleeping about 18 to 20 hours a day, and someone from my team is checking in daily on me. I'm once again "making sense," and my body is responding, slowly, to treatment My blood pressure, which was basically non-existent Saturday in the ER, has returned to a normal range, and I have been able to eat in small increments. I will keep you updated on this new season continues, but no matter how long or how short it may be,, the God who created me has a plan... for something better... always. Stay in God's grip! Todd G. Todd Williams (c) 2023 Stay in God's grip!
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Years ago Marcus Borg wrote the book, "Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time." I was in my mid thirties, with two children under the age of five when I felt called to go to seminary. Borg's book was refreshing, and for many of us who were discerning what God's role was going to be in our life, I found that his book was also a great source of comfort and understanding for my journey.
As a young child, Rev. Lee Mangold told me that, "Jesus would always love me," and I believed him. It wasn't until I was facing a serious illness that Rev. Mangold's words came back to me, and I once again believed this to be true. There was something about being seven years old and believing the words of a man in a large black robe that when he embraced you, a child my age couldn't help but to believe his words to be true. I wondered, "How can this be?" I hadn't thought of Rev. Mangold, or his words to me, in years. But strangely, it was as if his certainty of Jesus' love for me was being shared over and over. The year before I entered seminary, Borg's book found it's way to me, and I remember reading the entire book in one day. His logic about our faith, and our understanding of who Jesus is to each of us through the many seasons of our lives made sense. He begins the book by sharing of an experiment that he does with a group of people. He asks who Jesus was to them when they were small children. Their responses were pretty common, "He's the Good Shepherd," "I see him sitting with children around," and "He wears a white robe and wears sandals and has a beard." These responses were so common and everyone in the group could agree on these images and understanding of who Jesus is. Then he asked them to describe who Jesus was to you as a teen. The answers varied a bit from one another, but because of their age, many had learned that there were consequences for their decisions, and Jesus suddenly became someone who could also punish. Jesus then morphed into so many different images when they people entered their twenties and thirties, that it was impossible to find one concrete illustration of who Jesus is, and that for each of us, God becomes the God of whatever journey we are on. How can this be? If God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, then how is it that Jesus seems to change with each season of our life. Throughout seminary I was challenged to rediscover the Jesus that I believed in, often forgetting that "Jesus loves me always." Having had COVID three times now, and living with life-long results of the virus, including an anxiety disorder that seems to have robbed me of my ability to be around large groups of people or loud noises, the Jesus I now encounter is one who sits quietly with me, often holding my hand, and telling me, "It will be okay." Even as I type these words I am overwhelmed by this image, and I begin to cry. "Jesus loves me." It is a simple truth that a seven-year-old boy believed, and now, a nearly 60 year-old-man still believes. The image of who Jesus is has indeed changed over the years, but I know without a doubt, that the God who created me in an image so sacred, will remain with me always.... and YOU! Stay in God's grip! Todd copyright 2023 Rev. G. Todd Williams, stayingodsgrip@gmail.com  This picture was taken when I was about 15 years old. I'm the kid looking down at the ground, standing next to one of our fields on our farm in Southern Indiana. My grandfather took this photo. Funny how some days just seem to stay in your memory.
Life on our farm never seemed to be "easy." There was always "something" that needed to be done. After a storm, I knew that I would be the one who would need to go and walk the entire fence line to look for any damage, or the branch that may have fallen and landed on the fence, grounding the electric line that surrounded most of the property to ensure that our cattle would not get out. After a few years of having this job, I actually got to the point that I enjoyed walking the line. I learned that I could go off, work at my on pace, often going just beyond our property where falls from a stream would cool me off on a hot summer day. In the springtime, I can remember that we would turn out our cattle, including new calves that had been born during the late winter months. I loved watching as they discovered the fresh green grass, and dance, kicking their hooves up as the meadow greeted them. While I don't talk about it much, my stepfather was a pretty abusive man. I'm not sure if it was the pressure of raising five children in a blended family, trying to take care of a farm, while driving fifty miles each day to work as a foreman in a factory, or being married to my mother who was in the beginning of the alcoholism that would direct her life up until this past year when a health crisis caused her to become sober for the first time in over 40 years. As an adult, I have spent years of my life "processing," so much of what occurred during those years. There has been a lot of grace and mercy, much of what I still cannot comprehend, that has allowed those years to become part of the memories that I can talk and write openly about. But I will admit, while living in those years, much of the time when I walked that fence line, all I could think about was what life would be like beyond those fields. I did a lot of soul-searching and praying on those walks, often asking myself, what I needed to do to change so that I wouldn't make things worse at home. Sometimes the prayers I lifted were for understanding. Sometimes for God to change everything. Sometimes they were raised just simply to talk to someone I thought would listen. Funny how forty five years later I look at this picture and see the green field in my mind and think of it as the quiet meadow that the Psalmist shares of in the 23rd Psalm. I think of how God takes places of uncertainty for us and provides a place of safety. Even in the eye of the storm, there can be peace. I'm not sure what it is about our human nature that draws us to look beyond. As I sit with patients as they are dying, so often I watch as they stare "beyond," and sometimes they will "reach" for what I cannot see. Our spirit knows that we are created to live beyond. Jesus tells the disciples, "I go to prepare a place for you..." I'm grateful to know that beyond the field and this life, God has a place for us all. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2022 "Stay In God's Grip"  As Christian people, we are not supposed to allow the things of this world to get "in the way," of our greater journey of eternity, but the last few weeks have been filled with events that have certainly caused us to stop, listen, and wonder what the future may hold for our children and grandchildren.
