 "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
0 Comments
 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.  But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. ~ Galatians 5:22-23  I'm not sure that I realized "exactly," what was happening the day that I sat down with one of my hospice patients and she began asking me about "ways to talk," to her grandchildren about dying and death. I'm still not exactly sure what I was thinking a year later, with an envelop full of notes and a few pages with pictures, when I sat down with my friend, Ciara, who listened and said, "Sure," when I asked if she would be willing to take everything I gave her and to illustrate a few pages to give me an idea of what this "might look like," if I were to pursue this project as a book.
Two years later, after that first visit with my patient, Ciara and I are about to find that this "project of the heart," is about to be released as the first Children's book for a publishing company that is over 100 years old and one that has never published a book for children in their long history. As I write my blog today, I realize that it has been over a month since I have taken the time to sit down and "actually," write about what has been happening. Behind the scenes there have been meetings with the Editor, a marketing team, and numerous texts between Ciara and myself. I never knew that there was a scientifically created font that allows people with dyslexia to be able to read "more at ease," but I do now, as Ciara in her educational journey at SCAD in Savannah has learned, and is implementing it in our book. As the marketing team met with us, we discovered that there is now a group of people who have fallen in love with our book, and how this will be such a wonderful "conversation starter," for grandparents everywhere for years to come. For a moment, I stop writing and I think about the afternoon that I walked into Tony Carrol's office, a therapist who agreed to see a me, even though I didn't have insurance, but was suffering from a bought of depression that seemed to have paralyzed my life. I am overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude, and wish that he were alive to see the lasting results. I remember Tony asking me to take a photo of something that brought me, "joy," into his office so that we could talk about what it was about the picture that seemed to speak to me. I remember laughing as I took that first picture in. It was a photo of a bumper sticker I had seen on a car that said, "Save the Ta Ta's!" It was a bumper sticker about breast cancer awareness. While it was childish in nature, it was a photo that began to free me from my depression and started a journey that now has brought me to this place, as I moved from just taking a photo, to also writing about what it was that made me "feel" joy. I think for any of us, finding our path in the world today, takes more than just looking for joy. Projects of our heart takes courage, and whether we realize it or not, someone to also believe in what we are doing. I knew that Ciara was a gifted artist, but to "see" how she has brought this project to life is a "new joy," that I'm grateful to be experiencing. I am reminded that God always seems to have something more for us. More joy. More opportunities. More, more, more... Stay in God's grip! Todd G. Todd Williams (c) 2021  "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him." ~ Luke 15:2 Have you ever been embraced by arms that made you feel absolutely welcomed and safe?
As a child, I was blessed by the arms of family members that were open to me, and made me feel that way. However, no pair of arms made me feel that way more than the arms of my grandmother, Margaret "Mamaw" Wilkes. Mamaw Wilkes was a person who paid attention to fine details. An artist, she sewed magnificent pieces, painted beautiful pictures, and offered a home of hospitality that any stranger would feel welcomed to visit. Even though it has been over 40 years since I last knew those arms, to this day, if I smell Jergen's hand lotion, I still think of her. Funny how our mind remembers. There was something about running to greet her, her arms embracing, and the words, "I'm so glad to see you." I always believed and knew those words to be true, even when my own life was filled with uncertainty, struggles, and living with the choices that I had made as someone coming of age. Lately I have been drawn to reread Henri Nouwen's book, "The Return of the Prodigal Son." I have been thinking a lot about where he shares of his own struggles in life, and that how sometimes we invite darkness into our lives just to "make God," prove that the light of God can overcome all darkness. In many ways, the open arms of my grandmother were that light. I have to believe that the son who returns home after making a mess of things in his life, was greeted and felt worth, even after all he had done and experienced. For those of us who have experienced arms that embrace when we have known hurt, sadness, disappointment or failure; they are the very thing that doesn't just embrace our wounds, but they are healing. I have been asked many times why I use the phrase, "Stay in God's grip!" I guess it's because I want us each to know that embrace. To be reminded that when we experience the presence of the arms of God, that there is a sense of wholeness. When we hear the words, "I'm so glad to see you," we somehow take the things that the world has taught or told us, and relinquish the power that it seems to have over us. That in a moment, we see ourselves as God sees us and knows us to be. It's knowing that everything will somehow be alright. For me, it's not necessarily going out and making a mess of things, returning home to a party, and a disgruntled sibling. It is a story that we all can relate to. It's knowing arms that love, and hands that hold, when we need them most. I'm thankful for the human hands that have held me, and the arms of God that are always open! Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 The picture with this post is of my sister, Laura Williams Barker, with my grandmother, Margaret Vivian Ross Wilkes and myself in 1978. This was the last visit that we shared with her as she died a few months later. Be sure to watch for my new book coming out later this year, "Remember Me When..." being published by Chalice Press.  "But the person who is forgiven only a little will love only a little." ~ Luke 7:47b Sometimes I wonder why it is that my soul can become so restless. My family will tell you that I am two very different people who juggle to be one. One is the person that struggles to make sure that the image that others see is one of a faithful follower, secure in his faith, and focused on the journey, while the other side of me is often weak, insecure and anxious, who fails miserably to make healthy choices for me life.
