For over two years, Tuesday mornings meant driving Dad to Hardee's to get his breakfast before heading into the office. I would pack my car up and we would go to Hardee's and then to the office.. Sometimes we would stop by the Post Office if we hadn't checked the mail recently.
Dad typically ordered the same thing: one of those biscuits with a fried egg and either bacon or sausage. He would sometimes order a senior coffee until we figured out it was cheaper to not do it that way and just get the combo. :) Hash rounds were part of the order and sometimes he would get a large becaI tended to take a few of them.
When Dad passed, I knew Tuesday mornings would not be the same. I wanted to go by though and thank the window employee the years of service. That may sound odd, but she was part of our Tuesday routine.
Right after Dad passed, I was able to go by dialysis and drop off a thank you. But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to go to Hardee's.
I drank my coffee on the deck or the outside table. I would go to the Post Office on the way to the office. But I couldn't get myself to Hardee's.
Last night Mom cooked some bacon. I thought that would be great on a plain biscuit.
I drank coffee on the deck and packed the car.
For the first time since Dad passed, I didn't turn left out of the driveway to go to work. I headed out to the main road to go to Hardee's.
It was all good until I saw the woman in the drive through. I was glad she was there. But I was nervous. Would she think I was crazy?
When she handed me my change, I told her that I had been driving my visually impaired Dad to Hardee's for a little over two years and that I wanted to thank her for her kindness and service. I told her Dad passed in April. I wasn't able to say all that without tearing up. She responded by saying she was sorry, that she understood what that was like, and that she remembered me and Dad.
As I drove away, tears streamed down my face.
As I write this now, tears come.
As I drove away and headed to the Post Office, the song "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum came on the radio. I associate that song with the movie "Michael" with John Travolta. I enjoy the music and the lyrics.
Lyrics:
"When I die and they lay me to rest Gonna go to the place that's the best When I lay me down to die Goin' up to the spirit in the sky
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky (spirit in the sky) That's where I'm gonna go when I die (when I die) When I die and they lay me to rest I'm gonna go to the place that's the best
Prepare yourself you know it's a must Gotta have a friend in Jesus So you know that when you die He's gonna recommend you To the spirit in the sky (spirit in the sky)
Oh he'll recommend you to the spirit in the sky That's where you're gonna go when you die (when you die) When you die and they lay you to rest You're gonna go to the place that's the best
Never been a sinner, I never sinned I got a friend in Jesus So you know that when I die He's gonna set me up with the spirit in the sky
Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky (spirit in the sky) That's where I'm gonna go when I die (when I die) When I die and they lay me to rest I'm gonna go to the place that's the best Go to the place that's the best"
I looked over at the passenger seat at the Hardee's bag where Dad would be. My change was in the seat with the Hardee's bag. Dad always gave me the coins from the change, but would put away any paper money in his wallet. He amazingly kept things in order. He knew where things were. He impressed me with what all he could do with his impaired vision.
Grief is an odd thing.
I am glad to have gone by Hardee's today to share my gratitude.
I am grateful for the memories of such a special ritual and privilege.
I am grateful for today's opportunity to remember Dad and to show my gratitude to someone who was a weekly part of our lives.
In your love I live, and in your life I am lifted out of the darkness of every difficulty. Today, I pray to deeply remember that you are drawing me out of the shadows and filling my heart with a song of prayer: When in darkness with no light but that which in my heart does burn, you, Lord Jesus Christ, bring the warmth of love. Amen."
~Peter Traben Haas
Centering Prayers, p. 32
DHS, class of 1982
Mahoney.
I don't know what about *today (March 20, 2023) caused you to come to mind, Mahoney, but you did.
As I was making my Monday drive to Dalton, out of nowhere you entered my thoughts. It was everything together: you and me riding the bus together when we were little and your Dad was the bus driver; to our text messages, our visits, and our phone calls; and then your celebration of life, way too soon.
I looked up your obituary to see if March 20th held any significance, but your passing was in January-- 3 years ago. And your birthday isn't this month either.