Some may say that we are living in "uncertain times," but time is the only thing that we seem to be certain of, and once again I find that I am wanting to remind others that we are Ecclesiastical people and that these "uncertain times," will be met by a new season at some point. Ecclesiastes opens with these words, "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven." I really am beginning to wonder if we will look back at this time in our lives and history and ask, "Why did this happen?" I don't feel like it's something that any of us has not experienced. A relationship ends. A job comes to a close. Another wave of a virus that has produced a pandemic seems to appear. Another month of the calendar is torn from the wall. We are filled with Ecclesiastical moments. I remember a few years ago when I suddenly found myself without a job, without a home, and unsure as to what my next step would be. As I sat in the office of a dear friend, she reminded me of this verse in scripture and said, "Okay, so this chapter of your life is over. It was specific for a time and purpose and now it is complete." I must have looked lost, but then she said, "But don't worry, and don't think that your life is over. You have a new chapter that hasn't begun to be written." I know I felt relieved, but also overwhelmed at the same time. For me it meant I would have to rely on God to lead, for me to follow, but most of all, be willing to step out and start creating the new chapter. I wonder if the tree of the field feels sad when winter begins to approach and it must watch as the leaves change color and fall to the ground, exposing itself to the harsh reality of winter? Then in the spring, feeling the warmth of the sun, stirring something from deep within, that brings forth buds and a burst of life that once again creates shade and new limbs that the birds of the field may rest upon. Each day is an unwritten page in the chapter of life. If you have experienced loss, or simply can't imagine another day like yesterday, then perhaps a new chapter is in order. I'm grateful for the words my friend shared. They seem to be helping me to remember that this season will some day end. The blessing in all of this is that a new season will be created. To me, it is not just the reminder we are Ecclesiastical people, but that God's grace and mercy are pursuing after us in a far greater way than that of David when he wrote in the 23rd Psalm, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." Stay in God's grip! (c) 2022 G. Todd Williams ~ stayingodsgrip.com  My new favorite summer flower, Siam Tulips. It has been months since I have been able to just sit and write. While I often will post on my personal social media page, for some reason, this blog has sat silently... waiting.
It's unlike me to ignore something that has been a source of reflection and meditation, but it happens. COVID has been the source of many changes for many people. Having had the virus twice now, I must admit, I seem to be this "other" person than what I once was. It doesn't mean that I don't have many of the same feelings, thoughts, or disciplines. It means that I am learning to live with new conditions that seem to guide me in ways that I struggle to understand. The "cough" that doesn't seem to have a reason to exist. The struggle to sleep at times, while other times, rendering me sleepless for nights on end. The times that I feel anxious for no reason, while experiencing agitation when I become impatient about how something is going. I know that we encounter seasons in our life that are simply "there." This one has brought me into a new season that I'm not sure I want to be a part of, but here I am. While I don't understand "why" this season has entered my life, I still have a sense of gratitude for being offered another season to live. I remember those first years when I first moved to the Gulf. The summer flowers I once planted in Indiana, were now the early spring flowers that I planted here. Back in Indiana, these flowers would be the amazing colors of our summer, while where I lived now, the flowers could not withstand the heat and humidity, and would soon fade and die. I didn't understand why the summer flowers of my childhood were now dying. It was as if everything I knew about "what to plant," and "when to plant," was all wrong. It would take a few seasons before I began to understand what worked well for me, and what didn't. I needed to learn how to live in these new seasons. I had to adjust, while also asking questions from those who lived around me. I suddenly learned how to adjust the soil, by digging out the existing soil that would become like concrete in the summer heat, while acting like shifting sand when it became wet, often uprooting plants and leaving them exposed. Now after twenty-three years of living along the Gulf, I know when to plant, what to plant, and what to expect when spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. I guess it's the same way with this season on my life. As I live out my last year in my 50's and prepare to enter a new decade next year, I am also realizing how quickly this season will soon pass, even with these new living conditions that I seem to be encountering. As least I am thinking ahead. There was a time a decade ago when I had an extended health crisis, that I had forgotten how to plan for next year, or even the next day, because I wasn't quite sure what my body would be "like." There is a part of me that "wishes," that I could be, or even remember, what I was like prior to the pandemic that stopped the world for a short time. That somehow I would remember how to keep pace with a world that changes so quickly, while I struggle to learn what some new emoji means, or a series of letters typed in a text that seems to embody emotion and thoughts. I suddenly wish to be back in the "Holler," where I grew up, struggling to use the phone, waiting until a neighbor hung up, because we shared a party line with others. I seem to want to sit on the bridge that crossed the "crick" where my stepbrother, Jimmy, and I found stones that we could use to create dams that would then cause the "crick" to flow in different ways. The days when my arms would itch from picking green beans for hours at a time, and then use the hoe to clean around the mounds we created for potatoes to grow, while sweat would pour over me, as a hawk would watch from the top of our corn crib for the small mouse or rabbit I might scare up. So funny how in those days, as the sun beat down upon me as I worked soil that was often dry and full of dirt clogs that would require me to hit them multiple times with the sharp edge of the hoe before they finally surrendered and broke into pieces, all I could think about was getting out of the "holler" and beyond the hills of Southern Indiana and the farm that seemed to confine me and my desires. Now all I think about is leaving the traffic, miles upon miles of concrete, violence, headlines, and chaos that has become the life around me, along with the struggles I now encounter with my body and emotional self. I continue to look to a God that I have known since I was seven years old. The God that I was told would always love me, no matter what, and that I believed to exist. The words from Jeremiah fill my thoughts, "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) And I stop where I am and begin to write this morning. This post, which would once take me 20 minutes to produce, now has taken me hours, as I write between visits with the hospice patients I care for, the texts that I have received from members of the church I pastor, and a few texts from a support group that I attend and seem to lead at times. I want to plant petunias again in the summer, but yet, I know where I am now, they will not survive. So it is with where I am in my life. Those days are now a part of a past that will remain, "in the past." Perhaps as I enter what many refer to the "golden years" of my life, that I learn that the gold is a metaphor. Something that has value, but only among those who see it as worth. I have never been one who valued gold, but I certainly know how much I value the memories of those days, and truthfully, the life that I now live. All of which, have been a gift. Stay in God's grip! (c) G. Todd Williams 2022 StayinGod'sgrip.com  "Wait for the Lord and He will deliver you."
