Lately I have encountered people who seem to be carrying anger that they simply no longer want to own. As one person put it, "I just don't have the energy to be 'this angry any longer.'"

I have often wondered why Jesus talked so much about forgiveness and loving one another. I have come to the realization that these are the very things that bring about peace in our life and in the world.

I spent time with a woman in her fifties who probably only has a few weeks to live. She explained that she had to finally, "just let my anger go."

She and her father had a very rough relationship growing up. She is an oldest child, who just seemed to live her whole life attempting to reach a bar raised so high above, that she just never could seem to find a way to ever meet his expectations. "I tried so hard, but then at the end of the day, I would spend my energy beating myself up, and as I got older, I just became angry."

It wasn't until the death of his dad that I realized that his expectations were the same that he had lived with. "When I realized that, my forgiving him might actually allow for him to finally have peace as well."

She went on to say that she was able to openly talk about what she had felt throughout her life, and what she had observed in his own life. "His tears began to flow, and so did mine. It was as if we were watching all our pain just wash away."

"Last night we just sat next to one another, held hands, and watched television. I can't really tell you what program was on. All I know is that the anger was gone, and I was sitting with my dad, holding his hand."

​"Clothing ourselves in compassion, humility, gentleness and patience," as the writer of Colossians shares, provides a way for us to allow for forgiveness and the welcoming of peace. It brings us to a place where we can finally breathe and let things go, like anger, and to seek out and find forgiveness.

"I am so glad to know that I don't have to spend any more of my energy on this," she said. "I have discovered the peace of sitting still, and allowing forgiveness to exist."

Allowing God to clothe us in these things, means allowing for our spirit to find peace.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

The scene was not what I had expected. One morning years ago, I came upon a wreck that had just happened on the curve just north of Pekin, Indiana. The country highway was often the scene of beautiful farms and rolling hills, but on this morning the roads were wet, and off the side in a field was a small pickup truck and a grain truck that had collided.

I was the first person to arrive. In the days when we didn't have cell phones, I would stop to find that both drivers had lost their lives and the next vehicle to arrive I would need to send on to the farm up the road to get help.

It was the first time I ever encountered something like this. Engines still steaming from the impact, and just quiet. Just down from the accident I could hear a stream that was running strong from the rain the night before. Occasionally the sound of a cow from across the field could be heard, calling for it's calf. But the rest was silence.

I remember it seemed to take forever for help to arrive at the scene that happened in a second.

Later I would learn that one of the drivers had experienced a heart attack and crossed the lane, hitting the woman driving the smaller truck. It was over so quickly. There was no blood. It was as if God had stepped in and carried these two to heaven Himself.

I've never forgotten the scene. It stopped me from my journey that morning, and I was compelled to help.

There are all kinds of stories in the Bible where people are compelled to help one another. The level of care that we are called to provide can be as simple as providing a hug, to holding the hand while the person takes their last breath.

We don't know what will be asked until we find that we are in the moment. Years ago I heard someone say that "God does not call the equipped. God equips the called."

Our focus should never be an inward focus on self, instead an outward focus on others. It's simply the need to cross the road to help our neighbor. To stop and truly listen when you ask how someone is doing, and they begin to relate their day to you. It's moments when pain turns to joy in a single moment because you recognize your own need in the life of another.

Caring for one another doesn't begin with, "Someone else will handle it."

Each of us are an instrument to provide compassion and care to and for others. Discovering your ability to truly care for others begins by stopping and being present. Do unto others... I think that's how it begins.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

When I was in my first unit of clinical pastoral education at Baptist Hospital East in Louisville, Kentucky, there was a couple that wanted to have their baby baptized.  The child was stillborn and one of the local clergy refused to come and be with the young couple and their baby.  They wanted their child to be celebrated, while also, acknowledging their faith that God was present with them.

The parents were not only grieving the loss of their child, but they also were grieving the fact that they felt abandoned in their time of need by their church.  It was a day of crying out to God for some understanding.

As a resident working in the chaplain department, I was called to the bedside of this family.  When I entered the room it was somewhat dark.  A few silhouettes from across the room could be seen, sitting against the wall.  One person had her face buried in her hands.  The other two, just sat staring at the wall.  I moved closer to the bed, and found the young mother, holding her baby, and the father sitting beside her.  The silence was painful.  "It wasn't supposed to be this way," the father told me as I approached. 

"Will you introduce me to your son?" I asked.