Tears streamed down my face as I remembered our youth and as I remembered our visits at Siskin and on the phone, texts.....
Life is so dang short. I am grateful for you, Mahoney. Alicia.
But we always called each other by our last names. Many of us did.
We had our DHS class of '82 40th reunion this past fall (fall of '22). We remembered you and our other classmates who have gone before us, all too soon.
Today, I remember you. I give thanks for you. Though I may not understand the tears or the memories, I am grateful for all of it.
Love you Mahoney,
Pittman
Addendum:
This is what I posted on January 27, 2020 upon learning of your passing:
"My high school classmate. My bus buddy as kids. My band friend. My friend. Mahoney. (Last names were what we used.) A privilege to walk some of the last couple of years with her, though I wish I could have been there more. So grateful for the visits, the texts the calls. Peace, dear one. Comfort and peace to your family. #DHS82"
This is from a different post on January 27th, 2020:
"Grieving the loss of a classmate with whom I just exchanged missed calls and texts two weeks ago today. Wishing I had spoken with her instead of just texting. Grateful for the time I have had with her these past several years in visits and texts and calls. Thinking of her family. Peace on this day."
I started this note to you last March, 2023. It was odd that you came to mind on that day. Maybe that date was one where we texted or visited.... or maybe it had no significance.
This year, 2024, I unexpectedly found your grave site on my Monday evening walk on January 22nd . I thought about you and our visits, your funeral..... I miss you.
It was truly an odd unexpected moment to come across your site. I walk the cemetery some, but rarely that section. I walked it that January evening because I was remembering when my Dad and I wrecked on his motorcycle coming down a steep dirt hill there.
Finding your grave allowed me to think through all the times again. Thanks for receiving my visits at Siskin!
Life is short. I am grateful for how you made my life better.
Peace to you, friend.... Pittman
*I originally began writing this in March of 2023. But couldn't finish it. Today I found the '82 yearbook and am able to finish it, adding some words and a photo.
Christmas Dreams is a Cantata by Joseph M. Martin and Heather Sorenson. The first time I heard this Cantata was Christmas 2019. I was serving St. Elmo UMC since the previous July and it was my dream appointment. I don't think I will ever forget District Superintendent Randy Martin calling me up in the spring of 2019 and telling me sometimes we get what we ask for. I was so excited. St. Elmo UMC was my dream appointment because it was a Reconciling Ministries Network church and I could be the pastor and parent I am called to be-- authentically and openly. I had the privilege to narrate Christmas Dreams that year and it was powerfully moving to me. The words in the narration and the words in the song-- all of it. Not only was it my dream appointment, but I knew my kiddo would be accepted there, loved there. That meant a ton for me as a parent. So, on practice for that Cantata in 2019 and on the evening of, I choked up. I teared up. I cried. There was healing from the love and light of the Christ child.
Fast forward through a pandemic, some rough patches of coming back from a pandemic, some people in leadership working diligently to "overthrow" their pastor. Okay, "overthrow" might be too strong of a word. Maybe "get rid of" is a better term. These aren't things one talks about. These are things one keeps quiet, deals with through spiritual direction, therapy, Staff Parish, good friends and colleagues, etc. I had good outlets in those days, but it wasn't enough. There were even good things going on in ministry through the difficult things. However, it took its toll on me. I continued to serve, accept, love, and teach to the best I could as long as I was in that appointment. I went on family leave in 2022 (a huge God-directed thing to serve my parents and their businesses). I continued therapy, spiritual direction, spiritual supervision, and the spiritual direction program I was in through Columbia Theological Seminary.
I told colleagues I would pulpit supply, but not for a good six months. I didn't go to church for a good six months at all, except for Bamboo Encounter, an outdoor worship service. Healing took place and continues to take place.
Fast forward again to this year's Christmas Cantata at Burks UMC, my sending church and the church where we attend most Sundays. The Christmas Cantata was Christmas Dreams. I sat in the sanctuary listening to the narration and singing. As I heard about the healing love and light of the Christ child, I noticed tears coming down from my eyes.
