Issuu

Second Thoughts

VOLUME 4 • 2025-2026

Celestial Navigation Predestination is God’s GPS. Follow commands to reach your potential. Icons will guide you to food, gas, and lodging. Roadside attractions embellish the trip. You can only see part of the road ahead. More information appears as you drive. If you face a dead end, don’t believe you are lost. Turn on God’s GPS. Reset your course. Ann Borger

Second Thoughts

VOLUME 4 • 2025-2026

Table of Contents

Celestial Navigation Ann Borger Foreword Rev. Christopher A. Henry 3 About the Illustrations 4 Poem for Chapel Organ Sally McGuffey 6 Prayer for Adoration Rev. Madison VanVeelen 7 For What’s Left W. A. Ghormley 8 Pass It On Janet Blank 9 South Africa Tour Prayer Ron & Linda Snow 10 What Singing Means to Me Rev. Pam Fischer 12 A Prayer for Being Cynthia Roush 14 What Say These Stones? Bryan Larson 16 The Romance of the Pulpit Rev. Dr. William G.Enright 18 Talking With Angels Becky Hagarty 21 Sunrise Service Inspiration Casey (Kenneth Keene) 23 So What’s Stopping You? Pete Miller 24 An Empty Tomb Casey (Kenneth Keene) 26 Our Teachers – Our Children Jim Lemons 27 Beautiful Dirty Colors Carol Baker 32 Grateful In Spite of Myself Sam Collins 34 Gospel Changed Everything William (Bill) Tolbert 36 Jesus Loves You! Maddie Kaltenmark 37 Just When I Need It! Jane Funke 38 Growing Pains Cynthia Roush 41 A Role Reversal Jessica Rousselow-Winquist 42 Just Who Is This Here? Tom Bast 45 In Praise Elise Tegegne 46 Gathering Steve Johnson 48 A Grown Child’s Prayer Bryan Larson 50 Waiting Larry Robertson 53 What If We Knew? William A. Ghormley 55 The Tale of Two Christmases Pete Ritz 57 Oh God, My Giver of Life Libby Sandstrom 59 Holiday Kevin A. Gardner 60 Prayer of Dedication

Rev. David Kim

Forward “This covenant I will make with the house of Israel, says the Lord: I will put my law within them. I will write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” — Jeremiah 31:33 Jeremiah reminds us that God’s deepest truths are not chiseled on tablets or hidden behind locked doors. They are written on our hearts. They surface in stories and questions, in memories and moments of grace, grief, and laughter. We glimpse them not only in sermons and scripture, but around dinner tables and in hospital rooms, on morning walks and through restless nights. Second Thoughts is an anthology that gathers heart-writing. These reflections remind us of who we are: a people shaped by God’s love, held together by faith, and called to lives of meaning and mercy in a complex world. I am grateful for this church and the ways you listen for God’s voice — in worship and in one another. I’m especially grateful to those who contributed to this collection. It takes courage to put thoughts into words and offer them to others. These pages bear witness to the Spirit at work among us, planting seeds of connection and reflection, and reminding us that faith is not only received — it is shared. In a world that moves fast and forgets easily, we need ways to remember. We need second thoughts: second looks, second winds and second chances. We need to hear again the truth that God is with us, that we belong to one another, and that love is still the first and final word. May the words gathered here help you remember who you are. May they stir your own second thoughts. And may they write, once again, the covenant of God on your heart. With gratitude and hope, Rev. Christopher A. Henry Senior Pastor

Story of the Prodigal Son

Serigraph, 13.5” x 40” https://JohnAugustSwanson.com

My work is my most social act. My art is the way I talk to you… In exploring my place as an artist in our diverse culture, traditional societies have quite different attitudes about artists and creativity. I am attracted to those attitudes that provide a meaningful role for artists. I learn from them to formulate my own place. In my artwork I want to speak to you in everyday terms as if you were sitting here beside me. I pull from old roots to make a new image that I hope will catch the light of our archetypal beacons. I try to reaffirm certain values like caring for each other, acting as peacemakers, or something as simple as listening to someone who needs to be heard. These values are part of us, and I want to tell their stories…

John August Swanson

January 11, 1938 – September 23, 2021

There was a man who had two sons. The younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them… — Luke 15: 11-12

Milner Chapel Pipe Organ Poem for the Dedication

They say of instruments the pipe organ is king And so, to Milner Chapel we have worked to bring A fine instrument built by Richards, Fowkes & Company That will create a veritable symphony. With flutes and strings, with trumpets and reeds, Playing from a balcony constructed just for our needs. To play a pipe organ with tones so sweet Takes a sharp brain, all ten fingers, and both feet. Our outstanding organists we pause to celebrate And their musical offerings we can only anticipate. So how did we achieve this level of fabulosity? It took commitment of many people, and endless generosity. To raise money for an organ takes patience and time. Believe me, we are grateful for every single dime. With great gratitude for you, we dedicate this space And the vision of a chapel that will be a sacred place. Where looking forward, so many will join in song, As we create a faith community, where all can belong. Sally McGuffey

photo by Rick Dayton

Prayer of Adoration

We gather at your gracious invitation to be fed and formed as your people. We thank you for the gift of this new day, for the community of your church, for the ways you speak to us in prayer, silence, and song. Continue the good work you have started in us as we offer you our worship and praise. Amen Rev. Madison VanVeelen

For What’s Left One lives for what’s left. What is still to be lived All beyond our ken — Known only to our Creator. The pathways curve ahead, so seeing is impossible, But one can hear sweet harmonies And smell the orange blossoms — As we make our way to tomorrow. We can feel the warmth of our Father’s hand As we hike the trail, Higher and higher, Following His voice in the Dark To mid-day, and into the afternoon — Yearning to find the site He’s chosen For evening repose, for prayer, For times of infinite, starry wonder. As Dusk descends, we shall convene With our Lord in such a place, by that stream, Wondering among the stars, the planets, And the dreams of our ancestors. Then, when we wake at Dawn, we will Forage through empty dreams to find God’s Light — Listening for God’s Peace, Reaching for, finding His hand. William Alfred Ghormley

Pass It On My grandfather, Otto Samuelson, passed on his pearl inlay fountain pen to me. He also passed on a ruby glass lamp he made by hand, and a pair of gold cuff links inscribed with his initials, OHS. Though precious, these are but things. His most important legacy was the example of his shining faith in God, made known through Jesus Christ. His faith was frequently expressed in the stories he told. The summer I turned nine he came to stay with us. At that time, I was troubled by a patch of warts that appeared mysteriously on both of my knees. My neighborhood playmates said that they were caused from playing with toads that we found in the pond behind our houses. My mother took me to the doctor who didn’t offer any quick remedy. “Just wait,” he said, “and maybe they’ll go away on their own.” My grandpa had a sudden and wonderful revelation. “God can do it!” he proclaimed. My grandpa believed without any doubt that God would cure me of this minor skin condition — which of course, He soon did. Grandpa Samuelson told the simple story a hundred times, well into my adulthood. And he encouraged my faith every time he told it. It brings to mind a wise and gentle verse from Deuteronomy. Be very careful never to forget what you have seen the Lord do for you. Do not let these things escape from your mind as long as you live! And be sure to pass them on your children and grandchildren. — Deuteronomy 4:9 Janet Blank

