I'm not sure what prompted her, but while sitting with a hospice patient one day, the woman looked at me and asked, "So, how many people have you watched die?"
I didn't know what to say, because in all honesty, I don't know how many people I have been with as they took their last  breath.  I wish I could say I could remember the names, their faces, and their families,  but I can't.  There have been literally thousands of people from all walks of life, and all ages.  The younger the patient, often the more I remember, whereas, the older the person, the same.
The `101-year-old woman that raised two daughters alone, who boldly shared of her relationships with men in order to survive while two 80-something year-old women listened in disbelief as their mother shared of compromising circumstances.
The 92-year-old woman who was a nurse that bought 23 and me kits after I made the suggestion when she asked about gift ideas for Christmas, and the shocked look on her face when her oldest child called and asked why her two siblings asked, "Why is your dad different than ours?"  The conversation leading back to a memory of a woman who had a fight with her fiance and the night she spent with her  best friend who left to be a soldier in Europe, who never returned.  Her tears, as she told me how, "God lets us live long enough to realize all of our sins."
The conversation I had with a man who had a tattoo across his back shoulder that spelled out, "GUILTY," who in his final hour of life shared with me how he had been drunk with his best friend, and how an argument turned into the man pushing his best friend from a bridge, and then never telling anyone.  The friend's death had been ruled a suicide, and how I spent weeks looking, only finding a sister of the friend, to tell her of what I had been told, and the sound of the woman's cries as she realized the truth.
The forty-six year old woman with six grandchildren who asked me to help her talk to her grandchildren about what it means to die, and how she wanted to be remembered.  The woman then telling me that I had to write a book to help others have the same conversation, and then years later, sitting with the woman's mother, and showing her my book, "Remember Me When..."
The afternoon I sat with the daughter of a woman who had become more than just a patient to me, but had welcomed me as part of her family.  Her daughter and I had talked in another room for nearly an hour when we got up and walked into the room where the patient was quietly sleeping.  The patient had not taken in any nutrition in literally weeks.  Her daughter sat on one side of her, and I on the other, each with a hand in ours.  All of a sudden, the patient sat up, looked at both of us directly in the face and let out a loud cry, falling back into bed.  There was a rush that both the daughter and I felt throughout our entire body, and how the hair on our arms was still standing as we looked at one another, trying to understand what had just happened.  We didn't know what to say, except that we knew the woman had just died and we had felt as her spirit was freed.
The woman's question cannot be answered because I do not know the answer.  
What I can share is that I can honestly say  that death looks the same with every individual.  It's existence creates chapters that end, milestones that signify change, and that the lives of others will never be the same.
Death neither confirms nor denies the existence of eternity, nor the validity of one's faith.  
The afternoon I sat with my cousin, John D. as he watched me enter his room at Houston Hospice, and then silently followed me with his eyes, and without words told my spirit that he was about to die, will forever remain with me.  As I watched him swallow really hard when I spoke.  "You're dying."
Not a question, nor a statement.  It was the moment a tear rolled from his eye, as a tear rolled from mine as well, and I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the gentle slowing of a mechanical heart valve, while staring into his eyes.  
And then as his heart simply stopped, and without a sound, or movement. his face relaxed, and his eyes lost their focus and he was gone.
There is something significant about last words that are lasting words, and last moments, that last a lifetime in my memories, my dreams, and with sacred spaces that hold truths that I will carry with me until I am met by my own last breath.
The thousands I have been with have taught me about courage, remorse, and most of all, love.  That life is not about amassing wealth, or even the number of friends that one might accumulate.  The disappointments that can overwhelm accomplishments at times, or the last minute reconciliation between a father and a son.
It is, however, the man hanging next to another on a hillside, on a wooden beam, when he turns to the other and asks to be "remembered,," and the response, "Surely today you shall be with me in paradise," is spoken.
None of us may have that type of encounter, but in my faith, there is One who will always know the moment, I ask to be remembered as well, and find that the One who responds remembers every single person who has died, and doesn't need to stop and think about the answer to the question I had just been asked because there is no answer.
"I have come so that all may have life," will always be the answer to the question from the One I know as the Christ.
Stay in God's grip!
Todd

Rev. G. Todd Williams, MDiv. (c) 2024

A few years ago I was providing chaplain support for a local hospital during the holidays so that their staff could be off, and patients and their families would continue to have spiritual care support.  During these times, I always knew that I could be called to the bedside of a patient at any time.