This Cantata has brought deep healing into my life. Twice. The first time there was healing to be in a place of love where I could serve, accept, love, and teach.... and be the unique person that Creator had created me to be. Though that didn't quite turn out to be the dream I had hoped for, I have nothing but love for that place.
The second time I heard the Cantata, I could sense the healing deep within. As I listened to the lyrics of the song "Christmas Dreams", I found myself thinking "can I begin to dream again?" The words: "Child of healing, Child of hope, take the things that hurt us most...." Those words penetrated deep within me to a place that caused me to ask myself "can I begin to dream again?" The answer is yes. I knew it as tears rolled down my cheeks.
Healing continues to take place in me and through me. I know it. I know it because of therapy, spiritual direction, spiritual supervision, the spiritual direction program I completed. Truly, healing is an ongoing part of life, of growth.
Because I couldn't get all the words jotted down during the Cantata, I borrowed one of the Cantata books recently so I could share the lyrics (because I couldn't find them online).
Heather Sorenson wrote the words to "Christmas Dreams", inspired and adapted from an anonymous poem "Miracle Dreams". Here are the words most meaningful to me:
"Child of healing, Child of hope, take the things that hurt us most, and with Your touch they'll be redeemed, Holy Child of Christmas dreams"
Some of the narration that is meaningful:
"In these sacred moments, we have joined our songs and spirits together to recall the birth of Jesus, the Messiah. We have heard the good news, and we are forever changed. We are now free to hope, believe, and become all that were meant to be. Let us being the true work of Christmas and dare to dream of a better world, a greater joy, a deeper faith. Let us celebrate the graceful promises that are ours in Christ Jesus. Let us hold on to the divine hope that pursues us through every challenge of heart and each illness of the mind and body. Let us rest secure in the grace that brings peace that is beyond all understanding." (99)
"And now, dreamers, rise and shine, for your light has come! Hope now dazzles where once there was only darkness! Love now sings where once there was only silence! Joy now celebrates where once there was only sorrow! Go now in peace, and take the dream of Christmas to all the world!" (109)
Another song's lyrics that are meaningful are these to "A Gentle Christmas Blessing" written by Joseph M. Martin. Here are some of those lyrics:
"The light of the Christmas start to you, the warmth of the home and hearth to you. The cheer and good will of friends to you, hope of a child-like heart to you. The hope of peace and grace to you, a safe and welcome place to you. The music of a thousand angels be yours tonight, be yours in Christ. May love and joy abound in all of life, God's love and joy surround your life."
"Hope of a child-lie heart to you." That line resonates deeply. I have always had a child-like heart. I don't always live into the child-like me I am created to be, but there are moments it breaks free.
"A safe and welcome place to you". A safe and welcome place, a place where we belong is something we all seek and desire.
The Creator continues to remind me that I am a beloved child, created uniquely by my Creator. I continue to learn and grow on this journey of life as I follow the light, love, and life of the Christ child.
I am grateful for healing in all the forms it comes, even when it surprises me. Another beautiful part of the Cantata this time was listening to Roy Treiyer play the piano, a gift always!
Can I begin to dream again? Yes. What will come of opening myself up to dreams? I don't know. But, it's part of the great adventure!
These words from the Foreword, by Joseph M. Martin, give me hope to continue dreaming, to continue healing, to continue trusting in the process:
"Throughout time, God has spoken to His people in dreams and visions. In the peacefulness of sleep and the serenity of contemplation., God speaks hope into longing hearts. Through the ancient prophets and devoted visionaries, He reveals the great designs of His creative purpose. It is good and and right that, in this wondrous season, we gather to remember, to reflect, to renew. Let us quiet our hearts and listen. Let us clear our minds and learn. Let us calm our spirits and live. Tonight, in the still sacred places of our worship, in the fragile yearnings of our broken dreams, may we seek and discover the grace that changes everything."
Allowing the Creator to speak hope into this longing heart,
Words are powerful. Words carry meaning. Words can encourage and edify or they can hurt, harm, and destroy. Often, we don't know the power of words until later, either those we've read, heard, or spoken. It can take time for them to sink in.