Second Presbyterian Church Choir

2025 South Africa Tour Highlights Johannesburg Uniting Reformed Light of Hope Church Worship Service and Concert (Olifantsfontein) Benefit concert for Kliptown Youth Project Pilanesberg Pilanesberg National Park George Thembalethu Primary School Performance Capetown St. Cyprian’s Anglican Church Joint Choir Concert (Langa) St. George’s Cathedral Worship Service and Concert

South Africa Tour Prayer Gracious God, we pause before You in gratitude for the journey that has brought us to this moment. Yesterday, we stood in places of deep history, where voices of faith and resilience echoed through time. We listened, we learned, we worshiped, and we lifted our hearts in unity. Today, we move forward, carried by Your grace. As we travel from city to wilderness, may we see Your presence in each step of the road ahead. Let the changing landscape remind us of Your glory, the vastness of Your creation, and the beauty of the world You have entrusted to us. Guide our paths, steady our hearts, and keep us safe. May we find joy in fellowship, peace in the quiet moments, and awe in the works of Your hands. Let us embrace all that You have prepared for us. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen. Ron and Linda Snow

What Singing Means to Me The Bible tells us that all Creation “…declares the Glory of God” audibly or visually — in a veritable symphony day and night! Being able to create sound, especially singing, is truly a gift from our Creator God. February of 2023 found us traveling to Trinidad and Tobago in the Caribbean, where we visited Mark, our son who had been working there with his Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) Nurture Nature. He strives to protect wildlife and reduce trafficking of endangered species in the region. Mark told us about songbirds that are illegally trafficked and then kept as pets to train for competitions. I had no idea this was a gambling sport! Over half of the smuggled birds die in transit from their native homes, including parrots. Never had I seen such unspoiled beauty, including hills, rocks, ocean, trees, critters, clouds, mist, sunrises, and sunsets. There were so many moments forever etched in my mind. I was blessed to be in a rainforest and experience the sounds of nature’s chorus with their “pouring forth of speech.” As Psalm 96 tells us: “The trees were singing for Joy!” Even bamboo rubbing together in the wind makes a unique, musical sound. The gift of making music as a creature of God has so deeply touched my soul. It is the purest form of gratitude and adoration to my Creator that I am blessed to embody. Regardless of my pain, or my moments of joy, singing centers me for the journey ahead. When I let my heart soar with the music and lyrics, I often verge on tears. It’s my love letter sung back to God! What does singing mean to me? It was a clear Sunday morning. I was driving to the 125th anniversary service at our former church. I remember praying as I drove, and I gave thanks to God for my life.

Then it happened! I had a horrific car crash and was airlifted from the scene back to my Level One Trauma hospital as a Code Red. Because I was intubated for several surgeries, my voice box developed granulomas. Within a year these were surgically removed. Singing is different for me now… perhaps not the same quality as before, but I thank God every day that I can sing at all. I thank God for the joy and healing that music and ‘embodied’ singing have added to my life. Singing with Second Presbyterian Chancel Choir has been especially precious to me. Dr. Louer, our conductor, sets a high bar on listening to each other as we improve dynamics and weave our sounds together. We humbly remind ourselves that we are participating with the congregation as we share the Gospel through music. It is like we are blending our present sound with so many saints and singers who have gone before us in that sacred sanctuary. Singing with seasoned vocalists who share their personal joys and concerns — who pray for one another — has been a unique, inspiring experience, especially as we face serious health issues within my family. Zephaniah 3 reminds us that: “…God will rejoice over us with singing”. I picture God singing alongside us. God is truly our section leader! What matters most is that we are offering heartfelt gratitude back to our loving Creator God… Sing many a song, so that you will be remembered to God. — Isaiah 23:16 Sing to the LORD, as long as we live! — Psalm 104 Rev. Pam Fischer, Chaplain

A Prayer for Being Oh Lord… Settle over my skin and into my soul. Allow me to feel your peace — a peace that surpasses all understanding — and to know it is both older than the universe and as new as a baby’s first breath. Help me feel its undercurrent, tangible and ever present, waiting to open my heart. May I realize this Peace has always been at the center of life. Give me the courage to accept your Peace in a world accustomed to chaos, and wisdom to nurture as it takes root and grows. Give me grace and compassion for those caught in their own cycle of suffering. I am sometimes one of them as I travel the highs and lows of daily life. Help me to be kind, gentle, loving, and just — representing my commitment to Christ. Help me to understand the power and importance of being and not only doing. Among the ever-growing lists and notifications, remind my soul that things I do may last a day, week, or year… …but the ways of my being can last for generations. Amen. Cynthia Roush

…Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country. There he squandered his property in reckless living. — Luke 15: 11-12

What Say These Stones? A meditation for Eastertide I The stones were silent on that day, The people hailed their King and Blessed One, While leaders jealous of His way, Demanded crowds be silent as the stone. Should their Creator give command, Stones with wisdom deep their ancient stories told, “The Rock of our salvation comes, Humbly riding, face as flint, on a donkey’s foal.” “In dust we lowly cobbles lie, Blanketed with cloaks and palm fronds green, Honored we above the sky, To pave the path of Heaven’s Sovereign.” II Stones remember other stones, Of times long passed, oracles by sages given: The stone that pillowed Israel’s head, And marked the door where man was touched by heaven. Faithful Moses, obedient to the Lord’s commands, Fashioned stony tablets from Sinai’s rocky lands, And God condescended there to write in sacred script, His righteous laws that all may see what Holiness demands. Stones that lay for eons drowned, In flooded Jordan raging wild and deep, The waters parted, Hebrews crossed With river stones, the miracle in memory to keep.

Honored stones were quarried, Precisely cut and carved with utmost care, Reverently, beautiful stones were set, To make Jehovah’s place a lasting presence there.

