Tag Archives: Synchronicity

Filling time and space

18 Thursday Dec 2014

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I was a young pastor with a wife and two small children, full of myself as much as the gospel, and eager to do everything I could to fill time and space. Especially in a season like Advent, my schedule filled to overflowing. Preparations for services, extra services, hospital and home and nursing home visits, church meetings, decorating, gift-purchasing and wrapping, bible studies, prayer groups, youth and senior groups, caroling, community board meetings, police chaplaincy emergencies, preparing food baskets, volunteer hospital chaplaincy hours, volunteer fire and rescue department emergency calls—who could make this up and find such a schedule believable?

And so we came to the second Christmas Eve service, running from 11 PM to Midnight, with communion and candlelight. At the end of the service, the car being loaded, I would drive the family one hundred fifty miles, three hours, to my in-laws’ house for a gathering on Christmas Day. Exhausted. Every tiny bit of available energy spent. How could I drive? I had worn out my wife and kids with my busy-ness, too. No one should drive in that condition, as dangerous as being drunk. The one saving grace was that the highways were nearly empty.

About the time that I realized I was falling asleep at the wheel, another saving grace appeared. The northern sky filled with the aurora borealis. I stopped the car, stood outside in the brisk air, and witnessed another way to fill time and space. Magnificent colors and curtains danced in the heavens. My exhaustion turned to tears and joy. Glory in the Highest, quite apart from anything I had done or could do. I woke my wife and children, though I’m not sure that they could see and appreciate everything I saw and felt at that hour. Then we finished that trip in the refreshing company of the heavenly host.

A knock at the door…on Christmas Eve

14 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by in Events, Seasons, Small town life

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US 51 bypassed Minonk many years before we moved there, so not many travelers stopped at the church for assistance, and fewer came to the parsonage, which was a nondescript ranch-style house several blocks south of the church. That may explain why I chose the meditation topic for Christmas Eve 1986 without a second thought—finding room for strangers. The town had not had much practice with that theme, though the rough area economy, and the deteriorating and vacant housing in the rural community were preparing the ground for some changes. I preached it, a safe distance away from Bethlehem two thousand years ago. The late candlelight communion service was beautiful, of course. Families packed the pews and shared customary greetings at the benediction.

After the lights were out and the church doors locked, on that cold icy night, we drove home with our  teenage children and prepared for bed, when the knock came at the door. I pulled my pants over my pajama bottoms, and went to answer, with some trepidation. There stood a man in dirty, disheveled clothing, with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, asking if I could help him find a room for the night. He introduced himself as Goodman.

“Well, Mr. Goodman,” I answered without much enthusiasm, “You’ve come to the right place. I don’t know how you found me, and I can’t promise much, but we’ll find you a room.” I invited him inside, thinking of all those times I remembered when such an invitation did not turn out well. We had a sleeper sofa. The nearest motel was fifteen miles away. As Jan gave him something to drink and eat,  I called that motel and found that they still had a room available for the night. At Midnight I found myself driving Mr. Goodman south to El Paso, listening to a hard-luck story, and trying to encourage a man to hold onto hope that things would get better for him.  And wondering about the mysterious ways….

That was the only night that we had such a visitor knock on our door seeking shelter, in the eight years we lived at Minonk, and it was on Christmas Eve, when I preached about welcoming strangers.

a Christmas angel…named Debbie

14 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by in Caring, People, Seasons

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Once in a while on vacation we see something that reminds us of people back home, and if it would make a nice gift and we can afford it we buy it for them. This was the case when we saw the pottery angel oil lamps, about 250 of them, arranged layer by layer in a Christmas tree-shaped display at Otis Zark’s (O.Zark, get it?) down in Arkansas. Our friend Debbie collects angels. Not only that, she has frequently been an angel, and quite generous with us, so Jan and I said to each other, “Let’s get one of those for Debbie. She needs another angel.” (Need is relative, isn’t it? Probably Debbie has enough angels to supply all of us, but this was, well, a different kind.)

So we examined the angels for the prettiest and the sweetest looking one to match our friend. We narrowed it down to five, then made our decision, picked it up, bought it, put it in an official O. Zark box, and carried it home. Later we passed it on to our friend Debbie, who was suitably appreciative. Only later did we learn a bit more about the gift.

Debbie took the boxed angel home, of course. She read on the box how each angel had a different name, and you could find the name of your angel inscribed on the back of its neck. She found the name of her angel. It was “Debbie.”

Debbie mentioned to us when we next saw her that she appreciated the “fact” that we had searched for an angel that had her name. But we didn’t, we said. We only looked for the prettiest and sweetest one that we could find. “You mean you didn’t know that the angel you gave me was named Debbie?”

No, we didn’t know. But obviously someone did. Someone does keep track of such things. Not me. And this time it wasn’t Jan either.

A little ghost story

29 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by in Death, Events

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Twenty-four years ago we bid farewell to Jan’s father Lyle Kleinlein after a year long illness with advanced colon cancer. We were there when he died, and I got to say to him, “Go on ahead, Lyle; we will come soon to join you,” at which he relaxed and stopped struggling to breathe. He had asked me to officiate at his funeral, preaching on forgiveness (which is the only reason our family had been able to come together), while his step-son, Edsel, also a minister, would speak about his practical joking and impish sense of humor. The funeral went well on a perfect May morning. Hours afterward Nathan and I left Jan at Mt. Sterling. We drove home, and I realized that the watch that Lyle had given me years before was missing. I had taken it off as I drove and put it in the car’s ash tray. It was not there. Nathan helped me search the car and the things I had already taken into the house, but it was nowhere to be found. We gave up and, hungry, went to the refrigerator. There the watch sat where neither of us had put it.

The new phone number

19 Sunday Oct 2014

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When my daughter was preparing for the move to their new home several years ago, with a new telephone exchange, she thought she would attempt to secure a number that corresponded to their name just as so many corporations have numbers that are easy to remember because of that kind of name connection. The telephone company representative abruptly said that was not possible— “this is your number, take it or leave it.” My daughter was ready to complain to this rude service representative until she noted that the new number spelled “GOD- 1.” Suddenly it seemed quite acceptable after all.