As I gaze at the photo taken of my parents the week of their deaths, I imagine they’re in a Harry-Potter-esque animated photo. They’re happy and waving from the bow of the whale-watching ship. “The weather is beautiful! I saw a humpback before you! See ya soon!” Continue reading
Faith
The Gift of Giving
I’m trying to reconcile two understandings I have about the giving of gifts and trying to figure out if they are opposites or complementary.
Giving the Best that you Have
This is the perennial Christmas teaching. I recently had the honor of playing a street woman in Tom Long’s play, “Nativity on the Square.” My own lines brought the lesson home to me again. When I see that the king of the nativity scene is reluctant to give up his gift, I admonish him, “But that’s why you brought it, isn’t it? That’s why you’re all here…to give him the very best that you have.”
Yesterday, I was again reminded that gift-giving is not supposed to be easy as a friend read an excerpt of Celestine Sibley’s Especially at Christmas, in which Mrs. Sibley related how her mother insisted on re-gifting items to those who needed them more. When the author once protested to her mother that she really wanted to keep a gift for herself, her mother “blithely” (if I remember correctly) explained how that made it a great gift—it was something difficult to give up.
Notice the dog’s placement of his grody tennis ball among our packages. Is he emulating our giving? (Yeah… That’s probably reaching. )
I truly believe this is our model of giving. Giving sacrificially isn’t just financial. True generosity is giving something we’d rather keep for ourselves. It’s the giving of time and talent, when we feel we’re running short of both, to people who might not even appreciate it. It inspires me to give better. It makes me think of wrapping up that spoon rest that I bought for my friend Irene last Christmas but decided it looked too good in my kitchen to give up.
Giving without Even Meaning to…
On the other hand, I also believe we often give exceptionally meaningful gifts without even being aware that we’re doing it. We do it when we smile at a stranger, ask a clerk how they feel, call a friend, or pick a flower.
Example: One summer when I was in bad health, I was more than a little embarrassed by the state of my yard and garden. Dandelions ruled in the lawn, and the sum total of my gardening efforts was to shove a morning glory in the dirt by the mailbox and harass my boys into watering it. One day I was at my mailbox getting the mail (bills), when a neighbor stopped and lowered her window. I braced myself for a “helpful” recommendation of ChemLawn. Instead, the woman said, “I want you to know how much I love your morning glories. Seeing them each morning as I leave the sub gives me such joy.” She didn’t know me, didn’t know I was sick. She, whatever her name is, was probably just being herself but to me she is a gift-giver extraordinaire.
This, too, inspires me. It makes me more aware of the strangers I walk among, aware that small kindnesses can truly brighten a day.
So….
How do these two types of giving mesh? Well, both are giving a gift of ourselves. Both stem God’s gift of a Savior—the ultimate gift.
Can it be that generosity has evolved from a discipline, to a habit, to a joy?
© Laura Hedgecock 2012
Shared Prayers
Today, among my friends, there seems to be a particular need for prayers. Friends fighting cancer, friends having major surgery, friends waiting while loved ones have major surgery, friends trying to make sense of a high-school senior and recent homecoming king’s suicide.
I take comfort in the prayers they post on Facebook, souls bared in their moments of vulnerability. I’m touched by the love that flows from hearts through the “cloud” to other hearts. It’s a virtual praying aloud, hoping others join in your supplications.
I am particular moved by one prayer today, imbued with love, hope and forgiveness. A friend not only prays for comfort for the family who has lost their teenage son, but for the teenager himself. She prays that he has found the peace he sought.
Falling Gifts
Fall trees work cooperatively to lay down carpets of richest gold, yellow, red and orange. 
We humans, however, jealously guard the vestiges of our previous carpets of green, heedlessly and wantonly destroying the new carpets – tearing them apart, pulling pieces away, and thrusting them into bags.
The metaphor isn’t just the carpet. We seem to be much more comfortable with looking forward and looking back. Our inability to live in nature’s moment is symbolic of our obsession with “better.” Looking around, our memories on the past and our hopes for the future filter our vision, leaving us doubting if our now is what we want it to be. Obsessed with “what could be, ” we overlook the beauty of “what is.”
It is not just about stopping to smell the roses – though we should. It’s about remembering, or perhaps even re-gaining, the innocence of our youth.