III Those stones that bore the Holy One, Hence not many days would angry crowds behold, And bearing cross across the stones, For our redemption He endured a suffering untold. “Finished” sounded from the cross, Earth in darkness shook and rocks began to break, As sorrowing followers mourned their loss, A great stone sealed His grave, ever end to make. Three days afterward and by command of God, With angel’s touch the stone was moved, revealing, Resurrection promised by Christ’s word, Was now assured for those His Name believing. IV Our risen Lord, the cornerstone, Of the living temple has become, No more a rock of stumbling, But center of our worship and eternal home. The story is not ended yet, For living stones with purpose sure are we, And in the Holy Temple set, For beauty and for glory, permanence eternally. Stones sculpted not by human skill, With love were cut and polished by the plan of God, As living stones with glory filled, Fitted we where He designed, within the house of God. Bryan Larsen

The Romance of the Pulpit All my life I have been intrigued by pulpits. When I was four years of age, I mounted my first pulpit: a chair in my grandparents dining room next to a China cabinet with my Granny as my audience of one. On my first trip to Israel I reaped the ire of an Armenian Priest, when ignoring the No Trespassing sign, I climbed the rickety stairs to the pulpit in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, a church dating back to the 4th century AD. Years later, lesson unlearned, I shamelessly embarrassed our guide as I crept the stairs to the soaring pulpit of The Church of our Lady Before Tyn, named for the historic town square called ‘Tyn’ Something there is about towering pulpits that fuels my soul. What is a pulpit? The word comes from the Latin word pulpitum meaning platform. In ancient Athens, the word bema described the platform used as an orator’s podium. In Jewish synagogues the term bima or bimah describes the elevated platform where the Torah is read. In the Christian Church, pulpitum dates to the 3rd century describing a raised platform with steps and sides about waist high from which a speaker addresses the congregation. A pulpit is a place where speeches occur, where values are taught and character is shaped, where learning happens as ideas are disseminated and timeless truths prove vain or trustworthy. Everyday life is littered with pulpits, be they good or bad: family, friends, homes, schools, playgrounds, workplaces, athletic fields, social gathering places, political rallies. The pulpits of life are both sacred and blasphemous, holy and profane, life-scarring while life-changing. In the words from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick: “The world’s a ship on its passage out… and the pulpit is it’s prow.”1 Architecturally the pulpit is often the focal point in a Christian church. Truth be told, the Christian pulpit is more than an orator’s lectern, it is a sacred space. It designates the place from where God’s word is proclaimed, which suggests — somewhat audaciously — the words of the preacher are the words of God.

As a doctoral student at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland I was blessed to have James S. Stewart as my New Testament Professor. One day in class Stewart, considered an outstanding preacher in the English-speaking world, posed the why question: Why do people do church? He replied: “People come to church for one reason, they want to know if God still speaks. As they sit in their pews nursing the wounds of life, they are in search of a word from beyond themselves, a word from the Lord who is Savior of the world.” The intrigue of the pulpit is the mind-boggling mystery of a God who dares to speak via the words of mere mortals. In central Europe there is a tradition in which the pulpit is fashioned like an upright whale. On the way to the pulpit the preacher climbs up a set of stairs that go through the whale’s belly before emerging in the mouth of a fish to speak a word for God.

Photo, used with permission, Poland, St. Hedwig Church, Dobroszow2

The stair climb through the belly captures the angst of preaching and the weightiness of being a voice for God and giving voice to the gospel.2 Week after week as I sat writing the sermon these questions hounded my mind: What is it I am saying? Why am I saying this? Do I personally believe what I am saying? Will my halting words be worthy of what God would speak? Now, as an octogenarian, I look back with curiosity: why this lifelong fascination with pulpits and preaching? Was it genetic, the weird inexplicable coding of my gene pool? Was it my family’s religious socialization whereby preachers were always to be revered? Or perchance was it a whimsical God playing with my mind? It would be pretentious and presumptive for me to say that it was God who pulled me up into that dining room chair as a four-year old. Yet, the nag persists as does my fascination with pulpits. Rev. Dr. William G. (Bill) Enright Senior Pastor, Second Presbyterian Church 1 2

1981-2004

Melville, Herman: Moby Dick, Chapter 8 Poland, St. Hedwig Church, Dobroszow www.polska-org.pl

Talking With Angels In the early 90s, the country music group Alabama had a hit song with a chorus suggesting there are ‘Angels Among Us’. I have learned that angels don’t keep harmful, awful things from happening to us. I’ve known too many dear people who have experienced unspeakable tragedies. That’s not to say that angels weren’t present and sharing their pain.

Treating others as I want them to treat me... Salvation by God’s grace alone... Moderation in all things... Standing straight and tall... Have patience; you are enough. My mother died in 1990, but I still talk with her regularly. During her lifetime, I was blessed to see her as a leader, in addition to her roles as a wife and Super Mom of four. We worked together on several church committees; she always treated me as an equal. It was my mother that finally convinced me to approach Second’s Mission pastor about finding a new “mission adventure.” Being true Presbyterians, a task force was formed, meetings were held, and eventually a ministry team was established. My mother’s angelic advice about patience was wise. I needed her support and encouragement to wait several years before the Northside Mission Ministry was up and running, originally led by the Presbyterian Women.

My parents advised me to “Do your research.” I knew nothing about what was needed or how to achieve it. But my angels guided me, held me up, and held me back as well. I learned that the mighty presence of angels meant slowing down, being open to listening, and giving over control. Angels worked tirelessly to move Second Presbyterian Church from downtown Indianapolis to this northside location. Then came the need for accommodating the influx of baby boomer children and the first addition to this building. Pastors who saw the significant role that women played fought for the ordination of women as Deacons and Elders. Angels worked diligently to keep this church from complete division and collapse in the mid-1960’s. Looking back on it, I believe all these people saw either issues or opportunities as angels led them. How blessed to be surrounded in this church, my true Second home, by so many angels both here now and those gone ahead. Becky Hagarty * Alabama ‘Angels Among Us’ (1993) Tune and lyrics: Becky Hobbs and Don Goodman

Sunrise Service Inspiration Six-thirty may have been too late to catch the day’s first beams, but Easter, too, seemed slow upon the scene this year.

Besides, five-thirty would be pushing it a little.

