Making a Mess of Ash Wednesday

How did a former Baptist pastor end up in this mess? Well, he created it. By the time I was finished with my assignment I had gathered an aluminum roasting pan, a can of vegetable oil spray, a bottle of charcoal lighter fluid, a hand-held propane lighter, an eight pound Jr. high shot put, a screwdriver, a pair of left-handed scissors, a plastic baggie, and a half dozen dried palm branches. It started simple enough- keep the palm branches from last year's Palm Sunday service to be dried and burned to make ashes for anointing those wishing to participate in an Ash Wednesday service. I had no previous experience with doing this. Last year's Ash Wednesday was my first. I sought the advice and help of a retired Disciples of Christ minister in our church who is on top of nearly everything. He went to a friend who lent him some ashes our service. I thought that added meaning to the term 'lent.' This year we would make our own ashes from our own palm branches. Progress. So I find myself in the garage this morning. Its thirty-seven degrees in there. I have a roasting pan to burn the branches in. I did an internet search and found an entry stating that spray vegetable oil worked well. I backed my pick-up out of the garage. I cut a few dried leaves and dropped them into the pan, sprayed them with a little oil and placed them at the opening of the garage. It was protected from the wind but far enough back to provide good circulation-I thought. So I put the lighter to them. Fizzle. It's not lighting. Okay, go get some lighter fluid. I pour some of that on the leaves and whomp, its burning. Man is it ever burning. Are those gas cans for the mower over there? I can see tomorrow's headline 'White Bluff Volunteer Fire Dept. Chaplain burns own house down...' Why isn't the smoke going out? Finally it dies down. Hey, this doesn't look too bad. The ashes are kinda long and stringy. What did that guy on the internet say? Oh, yeah you have to crush them. With what? I'll use the butt of a screwdriver. So on my work bench I get to crushing ashes with the butt of a screwdriver. It is taking forever. I'll just use my hand. That worked much better but most of the ashes stay on my hand. I get one teaspoon of ashes and drop them in a baggy. Second round. More branches this time, cut into smaller pieces. I use a little more vegetable oil and a lot less lighter fluid. Closer to the door this go 'round and farther from the lawn mower gas and a little whomp later I'm in business. This batch looks more promising. But what can I crush these ashes with? My hand is great but messy; the screwdriver is ok but slow. I know, I'll get one of my shot puts and roll it on the burned up branches. Viola! So I'm rolling out ashes thinking I'm probably breaking some ecclesiastical laws and I'm watching for the Orthodoxy Police and the fire department when I see all this stuff I've pulled out. What a unholy mess! Then it hits me-I'm my own metaphor. I'm trying to do this religious stuff, I'm not sure how and I'm not very good at it. I'm getting it done in one manner of speaking but I've made a mess of things in the meantime. Who shall rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord! (Rom. 7:25) In a few hours people will come and hear an Ash Wednesday message. They will receive the sign of the cross on their foreheads from my thumb and from my DOC friend. They won't know about my messes either with living life or in making ashes. Some will come out of habit, some will come out of curiosity, some will come to try and make a connection with God again. Some will come and who knows why, but come they will. They will hear an explanation of the history and meaning behind Ash Wednesday. They will hear me say that it doesn't make God love them any more if they receive the ashes or any less if they don't. They will hear me say the Bible no where tells people to fast on this day but they will hear me be pro-fast if in giving up some daily, ordinary habit they can then turn their attention to the extraordinary Christ and think more of Him. They will hear me say that there is nothing which will give you more power with God by taking the Ashes but maybe if you stop and reflect enough you may better understand the power from God you've already been given. They will hear me say that nothing in this ritual adds to our salvation but if remembering our mortality and repenting of those weights in life that so easily entangle us (Heb. 12:1) somehow enables us to walk more with our God in humility and devotion ,then receive the ashes. They won't know that of all the services of our year that this one causes me to tremble and humbles more than any other. I feel so unworthy to be making the sign of a cross on these saints. It is I who need to live behind that cross. It is almost too intimate, too close with eyes too searching and hearts too open. It's a Presence I can hardly bear and maybe that is why I need it more than they. Finally they will hear me say to not let the cross of ritual on the forehead keep them from the more important work of this Lenten season: to take stock--to remember to whom they belong and to to whom they answer--to reflect on the relationship they have with Jesus and to not just check off another box of keeping the rules. I will tell them to fall in love again with Jesus and leave off anything that deadens or douses Loves flames. They will hear me tell them that when, at the end of the day, and they wash off the smudge I've placed on the foreheads, to remember that it is much harder to wash off the smudge in the heart. It takes the blood of Jesus to do that. Ash Wednesday 2010 Cos

Saints Alive!

