"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing" (Ecclesiastes 3:4).
\nAbout now we are beginning to grieve the life that we once "knew."
\nHenri Nouwen reminds us that mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their "times" do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their "times" may become one "time."
\nMourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.
\nMany times in reflecting about death, we will remark that the family is "grieving appropriately." It is a remark to say that the family will be fine. Grief is something that we all experience. Some are able to incorporate that grief into life, like a dance.
\nOften our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief.
\nWe lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness.
\nMourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness - they belong together, like a well orchestrated moment that finds us open to tears and laughter.
\nLet's trust that the beauty of our lives becomes visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.
\n"Dear God, may You move me by the events of my life to recognize that moments of joy and sadness are times available to mourn and dance. May I never loose the sound of the music of life, which moves my heart to tears and laughter. Amen."

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

This morning I woke up, like most of us, in a world we no longer understand.  It made me begin to wonder what it must have been like in heaven leading up to the crucifixion of Christ.  Was heaven watching as Jesus walked into a garden, fell to his knees, prayed, with sweat, like blood, running down his face, asking for the impossible?  Knowing, yet, not knowing.

What was it like for those in heaven to watch as nails were driven into flesh, and he was lifted up, for all to see hanging?  

I read stories of doctors looking to the heavens for answers, while making decisions that are like Jesus' encounter in the garden.  The only difference is that the blood metaphorically drips from their hands, as they must decide who should live and who will be left to die.

It is an uneasiness that exists, and arrives at a time when we are invited and drawn to look inward.

Jesus finally cries out, "It is finished!"

Words that we wish we could utter, but know the journey is far from over.

Heaven, for me, is more than the land of eternity.  My life is surrounded daily by death.  Heaven for me will be the place where there is no more death.  No more good-byes, sadness, impossible bucket lists, tears... No more time.  No more, no more...

I am aware that we are living through moments that now rob us of our words, and our breath.  

Images flood our minds each day that bring us to silence.  A mother looks at her three children home from school, where they were getting more than just an education, as she looks at the empty pantry.

A man looks through the window of a nursing home into a room where his father is battling for his life, and aches to hold his hand and tell him, "I love you," one more time, while being kept from entering the facility for the "sake of safety."

Thousands of bodies await cremation, and I wonder who will be there to remind us of the words that started our Lenten journey, "From ashes you were created, and to ashes you shall return?"

Political promises made within ivory walls that will keep the poor in survival mode, while the rich discover ways to make sure they get their cut.

There are no words to express what the mood was like in the earthly hours that must have seemed like an eternity to Jesus.  The taste of sweat, blood, and the dirt in which all humanity had been created from, filled his mouth until he cried out that he thirst while he hung, dying, before a crowd that was anything but silent.  Their echoes, still fill our city streets.

The skies grew dark, and heaven rumbled.  But what was the mood of the great cloud of witnesses who worship God, the Creator of all, as the Son was crucified?

Where did the heavens turn their focus when the Son declared that He had been abandoned?  Do we recognize the look as we see ourselves in the mirror?

There are no descriptions of what God was thinking.  God is silent.

It is a sacred place to stand at the bedside of a child, as her parents surrender to the idea that she is dying, and watch as her final breath leaves, and she dies.  There are no words to describe the silence.

Heaven surely must have been silent.

For many of us, we are silent now.  I have to believe that in heaven, a place where eternity has no timeline, this is a moment that will serve as a milestone for many.

May we discover the sacredness of a moment today, that leaves us simply standing in our steps.  A moment where we meet God.  May we be reminded that there was indeed a moment, when Jesus breathed his last breath, and in that moment, humanity and heaven were forever changed.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

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."

About now many of us are looking at closed doors due to orders to "shelter in place," that we aren't even thinking about the open window.  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.  For many about now, the experience is more than they can handle.

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!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

Dear God, help me not to forget that when I find that I am sacrificing or surrender to Your desires for my life, that You are also restoring and creating within me the love, hope and joy that You have for me.  Amen.

Last night as I let my dogs out, I stood on my back patio and watched as the fog drifted below larger clouds.  Every now and then I could catch a glimpse of Venus and a few stars.  There was no sound.  Different layers of darkness could be determined, but yet there was light. 

I looked down, and could see my shadow.  The lamp just inside the window, glowed dimly through the screen.  The light was enough for me to clearly see my image outlined.

In my mind I asked Venus if she knew what was happening here on earth, and how things seem to have changed so much in just a short period of time?  She was silent, but continued to shine.  I realize that this was not the first time she had heard this from someone on earth.  