"His name is William," the baby's mother told me.  I looked, and saw a child that was disfigured.  At first I found that my mind immediately thought, "I'm grateful this child didn't have to live in this world looking like this.  It would have been cruel."

And then I thought, "How could one of God's servants not recognize the holy in this child and the moment?"

Sometimes the church can be the unnecessary source of our pain, and when that happens, there are no words to describe what that feels like.

The parents cried aloud, and I found that I had tears building in my eyes as I took the child into my arms.  With a few drops of scented oil, I dedicated William in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and then held him.  All I could think was that this baby only knew the hands of those who loved him.

There have been moments in my life when the encounter with the Holy is so overwhelming that even surrounded by the cries of those who mourn, there can be a sense of sacredness that cannot be denied.

When we cry out, God hears us.  I have to believe that God understands our pain.  

On that day I learned that the church can be a source of pain, but even in that pain, God still hears those who cry and responds to our needs.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

The story of the paralyzed man who is lowered through the roof of a home to be healed by Jesus continues to be one of my favorite stories from the gospels.  The paralyzed man is still seen today at many street corners, holding signs, and asking for help.  We drive by, seeing him, but not really SEEING him.

The blinders that we have created for ourselves are more than just blocking our views.  They prevent us from seeing anything other than what lies in front of us.

The extraordinary efforts of some folks take the person to a new place.  On top of a roof.  Where they then dig through mud, straw, and clay to reach Jesus who is just a few feet away.  

The man is lowered down through the roof to the footstool of Christ, and all watch as Jesus tells the man to take up his mat and walk.

The moment comes and the man feels his legs lift him up, and he is then able to bend over, take up the mat that once held him, and walk from the place where a miracle has just occurred.

Someone once asked me, "What's the point of the man picking up his mat and walking away?  The room was already a mess from the men digging a hole in the roof.  What would one more piece of debris mean?"

My response?  The mat held the man, paralyzed for a number of years.  Just think how powerful it was for the man to pick up the mat, the very thing that once held him, and to know the power he now has over it as he carries it away.

We all struggle with things that paralyze us.  The things that hold us and keep us from being something other than what we are meant to be.  Drugs.  Alcohol.  Violence.  Disappointments.  All things that paralyze us.  

Having the ability to hear the words, "Take up your mat and walk," means the difference between the way a life once was, and the miracle of God that is waiting, even if it means that we must take our blinders off and get dirty ourselves.

Stay in God's grip!

​G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

When we decide to journey with someone in their suffering, it doesn't always mean that we open our own journey with those we are with.  Sharing our journey, especially when we share about our own pain, is seldom helpful for someone who is in pain.

Years ago I read Henri Nouwen's book, "The Wounded Healer," for the first time, and it helped me to realize that a wounded healer is someone who can listen to a person in pain without having to speak about his or her own wounds in order to relate understanding.

Each time we sit with someone who has suffered pain, we are like a candle burning in the night.  The candle does not take the darkness away, but it guides through the darkness.  When we look back, we then can see the journey that we have made.

We have all lived through or experienced some form of personal pain.  None of us are immune.  Empathy for someone experiencing cancer is often best if the person journeying with is a survivor.   The same for persons who may be suffering from depression, going through a divorce, or simply waiting to hear the results from a test.  It doesn't mean that we must share our own personal journey.  It means that we can listen, and be present without the need for our own story to be heard.

At some point, we must trust that our own woundedness, or our own journey, will allow us to hear those we journey with, with our whole self.

That's when our own pain can and does offer healing to those we journey with.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

It was going to be another normal day at the office for Levi, a tax collector who would find ways to make life difficult for people living in his community.  The life of a tax collector in the days of Jesus was known as someone who was corrupt, made unfair decisions, and needed to be changed.  In modern standards, I don't think we have to look too far to get an idea of what this role was like.  There still exists people who are like this today.  

But what was it that day that Levi went to work that when he met Jesus he simply walked away?

As Levi's feet hit the floor that morning, did he wipe the sleep from his eyes, and scratch his head?  Did he know that his life was about to change?

Pulling on his tunic and adjusting his clothing, grabbing a piece of bread, did he feel something inside as he took the last bite before walking out the door of his home?  Walking the dirt path that he had for some time, each day, going to the place where he would find ways to collect money for a foreign ruling government.  Even he was a slave to a certain degree.  

Did he see Jesus right away among the people that gathered around where he would sit each day, and when he did, what made him decide to immediately have him over for dinner, inviting others to come and meet the man who simply said, "follow me."