Late in the evening, I received a call from the hospital's switchboard operator, noting a request for a chaplain had been received, and that it was an "unusual" request.

I always try to enter these conversations with an open heart, and an open mind.  "Unusual," is not a word that I think of immediately when a request is received.  I then called that patient's spouse and soon learned that a child was about to be born, and that the child would not survive.  The baby was both premature, and had a number of birth defects that would not allow for the baby to even survive the birth process.  When I asked what the parents wanted for the child, the man shared, "I just want someone from a church to bless my child."

I agreed to come and offer support, and soon was dressed and on the road to Galveston where the hospital is located.

About thirty minutes later I entered the room where I soon discovered a young mother holding a baby wrapped in a blanket, with her husband by her side, and a few staff persons from the hospital offering support.

The couple had been crying, and the room was very quiet, except for the occasional opening of the door as staff continued to care for a number of families that were currently on the labor and delivery unit.  I asked the father of the child to introduce the child to me.  

Even though the child had been born dead, up until this day there had been plans made, and a name picked.  "His name is Thomas."

I asked the mother if I could hold the child, and the mother reached out, allowing me to take the baby from her arms.  The room was dimly lit, but even in the darkness, I could see that the child was deformed.  I smiled and welcomed the child into the world, while realizing the sacredness of the moment.  I offered a blessing, proclaiming the child's name, and prayed for the child's parents.  I noted that they loved "Thomas" so much that they wanted to make sure that he was affirmed, and in doing so, validate his existence.  

I opened the blanket and took a small shell I had picked up from an earlier trip to the beach, and filled it with water.  I gently poured it over the baby, allowing it to flow freely, and undisturbed.  I then invited that parents to pray with me, with them touching the child as I began, "Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..."

I gave the shell to the dad, and placed the child back in the arms of his mother, and thanked them for invited me into a very sacred moment in their life.  They thanked me for coming and I was soon back on the road, heading home, where I would wait for the "next" call.

As I crossed the Causeway from the Island back to the mainland, I thought of my own children and grandchildren, and what an amazing blessing they are, and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.  

I have often wondered about the couple since that evening, and like so many people I have met while on-call, I simply pray that all is well with them.

I remember how Thomas Merton once wrote: “God is mercy in mercy in mercy.” This means that the more we come to know ourselves, the more we come to know God’s mercy, which is beyond the mercy we know. 

The Kingdom of God arrives around us in so many ways.  Each encounter helps to define it's presence.  No matter the joys or the sorrows, I am reminded just how sacred each of us are to God, and that in the times we are "unable," God makes all things possible.

Stay in God's grip!
Todd

Rev. G. Todd Williams, MDiv., (c) 2024

Years ago, Helen Keller shared, "When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

So often during the season of Lent we discover that we seem to adopt a mindset that we must spend our time "giving up something," or "turning away" from some habit.  While this can be a positive thing for some, for others, it can also be the start of something else.

God's desires for each of us include experiencing joy, happiness, and love, among other things.  While some of our choices may keep us from fully realizing that these are essential touchstones of our faith, living out our faith does indeed also involve sacrifice, discipline but also restoration!

The power of the cross leaves an image of suffering and death, and for some, that is often where the image of God ends.  I have known people who feel that since Christ suffered, that somehow, they believe that by some circumstance, we too must suffer.

On the same note, I also know people who hate this image, and that they can't wait until Easter morning to cry out to others, "He has risen."

Both are important if we are going to experience the fullness of the Gospel.  We must have death if there is going to be resurrection.  We must have the resurrection if we are going to have eternity.

While we continue to make our way through this season of Lent, don't find yourself getting caught in staring at doors that have been closed with new choices, or when turning back, also be sure to recognize the open window, allowing the light of God's love to shine.  The restorative power of God is really what Lent is about.  It is the still small voice within each of us, calling us to be who God wants us to be.