~ Proverbs 20:22 I can't begin to list just how many hospice patients tell me, "I'm just waiting to die," when I ask them, "How are you doing?" Life is such an interesting journey. I can remember times when I have been "waiting for the right moment," "couldn't wait any longer," or asking, "how much longer do I have to wait?" Waiting is about giving up our own control, and instead allow for time to step in. One of the things we forget is that while we are "waiting," life is still going on around us. Years ago after suffering a prolonged illness, I discovered that the world seemed to have "run past me," while I was "waiting," for healing to take place. A year later, when I was finally able to return to work, the world just seemed to be running at such a fast pace that it took me months to finally feel as if I was keeping pace. I am always drawn to remember that waiting is practicing hope and letting go of expectations. So much in life we seem to hear the words, "All in God's timing," while building on a foundation of hope that what we are waiting for will be exactly what we need. Psalm 62:5 reminds, "Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in God.” The moment is full with possibility. We refuse to think that it’s best if we can control it. We let God do what God will do – avoiding any drama we might otherwise create, while we wait upon what is certain, true, and wonderful. In all this – in our difficult, counter intuitive, radical “waiting project”, we experience more rather than less of what God has for us as we cast aside our useless wishes, and hope in his promises. Jesus suggested that each day we pray “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Why then, shouldn’t we expect God to enter the moments and circumstances of each day “on earth” while we wait? Why wouldn’t the moments be full, when we know that God is answering this and so many other prayers of others? Why wouldn’t the moments be full when God's work of redeeming this planet of ours – and its people – continues? I am reminded that even while we wait, life is "going on." The Kingdom Of God is yet to come, but at the same time continues to arrive “in our midst” – on this day, in this place – where I am. And so I wait. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2022  The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned... ~ Matthew 4:16 The alarm went off just a little after 6 am this morning, and I sat up, letting my feet dangle momentarily before taking those first steps this morning. It was still dark in the bedroom, but yet, I could make out the shadow of one of our dogs, as he realized I was getting up, which meant that he would soon be heading to the back door of our home, where he will begin to jump with excitement as my hand reaches for the door knob.
I follow both of our dogs out the door, and go to the corner of the house where I have stored palm branches that I will set fire to, in order to prepare ashes. Branches that were once green, now are brown in color, and I begin to journey in my mind as I take them into my hand. How green were the palms as they were raised in joyful exclamations of "Hallelujah" when Jesus entered the city? I begin to tear them into smaller pieces as I prepare to burn them. It is a stark reminder that the season of "Hallelujahs" is soon nothing more than a sound byte that has been replaced by some breaking news headline, or something that I have chosen to be more important. I stop and realize that I have begun my own Lenten journey. I light the palms in the small planter that I have chosen to use, and flames suddenly burst forth, scorching the sides, and turning the silver a darker color. The only sound I hear is that of a siren on the highway just beyond our neighborhood. My eyes remain focused on the flames, while my mind turns to the driver of the emergency vehicle and I wonder about the one who needs help. The flames subside as quickly as they burst forth in those initial moments, and I watch as embers become dark, and the fire dies out. My spirit watches, and I tell myself, "From ashes you were created, Todd, and to ashes you shall return." On this Ash Wednesday I will remind others of these words, and the journey that we are all on together, but yet, individually as well. I am reminded that there is no "wrong" or "right way" to experience Lent. It is a season that arrives before we are ready, just like so many other seasons of our life. It is the stark reminder that death itself, waits, and watches, just I did as I watched palm branches that were once green, waving in the summer sun, that now have turned brown and have become the ashes that others will wear, as I remind them, "From ashes you were created, and ashes you shall return." As I write this morning, I have once again discovered the words that I have struggled over the past few months to share. My Lenten journey this year is about my attempt to return to, "Me." Having struggled with my body as medications forced it to return to a baseline that it is no longer capable of achieving, my journey looks and feels very different this year. If anything that living in a pandemic has taught us, is that life is filled with moments of uncertainty. That life changes without warning, and the promise of tomorrow only exists on a calendar, printed months before the moment that we currently are living. I gather the ashes and add a little olive oil to them, along with a few drops of frankincense, as a reminder that there were once Magi who followed a star in the heavens in search of the ONE that we are all seeking now. My fingers become stained as I check the consistency, and I finish my morning routine. My mind turns to the busy schedule I ahead, as I travel to a number of homes where hospice patients and their families wait for the ashes they requested, followed by stops at nursing facilities where I have patients, along with those who work there, will invite me to make the sign of the cross on their foreheads, and hear the words that will become my mantra for this day. The day will end with a gathering at the church that I serve in Galveston, where members of Westminster Presbyterian, as well as others, will come as well for the ashes that were once green palms, waving in the sun, turned to ashes that have traveled throughout the countryside to all my visits, and now will become the symbolic reminder that one day, the dirt that once became mud, fashioned by a God into an image that was reflective of the Creator, with a breath of life that is sacred, will once again return to the earth from where it came. I begin this final paragraph, realizing that I have once again discovered "Me" and that I am not afraid of the ashes that stain my hands. They are who I am, and that the ONE who created me, will never forsake me. That is where I find myself this Ash Wednesday... Stay in God's grip! Todd G. Todd Williams (c) 2021  They did not say, ‘Where is the Lord Who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, Who led us through the wilderness, Through a land of deserts and of pits, Through a land of drought and of deep darkness, Through a land that no one crossed And where no man dwelt?’ ~ Jeremiah 2:6 Over a decade has passed since a friend reminded me that we are "Ecclesiastical people" with many seasons. Each season has it's purpose in our life. We need to remember that each season, no matter how long, or level of importance, has an impact on our life. Just because you now find that your life is not what you thought it would be, doesn't mean that where you currently find yourself isn't important. This may very well be one of the most important seasons of your life."