God has blessed my life with people that I simply enjoy being around.  It doesn't matter if we are walking together on a path in the park, or at a place to eat that serves up some of our favorite foods.  There are just some people that you just love having in your life.  When you find these individuals, you then discover ways to do more together.

Jesus and Levi seemed to have that connection.  And like so many people, when you really get to know the person, sometimes you even come up with names to call one another.  Jesus begins calling Levi, "Matthew" and the rest is history for us.

Before Matthew emerges from the crowd of people that he once associated with, he invites them all together for a large party.  Because he was a tax collector, that is what the majority of the guests do for a living.  Of course, Jesus is told by those who already have their eye on him that what he is doing is wrong.  They don't get it.  Jesus is right where he needs to be, reminding them that what he is doing is just as important as a doctor visiting sick patients.  

We still see that today.  

Jesus and Matthew walk away together when it is all said and done.  Sometimes I think that Levi had to become Matthew to help others see that he had changed.  I'm sure that there were those who said, "Hey, isn't that Levi the tax collector?" as they point to Matthew.  Matthew then had to correct them, but then gets to tell the story of how Jesus has changed, not just his name, but his life.

Inviting Jesus to walk with us each day is about inviting change.  It's about helping those who are seeking a different life, and being the living Christ in the world today, while we all take on the name Christian.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

Ten years ago I was recovering from a series of setbacks following a health crisis that did more than just change me physically.  I was also changed emotionally and spiritually.  I can remember days struggling to find the strength to get out of bed, curtains drawn, and not even taking the time to turn on the television.  Opening the drapes and turning on the television seemed to remind me that the world was continuing to carry on without me, and I felt isolated and alone.

Depression had become my friend, and I allowed it to convince me that things would not get better, and somehow, I no longer saw myself as having worth.

My family had tried to get me to come out of this place I seemed to have created for myself, thinking that the change in scenery might do me good.  I soon learned that it had nothing to do with the scenery around me.  It had to do with what was inside.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.  Each day was the same.  Endless moments of finding things to numb me from the day, and the hope that somehow someone or some thing would change my life.

Those were very dark days, and I will admit, to think of them now still leaves me feeling the pain, and I think about what I lost along the way.  It is a chapter in my life I wish that I could resolve in my mind.  

Funny how the solitude of those days seems to invite me to consider the life that I am living now.  With so many of us now working from home, limiting our contact with others, and focused on covering ourselves to shield us from the unknown.  I will admit, many of my days now remind me of those days a decade ago, except this time, even my neighbor seems to understand what this experience feels like.

During that time I met a man who turned out to be a large part of my recovery from those days of isolation.   It's at this time that I remind myself to tell others that therapy can be beneficial.  For me, I know it saved my life.  While sitting in Tony's office one day, he asked me, "Todd, what is it that brings you joy?"

While being focused on my pain and loss, I failed to remember that even while living through these moments, I could still seek joy.  I just remember looking at him and thinking, "Has he not been listening to me?  I'm really messed up right now and he is asking me 'What brings me joy?'"

During these days where we all seem to be focused on what we have lost, I am reminded of this question over and over again.  Tony went on to remind me that sometimes we just "have to seek our and name what it is that brings us joy."

At that time I had an aging schnauzer named, Sully, that required me to take him on walks throughout the day.  Often waiting by the door, and then coming into my bedroom and nudging me to come out.  As soon as the leash was touched, he would begin to leap and dance.  Every time was the same.  I can remember thinking, "If only the thought of walking outside would make me this happy."

I had lost my home during my illness, and was now living with a friend who lived in a Jewish community that was filled with older neighbors who would often start conversations with me all because of Sully and his wanting to be friends with every person we would encounter.  I would often hear stories of survival, as many had immigrated to the United States following WWII.  

Sometimes I would talk to Tony about them, and then compare their strength of overcoming dark times to my weakness of just trying to find a way to be happy.  Time and time again he would ask, "So, what brought you joy today?"

"Again with the joy?"  I would remark.

One day he finally said, "Look, the next time you're out with Sully I want you to take your phone and take a picture of something that brings you joy.  I don't care what it is.  Just snap a picture and bring it in and let's talk about it."

I agreed and thought to myself, "I'll show him what a crazy therapeutic idea this is."

I took a photo of a bumper sticker, "Save the Ta Ta's."  Knowing Tony was gay, I thought that a bumper sticker for breast cancer awareness would make him role his eyes at me and realize how crazy this this suggestion was.