Not faith in God to raise the dead, you understand, But faith in all the rest of us to rise from warm, familiar beds to bear witness to that event. Anyway, the sun had not yet risen past the rooflines. So, our open, though well-protected, inner courtyard was deeply shadowed, thus still cold. The birds, of course, were up already and, while below we shivered through the readings, songs, and prayers, two of them—robins, I believe—sat perched on gable ends across our slowly sunlit cloister, bracketing our chilled efforts with a fledgling sermon of clear, uncluttered praise. Casey

So, What’s Stopping You? It was a quiet night in April 1993… I was in Southern California, unable to sleep, aimlessly flipping through TV channels when an image on CNN stopped me cold. Two pools of dried blood stained a cobblestone street. A rusted faucet dripped in the background. The scene was Sarajevo. A news anchor explained that two boys, aged 9 and 11, had been killed by a sniper while trying to fetch clean water. They were shot from half a mile away with precision weapons. The reporter said it so plainly, but for me it hit like a thunderclap! Those boys were the same ages as my children. I couldn’t shake the image. I didn’t sleep that night. I felt furious and helpless, yet compelled. Inside was a whispered: “Do something.” That Sunday I went to church determined to share this burden with someone who might help. After the service, I waited my turn to speak with the minister. I poured out the story, insisting “We have to do something!” He looked at me without hesitation and said words that shook me to my core: “So what’s stopping you?” I froze. Me? I was no expert, no leader -- just a regular guy. I pointed out problems; others fixed them. His question haunted me. The next morning, I took the day off work and called the local Red Cross. They referred me to an international relief agency in Pasadena that eventually led me to medical relief organizations in New York. I spoke with people in Germany, Austria, and Belgium. Soon my fax machine was spitting out forty medical briefs of injured children. Their stories were horrifying and urgent! One case stood out: Juri, a 16-year-old Catholic. Juri was shot in the arm and shoulder by a Muslim neighbor as war broke out in his Croatian town. He needed reconstructive surgery and physical therapy. Without it, his arm would require amputation. I called Children’s Hospital of San Diego and, miraculously, was soon speaking to the president, Dr. Kaufman. I faxed Juri’s brief. Hours later, an orthopedic surgeon agreed to take the case. The hospital pledged to cover all treatment at no cost.

Now we just needed transportation for Juri. The Belgian Relief Agency told me that if we provided a letter confirming free care and a place to recover, Lufthansa would fly him to the U.S. at no charge. The letter went out. Juri’s flight was booked! But one more obstacle loomed — I didn’t speak Croatian. Desperate, I called directory assistance for any Croatian contact in Los Angeles. They gave me the number for St. Jerome Croatian Catholic Church in San Pedro. A priest answered kindly. When I explained Juri’s story, he began to cry. Within minutes, I was connected to Carol, a Croatian woman who lived just three miles from me in Temecula. She came to my home that very day hugging, crying, and grateful. On June 5, 1993, my family and Carol met Juri at the airport. He was tall, handsome, and humble. Despite the wire cage surrounding his arm, his smile was radiant. Through Carol, he told me he had prayed for a miracle, and here it was! Juri lived with us for six months. I took him to surgeries and physical therapy. He called home every Sunday, sometimes speaking with his parents while they huddled in a basement under gunfire. He cried during those calls, and so did we. When it came time to remove the pins from his arm, Juri refused anesthesia. Through Carol, he explained he wanted to feel the pain so he would never forget it. One day he would repay it. Hatred ran deep in his bones. It was heartbreaking. Juri returned home on Christmas Eve, 1993 — exactly 50 years after my father, a WWII airman, had been shot down. As we drove home from the airport, my son Jason finally broke the silence: “Dad, nothing stopped you.” We went on to host two more boys from the Balkans, both Muslim. Different faiths, different backgrounds, same story: innocent children caught in senseless war. We used the same process, welcomed them into our home, and gave them hope for healing. I often think back to that single moment in church. One question: “What’s stopping you?” It’s easy to wait for someone else to act, but sometimes the call is yours. Sometimes, saying yes changes more than just one life. …It changes yours too. Pete Miller

An Empty Tomb An empty tomb — A fact long undenied. But were you taken, Lord, or did you really rise? An empty tomb — No myth, no tale, no lie. True, you were taken Lord . . . Was it from earth to sky? Our hearts cry, “Yes!” Though our minds can but surmise. You can’t just be taken, Lord; in risen our hope lies. Casey

Our Teachers Our Children

In the middle of the school year in 2024, one of our grandsons received a letter from his fourth-grade teacher. I have Ben’s letter framed in my office. It opens with these quotations: What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. Ralph Waldo Emerson ----Believe you can and you’re halfway there. Theodore Roosevelt ----You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Christopher Robin (A. A. Milne) Dear Ben, Your self-control, focus, desire to succeed, stamina, hard work, care, and overall genuine personality inspire and amaze me. I’m so proud of you! I am grateful for your thoughtful kindness and encouraging greetings coming and going each day. Your hard work to do your best and your unwavering kindness will help you reach the stars! Love, Mrs. Price British Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli, said: “The greatest good you can do for another is not just share your riches, but to reveal to him his own.” What amazing words, and what a beautiful act of kindness! This teacher shared a wonderful gift with Ben and his classmates. Every child in the world deserves to know their gifts, whether through a paintbrush or a pen, a guitar or a camera. This can happen through a letter from a teacher — or even with a bit of encouragement from someone who cares! 27

The first minister of this church, Henry Ward Beecher, believed: Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven… Henry Ward Beecher If only we could retain this childlike ability to love and care for each other and all things in our creation! PBS television personality, Fred Rogers of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, reminds us that often for adults… “understanding love is one of the hardest things in the world.” Let’s remember the gift of our teachers — of all ages. A caring and loving teacher changes our world, our lives, and our ability to love. Such teachers help us see and cherish the importance of kindness, generosity, and love. They help us remain as children, naturally sharing love freely. A small act of kindness can help a person see love within themselves. Kindness can open hearts to love, even during deepest sorrow. Reflecting on his own challenges, Protestant theologian Parker Palmer wrote: “Heartbreak happens without ceasing... but with care our hearts can learn to break open rather than apart... to become wound healers.” Second Presbyterian Church supports Geta Elementary School in Kenya through the Umoja Partnership. Pam and I were blessed with the opportunity to visit the school, along with our daughter and her family. Meghan is a Physical Therapist for children with special needs, and her husband, Dave, is Men’s Soccer Coach at Belmont University. Our grandsons, Nick (14) and Ben (12) assisted their dad with a soccer camp experience for the Geta School students. Afterward, they had the courage to speak before about two hundred-fifty kids sitting quietly on the soccer field.

Ben and Nick stood holding a microphone, and said: We are grateful that you invited us to come here and be your friends. We know that we have a lot more resources and stuff than you do. Even though you don’t have as much in the way of material things, we see that you are all so happy and kind. Thank you for showing us your kindness! We learned again through the eyes and hearts of children what true love for one another, and love for our Creator looks like. As we nurture the children of our world, let us always remember the greatest teacher of all, Jesus Christ. We are all children of God. We are made of love, with love, and our lesson in life is to become that love — as we are taught by our children.

Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. Jesus (Matthew 19:14)

…When he had spent everything, a serve famine arose in that country, and the son began to be in need. — Luke 15: 14

Beautiful Dirty Colors

July 1, 1937 The afternoon sun pours through the window and light reflects off the floating dust particles as I lay on the bed. I’m to “stay in my room until it’s clean” — whatever that means. I see books stacked on the floor, neglected paint bottles and brushes, scattered paper, and a desk in the corner with drawers open. If clothes could talk, they’d say, “You’re only going to wear me again so leave me in this pile or draped on the chair.” Sitting up, I wonder where to start. Amelia Earhart would never be stuck in a room to address such mundane tasks. She’s out in the world making a difference and seeking adventure! I slip over to the desk, plopping in the chair. Testing a dried paint puddle, I find it’s wet and wipe my finger dry on newspaper. In the lower left of the page, an advertisement reads, “Women look for cleanliness, even down the drains.” Drano? Is this my future? With haste, a large exhale propels me to the pile of clothing. Grabbing all into one bear hug it’s quickly thrust into the closet. The door closes — whew!

The books are gathered at breakneck speed and slung onto the shelf. Shoes and slippers under the bed. Bed covers hastily thrown to cover the pillow. But the paints and brushes are another story. Where to start? Amelia says, “The most difficult thing is the decision to act.” Well, the paint is technically still damp. Shouldn’t go to waste. I grab a clean brush, mixing white and blues to swirl out a sky and clouds. As the brush dances along the paper, I’m floating like the dust particles caught in sunlight. I hear my name. “Almost finished!” I cried. The bottle tops are tightly screwed on the paint bottles and tossed into the open desk drawers. Papers are stacked with the wet page on top, and brushes collected. “Coming!” I rush out of the room clutching the brushes, heading for the basement slop sink. Rushing through the kitchen, mother stops me to look at my hands. They’re covered in dried paint. “Be sure to wash those hands. We’ll be eating dinner soon, and I want those hands clean.” Of course, you do, mother. Clean. Clean. Clean. I like my dirty hands. One hand holding brushes, the other reaching for the basement door, I fly downstairs. I’m going to fly like Amelia one day. I’m going to see the world. As water pulls the paint from the brush, the paint is free to travel. Where it goes, I do not know, but I fancy the adventure that lies ahead for all those beautiful dirty colors! Carol Baker

Grateful in Spite of Myself Until recently, I was an ordained minister; however, several months ago I was informed that I would be a defrocked civilian. My expulsion from the ranks of recognized pastors was precipitated by my support for the affirmation and inclusion of people that my clerical colleagues deemed unwelcome. My stance was neither particularly courageous nor deserving of a merit badge. After seventy-four years of developing and experiencing my faith within this particular church community, I won’t pretend that I feel no pain, grief, or anger at this rejection. Nevertheless, alongside the wounds and developing scar tissue, I feel considerable gratitude and peace. I am not known for being especially optimistic. In this case… …my resentment is eclipsed by a persistent desire to give thanks where it seems due. My story revolves around the congregation where I dedicated my life to Jesus Christ at the age of twelve, and where I had a total immersion baptism on a frosty winter morning. This was the church that first sensed and nurtured my call to ministry.

In this faith community I pastored, preached, wrote, and served in various ways for nearly fifty years. Over the years I was tolerated and even loved by parishioners, befriended by close colleagues, and mentored by people with more spiritual wisdom than I could acquire in multiple lifetimes. There I developed an appreciation for a theological heritage that still informs my life. Despite the rough handling I received in the latter days, what that faith community gave me transcends what a few individuals tried to take away. My ministerial credentials may be ashes, but the flame of faith that community kindled continues to light my path. At this stage of my life, while I lament a tad, I feel grateful. I am assured that as a follower of Jesus Christ I am counted among the priesthood of all believers — as fine a group as any! I am so thankful that I’ve discovered many good and faithful folks like that right here at Second Presbyterian Church. What a blessing for me, for my continued healing, and for the times that I feel grateful, in spite of myself! Sam Collins

The Gospel Changed Everything The word ‘gospel’ means good news — news that brings joy because something miraculous happened. For me, the most powerful example of this is my Father’s transformation. My father, George Edward Tolbert, had what he described as an out-of-body experience at 71 years of age. His spirit left his body; he soared at incredible speed and was enveloped in radiant light. At his side stood a divine presence. The nail-scarred hands and feet had revealed to him that it was Jesus… That moment transformed him! He became gentle and compassionate -- even toward all animals. He rescued a mangy dog that once he could just as easily have shot. Dad said, “I lived the first 71 years of my life for all the wrong reasons.” He shared his story constantly — with family, friends, and even strangers on the street. He shared his testimony in the airport terminal each time he came to pick me up or drop me off. The change in my dad led his friend — a lifelong alcoholic — to change and follow Christ. Another man who witnessed the transition in my father left his career, entered seminary, and became a preacher. Until his experience, Dad had cried at my every departure. As I prepared to leave after one visit, he smiled! “Son, do you notice anything different?” he asked. “You’re not crying.” I answered. “Son, now I know we’ll see each other again in Heaven.” I knew then that I had witnessed the truth of the Gospel as it miraculously changed everything in the life of my dad! William (Bill) Tolbert

Jesus Loves You! God is everywhere they say They who go to church every Sunday Many who go to bible studies weekly But they have forgotten the feeling of freshmen year of college. Where you’re trying to figure out a new routine …Of classes …Working out …Studying …And meeting new friends All while maintaining the community you left behind In the town where you spent most of your life. Left behind are the daily or weekly reminds of God’s presence. Giving doubt and loneliness the fertilizer to thrive. Your family seems twice as far! The dining hall food starts to taste bland And God takes a backseat in your mind Until something or someone reminds Jesus is always there God would never abandon you Even if you do. …Refiguring your faith …With a new routine …Takes time …Effort Which only you can produce. And it doesn’t have to look perfect Or what you did in your hometown church It only has to keep you going …With purpose …Patience …And Kindness Remembering the principles And foundations you have already built with Christ. Remember Jesus Loves You! Maddie Kaltenmark Footsteps of Faith 2024

Just When I Need It! I’ve gone to church most of my life, except for the college years. Growing up I was there every Sunday for more than two hours, first for Sunday school, and then for the service lined up in the pew with my three sisters between our mom and dad. Since second grade I have often been in a church choir! During all those years in church though I had never really read the Bible. I remembered some of the stories from Sunday school, and I could recognize the 23rd Psalm. Words from Ecclesiastes were familiar because I’d heard them in a song on the school-bus radio — I had no idea they were from the Bible. “To everything, turn, turn, turn there is a season…” What the turns were about, I still don’t know. I found out what I was missing when I attended the Indianapolis Great Banquet in 1999 and heard women there talk about what a gift Bible study had been to their faith lives. I showed up the next week for a Thursday-morning group at Second Church and have loved Bible study ever since. I love the beauty and power of the words. I love the stories, especially the ones Jesus told 2,000 years ago that so perfectly describe human nature today. I love the way scripture speaks to me with such practical, helpful, comforting advice and instructions for living. One of my favorites is commonly known as The Prodigal Son, but it is also about the envious older brother. Most of all, I love how a particular verse or passage will pop up either in my head or on the schedule for my daily devotion — just when I need it!