The friend was right. I needed that season because it made me stop and think about what was really important to me in my life. Within the next year I found that I was living in a new city, surrounding myself with people who were not toxic (that is another subject that I can save for another day!), and in a role that reminded me that God still had a plan for me in my life. For many of us about now, we need to be reminded that we are "Ecclesiastical people." This season of the pandemic has been both life-changing, but also, filled with a feeling of loss that we are now just beginning to understand. I have begun to wonder what will be written about this season in history? But most of all, what the impact has meant for the people who lived through it. Within the Old Testament, there are a number of stories that are reflective of the seasons when the people of God had turned away from God, or were in exile, only to once again return to God. While the pandemic was caused by a virus, it did bring the entire world into a new season. A season where many found themselves isolated, exiled, and experiencing life in a new way, often filled with decisions that none of us were taught about or prepared to encounter. People we love were suddenly sick, some were angry, others simply became silent. People who were once active, with schedules that were meant for a 30 hour day, suddenly were tasked with finding a way to work from home, where children were now present all the time, and were now expected to work the same schedule while teaching reading, writing and arithmetic, and become cafeteria workers who were responsible for every meal. As a hospice chaplain and pastor, who is used to being at the bedside of those who needed me, I suddenly found that the days when I could hold their hand and to simply be present for those who needed me, was replaced with faceless phone calls, where I had to learn how to listen for changes in the person's voice, moments of silence, or breathing patterns that changed, signaling that what the person was sharing in that moment, was more important than anything that had been shared previously. For myself, the last twenty-four months has brought a new understanding of who the "least of these" that Jesus spoke of to me. Suddenly I realized that they were some of my friends, family, and the stranger that was struggling for life while mechanical devices kept them alive. They became those who suddenly found themselves paralyzed by their new circumstances, and overcome by grief because of so many losses. One day I was looking in the mirror and discovered that the "least of these," was me, as a virus that I have lived with for the last 18 years was given new life in a body where COVID destroyed an immune system, supported by antivirals, that were not equipped to fight. As I attempted to share with others what was going on in my own life, the words that I once could easily find to describe these things, were also infected by these circumstances and did not survive. I felt deeper isolation and darkness, shame and guilt, defeated and broken. Like so many, this new season, or experience, stripped us, leaving us naked and vulnerable, feeling cold and alone, without even a hint of which way to turn. A place where we ache for the whisper of God to tell us that we will be okay after hours of screaming our prayers to a God that we were taught would "always be there." I remember watching my children when they were young, after an outburst, with their faces swollen and red from crying, often with tears still on their face, their breathing would then change from quick, deep breathes, to those that became regular, calm, and surrendering, as they would then allow for rest and peace. Having reached that point in the pandemic, my tears have dried, leaving a salty line where my mask has not only protected me, but has prevented others from seeing all of me. As I look in the mirror, I realize the fifty pounds that I have lost due to my encounters with COVID and health challenges, has caused my face to bear the outline from the masks that I have worn for hours after being screened daily for symptoms, and temperature readings. Boxes of government provided test strips for COVID sit on my kitchen counter next to my coffee maker, as that is where I stand each morning, and reflect on how I feel as I begin each day, checking for symptoms of a virus that embraces change as variants cover our land. Besides the obvious symptoms, I now also reflect on how I am emotionally and mentally, often wondering if I am still "enough" for my family, those who I have been given to care for, as well as, myself. I stare at a cup that I still hope will hold what I need to survive another day in a land that is drier than any desert that I have ever walked. But then something happened today. Words that once were dead, scattered, and decaying in the memories of my mind, experienced a resurrection that forced not only my heart to feel them, but caused my fingers to suddenly come to life as a laptop announced their presence as the sound of typing filled a quiet room, My spirit, which had resigned to living among the dead, waiting for the moment it would be free of this life, has realized that this dark season it has been experiencing, still possesses enough light to cast a shadow, and maneuver a path that it once thought it would never see again. Even as I write, I realize that I am still in this season, without a sign of an ending, but yet, a new reality that there will be remnants of this season that will exist the rest of my life. The losses are real. The grief is substantial. The feelings that I have are real and do not need validation by anyone. The feelings that we are all experiencing at this point are valid, with no explanation needed! Our vulnerability has left us naked in a winter garden that bears not a single leaf. This season, for many of us, has been the longest winter on record. I suddenly realize that there is one last bulb of hope that exists in this winter garden, and it has been sustained and protected by not only dirt, but the cold darkness it has needed to prepare for the spring. As the world begins to unmask, I remain challenged but not defeated, while realizing the words of my grandmother, "The important thing in life is not to conquer, but to fight well," I may still be naked, vulnerable, and perhaps even paralyzed, but even the paralyzed man who sat at the gates for years, suddenly found himself being lowered through a rooftop by friends, who understood that sometimes allowing the faith of others to carry us is the only way that we can get to Jesus to hear him, telling each of us to, "take up your mat and walk." I am not sure if my words will resonate with what you may be experiencing in your life now, or speak to you in the ways in which that have spoken to me, but they are words that come from a place of resurrection. They are hope bursting forth from a garden that still knows cold and darkness, but yet, is beginning to experience a new season. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2022  "Is this thing on?"