I printed the picture out on a piece of letter size paper, folded it and placed it in my pocket.  I arrived at his office and when he asked, I made the big reveal.  He laughed out loud, and exclaimed, "Yes!  This is awesome!"

His response made me laugh, and suddenly I discovered that joy had shown up in spite of my own determination to cause the experiment to fail.  In my own mission to fail, I had discovered success.

For the next several months he would continue to ask, and I would continue to take pictures and bring them in.  Before long, I looked forward to my walks with Sully.  Sapping photos, and seeking out the things that no longer served as something to make Tony question why I took the photo.   Instead, I found that I was looking for the things that truly brought me joy.

Nearly ten years later, I start my day in much the same way.  While both Tony and Sully have since died, my desire to seek out things that bring me joy each day just has become part of my life. 

I  will admit, I still have my moments, and having some of the same feelings that I did ten years ago about being "stuck" at home due to the pandemic, I still find the need to seek something that brings me joy each day.  I also keep that first picture I took available to remind me of where I "started," the journey and where it has brought me.

Seek out what brings you joy!

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

I have been visiting a woman lately who just seems to always provide me with some kind of wisdom during our conversations.  Recently I asked, "So, what advice would you give to the world today?"

She sat for a moment and then said, "People need to remember to clear the pathway to their hearts."

She continued, "We all seem to have so much stuff cluttering our way.  Angry people are those people who stub their toe on their path.  Hurt people who stumble over the things that people have placed along they way.  And then of course, our own stuff.  Stuff that shouldn't be there in the first place, but we just think we have to have it some way in our life."

I've thought about this alot, and what "gets in the way," of that pathway in my own life.  She reminded me, "And you're the only one that can figure out what the pathway needs to look like, because each one of us have our own heart, and we all know the way to it."

For many of us, we are unfamiliar with the terrain that surrounds our pathway.  Sometimes we can let things get in the way of being able to see the pathway ahead, and then we struggle to find our way back to start again.  The pathway to our heart should be a known and safe journey.  For some there will be fear.  For some, a skip.  Others, may very well give up and never open their heart to anything.

No matter where you are, the pathway to your heart is always your journey if you are willing.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020

This morning I am struggling to find words.  I don't ever surrender to the thought of "writer's block," because even when I can't seem to find the words to write how I am feeling, I always can find the words to describe what this feels like.  I am reminded that even in the silence, there exists a word for that.

Each of us are the instrument that God chooses to reveal God's presence in the world today.  

For some reason this morning I am struck by the question that Jesus asked Peter, "Do you love me?  Do you love me?"

I think it is because right now I am uncertain.  Not uncertain in the sense that I fail to love Jesus, but the fact that I seem to fail in other areas.  I do believe that after nearly four months of living in the pandemic, I am beginning to doubt.  

I am reminded that I cannot remove my eyes from "the prize," but yet, I am struck by the fact that I am looking down.  I stare at the floor, and I am struck by how my feet no longer seem to move.  I am stuck.  I am stuck.  I am reminded of a sermon that I heard years ago by a colleague who shared, "At some point, we all must learn to live as if we are Christian living in exile."

Somehow this exile is supposed to become something that will bear fruit and enrich our lives.  We are all beginning to realize that the place that we once "knew," will not be the place that we return.  We all are different because everything is different.  It's as if we are being asked to remain contemplative in the midst of the whirlwind.  This morning I seem to recognize that we are all living in such a wounded world right now.  It's as if we are being invited to fully realize our intimate relationship with Jesus.  If by some miracle, this experience will make us better instruments to serve and love one another.

It's as if we are being reminded that we are in communion with Christ, and that we are in communion with all people.  We need to take this opportunity to see one another as brothers and sisters.

Perhaps my loss for words is because I am struggling.  In my faith, spirituality, love and hope.  I understand that we must find solidarity with the marginalized, work to live out our steadfast love for our enemies, and reconciliation with all people as our sisters and brothers.  I always strive to tell others who are discouraged that "God loves" them, while struggling to hear these words for myself.

We live in a world that needs the manifestation of Christ.  We are living in a time where we can no longer "talk" about love, but must radiate God's love.  We must engage in the effort.  We cannot let the image of fearful, angry people reveal the demons that exist.  This is what death wants from us.

I am reminded that we live, not in the shadow of the cross, but in the light of one who has been resurrected!

As I finish this post, I have left the silence, and have found the image of the One who meets each of us with outstretched hands, who made the choice to be with each of us on days like this.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2020