A recent example was earlier this year in the last weeks of my fatherin-law’s life. He had been taken by ambulance to the hospital having great difficulty breathing and running a fever. By the time my husband, David, got there his Dad was tired and hooked to an IV, but awake and clear-headed. They talked for a while, then David stepped out of the room. He had nearly returned from the hallway when he heard his Dad praying aloud: “Lord, I can’t do this anymore. Please take me.” Two days later he was moved to a skilled-nursing facility for their hospice care. Not long after David told me that story, my daily devotional was from Psalm 118: “In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free.” Just a short time later, God answered Dad’s anguished prayer and set him free… free from the bonds of an aging body… free from the troubles of this world… free and returned to the Lord! How thankful we are for his life, and for God’s amazing grace. And how thankful I am for God’s holy word that speaks to me — just when I need it! Jane Funke

...The son hired himself out to feed pigs. He was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate. He said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger.’ — Luke 15: 15-17

Growing Pains We are different, and yet the same. As one gardens, one boards a plane. She grips the wheel, points the nose to the sky, the other bends, kisses a head, and softly soothes, “Don’t cry.” Both hearts full of wonder, both with reason to sigh, we thought the growing pains would stop when we were tall enough to ride. Take the flying lessons, listen as the wind sings, and realize the pain makes room for you to grow your own wings. Cynthia Roush

A Role Reversal As long as I can remember I have been fascinated by words. I am particularly enamored with stories that have interesting characters and complex plots. I encountered stories when my Aunt Marjorie or Dad read to my sister, Sharon, and me. These stories were short with simple plots. As we grew older, Dad read us whole books. Black Beauty and Lassie Come Home were favorites. Each summer Sharon and I were excited when dad cleared out the corn crib and the granary and told us we could play in these spaces. Playing was our chance to write a story! We created imaginary houses filling them with whatever props we could find. We were the protagonists in our drama, and our absent husbands were the antagonists. We endowed our dolls with unique personalities and gave them dialogue and actions. These imaginary children helped us create a wide variety of stories all built around conflicts and resolutions. Storytelling was not only an activity of my childhood. It followed me into college, graduate school, and a career as a college professor in Communication and Drama, disciplines where story telling is inherent. My favorite courses to teach were those focused on analytical and critical thinking. They seemed custom-made for storytelling. In addition to teaching, I directed plays. In this role I would choose a script, research it in depth, plan the action and approve the performance design. I would hold auditions and cast the actors. When rehearsals began the cast and I would discuss the script and analyze the plot. The final steps were most intense, especially blocking the show. This involves planning the movement of characters on stage. I loved my career and always told people it was the best job anyone could ever have! One day I awoke to find I was more than ten years past normal retirement age. It was time to go. It felt like being evicted from my home and thrust into an alien world. I was losing control of my story!

Leaving my career meant loss of power, but most horrifying was the loss of identity. I was desperate to reclaim my story. I cried until I had no more tears. Gradually, I began to hear and listen to another voice. The Creator of all our stories was speaking to me! This is what I heard: “Grieving your loss is normal, but it is time to close that chapter and begin the next act of the drama written before you were born. You have not lost your story, only the setting, plotline and characters have changed. You still have all the gifts and tools I gave you. I will never stop directing you as you learn your new dialogue and action.” I sensed His presence as I dusted off my Bible and started to read through this script. As I struggled through the Old Testament I met ancient characters acting out stories that resonated with my story. The New Testament was easier to read and understand. I began to grasp in a new way how the story Jesus enacted would change my actions. Slowly, I came to understand how the tools I had used as a teacher would work in this new setting. Even though I was no longer in charge of a classroom, or a director in charge of a performance, I was still a part of the human community. I still encountered people, all God’s children, who needed to be cared for and loved. My role shifted from director to actor. My part in the drama is to treat each person I encounter as Jesus taught. This is not an easy role to fill in any setting, but I am not alone. I still know how to use the skills and tools God has provided. I can be generous with time and resources. I can smile, listen with empathy to the stories people tell, and laugh or cry with someone in need of a friend. I can encourage and support others. I can still love… All God requires is to listen — and to act as He directs me! Jessica Rousselow-Winquist

Jesus Calms the Storm That day when evening came, he said to his disciples: “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat... A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him: “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind, and said to the waves: “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples: “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” — Mark 4: 35-41

Just Who Is This Here? A Sonnet

Afraid? Of course we were, though we had sailed Through stormy seas before. But this raging wind? These diving deeps and swells? Our courage failed. And there he was asleep and snoring. What kind Of person leaves his friends to such a fate? Panic-struck, we’re frozen now with fear When he awakes and calmly says, “Abate!” Then eerie silence; Just who is this here? All this was long ago; yet I remember His own recall of the event. “The lake? That sign? Call it perhaps a dying ember Or, if you will, a parlor trick to wake You from your slumber, and designed to keep In mind, it’s you, not I, who’ve been asleep.”

In Praise of Throwing Out Your Back Five months pregnant, while opening a window from an awkward angle, I threw out my back. In seconds, my body seemed to age sixty years! Unable to walk, I crawled over our hardwood floors like an infant. My mom lent me my late Grandpa’s walker, and I made tedious steps from the bed to the couch to the bathroom and back. While I would never wish this sprain on anyone, the gifts amid the pain struck me with such force that I entitled a Word document What Having a Bad Back Has Taught Me. One gift was the grace of rest. Like many pregnant women, I struggled with fatigue. Many voices urged me to give my body pause in its divine labor of crafting a human being but I resisted rest. As a teacher transitioning to virtual instruction during the 2020 pandemic, naps seemed indulgent. But my sprained back broke my ambition. Newly humbled, I submitted to the gracious tyranny of pain and the gracious care of others. As my husband helped me shuffle to the bathroom or shift to a sitting position, I realized my dependence on Christ as it was embodied through others. Seeing my need, they received the opportunity to give and be blessed in the giving. Soon after hearing about my back, my mom alighted on our doorstep with sacks of meals. One meal would have been a more than reasonable kindness. But bringing meals to last weeks embodied the exuberant, superabundant generosity of God. For years, I’ve kept a Post-It note listing all the food she brought. The list has been a kind of ebenezer, a prayer of thanksgiving. Savoring my mother’s meals showed me how lavishly I was loved. While I rested, time seemed to slow, as if the planets had relaxed their pace around the sun. I could notice the whorls in our wood floors, the motes of dust anointed in light, the perfect