A common saying we have come to know over the years of what is said when someone walks up to a microphone. Scripture tells us that there will be someone who cries out in the wilderness to "Prepare the way of the Lord." Today the wilderness looks very different. It's not always about geography. It is about people. Today we all know something about the wilderness found in the hearts of humanity, especially as we struggle through days that have turned to months, and months to years since we have encountered the pandemic. Years ago while working with the homeless on the streets of Houston I created a display called the, "Shadows Project." I would ask people living on the street to lie down on a roll of paper. I would then trace their image onto the paper in turn for a bus token. On the image I would then write their street name, their birth name (if they would share), their age and how long they had been living on the street. I also wanted to know what brought them to this situation. The stories were often heartbreaking. An illness. A job loss. Mental illness. For many of the teens living on the street, often the story was associated with their "coming out," story, and their parents "kicking" them out. On the street, pseudo families were created, and often the roles would take that of "mother" or "father." I managed to gather 147 "Shadows" prior to an invitation to attend the General Assembly of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Portland, Oregon in 2005. A city that has worked very hard to help it's homeless population. On the General Assembly floor I rolled out the "Shadows" and then sat back and watched. I soon learned that the people treated these images just as most people did the homeless on the street. Some would stop and read what was written. Some would notice, but turn or walk the other way. Some never bothered to stop and actually walked right over the image. "This is what the world has come to," I thought. Still today, we are asked to, "Prepare a way for the Lord!" It's no longer about a curious character named John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, cousin to Mary and her son, Jesus, wandering in the dessert. It's about you and I and our need to be that pathway so that God can exist in this world, where people who might be living in the shadow of darkness may be able to walk in the light. We are not only that voice today, we are also the pathway! Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 God’s 21st Century John by G. Todd Williams Dear Lord, today I thought I heard a voice crying in the wilderness. A prophet’s word, demanding change: “Prepare the way of the Lord; watch for pitfalls, level the ridges, straighten crooked paths and remove the mountains. God’s glory can now be seen, And every eye shall see it!” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! In the wilderness of the world community joined by electronic roads and overshadowed by architectural monuments; Where greed fills sold out leaders, and is lost in great waste. Where a numbered society hides within a work-force, and broken spirits converge through social programs for a moment of respite: “Prepare the way of the Lord.” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! In the wilderness of third world nations, where the destitute scrape out their existence while great powers amass grand riches; The strong play with the weak, where once-proud cultures conform, Their daughters and sons are robbed of tradition, And placed in sweatshops that provide pennies for their handwork: “Prepare the way of the Lord.” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! In the wilderness of educational institutions, reading, writing and arithmetic have been traded for survival training, Where young minds absorb everything except how to be children of God, fertile expansions of their minds, but their souls remain barren; Diplomas proclaim success, not wisdom, Honors, not love; “Prepare the way of the Lord.” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! In the wilderness of politics a field of wheat and tares is bordered by momentary fame, Where large interest groups freely support campaigns, And candidates have the nerve to shout reform, While even those with the best of intentions are devoured by dark forces and are compelled to take a back seat until cynicism builds within, like a horrible virus: “Prepare the way of the Lord.” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! In the wilderness of our faith traditions, where theological trends come and go, Buildings and people are fashionable, and pomp and circumstance are priority. Where evangelism is silenced, prayer and sacrifice are optional and even Jesus is labeled a “fundamentalist.” “Prepare the way of the Lord.” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near! We cry out to the voice in the wilderness, “What shall we do?” “Run! Turn to the Lord. You who have two suits, give to the naked; You with a feast upon your table, feed my hungry. In the markets and governments, work through compassion – And be ready for the One who comes with fire!” Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and glory! The Heavens and earth rejoice! God of all come near!  Tell everyone who is discouraged, be strong and don't be afraid! God is coming to your rescue! ~ Isaiah 35:4 Years ago I watched a friend of mine seek treatment for a rare kind of cancer. She successfully completed treatment, only to be cancer free, but then die from an opportunistic bacteria that invaded her body, weakened from cure. Her immune system was too weak to fight the bacteria, and she died. It was a struggle to watch, especially when she thought the worst was behind her.
It's very easy to let things become overwhelming when you find that what you had hoped for doesn't seem to appear in a way that you had wanted, or even prayed to receive. I hear prayers for healing nearly each day as I visit my hospice patients. When the patient dies, and family members share how they prayed that the person would be healed, I remind them that "healing" takes place in many different ways. I used to think that I would have a list of things that I would ask God when I arrived in heaven. Somehow thinking that I would have the opportunity to have a face to face with the great Creator of ALL things and for me to ask, "On this day, why didn't YOU do THIS?" Yeah, right? But we do things like that. I don't know if it is some way for us to understand why it is that something happens, or if, there is some way that we are holding God responsible for when things don't go the way that we had hoped. The human condition is sometimes just what it sounds like, "conditional." We live in an imperfect world and we make poor choices at times. When it comes to our health, where we live, and even those we create relationships with. For every decision we make, there are often options. It's just the way that the world exists. Some how we must be the living Christ for others in this existence, while striving to understand when our own life situations may not turn out the way that we hoped. I don't want to say that it totally depends on God, but our dependence on God helps us when things don't work out. So often we are quick to say that "It was just God's plan." It's an easy response to a much bigger picture that often we look at with limited vision. Praying that each day we find ways to include God in all moments of our lives. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 stayingodsgrip.com  "I am with you always, even unto the ends of the world." ~ Matthew 28:20 I spent a portion of last evening sitting in the hallway of a healthcare facility. As I did, I thought of the hallways, much like this one, that I have spent time in. For me, hospital and clinic hallways are sacred spaces, much like that of a pew in a church.