I remember a few years ago, watching as the Space Station traveled across the sky, soaring high above and moving almost five miles per second.  I watched as it crossed the horizon, and thought of astronauts who were looking down on us.

Funny how we always seem to be looking "elsewhere."  I suppose it's because we understand that this life is temporary.  Our spirit, no matter how settled we may be in our life, longs to be elsewhere.

Recently a man told me his wife's spirit was "making a deal with her body," on how long she would continue to live within, knowing that earth was not her home, and that heaven was waiting.

Staring at the sky last night, while by myself, I did not feel alone.  Of course Venus didn't answer, but somewhere along the way, I realized my voice joined others, in looking up and asking God, "Are you seeing what's happening?"

I found myself being part of the entire human race, both present and past, who have looked up and asked the God who created me and all those who have come before and asking, "Are you there?"

It's times like these that I wish the disciples had shared of their experience, of laying under a sky like this with Jesus, and listening to Jesus share of what it was like when the stars, and Venus were created.  Did he find himself sitting under a sky like the one I was experiencing?  Did he look to the heavens and share with God what this whole experience felt like?

Did the disciples push him further and ask him, "Do you hear the Creator now?  While we are struggling to understand what it is like for you to be the Messiah, walking among the Creation that you helped to create, and now looking up from the very place where you shaped mud and blew your breath into to give life, we are wondering, 'What is it that you are thinking?'"

Did Jesus turn over, and tell the disciples to, "Go to sleep?"

I continued to stand and look upward, hoping that I am asking God the right questions, so that I am not met with the words, "Go to bed, now, Todd."

Instead, I looked to the heavens and did not ask, "Why?"

I looked upward and asked, "Please, hear our prayers.  For the answers we need.  For the comfort of the widow, who has just lost her husband.  For the child who suddenly has become an orphan, and for the stranger, who is now like me, looking upward to the sky and wondering if you are watching?  We are being told not to be near one another, and I know that you understand what this is like.  Even Your son sat in a garden, with much darkness, and asked for a cup to be passed from him.  Did you see him, alone?  Did you hear Him, like I am asking now?"

I turned, called the dogs to come in from the yard, and I once again looked to the heavens, thinking of my own family and friends.  My coworkers at hospice who continue to care for the dying each day, and that while death is something we know awaits each of us, there are many who are not ready to face what lies ahead.  My heart aches for those in my faith community who, for many, coming together to worship is the only time that they encounter a hug, the reminder that we can share the peace of Christ with one another, and that everything will "be okay."  Life has been disrupted.  

The door closed behind me, and I turned off the lamp.  In the dark I know my way across the room. 

Somewhere in the darkness, I was reminded that God will continue to lead us.  Our spirit knows the way, and that we must not forget that God is still sustaining our journey.  Guiding our steps, hearing our words, and reminding us to remain faithful.

I'm not sure what it is about this encounter that has remained with me this morning as I sit, drink my coffee and sit on that same patio that now is illumined by the morning light.  Perhaps it's because we could all use a reminder about now that there are better days to come.  

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

If there is one thing that we are all learning about now with the world pandemic, it is that we must find a way to clear a pathway to our heart.

As the small faith community that I pastor voted to suspend our worship services for the next two weeks, I was overwhelmed by tears as one of the members of the Session prayed at the end of the meeting.  My mind couldn't seem to find peace, and all I could think about were those who already live their life so isolated because of age and condition.  I thought of the families that cannot enter into nursing homes to visit loved ones right now, and how those who already suffer from some form of Alzheimer's or dementia, are now not only suffering from the loss of their memories, but the connection to what life they once lived.

Even this morning as I write this, knowing that I will be visiting hospice patient's in their homes, I am trying to find ways to be calm and quiet myself to be the presence that I need to be for those God has called me to serve.

I realize that following the pathway to my heart is about being fully awake and following with every moment, what is happening within me.  It requires the discipline to clearly allow my heart to be vulnerable, and for God to remain close with each breath that I take.

Suddenly I realize that for every one of us who have or is currently experiencing isolation, the pathway to our heart offers the freedom to stroll through our own inner yard, to explore flowers, and rake the leaves and clear the path so you so that the pathway is clear.

Perhaps there is fear and uncertainty as we travel this terrain that we have never known before, but slowly and surely we will discover an order, and a new familiarity that will deepen our longing to stay home within ourselves.  

"Goodness and mercy," are still following after us.  The promises of God still exist, and they will lead us all to the place in our heart where meadows are green and still waters will calm.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

During the season of Lent, I am reminded that we are to be people of hope.  While we acknowledge the journey of Jesus during this season, we are reminded to look inward, and not get tangled up with the things of this world.  