Who Dat dun wan da Soupr Bol? Ya, it be da Saints. I'm happy for the New Orleans Saints on several levels. One, it was just a good, enjoyable football game. It had big plays, bobbles, hard hitting, momentum shifts and just about any thing you could want in a football game, unless you are a fan of the Colts. I personally thought Peyton Manning would find a way to win that game but the Saints were just too much. Some say it was destiny. After seeing Drew Brees with his infant son (that was good thinking to put ear protection on the little boy) and the tears of joy, I may be a believer myself. Birthed the year after the first Super Bowl, the New Orleans Saints were a tough luck group. Their faithful had followed their beloved team for forty three years of frustration. I remember fans showing up with bags on their heads to not be seen watching the Saints. I remember them being called the 'Aint's. I recall Archie Manning, one of their earliest draftees, being one of the best scrambling quarterbacks in the history of the game mainly out of necessity. The Saints were the opponent for our Cowboys in the first professional game I'd see when my daddy sprung for tickets. We watched Dandy Don and the Cowboys handily whip the new guys from Louisiana (I did like their uniforms). I really didn't have a heavy emotional tie to either team last night. If I had been forced to pick a team to root for it would have been the Saints, mainly because of Darlene, our Cajun friend, who really wanted them to win it all. Any thing that gets Darlene talking Cajun I'm all for. And who doesn't like an underdog story? There is no guarantee that the Saints of today's football glory will be able to repeat as next year's football champs. In fact, the NFC has sent nine different teams to the last nine Super Bowls. But there is another group of saints you may also want to pull for, since most anyone who reads this is a part of that group. It turns out that this group of saints,the ones addressed in nearly all of Paul's and Peter's letters, plus another dozen or so times in the book of Revelation, has had its ups and downs for the past 2,000 plus years, not forty-three. It's ofttimes even harder than it was for the New Orleans faithful to keep up the hopes of victory for these other long-suffering saints. Last night's Saints said they believed in themselves even after falling behind by ten early on. The saints of whom I speak are the believers, the followers of Christ who remain faithful through the centuries to the Christ that they love and in whom they believe. We have allowed the word "saints" to take on more meaning than was intended by elevating the concept beyond the realm of every-day living for the cause of Christ and by the love of Christ. In the New Testament, these "saints" were the believers, the faithful who trusted Jesus for their eternal lives and lived their temporal ones for His glory. They were set aside not by their extreme acts of goodness or miracles but by their belief in the Risen Lord. They were told to expect hard times even to the point of death but were called to patient endurance and faithfulness (Rev. 13:10; 14:12). The end result of their faithful endurance would be a feast and celebration even New Orleans can't match (Rev. 19:1-10). So you saints of the Lord may have something in common with the Saints of New Orleans football fame but your victory will last longer, have more meaning, and result not just in the joy of an organization or a city, but the entire Kingdom of God. So remember, 'When the Saints Go Marching In' belongs to the Kingdom Saints, not the New Orleans ones. But is there hope for the Texas Rangers? I can't find them in scripture. Oh well........ Who Dat? We Dat! Da ones who go marchin' in......... Cos