They are the places where messages are heard, prayers are lifted, and where stories of life and death are shared. Miracles are related, and relationships are created, while saying "hello" and "good bye." I identify these hallways as sacred pathways. I remember the beep of the 3 a.m. page awakening me while trying to sleep in a room that was tucked behind one of the chaplain offices on the top floor of the old Lutheran Pavilion at M. D. Anderson Cancer Center while completing my Clinical Pastoral Education nearly twenty years ago. Those beeps were often the prelude, that then would give way to prayer, even before I had arrived to the floor where I had been summoned. At MDACC, every patient had cancer, and cancer didn't care if the person was old or young. I would often remind myself that cancer begins with one cell in the body that creates a new plan for itself. Too often that "plan" would be associated with a God who seemed to be making plans for innocent, good people. I still cringe when I consider the theology of those who explain how the cancer is, "just part of God's plan," while staring into the eyes of the patient who then spends restless hours trying to figure out why the "One" who proclaims unconditional love allows for conditional cells to invade and destroy. During my daughter's senior year of high school, she was part of a "Don't Drink and Drive" demonstration entitled, "Shattered Lives." Emily and I had agreed to be part of the project, but nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered as I entered the parking lot where broking cars holding broken bodies, would be on display to provide an illustration for the message they wanted to convey. As I approached the scene, playing the role of clergy who had been called to the scene to render aid, I discovered that my own daughter was a fatality. I just remember staring at a lifeless body, covered in makeup that looked like bruising and blood. While I knew that it was a demonstration, something inside of me would not allow me to move. I watched as the funeral home arrived, with strangers taking her body, and placing her in a body bag. Just before the bag was completely closed, the instructor gave Emily permission to tell me that she was okay, as this demonstration was robbing me of my ability to breathe or speak. The instructor followed me to the Hearst as Emily was rolled in on the stretcher. He placed an arm on my shoulder, once again sharing, "You know that she is okay?" I could feel the tears welling up within, and I had to touch the car that now held the body of my daughter that I would never hold again. I try to draw from that day, as well as, the thousands of sacred encounters that I have experienced with patients and their families since. I am reminded that those last words are lasting words, and that those last words are all that remain when the moment passes. A few years ago, one of our hospice patients mouthed, "I love you," to his husband, after the last breath had left his body. As the life left his body, he was able to focus every bit of the energy that he had remaining to leave his husband with these three words. Although silent, the movement of his lips were noted by those who were present, and suddenly the sermon of this sacred moment had been spoken, and his husband had been given the words of the Benediction that he would carry forth for the rest of his life. It is easy for my mind to begin to wander these hallways as the memories invite me to take a step towards a moment that I was invited to witness. Often I am reminded of the silence, rather than what is said. We forget that our presence also represents words that are often unable to find their way from our heart to our lips. When I have found the words to share, I never begin to ponder what the Creator may have planned, or why heaven was more deserving of a life of someone that a six-year-old loved so dearly. In the summer prior to beginning my final year of seminary, I began my chaplain journey by completing my first unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at Baptist Hospital East in Louisville, Kentucky. As a student chaplain, I was responsible for the Cardiac Unit. This unit was the first place that reminded me that we can live without many things, but we cannot live without our heart. It was the first place that taught me that insurance companies, guided by profit hungry executives, could offer to pay for the heart transplant of a father of two young children, but not pay the exorbitant price to precure the heart, and the image I encountered a few weeks later, as I held the hands of those two children as they cried because their father had died. While this memory can still create the feelings of anger within me, I can also remember the tears I shed, as I peered through the glass at newborns sleeping in the Labor and Delivery Unit that was located just a few feet from the entrance of the Cardiac Unit. As I sat last night in a hallway that reminded me of every healthcare facility I have wandered, I realized that this moment was for the Holy that resides within me. This moment was for me, and that God had not created some journey that would be guided by some eternal plan, but instead, would offer grace and mercy, as I continued on my way. May we all discover sacred spaces that offer us an invitation to recognize the God that is in this place. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams, (c) 2021 www.stayingodsgrip.com  When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me till I entered the sanctuary of God; then I understood their final destiny. - Psalm 73: 16, 17 For a period of time following my illness a decade ago where I nearly died, I found I was just angry. Angry about some of the decisions I had made. I was angry about having no stamina for any amount of time. Angry that I had missed out on so many things, and how I had treated family on bad days. Angry that I felt abandoned.
The list goes on and on. I just couldn't seem to understand why life had changed. Poor Sully, my schnauzer, would listen to my rants, and then my complaints because we would walk a certain distance. I would want to turn around because I was exhausted and he would want to continue the walk. A few days I would just sit down along the Bayou and surrender to him. I would tell him, "Just let me rest and we will walk to the next street then turn around." During this time I would slowly surrender the anger to God's holiness. Those walks became more about praying for peace, strength, and understanding. God's presence, and my relationship, turned from lashing out, to inward sanctuary. It's true, we are indeed vessels for the living God. I learned that God has a difficult time residing in a vessel that seems to have no place for the love of God. It's a reality that I think all of us must eventually accept. Over the years I have met people who are just simply bitter. I live in a world that is full of conditions and options. God didn't make me sick. I live in an imperfect world. Remember in the movie "Bruce Almighty" when the main character Bruce says God is like a child with a magnifying glass pointed on ants as they come out of the ant hill. He then tells God to "smite him." I know people who believe that this is the only relationship they can have with God. God didn't give me cancer. God didn't cause me to lose my job. God didn't do many things. I live in an imperfect world. However, God had a plan to help me recover. My life will never be what it WAS, but God has a plan for me TODAY and TOMORROW... Remembering to enter God's sanctuary, which depends on me to make sure I remain open to God's love and plan for me simply makes all things possible, for ALL OF US! Hope your day finds time to be an active vessel for God. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams, (c) 2021  The LORD came and stood there, calling as at the other times, "Samuel! Samuel!" Then Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening." ~ 1 Samuel 3:10 Simon and Garfunkel in 1965 wrote a song that reflected on the, "Sounds of Silence." One of the things that I have had to adjust to over the years are the amazing number of hours that I sit in silence. As I drive from one patient home to the next, and even while I sit at bedside, the time that I spend in silence overwhelms the other hours of the day.