Almost any movement was painful, forcing me to move with the lax grace of a sloth. Each centimeter of motion required intense concentration: one uncontrolled flinch could push me into the abyss. Toeing the verge of acute pain, I attended to the subtle gradations of the most ordinary acts: bending over the basin to press water over my face, shifting my body in bed, lifting a book. Pain gave me a hyper-awareness of the miracle of embodied motion, startled me awake to the gift of all the fantastical processes that, most days, dance seamless and unseen. Had I ever really noticed my body’s incredible facility for motion? Had I ever acknowledged the ease of gliding through the day’s steps: walking, dressing, washing? Even now, how little do I comprehend the precise orchestration of muscle, tendon, bone, cell, nerve serving me with silent obeisance! My brief bout with back pain also gave me a glimpse into the lives of people who have disabilities, suffer chronic pain, or hold many decades in their bones. Experiencing, however fleetingly, the need for a walker helped me (oh, I dearly hope) to grow in compassion towards those who suffer daily in their bodies—and in respect for their resilience and courage. Little by little, one imperceptible stitch at a time, God wove my body back together. Remembering that past pain challenges me in how I live now: to move through the day—this day the Lord has made—in gratitude. Grabbing an apple from the refrigerator, pouring a glass of water, putting on socks, opening a letter, scrubbing a plate, rotating a steering wheel, ascending stairs, holding my son, resting in my husband’s embrace—all is grace, grace, grace, an upholding by the God Who Holds All Things Together. Though pain expresses the essential brokenness of the world, God, in outlandish mercy, deigns to redeem it… And for this, I give thanks. Elise Tegegne

Gathering I love gathering with others. Since variety is part of that sentiment, I love all sorts of gatherings. My family just had a reunion, and I enjoyed catching up on how each of us navigate our different worlds. Almost all my gatherings are good, even when I’m doing work with others. I enjoy concerts of many types. Music can touch me at the heart so quickly and deeply. Gathering around a sports event, the fire pit, or post-match with my teammates at the bar can be truly special moments. How about a game of Euchre, dinner with friends, golfing — or likely the greatest, Pickleball! Recently I enjoyed attending a gathering at Wild Blackberry Farms for food, music, and blackberry picking. It reminded me of family gatherings at Tuttle’s Orchard for picking pumpkins or apples. Countless are the blessings of gathering… Comfort… Nothing puts me at ease quite like sharing time and space with close friends and family. Feeling the peace and joy of familiarity enriches me. As Jesus promised in Matthew 18 “…Where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them.” Craft… I enjoy concerts and sports events — seeing talented people sharing their skills in the company of others. Expression through God-given talents is powerful. It catches me by joyful surprise when my team rallies, or that special song hits deep. Culture… When we gather we often learn about others and more about who we are. Gathering can be educational. I like good lectures, not so much on electrical engineering now, but

Connection… Gathering for me is about relationships. By meeting new people or forging deeper relationships, I experience the joy of God’s provision. Hebrews 13:2 even speaks of entertaining strangers because some who do “…have entertained angels without knowing it.” Collaboration… Even work meetings are often excellent gatherings when people come together for a good purpose. These are shared, unifying experiences. I enjoy service to others — with others — in the name of the Lord. Celebration… Birthday, anniversary, retirement, wedding? What better reason for a gathering? Let’s celebrate and live in gratitude. I’m better when I share all of life’s blessings with others. It turns out this gathering idea is Biblical. God promised to gather His people Israel, and Jesus frequently gathered around the table with his closest friends. He met with people in huge numbers, like at the Sermon on the Mount where He fed five thousand guests. Jesus regularly gathered alone with God in prayer, and He gathered with strangers — sharing His peace even when nailed to a cross. I love gathering in worship on Sunday morning, and for small group Bible study as we gather with the Lord. These are places where I become more of the person God wants me to be. Wisdom found in Hebrews 10 says: “Let us consider how we may spur one another toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together… but encouraging one another.” So, gather on… Enjoy the blessings of relationships and the unity of being together for productive purposes. Gather on, until we are gathered with the Lord! Steve Johnson

A Grown-Child’s Prayer Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name… I confess, as wise Solomon did long ago: ‘I am but a little child and do not know how to go out or come in.’ You O Father, have taken me up — a pathetic foundling in dirt and rags. You washed the filth from me and clothed me in garments of inestimable price and drew me close when I could not stand. And You called me by Your name, promising to carry me, even unto death. You sustained me with the milk of Your word, and quenched my thirst with the Living Water and fed me with the Bread of Life. Henceforth, I should never be famished unless it is I who refuses to eat. It was You, Father God, who taught me to walk and showed me the right path in which to go, warning me of the dangers to my soul in turning onto the wrong and dangerous way. You patiently taught me to speak the language of the heavenly kingdom. You provided others who taught your words and ways and helped my childish understanding. You taught me table manners for Your holy feast. You taught me how to keep myself clean and presentable in your courts.

You brought me to table with many brothers and sisters and guided me to love them, reflecting in my faltering way, Your love toward me and them. Many have been the times that after longsuffering patience, You have justly chastened me and then called me to receive Your comfort and assurance that the discipline was for my good and the honor of the family name. I have learned that in Your house are pleasures forever more, unknown to those who refuse Your salvation. It is indeed a place of mercy, grace, and comfort. And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever, By Your Grace, O my Heavenly Father and in the blessed name of Jesus… Amen. Bryan Larsen

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” — Mark 10:15

I will go father, and say: ‘Treat me as one of your servants.’ The father saw him coming and ran to embrace him saying, ‘This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ — Luke 15: 18-24

Waiting… If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him. We will come to him and make our home with him… — John 14:23 I feel that my entire life has been an “Advent Season”. I was blessed to have parents who loved me so much! They made sure I knew our Father (Abba) and his son, Jesus, as soon as I could understand. In nursery school I learned “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine” and “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam to shine for him each day” and many others. I have endeavored to be His “sunbeam”, striving to “love the little children of the world”. I am learning to respect those whose faith journeys are different than mine and to “walk in the garden” with Him. My goal is to be kind, loving and forgiving — yet firm and resolute as Christ’s child. I have experienced profound peace in the presence of Jesus and His angels so many times in my life! I only must be receptive and aware. Many times, this awareness has come as I wait with friends or family as they travel in “the shadow of death”. It is an honor to witness their faith and strength. Surprisingly, many of my more peaceful moments came when I was in Vietnam serving as an advisor to the South Vietnamese Army. I learned their Buddhist faith stories, and I shared my stories of Jesus. Many of the South Vietnamese were Christians, converted by French Catholics.

