If only the world could be filled with the same joy and excitement and thrill over a child seeing the first trace of snow…what a world it could be. Granted, the first trace a couple days ago seemed to be rather miniscule in comparison to the seemingly doomsday prediction of the anticipated amount, but minor detail. The children don’t know about the intricacies of weather patterns and freeze points and lake effects. They don’t have to worry about ice-scrapers and shovels and salt and defrosts and brakes and other drivers on the road. They just see the result of natural science on the ground, and they’re overcome with joy and excitement and a thrill not just over the sight but of the potential play-filled possibilities…as long as their parental figures cave in. If only the world could even be slightly filled with that nearly holy combination…what a world it would be.
I recently saw this image of Los Flamencos National Reserve in Chile. And as someone who doesn’t necessarily excel in my own home country’s geography, let alone the world’s, I had to dive into a bit of research:
As we approach this All Saints celebration weekend, when we typically focus on those who have died since the previous year’s All Saints weekend, sometimes it’s helpful to consider those who have gone even before. To consider the impact still being felt by them, even years and years since their earthly departure. And so, over the years I do my best to keep in mind Mrs. Lee.
Growing up on the more rural end of things, my siblings and I would have to go into town for the trick-or-treating festivities, or to participate in the parade in hopes of winning cash and/or candy prizes to satisfy our gadget or rotting-our-teeth craving. Except, what I remember more now is being at my babysitter’s house, when I believe I reached the whole too “cool” stage to go trick-or-treating anymore. Instead, I would help hand out candy to the complete strangers coming to her house.
This week, I’m learning with pastors from Tacoma, Washington to Long Island, New York, along with a fair share from North Dakota and Minnesota (still quite a few Lutherans out there, after all) at Camp Lutherlyn, one of our ELCA-supported camps, just north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Because, as much as we know the landscape on the organized religion (and many other) front is being slightly altered, to say the least, we also know that just sitting in a room in front of lecturer isn’t going to help enough: we need relationships. We need conversations. We need humility and honesty. We need a willingness to try and a grace to pick us up when it doesn’t work. We need people who can very well say, “I know exactly what you’re going through. It reminds me of…” but will hold back and simply listen.