Most people have heard the idiom "sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you." We learned it as kids. It was supposed to somehow protect us from the flippant, uncaring, and even intentionally mean things people said. However, it isn't true.
Words are important to me. As a linguist who speaks several languages, studied and taught linguistics, words have been part of my life for a long time. I have enjoyed word play, word studies, word games, word searches, etc. But, this post isn't about that, though there is definitely power in being able to use words well and to speak several languages.
I want to share a story with you that shares the power of words. However, this story is personal. That means that this isn't easy for me. Here we go.
In my first appointment as pastor, I served three churches in North Georgia. It was a super appointment, as I got to be in three different communities, two counties, three churches.... the learning curve was huge and the experiences were incredible! There are so many wonderful memories and experiences from that first appointment! I had lots of community engagement and ministry was an adventure.
There came a time in that first appointment that someone in the leadership of one of the three churches expressed to others that they had two pastors-- a Baptist and an air head-- and of the two of them they were willing to settle for the air head for the moment. Now, how do I know this? Because I had an excellent Staff Parish who called the D.S. (District Superintendent) and we had a Staff Parish meeting with the D.S. with both pastors (we were co-pastors). In this meeting, when I learned this, I knew right away which one was me--- I grew up in the Episcopal church and became Methodist when I lived on Long Island in the late 1980s. There it was, I was the air head.
My immediate thought was the air heads candy. That's how my brain works. :)
My second thought was 'what in the world does that mean?' My D.S. explained that what this person likely meant was that I was spiritual. Though I was still confused and really didn't understand what it really meant, I never sought out the person who said it to ask for a definition. I never retaliated. I did, however, have a moment when I considered giving out air heads candy on my last Sunday there. But I didn't do that either. I just carried the words within me.
That day that we met as pastors, Staff Parish and D.S. was a marker in ministry for at least two reasons, maybe three. 1. I slipped a curse word in that meeting. :) It was on my birthday, as I told the D.S., so I got one freebie. I guess hearing that people wanted to get rid of you, but that they would settle for you for the moment was a tad difficult to hear. 2. Ministry changed that day. I started preaching at that church every Sunday, giving the other pastor a break from them so that they could heal from the hurtfulness. That meant I preached two churches most Sundays. It was great experience, yet what I didn't realize until later is that..... 3. those words "air head" dug deep into my soul. They found a place somewhere deep within me and began to grow tangled weeds of doubt and harm around my true self.
The words didn't stop me from being, living, doing ministry. I kept going. Like I said, I didn't realize there was tangled underbrush growing deep within. I dealt with it healthily. I shared with trusted colleagues, spiritual director, spouse. I moved on. Yet, until last week, I truly didn't think it had rooted as much as it had.
Until last week......
When I heard the words...... "you have a deep spirituality." I listened to those words in a consultation meeting. I heard them. I acknowledged them. I think I may have even said "thank you" out loud. There was a moment that I can't fully describe. At the same time, my brain flashed back to several years ago and the "air head" discussion with Staff Parish. It was a quick flash back.
In that moment, there was healing. I can't explain it, but it was there. The tangled underbrush that had grown over the years were removed.
It was humbling enough to hear someone say I have a deep spirituality. It has been even more humbling to recognize the healing power of words when I didn't even know I needed it.
Another way I know it was needed? As I write today, there have been tears. I consider those to be healing and cleansing too.
I am grateful for words.
I know that I don't always use words for good. I am guilty of harming others with my words. I repent of the damage I have done and hope others hear holy and healing words that clear out their tangled underbrush within--- from whatever source(s) it came.
Rev. Mark Davis would always say this: "hurt people hurt people and healed people heal people". It is a saying that has become part of how I observe and live. It's a truth that can be shown over and over again.
This is my story of the power of words.
Thanks for reading.
As this Advent continues, as we are on the path from darkness into light, it is my hope and desire that there is something here that offers light in the darkness.
Peace,
Rev. Deb
taught the children's message on Christ the King Sunday with Jesus at Burks UMC