When the sounds of war abated, we would huddle in our bunkers to share our life stories, play cards, or just sit silently, with only the sounds of the jungle piercing the quiet darkness. At such times I was at peace... feeling the presence of my Savior promising to keep me safe... safe to return home. Much of that peace came as I would sing in my mind the hymns, anthems, and nursery songs of my life. “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own” sustained me. When my only son, David, died soon after birth, I found similar peace — peace that Jesus would love and care for him and raise him “to be His own” as well. Today, I am waiting.... waiting to meet my creator... waiting to be rejoined with the choir of angels... waiting for the daily surprises of life to unfold... waiting for my next “sunbeam” assignment... and, as I enter the autumn of my life, I feel that, at last, my “face to face” meeting is nearer. Larry Robertson

What if we knew? What if we knew … How long we would live? When our spouse or best friends would pass? How long our favorite pet would live? How the world would end? What if we knew … That our family loved us? That God would always be with us? That he would forgive us, and That His Grace would always give us a way? If, then, what if … We took His path to Faith, We believed His promise of Redemption, We abandoned anger, hate, and revenge, and We forgave, and cared, and led with Love In every encounter? If we quelled our fears, leashed our anxieties, We could wait for every new day’s beginnings — Filled with Joy and Eternal Hope — In God’s presence — Humble, Saved, Grateful, and at Peace … at last. William Alfred Ghormley

A Christmas Blessing May the joy of the angels, The gladness of the shepherds, The worship of the wise men And the peace of the Christ child be yours, Be yours this Christmas. May Christ, who by his incarnation Gathered into one all things earthly, All things heavenly, And fill you with joy, Fill you with joy and peace. And the blessing of God The Father and the Son And the Holy Spirit Be with you and remain with you always, With you always, and remain with you always. Amen.

Waiting for copyright notice

The Tale of Two Christmases For several years, the song A Christmas Blessing by Philip Stopford has been the benediction of Christmas Music Sunday at Second Church. The song has a huge impact on me, but thinking back over the past two years, each time it felt very different. On Christmas Music Sunday in 2023, I was in the middle of a dark period. My late wife, Verlyn Wilson, had been in hospice care for a month and no one knew how long she would be there. For the previous two years, I watched brain cancer take my beautiful wife from working out three times a week to minimal brain function and confinement to a hospital bed. I was emotionally exhausted. Joy, gladness, and peace were far from my mind. Hearing that song of blessing from the choir at the end of Christmas Music Sunday brought me to tears. Christmas season 2024 found me in a totally different mindset. Verlyn passed away in early September. Through her illness, a line from the hymn Great Is Thy Faithfulness was my guide. It reminded me to have “…strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” After her death, I pivoted away from what psychologists call ambiguous loss. I was looking into the future with hope again. When I read my devotional journal for December 2024 the word ‘hope’ appears multiple times. I also felt abundant gratitude.

As I faced the most trying period of my life, Second Presbyterian embodied the true definition of a church family. During Verlyn’s illness and death so many people helped me stay connected to God. Pastoral visits, home communion, a legion of prayer warriors, food chains, and virtual worship services stand out as prime examples. These were the times when staff and church members stood in the gap for me. They gave me, and continue to give, the strength and will to carry on. The multiple ways that God has wrapped His arms around me are beyond my wildest dreams. Christmas Music Sunday 2024 found me in tears again. But they were not all tears of sadness. Of course, I was remembering fondly Christmases past with Verlyn sitting beside me. But I was also celebrating a new chapter of life. I felt again the joy of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, the worship of the wise men and the peace of the Christ child. As the choir began singing A Christmas Blessing once again, tears began to well up in my eyes. Two dear friends sitting nearby reached out to comfort me. That was church family on a micro level. I had then, and still have, “…bright hope for tomorrow.” To God be the glory! Pete Ritz

Oh God, My giver of life…

The world feels as if it is on fire. The weather is blistering hot and humid. The political fire pit is ablaze with lies, betrayal, secrets, evil and denial. Communities of faith shoot flaming arrows of judgement, twisting and turning the Holy as the arrows land on the innocent. Jobs are melting in the heat of discord. Relationships are warping with each flickering flame of contempt for the others. Where are the helpers? Will they extinguish these embers and flames before it’s too late? What am I to do, what should I do? Stop! Freeze those thoughts! This world is not on fire. The world continues to spin, cooler winds and rain blow in. Seasons will change; we will need to bundle against winter’s kiss yet again. All governance is not burning wildly out of control. Some do choose, will choose, to make the cold hard choice of standing, and withstanding, and doing what is right. The foundation of faith is not contained in one verse that our myopic eyes can read. It is the continual seeking of deep connection and understanding with our Maker. In this connection we find love, acceptance, grace, space, breath, and light. The beauty and blooming lie in birth, rebirth, expansion and understanding. Religion is defined and constrained by ignorance and fear. Faith, the Maker Eternal, fills to overflowing each vessel into which it’s poured. Where are the helpers? Everywhere! Like tiny snowflakes dancing on a cold, clear winter day, each is unique, with its own place in the sky, and then on the earth. I will continue to lift my face to the cool comfort of Holy freedom, blessed growth, and pure love. I will lie beneath the gentle, fluffy clouds and pull into my deepest self. I will remember that my existence is more than what may be seen, heard, or experienced within my lifetime. I will rejoice in the innocent laughter of children, continuing to make angels in the snow, generation after generation. Libby Sandstrom

Holiday Now the leaves have fallen and thoughts of home settle in. Gathering at the fireside with stories and laughter… Patience, always waiting, finds her seat in the corner. We recount the year’s blessings, and find them without number. With contented hearts we listen as Compassion tells a story. Peace opens the scene, and Love knits a blanket around us. The Joy we find in sharing uplifts our tender faith, yet reminds us ever gently to show mercy and forgive. Now we celebrate the holiday with a fresh sense of wonder, as we receive the perfect gift — a tiny child, the King of Kings! Kevin Gardner

God of Every Generation…

We give you thanks for Jesus, our solid ground, and for placing us within the great story of faith, where those with the benefit of experience pass wisdom to the young, and the young bring fresh dreams to us.

We pray for the young among us. May they remember their creator in the days of their youth. Give them courage to believe when their faith is uncertain. May they find in us mentors, encouragers, and steady hands to help them grow in grace and love. We give thanks for those who have walked ahead — the ones who have built, who have prayed, who have endured. Bless those with their wisdom sitting quietly in the pews, and the ones who tell stories, not to preserve the past, but offer it as a gift for the future. May the young dream boldly, and those with more life experience speak wisdom freely, so that together our lives — woven across generations — might reflect your love, now and always. Amen. Rev. David Kim Lake Fellow 2023-2025

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