We Were Caught

Suddenly in a panic we were plummeting and falling fast. Then stop. A net was holding us. We didn’t know what was happening so we reached out to those who might. We held tight to the line and trusted.

Print after Thomas Hart Benton "Little Fisherman"
image borrowed from www.liveauctioneers.com

Eventually we were breathing easier, realizing we were somewhat secure for the time being. We had been caught.

As I was later reflecting on our stressful event, strangely or interestingly enough, “…I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19) came to mind. As I worked through the emotions of the harrowing memories, I began to see an image of many hands joined together. Not just hand-to-hand but hand-over-hand and hand-upon-hand. I could see them all connecting, stretching further than I could imagine.

I smiled, remembering, and gave thanks for the many hands and hearts who had readily come to our aid. I could feel their strong connections holding us, helping us.

Previously hearing “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” had always found me focused on the fishermen and the fish. Never before we were caught that day had I felt so strongly the strength and the role of the net!

Oh the power of being knit together into the net of God to catch those who need to be caught. I could see the many hands coming together adding comfort, the many hearts giving their prayers of hope, the many gifts and talents being used to add strength, to bring answers, and to share kindness.

Oh what a powerful and giving net it is.

I still feel it. Thank God. I still feel it. I’m letting it hold us right now, and I hope we, too, when and where we are able will also each bring what we can to strengthen the bonds.

Hold the next hand, give the next gift, share the next kindness, you are already part of the net whether you know it or not, and I thank you for it.

With love and light,

LT

The Coffee’s On

My grandparents used to drive across three states in the middle of the night to reach my great grandmother. No matter the time of their arrival, there was always a pot of coffee on to welcome them. My grandparents and great grandmother would tuck my father and uncle into bed and stay up all night talking. They couldn’t wait to catch up.

I wonder how many millions and billions of relationships have been strengthened by coffee chats? How many of us have found comfort in starting our days with that first cup? Perhaps it’s been in the kitchen with a loved one or silently greeting God’s creation at the window? Maybe you’ve groggily yet cheerfully gathered around the coffee pot at work? Possibly it’s been around a table at noon with others who understand or at a café where you finally met?

Look at the Starbucks and coffee shops that have spread like wildfire across this country and around the world as people not only seek out the caffeine but also the warm smiles shared over the counter as joyful baristas ask your name or already know it. Hours and hours are spent in these coffee shops in the comfort of friends or even in the comfort of just not being alone.

Oh, coffee, yes, I am thankful for you.

I’m thankful for the memories of meeting my friends almost daily as teenagers at the Hillcrest coffee shop in Little Rock drinking giant chai tea lattes not worrying about the world revolving around us only caring about each other and that moment. It really was all ok.

I’m thankful for the ways you kept us awake giggling through our studies in college and leading us to the completion of those papers and preparing us for exams.

I’m thankful for the strength you gave me to lift my head and push my cart through Target and smile through every aisle the first time I left my daughter at home with my husband after she was born.

I’m thankful that you bring new people into my life and that you give me time with my dearest friends and colleagues. That you give us a time out to catch up, to listen, to share, to solve, to just be.

I’m thankful for every cup and conversation shared, especially with my parents and my mother-in-law, who always make sure the coffee’s on, and I’m thankful to my husband, who may not drink coffee but who knows how important putting the coffee on can be.

Here’s to sharing that next cup, everyone.

With love and light,

LT

Stories of My Heart

When I was a little girl, my daddy read to us every night he could. He delighted us with Thornton Burgess’ stories of animals such as Mrs. Quack or Grandfather Frog that could both sadden and gladden our hearts. We depended on these moments. We thrived in these moments. We grew in these moments.

My mother made sure we had library subscriptions as soon as we were able. She walked us by the hand into the nearby library and helped us register for our library cards. She brought us back regularly to return the now beloved books and check out new ones or renew favorites. By the time we were pre-teens, she encouraged our independence and allowed us to pack lunches, jump on our bikes, and spend our Saturday afternoons reading away at the library on our own.

Mrs. Bischoff, our 7^th grade English teacher, knew how to inspire each of us to new levels of literature exploration. She knew I had a soft heart and could not handle the sadness of animals that took place in our stories that year. She allowed me to read and process those chapters alone in the school library. She also challenged me to read “Rebecca” and the writings of Cynthia Voigt and both the “Alanna” series by Tamora Pierce and “Clan of the Cave Bears” series by Jean Auel. I grew by leaps and bounds with each new title.

Oh how stories shape us. For years our ancestors gathered around fires and in small rooms to share the word and discuss it, but the more advanced we became, the more separated we became, and the less we shared.

Stories build community. We find something of ourselves in stories. We find something of others in them, too. Many times those commonalities or differences bring us together as we talk through them. It’s no wonder to me that people continue to gather in book studies to discuss what they’ve recently read and that on Saturdays and Sundays across the world, spiritual stories are still shared aloud in liturgies, and small groups come together to discuss their lessons. These traditions have continued to bring people into relationship for centuries.

Consider the bonds built by parent and children or teachers and their students during story time. How many of you remember reading with your loved ones or listening to a beloved book like “Charlotte’s Web” or “James and the Giant Peach” in school? How many of you still do read aloud with loved ones, perhaps a picture or chapter book, a classic, a poem, a newspaper article? How many of you cherish that time?

Our stories don’t just have to be from books. They can be of our day, of a recent trip, an extraordinary experience, or a less than extraordinary experience. Perhaps they are shared memories that bond generations together and give us insight into a different time or a chapter of a loved one’s life that helped shape him or her.

Please don’t stop sharing stories or searching for stories. Read to one another. Share your memories, your opinions, your questions, your sadnesses, your happinesses. Reflect on your experiences…together.

“You see I don’t know any stories. None of the lost boys know any stories.”

“How perfectly awful,” Wendy said.

“Do you know,” Peter asked, “why swallows build in the eaves of houses. It is to listen to the stories. Oh, Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story.”

~Peter Pan, Chapter 3 “Come away, Come away!” by J.M. Barrie

With love and light,

LT