At first, I will admit, I was uncomfortable. Any time that our environment changes, there can be moments where it feels like somehow something, "might be," missing, or even for some, there will be attempts to recreate that which felt more "normal." I can remember over ten years ago now, when my daughter left home and went off to college. It was the first time that I had lived by myself in over twenty years. I will admit, I really didn't know what to do. My four bedroom house that once teamed with activity, now was silent, and over the course of the next month, I was slated to move from this home to a smaller place in the city. Our dog, which was my only companion on this journey, slept under my daughter's bed for three days, refusing to eat or go out, and all I could think was, "Emily has gone off to college, and now Sully (our dog), is going to die from heartbreak." So, perhaps I was feeling a bit dramatic, but for a parent who is "empty-nesting" for the first time in two decades... well, you get the point. I remember walking from room to room, in the silence, and making decisions on what to keep and what to give away. I couldn't listen to the radio, as I would hear a song playing that would open a memory, and I would find myself in a corner somewhere, drowning in my thoughts and tears. I can look back now, since time has provided the distance that I needed in order to see what this big picture looked like, and I realize that this was a normal course in the life of my daughter and myself. It was what I had hoped for in her life, and I simply hadn't thought far enough, or looked at the picture completely, to realize that my life would change as well. Of course a year later, I was comfortable buying groceries for one, and even going to the movie theater by myself. It came with a period of change, and it took time, acceptance, and sometimes surrendering, in order to make it to the place where I needed to be. One of the things that I have discovered about myself at this point in my life, after learning to live with this new silence, is that I actually long for these moments now. We are bombarded by noise from all types of sources. Our body has gotten used to the shock of a truck roaring by, or the train down the street. To the sound of a television simply turned on in the background, or the radio that simply remains on. I am drawn to remember a young Samuel in scripture who seemed to hear everything, but the voice of God who was patiently, softly, and consistently, reaching out to him. Finally, one day in the silence, Samuel sensed the voice of God, and said, "Speak Lord, for your servant is listening." You see, silence is something we need in our life for precisely these moments. For times when we are lost in the white noise of chaos. Where alarms sound, and our feet quickly make their way to the door. When the phone rings, or a text arrives, and we began to realize, "I can't even hear myself think." The sounds of silence are always present. Like peace, that is what we tend to forget. It exists all the time around us. We just have to be willing to allow it in. Stay in God's grip! Todd G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 To pre-order Todd's new book, "Remember Me When..." and save 20 percent, Click HERE!  Your life shall hang in doubt before you. Night and day you shall be in dread and have no assurance of your life. ~ Deuteronomy 28:66 One of the hardest things that I have encountered in the last few months is recovering from COVID. While I am grateful that I did not end up in the hospital, I have struggled now for nearly two months with lingering issues that seem to have "changed me."
Let me first say that I am improving. The difficulty in all of this is that I have fallen away from my writing, have struggled with anxiety, as well as, finding a place of peace in my life so that I could find the words that I seem to forget or cannot rediscover in my mind. On Saturday I attended a live performance of a musical. This is only the second time since the pandemic that I have been present to watch as so many many young people that I have known for the last few years, performed. While the pandemic has continued to remain the leading news article, I realized that life is continuing to go on all around me. Many of the kids I saw are taller. A few have new voices, and a few I struggled to recognize behind masks that continue to cover faces. I focused on the eyes of a few youth and discovered that I knew who it was. As I spend more time with my hospice patients at the bedside, especially those who have been in facilities, completely isolated from their families, I am discovering that there is something more to the pandemic experience that we have yet to discover. It is grief. Many have lost much over the last year. Jobs, family, and even close friends. Offices have closed, and several friends of mine have been told that they will never again return to an office filled with people, and instead, will continue to work virtually from dining room tables and newly created work spaces. Grief is something that I have had some experience with while working as a hospice chaplain, but nothing has prepared me for the feelings of grief that seem to paralyze me at times as I struggle to understand them, work through them and not ignore how they "show up," at the most inconvenient times. Someone asked me if I, "still cry?" I admitted that I "try not to, as I am afraid at this point I will not stop." One of the things that I wish the Bible shared more of were the feelings of those who saw Jesus crucified, and then encountered him as the resurrected Christ. I wish that there were words to describe what it was like to have your faith, and everything that you were beginning to believe, overwhelmed by an experience that left them heartbroken, defeated, and uncertain. While Jesus had shared of the "things that" he must experience, with the words, "so that the scriptures might be fulfilled," there were still those who had heard, but now struggle to understand. It is the same for many who seek to find a light at the end of "some" tunnel, only to discover that the tunnel is an illusion, and that there is simply uncertainty. I understand that God remains constant through each new day. I was always one who believed that God was the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, but now I find myself asking God to be more. I struggle to encounter the God of yesterday when today my life is so very different. It is not something new to me. I hear patients and their families share of finding, "unknown strength," and "understanding beyond anything I have ever encountered." Followed by, "I know that God is helping me through this." It is in these days that I find myself clinging to the "mysteries," of a God that has a resurrected Son who seeks for me to have grace and mercy, while restoring me to a place where I can once again "feel like," I once did. But then I realize one important factor. I also cannot be the person that I once was. Not even the person I was yesterday, because we are moving closer to the greatest change that we will ever encounter. It is when we finally take our last breath and discover that Jesus has been with us every moment, of every day, of every encounter with this world. In restrospect, I think that I needed this time of "wandering," to help me find my way to a new place that I need to be. While I will continue to grieve, along with many others, I hope that I begin to realize that this new place where I, and everyone else seem to be arriving, will still be a place of hope and love. Stay in God's grip! Todd Rev. G. Todd Williams (c) 2021  Clarence and Audrey Faye (Swift) DeAtley, my great-grandparents. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever." ~ from the 23rd Psalm Someone asked me the other day if I could remember my "first" death? Over the years of serving as a pastor and chaplain, I have encountered death more times than I can even remember at this point.