Stay in God's grip!
Todd

Copyright 2024 G. Todd Williams

While we continue to focus inwardly during the season of Lent, one thing that I realize is that for many folks, there also becomes the issue of loss and grief.

In the church we don't actually ever really speak about death and loss.  We talk a whole lot about surrender, and sacrifice, but rarely do we talk about the one thing we will all experience, and that is death.

Don't get me wrong.  We have that ONE day... Good Friday... but the next day is generally silent as Christ lays in the tomb, and then we are ecstatic to announce that "He is risen."

For each of us there can be, and let's face it, there are real losses in our lives.

There is not any one of us immune from death.

I saw one of my beloved professors this past weekend at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary.  When I asked how he was doing, he told me he had an incurable disease.  I stopped right where I was standing and looked him in the face.  "I'm experiencing incurable aging that will kill me one day."

I don't know of any of us who have not thought about our own death.  Many have shared that they aren't afraid of dying.  It's the process they worry about.

The church reminds us that if we live a good life, helping others, and loving one another, that our life will be filled with many blessings, but the fact of the matter is, we will still experience losses and like our friends and family, we will die one day as well.

Having suffered a serious illness several years ago now, I lived every day with the knowledge that I could possibly die.  There was a popular song on the radio at that time that reminded folks to live every day as "if you are dying."

You don't tell people with a terminal illness to live every day as if they are dying.  They already know that.  

Instead, live every day as if you are truly living!

While I acknowledge our need to talk about death, there is the living with that death when we not just faced with our own losses, but for those around us who have experienced loss.

There has been a lot of books written on what to tell others when someone close to them has died.  I wish that I could say that there are perfect words to express, but sometimes there are simply no words.

Upon arriving at the tomb where the friend of Jesus laid, "Jesus wept."

There were no words.

In our understanding of loss, sometimes our outward expression of being sorry is simply enough.  The language of our hearts can often be spoken in silence, with hand holding, and with tears.

We begin the journey of Lent with these words, "From dust you were created, and dust you stall return."  

May our losses be surrounded by the love of Christ, and may we use that love with one another.

Stay in God's grip!
Todd

Copyright 2024 G. Todd Williams

Last summer when the James Webb telescope suddenly started sharing photos that none of us could have imagined about what our universe looks like, I suddenly began to imagine what it means to be a child of God in the universe.

When I began to realize just how complex the universe actually is, and that there is absolutely no way for us to fathom just how "big" the universe is, I sat back and simply thought, "God, you are amazing."

For so many, the understanding of eternity can really cause one to sit and ponder, and then to add the question, "How large is the universe?" It can cause one to almost cave!

For me, I still remember back to when I was seven years old, and being told by my pastor, Rev. Mangold, that "Todd, no matter what, I hope you know that Jesus will always love you."

I had forgotten his words to me until I had COVID and found myself face to face with my own mortality.   All of a sudden the size of the universe and the timelessness of eternity was met by my own faith, or lack of.  I let my own wandering interfere with the journey.  

I had forgotten that eternity for me began the moment I believed and trusted in Jesus.  When Rev. Mangold told me that Jesus would always love me.  In that moment it was as if I were seven all over again, and I believed.  The pictures from the Webb confirmed just how God loves each of us, to consider the size of the universe, with a vast number of galaxies, I suddenly didn't feel alone, or that God did not know me.  If anything, I realized the importance that each one of us has in the creation.  

I no longer "worried" if God knew I was here, or if eternity would pass me by.  I was already living fully into the heart of God.  The Jesus that I was told would always love me still was true today, and that eternity began for me over fifty years ago when I simply believed.

I love that Jesus shares that there are "other sheep not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they will hear My voice; and there will be one flock and one shepherd."

Heaven, like the universe, will be vast, and full of surprises!

Stay in God's grip!
Todd

copyright 2024 Rev. G. Todd Williams

"From ashes you were created, and to ashes you shall return..."
​

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!

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, [email protected]

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

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

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