Horror and Hope in Haiti

I have been somewhat reluctant to write anything about Haiti. This is not because I've had no thoughts on the matter but because so many are writing on the subject with such profound insight and meaning that any thing I added may be superfluous. It is also true that my thoughts keep migrating back to Haiti even after putting down the newspaper or turning off the news. Two themes of thoughts keep recurring in my thinking. One is obviously the sheer horror of the quake and its magnitude on such an impoverished nation. The devastation of the quake is unspeakable enough but Haiti's ability to deal with the aftermath is almost non-existant. I use my imagination often to inject myself into other people's situations to try to link myself to their joys, pain, questions, feelings, fears and hopes. I hope this helps my prayers, empathies, and messages to them. But I am simply not able to make my imagination go to the horror so many people in Haiti must feel with the loss of loved ones, friends, and their homes. If you can believe that the whole earth behaves momentarily like an ocean wave then you get an idea (so I'm told) of what a major earthquake feels like. The solid earth lifts, curls, and crashes with liquidity reserved for large bodies of water. The infrastructure, such as it was, in Haiti could not handle the shift. But what really shifted was not just the earth but every one's tenuous balance on life that had been held up by the relationships, homes, routines, and what they considered normal. There will be a new normal in Haiti after this horror. That brings me to the other theme in addition to the horror. In the midst of this tragic loss there nonetheless is hope in Haiti. We see this in the world-wide outpouring of aid to this poor nation. We see the magnitude of effort being made to bring help through every humanitarian means possible. Governments, relief agencies, doctors, nurses, missionaries, and construction workers are mobilizing on a massive scale. We see the hope in the heroics of families searching for and uniting with families. Can you imagine the strength of hope that generated missionary Frank Thorp's odyssey to drive eight hours to Port Au Prince, find in all the rubble the building that had collapsed around his wife Jillian, and dig for three more hours and pull her out alive and well? Amazing. Can you imagine the strength of hope for the six year old in the grocery store that fell on him who discovered fruit roll ups within his reach and munched on them for five days? What did the two year old girl think about and how did she keep going for six days until she was found in the darkness and dust of what was one time home for her and her family? Stories like these are being told everyday of hope and help arising from the rubble of Haiti. We often hear, even from our own lips, questions to God of why? Why did you let.....Why don't you....Why didn't you stop...? They seem to come with each tsunami in the Pacific, tornado in Oklahoma, hurricane in the gulf and with earthquakes across the globe. Idiots say its God's judgement ignoring the scriptures that say judgement begins with the household of God (I Peter 417)and that we must all appear before the judgement seat of God (II Cor. 5:10)to give an account of each idle word and action (like the one where I called someone an idiot). These ignore the very words of Christ who just before His betrayal and death declared "Now is the time for judgement on the world; now the prince of this world will be driven out." (John 12: 21-32) A little humility will go along way in making statements about God's judgement. That is His business and He is the only One qualified to say and assess what is to be judged as to how and when. Even Jesus in His time on earth faced the occurrence of catastrophe in Luke 13:2. A tower had fallen killing eighteen people. We are not given the particulars regarding the tower as if it were in existence or was being constructed or if an earthquake or wind caused its destruction. Christ didn't answer all the "why" questions that must have surrounded this tragedy but he also made sure people understood it was not the judgement of God on eighteen people who were worse sinners than the rest either. He admonished the people of His day to be ready for terminal times through repentance. Do you ever wonder why we don't question God's grace and outpouring of blessings during good times the way we question Him during the horrific? Doesn't seem quite fair does it? Yet, in many, if certainly not all ways, God has answered the why questions. We see in the horror of Christ's cross that He is present with us and working redemption. We see in His promises of eternal life and heaven's accessibility through faith in Christ His answer to both our own brokenness and the world's. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoptions as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:22-24) His answer to a broken world is the promise of a new, whole one (Revelation 21:1). His answer to broken lives, broken by sin, guilt and ravaged by death, is new life in new bodies where sin is forgiven, guilt is removed and death has died. Meanwhile we groan. (II Cor. 5:2) The promise is not fulfilled in total, but it is secure. There is horror in Haiti, but there also is hope both temporal and eternal. Where is your hope today? Cos