Time and time again Jesus draws us to God, in the prayers that he prays, in the miracles that he performs, and even as he is tossed among the waves.  A person who has hope must always be directed back to God.

While we still struggle with our daily desires, having faith is not about believing that every request will be fulfilled.  As the song goes, "Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers."

For the prayer of hope it is essential that there are no guarantees asked, no conditions posed, and no proofs demanded, only that you expect everything from the other without binding God.

Hope is believing that what will be given will be good.  Hope includes an openness by which you wait.  Hope is believing that God's promises are true, and will be provided for, even though you never know when, where or how this might happen.

Hope is always present.  We must believe, while we remain In God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

There are times I'm so thankful for "Memories," found on Facebook. I remember this day a year ago. The patient I met who was blind, who has completed his journey, became a friend before his death. I know I will meet him, and a countless other hospice patients I have met, again one day.

From this day a year ago:

Blue bonnets, baby squirrels and time with a man who is blind this morning.

Years ago I wrote these words, "Sometimes the things of this world, or the next, can only be seen through the eyes of others."

The baby squirrel, being cared for by a personal nurse, who is also the caregiver to a man who lost his eyes to cancer, quietly rested on the man's lap as we talked this morning.

He shared about his life, the things he had done, "before all this happened to me."

He described beaches he walked, mountains he climbed, and the "smile of my soul mate."

"She will be there to greet me when I die. It will be soon."

I couldn't help but look at the face of a sightless man who can see perfectly the world around him and of the world he will encounter next.

His sharing reminded me of a patient I encountered during my residency at M D Anderson Cancer Center. The fourteen year old girl had a rare form of cancer that would require the removal of both eyes. Just days after her surgery her family was tuned into television reruns of the "Golden Girls." The patient laughed at the jokes and was able to remember the color of Blanche's dress. "It's purple," the girl shared with her mother.

"Yes," her mother affirmed.

Today the man spoke of the peace that he has about, "many things."

"Like this squirrel that had no idea that someone was about to cut down the tree it was living in, and how he would be left with other babies on the ground. Or that someone would know how to pick him up with the other babies and wrap them and feed them."

"I'm about as comfortable as this squirrel, and I'm dying."

"I can see it all clearly."

We know that faith is believing in all things we cannot see. Believing is hearing the words of a blind man who tells you what he can see and knows to be true.

​Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

This morning I have already been on the phone extending condolences to the family of one of my hospice patients who died over the weekend.  As I spoke to his wife, she talked about how death is "a seed, planted in us, and at some time it makes itself known."

I know that death is something that none of us can avoid.  The older I become, the more I realize that "seed."

I am reminded that love is so much stronger than death, and as she continued, she shared of how important their life together has been, and that even though "death may have taken him away from me, our love will always be stronger than death."

Death is the final part of our journey, but it is never the destination.  Our exodus from this life brings us to the full realization of our identity as God's beloved.  When we die, we enter into the full communion of God's love for us.  

During the season of Lent, I am often reminded that Jesus walked the past ahead of us, and invites us to follow.  Jesus says, "Follow me," and reminds us, "Do not be afraid."

Today I realize the seed within me, the love that exists, and the words of Jesus.  This is our faith.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

For me, watching Jesus' journey to the cross is filled with moments where I recognize both Jesus as  God's son, and also, when he is fully human.  Seeing Jesus praying in the garden for the things that are about to happen to him to not happen, leads me to the times in my life when I realize the only way to deal with something is to simply "go through it."

We all have some understanding of what this is like.  Knowing what lies ahead, and praying to God, "Please, let this pass from me."

I find that my mind has difficulty "shutting down."  Sometimes, there is simply uneasiness that happens in our lives.  It's not that we worry about anything in particular.  The future that Jesus knew would happen had to give birth to new anxieties each day.

While I don't walk the path that Jesus did, knowing betrayal, arrest, beatings and crucifixion was in his future, I still understand what it means to live with uneasiness.

None of us can truly imagine what that must have been like for Jesus, however, we do know what it's like to  "work through" or "experience" life.

For me, as difficult as it is to see Jesus so human, the experiences of Jesus also serve as a reminder to us that God has "been there, done that."

Knowing that God dwelt among us through Jesus, I realize that God has felt the sun shine upon his face, watch dust from road swirl up into the air, smell flowers blooming nearby, while also knowing the salty taste of his own tears, as he cried at the tomb of a friend.  God truly knows us.

Our ability to arrive at the other side of an illness, job loss, or any kind of a personal struggle, serves to remind us that while not all cups are like that which Jesus prayed would pass, we are offered vessels to take up and drink.

Today I pray that we become one with God through Christ, who will provide the strength to make it through whatever cup passes before us.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2020