The first person that I remember having "died," was my great grandfather, Clarence DeAtley. I remember the phone ringing at our home as we were up, getting ready for the day, and then my dad suddenly grabbing his coat and running out the door. I have a clear picture in my mind of my dad's face that morning. I hadn't thought about it until this moment, but my dad's face in my memory is much younger. It is a reminder that often moments, or life milestones, can seem to be encapsulated in our memory for a lifetime. I can still see his car, pulling out from the alley beside our home, and the tailpipe of his car, blowing out gray smoke into the crisp, Indiana March air. I can still see my mom's face as she told me, "Papaw DeAtley died." I still am not sure if I really understood what that meant. I loved my Papaw DeAtley, even though he was a much "different man," than the man he had been most of his life. His mind, confused, and so much of what he had been, replaced by a man who would sometimes get angry, but would welcome a great grandson to sit and share time with him while eating a fudge ice cream bar. I remembered a man that would sit at the small table in a farmhouse kitchen that still contained the wood stove that once was used for cooking, and the 1940's gas stove that had replaced it. My great grandmother, turning on the broiler, and making toast with a little sorghum and butter. Occasionally, she would fix a mixture of cinnamon and sugar, adding to the flavor of the toast. Hot tea would be steeping on the blue counter, and I would watch as she would add teaspoon after teaspoon of sugar, and then gently stir the mixture just prior to taking a sip. I can still remember watching her do the same thing with her iced tea, and watching as the granules of sugar would float in the mixture as she would take a drink. I would watch as "Papaw DeAtley," would take the silverware from his place setting, and with the cloth napkin provided, would wipe down each utensil that he was about to use. To this day, I don't remember asking why he did that? I just remember that it was part of the routine at each meal. "Papaw DeAtley died." I was six months away from turning 7 years old. I had no idea really of what this meant, but that the news upset my both my mom and my dad. The next thing I do remember is pulling into Myers Mortuary in Lebanon, IN, and my mom struggling with my coat. It was a cold day, and like to many late winters in Central and Northern Indiana, it is not unusual for there to be cold rain and sometimes ice. The funeral home seemed dark to me. Heavy fabric draped windows, and organ music played over speakers that were sometimes filled with static, could be heard. I looked at the tall lamps that were in the front of the room next to what looked to be a shiny box, surrounded by flowers. I remember the ceiling, lined with small tiles that were plain white, illuminated by the lamps that seemed to make the room look pink with their light. The first person I saw was my "Mamaw Williams," and I noticed the white handkerchief with a little embroidered blue flower with yellow dots, raised to her face, where she wiped tear after tear. She took my hand, and I could feel the moisture from the handkerchief, touching my hand, as I tried to pull away. I felt the hands of someone that I do not remember, picking me up. The person was behind me, but I clearly remember seeing "Papaw DeAtley" laying in the box. He looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn't bothered by any of the people that were talking as they stood beside the box. I remember thinking, "Why is he asleep? I would love for him to ask for ice cream about now." I'm unsure why I ended up sitting next to my Mamaw Williams as people sat down for the service. My head rested on her lap, and I can still feel how her belly shook as she cried. "You know he was my dad," she said to me. I didn't realize then, but do now, that she was wanting to make sure that I knew this connection. It's hard to believe that it has been 16 years now since Mamaw Williams died, laying in another box, in the same room at Myers. To this day I can still associate the name of the mortuary, with the smell of aged carpet, fragrant lilies, pink lighting, and the sound of a shoe shine machine that sat near the entrance, where men would step up, turn on a switch, and it would buff away any dirt or scratches. I can still see Papaw DeAtley, Mamaw Williams, and a few other relatives and friends that have died over the years in that room that has changed over the years, but the location and reason for gathering has been the same. It is the place in my memory where death becomes a reality. I am drawn to these memories as I encounter patient families when one of my hospice patients die. Sometimes, as I see young children encountering their first death and trying to understand, that six-year-old inner child in me, still wishes that the person would sit up and ask for ice cream. Death is as much a part of life and breathing. It is the stark reality that none of us can escape. In my Christian faith, I understand that death is the gate that opens as we live fully into eternity. For me, I try to remind myself that I am already part of that eternity, that my death will be a mark on a timeline that has no ending, and that those early childhood memories will be only a memory, forgotten, as I encounter those who died before me. I am not afraid to die, but like all of us, if truthful, the journey to that death will sometimes leave me anxious as I consider the path, and ask God to help me when it comes. Perhaps that is a reflection to be written for another day. In the meantime... Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 Pre-order Todd's new book, "Remember Me When..." at Chalice Press and receive a 20 percent discount. |
AuthorRev. G. Todd Williams lives in the Houston metro area and is a Hospice Chaplain at Essential Hospice, Webster, Texas, and is an ordained Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) pastor. Archives
May 2023
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