But John, Denver is a Long, Long Way

I don't know if my grandmother ever made it to Denver, but her bedroom is going. I know this because my son is leaving Austin and taking it there. That headboard, frame, slats, and nightstand are old, I'd guess at least 50 years, but sturdy. They were from Pop and Mamaw's guest room where I'd sleep when I went to spend the weekend as a kid. The wood is hard and the finish is white, even the slats are hard. It seems the wood was better then or at least things were better built. So Clay is off on a new adventure, even if a part of it is on antique furniture. It will be an adventure for Pam and I, too and we will miss him being just 2.5 hours away. It's more like 15 or 16 now. He is going to work on his masters degree up there. His job wasn't much of a job with no real prospects of advancing so he figured it was time to get another degree and really build a career. He is right, I just wish he were right right down the road. We didn't go to Austin as frequently as we probably could have and stay as long as we should have but the fact that we could go at almost the drop of a hat was nice. Austin seemed to fit Clay well. It had quirky places and people. He often swam in Barton Springs even in the winter and could ice skate in the middle of the summer. It has good live music and lots of hole-in-the-wall eateries that he loved and taught us to love, too. It was warm mostly. I've never been but I think that Denver is a bit colder. Oh, well, we gave him a coat for Christmas. The truth is that Austin is still only 2.5 hours away from us. The music will still be played, the funky joints with good food will still be serving. I still need to see the Bullock museum. But there will be less incentive to go that way now. Its all understandable and for a good reason, but a bit sad, too. But it was sad to watch Clay struggle with a dead-end job in an expensive city. It was tough to watch him work really hard knowing that there would be no immediate results from it. Some times you don't get to pick your sadness, it comes as it comes and you deal with it. So with Clay in Denver and Matt and his family (read grandson!) in Farmington, NM, Pam and I will be seeing new parts of the country we've not seen before. We will shop the Internet for discount tickets to places we'd hardly think about a year ago. No we can't jump in car and run to Austin with $40 in my pocket. We will save a little more and plan a little more before we take a trip. But we will because that's what love does. I guess the real adjustment for me is simply the distance. The possibility of getting to Clay in a short span if needed existed. No longer will it but we will do what millions of other families do in similar situations. I also have no doubt that they wish either openly or secretly that their loved ones were closer. Yes, I realize that distance is relative, pun intended. Thousands of people have the objects of their love scattered around the country and around the world. Thousands of them are currently in harm's way. The distance is the joy-stealer, the doubt-incubator, reaching-but-not-quite-grasping shadow that throws its dimness on even bright reunions. Life has its shadows and one learns to deal with them. I heard about another shadow long ago that threw its darkness over the throne of heaven. The distance was not from place to place but an even greater distance-- from heart to heart. With mankind having no hope of spanning the eternal distance he had created, God himself made the trip and made a way back home. The distance was not so great that love couldn't cover it. Looking out from His throne, the Father of Light and of men, Choose to make Himself known and show us the way back to Him. Speaking wisdom and truth into heart of peasants and Kings He began to unveil the Word that would change the course of all things.... Third Day At the end of a day of hauling off junk, gifting Goodwill, and packing Mamaw's bedroom suite into a moving pod with a few other things, I prayed for Clay in the street at the back of my pickup. I don't remember the words much but I do know that at that moment, distance wasn't a problem. And if I understand the heavenly Father's Word, it really never should be. Cos

Taking Down the Tree

It's funny but to this day I still think a Christmas Tree is magic. Ours never was very gorgeous or fancy. Most of the decorations were homemade or kid made and they developed a tradition of their own. Our tree contained no real theme or scheme with regard to color or decor, it was mainly just memories. Maybe that's where the magic lay. But by the last days of December or the first days of January it loses it magic and its time to take it down again. It usually takes Pam more than one asking and may require a day or two before it actually comes down. Time wins, it always does, and the process starts. I think the ornaments know it's time to go back in the attic. Sitting over in a corner, no lights twinkling, no presents under the limbs, the tree and decorations seem a bit embarrassed to be out there without their magic after Christmas. I suppose their magic comes from anticipation of gathered family, the joy of presents to be given, the love of memories made--- the single red-striped straw that was "made" in kindergarten (it always goes on first), the ugly non-working light which goes on top (last), and our Wizard of Oz characters: Dorothy, Tin Man, The Lion, and The Scarecrow ornaments my mom made. There are things from first grade, second grade, even up to college, many kept only because they annoyed Pam or made the boys laugh. But this odd assembly with no apparent reason to be together has been together for twenty-five or more years now. The only thing they have in common is us and somehow they work their magic for us as a kind of thank-you for a few more weeks of life each December. But it doesn't last long. Its all soon enough packed in the zipper bags and shoe boxes and plastic crates and for the tree itself a rather narrow box. It is stripped of its ornaments, has its limbs folded up in unnatural looking positions. It looks rather sad, stark and naked. So its is folded and stuffed in a box and shoved into a dark place in the corner of the attic. That trip up into the attic in early January is a somewhat sad routine but I tried to reassure the boxes that I'd remember where they were and I'd see them again next November after Thanksgiving. I added that I hoped they had a nice rest but seemed to hear (I think it was the voice of Oz's Scarecrow) "we don't need much rest, we didn't do anything this year." True, with no kids or grand kid around on Christmas eve or morn this year they only had a couple of just-past-middle agers to work with. I reminded them that everyone has an off year now and then so go ahead and rest while you can. They didn't seem to believe me. So I sat down on a box of old Sports Illustrated and said, "Look, I know you may not believe this but I know how you feel. I live with an odd assortment of people who are together only because the one who made us put us together. We don't have that much in common but we have each other. It's called the church. We look kinda silly sometimes by ourselves but when you get us together some real wonderful stuff can happen. And tree, you and I may have the most in common, one day someone will strip me naked, fold my arms in an awkward position, stuff me in a narrow box and put me in a dark place. But if I read the story right, I won't be forgotten either. So hang in there until it's your time again." "You too," I think I heard them say. "You too." Terry