The painful reality is that I am both. At times one will overtake the other, and when the two are in conflict, I will often retreat, rather than facing what needs to be done, while failing to admit that the struggle is real. I think that if we were all honest with ourselves, we all have things that we juggle. Some are just better at keeping everything moving in the air. I remember as a kid watching a man take a plate and place it on the top of a pole, spinning the plate, and then standing the pole straight up. The plate would remain safe as long as the speed was correct, and that it didn't begin to wobble. The man soon had a dozen plates, all spinning, entertaining the crowd. He then removed each one safely, and the audience cheered his accomplishment. I don't have to attempt this to know that I am not someone who can spin plates on a pole. First, it is not something I feel like I am called to do. The other, for me, is that I know that the risk is too great, and the audience, or the world, will see a clumsy man, out of control, and destroying a perfectly good set of dishes. Let's face it, sometimes life is just not easy. In many ways I know that both of the people that my family sees juggling, sometimes with the precision of the man who could spin plates with perfection, while sometimes seeing the man who literally destroys the set of plates, in reality is me. While I struggle, I also realize there is a God who is present as well. That with the dawn of each new day, seems to say, "I believe in you..." A God who knows me so well... all of me. A God, who like the father of the prodigal son, waits. A God, who looked at a shepherd boy and saw a king, knew. And a God, who took a man who didn't see the strength in his voice to free a people, pushed. Our God, who understands us better than we do ourselves... I will admit, it is hard to share about the times when I struggle, but it certainly does not hold the same power it once did, when the struggle finds it's way into the light, and is met with love and those who have the courage to walk with you until you find a place that is safe. Stay in God's grip! Todd God of the Current... God of discovery and re-creation, help me to know that there will indeed be times of wandering, but in my wandering lead me to green meadows; I understand that there are times of darkness but while in that darkness, I know that there will also be the dawn; that in my heart which seeks You through my whole being will begin to flow a river washing over the valleys of my soul; and that I will journey wet from the experience when again I find that I am wandering. G. Todd Williams (c) 2021  And as he passed by, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the receipt of custom, and said unto him, Follow me. And he arose and followed him. ~ Mark 2:14 Years ago while living in Texas City, Texas, near the Galveston Bay, I would get up early some mornings and make my way to the Texas City Dike to watch as men with their nets would walk out onto sandbars that were only present at low tide, to try their luck.
So often, I would watch and marvel at the techniques many had developed. The sway of the net, the right turn of the body, and away, the net would be cast, opening for maximum coverage and hitting the water. Then I would watch as a rope would be pulled, tightening the net, and securing the bounty. As I watched, I often would think about the fishermen that Jesus came upon, and with two words, "Follow me," the men left their fishing nets, empty, along the shoreline, leaving behind not just a way of life, but their families and everything that had been their life for a new journey. The act of "following me," means that we are willing to surrender our current journey for one that is new. To "follow," means that we relinquish our illusion of being in control. In many ways, following Jesus means that we relinquish our small vision of who God is, for a greater understanding of what God is willing to do to be in relationship with us. The incarnation, walking among the creation, and the power of that presence, simply saying two words, and the rest is "history." The gospel is given life, and in that life, the lives of even more people are changed. When we come to the "Follow Me," moments in Jesus' ministry, I am reminded that it did not end with simple fishermen. No, it continued beyond the dusty roads that Jesus shared with the disciples, and even beyond the cross. These words can be found today on street corners, on buses, in hospital waiting rooms, and even while sitting in our car stuck in traffic. Our encounter with these words is as varied as each one of us. To "follow," doesn't mean to no longer be who we "once were." While it is an invitation to relinquish the life that we once may have lived, that life "lived," is filled with many gifts, experiences and expressions that will then help with the journey. Our wounds, our gifts, and our experiences, will continue to be an important part of the journey. These are the very things that make it possible for each of us to follow, and to invite others to walk with us. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021  "Be transformed by the renewing of your minds." ~ Romans 12:2 One thing is for sure, none of us could have planned for all the events that have taken place over the past year. As I am encountering more people who have had their initial COVID vaccine shot, I am begin to sense that there is a feeling of "hope."
Hope is definitely something that when it takes up residence in your life, things begin to look differently. In many ways, I'm grateful that hope is not dependent on peace in the land, justice in the world, or a list of successes. Hope is our willingness to leave unanswered questions unanswered and unknown futures unknown. Hope seems to allow for us to see God's guiding hand, not just in gentle, sacred moments, but also in the shadows of uncertainty. One thing is for sure, if someone would have asked the question, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" five years ago, I sure would have not responded, "Living through a pandemic." If anything we have learned from the last year is that we hold lightly to dreams and fears, and that we must be open to receive each new day as a unique expression of God's love for each of us. I remember a woman from one of my first congregations I served saying, "As long as there is life, there is hope." If anything the past year has taught us is this, "As long as there is life, there is hope." This new sense of hope that I am encountering seems to be giving power to live in a new way, with new strength. It's not that our life has changed that much since yesterday, but there is this underlying understanding that at "some point, hope will prevail." While the pandemic continues to be very real, the paradox of the expectation is that those who believe in tomorrow can better live today; those who expect joy to come out of sadness can discover the beginnings of a new life in the midst of the present condition. It is important to have hope, and to Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2021 |
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
July 2021
|
RSS Feed