The innocence of young children and pets (pardon, please, the comparison) makes watching them enjoyable. Ever see a baby notice a ceiling fan for the first time and do a double take? I remember my great nephew running towards a ball when he was barely bipedal. It took several falls and several get-ups, but he went full speed ahead to find the object of his attention. His pure, simple joy of discovery was moving.
This time of year, I especially like to remember my neighbor’s dog, Shade, when he was young. He faced each day with enthusiasm. As the rest of us trudged out to the bus stop each morning, Shade would be on the lookout for whatever gifts nature had bestowed. If he looked up and saw a leaf riding down on a breeze, he would go ecstatic chasing it down. He would be pure joy on four legs, as if to say, “A leaf! For Me! Direct from Heaven! Who would have thought?”
Shade is now an elder in the neighborhood, looking down his nose at the shenanigans of younger dogs. Knowing he taught us dumb humans a thing or two bolsters his confidence in his status.
Now when I see a colorful leaf, floating down on a breeze or hanging from a tree above, I remember. They are gifts for me, directly from heaven.
© Laura Hedgecock 2012
Can’t Let Go….Am I Really Supposed to?
“Let Go and Let God.”
Good advice if you can do it. Hard advice when it comes to your kids – at least for me.
It’s not that I have no faith and it’s not as if I’m conceded enough to think my plans for my children are better, safer, smarter or anything like that.
It is just incomprehensible for me to think that God loves my kids the same way, as I do. Maybe He loves them as much, but definitely not the same.
God has so many children—and so many of them are in desperate situations. It doesn’t seem reasonable to expect Him to care deeply over each child’s relatively mundane heart breaks, stumbling blocks, and temptations.
Does God really have the luxury of obsessing over each young person’s dreams and endeavors?
Maybe that’s why He gave kids parents. Maybe my caring, nurturing, praying, ok –obsessing, is doing God’s work.
I feel better now.
The Lesson that keeps on Teaching
My parents gave me the courage to walk my own path. They did so with just three words.
Like most teens, I had some moments when I was torn between two worlds – the bland, predictable world of my youth thus far and the more exciting world of new friends that were older and edgier. My parents sat me down to talk about how I was spending my time. They asked me if I had my eyes open and if I was carefully evaluating the motives and actions of those around me. They asked me to consider whether I was being pushed to do things with which I was uncomfortable.
The long and the short of the conversation came down to this:
“Look kid, we trust you.”
(C) 2012 Laura Hedgecock
Inspired by Carley of Findinggravity.com
The Faces of Memorial
In response to criticisms that we over-memorialized the 10th anniversary of 9/11/2011...
We memorialize
– to face the enemy – be it evil, chaotic, or indifferent
-to face our lack of control over the universe
-to face our loss
-to face sacrifices made, voluntary or not
-to face hope, renewal, and the future, though it’d be much easier to wallow in fear and grief
-to face the light without the comforting shadow cast by that one whose presence loomed so large in our life
For, after a while, you become accustomed to the dark; the light is harsh and moving forward on our own feet is terrifying.
(C) Laura Hedgecock 2011
Statement of Faith
There came a time that my parents faced one of the perennial questions of child adolescent-rearing. Do you keep your child on a tight rope, so they can’t go out and hang themselves, or do you trust them, or more importantly, trust the job you’ve done raising them? If you trust your kids, are you sticking your head in the sand or are you allowing them to prove themselves?
When I, at age 14 or 15, started to be drawn into a crowd that walked on the wilder side of life, my parents were concerned. I have no idea what kinds of conversations they shared with each other as they watched and worried. I do, however, remember vividly the way they communicated their concerns with me.
I was called into the den where they both sat. Dad invited me to sit on the arm of his recliner. Mom came to the end of the adjoining sofa. Though I knew something was up, sitting with them like that, I felt safe and unthreatened. Daddy and mom outlined to me what they knew about each of my friends and what they were involved with. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that information, but that was quickly cleared up for me.
They told me that they thoroughly trusted me and trusted my judgment. I was being told about their concerns so that I could make educated, mature decisions about who to hang out with and when. They had faith in me.
I guess they made the right decision on how to handle that situation with me, because that simple statement of trust changed everything for me. Peer pressure no longer held sway over me. I began to seek out more like-minded friends. In fact, I now like to joke that I went way too easy on my parents, as the rest of my teenage years was spent in a relatively saintly fashion.