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Who knew the rock group Smashing Pumpkins 1995 release named in the title was a Christmas album? It certainly wasn't intended as such but it seems to me to fit. The rocker who wrote most the songs on the album said Mellon Collie spoke to " the human condition of mortal sorrow." Not bad for a rocker, eh? The album sold ten million copies in the U.S. and had seven Grammy nominations but before now it was never used in the context of a Christmas album. I actually know nothing of the album except my son had it and had a cool poster of the album cover on his bedroom wall as a teen. But if you've lived long enough, gone through the Christmas season enough times and you are honest, then you know: there is a melancholy and sadness lurking just below the surface of all the joy and festivities of the season. We don't talk about it, we may not admit to it, indeed part of all our frenetics of the holidays may be a mask to hide it, but it is there and Christmas brings it out. So go ahead, face it, name it, look it in the eye and don't ignore it or sweep it under the rug, Christmas has a sad face of grief under Santa's whiskers. Why is that you ask? It is because this time we have declared as joyous also points out what is missing and the loss we feel. This can't be helped. So you won't take that trip you always make, there's no one at the end of that road anymore. You gather for Christmas dinner and the chair where ______ always sat is empty. No one wants to sit in it but some little kid doesn't know any better and hops in it and you actually are relieved. But that empty chair reminded you of the loss and it hurts. Melancholy moment. Maybe it hits you when you gather 'round the tree to exchange gifts. There's one less this year to give and you pretend not to notice but you do. I still miss the pinky ring my nephew made everyone out of a dollar bill and gave at Christmas. You shake it off and go on but it hurts that the wreck took him from all, especially my sister. Melancholy moment. It may be the trip you planned, the dinner you shared, the toast you made, the cookies you stirred, the reminisces you recalled, but disease, age, distance, finances, broken relationships and death changed everything and Christmas and the holidays act like a magnifying glass bringing light to your loss. You feel like an ant under it. Melancholy and infinite sadness. This is the curse of our fallen world where there is loss, pain, sorrow and death. Christmas just seems to highlight this truth. But Christmas brings an even bigger truth: God has felt the pain and suffering and He wraps Himself in humanity and history to feel that pain and loss through His own human flesh. He knows and so He declares that these losses and separations need not be forever. Indeed, they have one root cause and it is humanity's sin-separation from God. It is His chair at our table we most need filled. It is supper with Him which can fill our empty souls. It is the trip through life with Him made possible by faith in Him that we most need to take. It is receiving His gift of eternal life that we most need to receive and that is why He stepped into history and humanity to deliver us and bring us hope and the promise of eternal life in our Father's home. I know next to nothing about Smashing Pumpkins but I'm learning more about the One who smashed the curse of sin on us all. In spite of the darkness, yea because of the darkness, the Light has come and the melancholy and sadness are no longer infinite nor are they eternal. They are mere shadows fading in the eternal Light of Jesus. So celebrate Christ-mas, the birth of the Christ, the Messiah, the Savior. Merry Christmas, Terry

The Domino Effect

It was a rough start to the last month of the year that was itself a tough one on many fronts. There were some bright spots: the quagmire-building in Afghanistan was moving forward, now nearing its ten-year anniversary. The government set new records in deficits, currently numbering into the trillions (whatever that is) with the promise of even greater deficits to come. Perhaps the best news was the the government bailout of the economy was working in that it only cost five-hundred thousand dollars to create one $8 per hour job. It was probably hard to notice these bits of good news in the wake of losing Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett so close together. These molders and shapers of American culture cannot be easily forgotten despite Octomom , Tiger Woods and Dancing With the Stars attempts to knock them from the headlines. Since I've always been a sucker for the underdogs I couldn't help but feel sorry for the other folks having a hard time this year. The poor Eggo people never stood a chance but to their credit they never waffled. In all the other good and bad news perchance you never heard-there's an Eggo shortage, a story no doubt pushed to the margarines of society. Yes, due to a flood in one factory and some equipment failures in another plant, there will a shortage of Eggo's for a few months. It's a cruel world. Aunt Jemimah and Mrs. Buttersworth were visibly shaken at the news but managed to keep their tops about them. This was remarkable for this pair is known for being syrupy and spilling their insides when pushed over by life's grasping hands. Unfortunately, Eggo hoarding has been widespread so when someone says "leggo my Eggo" you best be on guard. Don't look now, but there is also a pumpkin shortage. We managed to make it through Thanksgiving but the Christmas pumpkin pies may be smaller and more expensive if you can make them at all. Industry analysts have suggested using canned pumpkin pie filling or even sweet potato pie as a substitute. A spokesperson for SPI ( Sweet Potatoes Institute) decried the suggestions saying, "I yam what I yam! As a tuber that has known racial discrimination and profiling for years at the hands of white potatoes, we simply cannot comprehend why a fellow orange vegetable industry would place this burden on us." Perhaps the greatest injustice of recent days has been made against Lorraine Collette Peterson, better known as the Sunmaid Raisin girl. For over 90 years Lorraine was the the sign and symbol for one of America's healthiest snacks. That gig has dried up. Now, at least in advertisements, if not on the boxes themselves, Lorraine has been hung out to dry. A more modern Sunmaid girl now weaves through the vineyards picking raisins. Her features are more defined and she appears to have been working out or visiting her plastic surgeon. One commentator suggested she looked a bit like Julia Roberts with implants. I assumed he meant dental implants. The Sunmaid people thought a more modern looking woman might reach out to a younger clientele (then why did they keep the bonnet?). With our luck the ad campaign might work and we would have a shortage of raisins. That would force us to eat oatmeal-oatmeal cookies. Then we would have a shortage of oatmeal. That in turn would force us to change our breakfast habits and we would have to eat waffles. No, wait there's already an Eggo shortage! We're doomed! In our world there is no shortage of wars to wage but there is a shortage of wisdom on how to win a war we must not lose. Is there a way to wage peace in the face of fundamentalist terrorism? There is in our halls of government a shortage of money or is it possible that there simply was a shortage of discipline and responsibility and a flood of greed and selfish ambition teamed with instant gratification? In our culture there is an acute shortage of contentment, commitment and character. We've let the stars shape us instead of the One who shaped the stars. We place people on tall pedestals and the taller they are the more easier they are to topple. I've yet to hear much talk about Tiger Woods poor soul and the kind of sin sickness he must have to ruin a marriage, break hearts, risk losing those children except for weekends and summers and disappoint the God who so wonderfully blessed him. The questions are all about 'will he lose endorsements' and 'do you think he will still be able to play golf?' There but by the grace of God, a few billion dollars, and the best golf swing in the world go I. What do we do in a world where these shortages seem to have domino effect that topple governments with greed, nations with war, marriages by infidelity, and lives with empty worship? I suggest we embrace the domino effect. Look it up. Domino is a word of French origin taken from the Latin benedicamos. Domino means "let us bless the Lord." It came to be used of clergymen and the hooded robes they wore that came to be known as Dominos. One couldn't tell one clergyman from another in their dominos, they all just blessed the Lord. Could it be that if we embrace this domino effect to invest our lives in blessing the Lord instead of spending so much time, effort, money, emotion, entertainment and worship on ourselves that the shortages that are killing people and our planet would themselves dry up and blow away? Maybe that's the annual call of advent: to re-turn us to the One in whom there is never a shortage of peace, hope, joy and love. And in Christ we learn the world has been given what she really is longing for, a Savior who is in spite of our shortages... Dominus Invictus Terry