I hope I do as well with my own.
© Laura Hedgecock 2011
Two-Thirds-Decorated
Yesterday, I took a moment to contemplate the evergreen in the back yard that I had stoically adorned with led lights light week despite the frigid temperatures. The tree has far outgrown me and my extendable pole and the lights go only up about two-thirds of the way up. 
But what’s there is very bright. Looking at it, I had a Christmas epiphany: If we’re honest, we’ll leave the tree as is, for it is pretty much representative of our lives — projects started, but not quite finished; good intention losing out to time limits and distraction.
In the juggling act we call our lives, we have balls in the air, balls on the ground, balls still in their packaging waiting for their turn to fly, and balls that have apparently been eaten by dust-bunnies. And thus the Advent Season goes by, preparing for the arrival of the Christ child, but never achieving readiness and preparing for the gift giving, entertaining, and card writing, but only getting 2/3rd s there or getting there by virtue of expedited shipping.
This epiphany has left me wondering about the original Epiphany and the events leading up to it. Was this how it was in Bethlehem? Did the people traveling there for the Census feel ill-prepared or did they have so little that going off on such a trek was more of an issue or perseverance than packing? But surely, they left tasks undone or hurriedly done as they embarked on their government ordered vacation. Did Joseph berate himself when he found there were no accommodations or was his trust in God so complete that he felt no need for rumination, self-doubt or God-doubt? And what about the Magi? Being wise, did they also know that no gift, regardless of preciousness, would be worthy of the King?
Wondering, but getting no answers, I resolve that a less-than perfect appearing tree (read Life) is not so bad. Perhaps I’ll add more lights to the tree, but there are a lot of other stops to make on the road of good intentions.
(C) Laura Hedgecock 2009
Trusting the Journey
In worship recently, we read words that immediately set my mind off to a rumination field day, making such an impact on me that I scarcely attended to the rest of the service. (Not that this is unusual; I’m distractible that way – but this was the Call to Worship. I usually don’t zone out until a little further into the liturgy.) The words were “…and our lives become a test of faith, not knowing the end, but trusting the journey.”
Looking forward, literally, but certainly not figuratively, to a week of soccer tryouts where kids, including my own, have to endure the agony of not knowing if they’ve been picked, or worse, not being picked up for a team, I was a bundle of nerves. Decisions had to be made for both of my kids. Should they stay put? Should they tryout elsewhere? What it one of them or a good friend was to be cut? Inevitably some kids would be crushed. Knowing that I was obsessing way more than was healthy, I was looking for a way to put myself in a “these things have a way of working out” frame of mind. But it wasn’t coming naturally. Or at least not until I read, and simultaneously heard, the truth of these words.
Journey's Road
You see, journeying is something I can be passionate about without obsessing. One of my favorite things in the world is travel. In fact, I, like my parents before me, have what the Germans call fernweh, a deep longing to experience the far away or the unexplored. When on a trip, particularly a vacation, I am able to trust the journey. I’m constantly in a “let’s see what today brings us” frame of mind, suffering from few preconceived ideas on the particulars of that day. I remember traveling with my dad once in Germany when he ordered an unsatisfactory potato dish. He was pleased as punch. “OK. Now I know what not to order…” The journey was trusted and what would have been a disappointment in another’s eyes was simply a moment of enlightenment for him. Like my father, I tend not to get wigged out when things don’t go right on vacation (unless it’s the kids squabbling). Why can’t I apply this to my life?
In my defense, vacation or travel days do tend to bring somewhat more interesting occurrences than other days. A grizzly bear or five in Yellowstone, an armadillo in the woods on Cumberland Island, a new wild flower, a scarce bird, my niece flying into my arms with “Hey Aunt Lolly” in her thick southern accent…. At home my surprises tend to be along the lines of the roof leaking, a son failing a pop quiz, or on the up side, a lazy cuddle with the dog.
Why am I only able to trust when I’m living out of a suitcase? Am I putting too much hope in the journey and not enough trust? Am I so busy hoping that grades are good, appliances work, and health improves, that each deviation from the plan seems like a huge boulder in the road? Or am I hoping too specifically? How am I to trust the journey and enjoy the ride when the road feels like it’s become Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride gone off-track?
Though it caused me to miss a lot of the sermon, I did come up with a solution: Practice makes perfect, or at least better. Not only will I endeavor to treat each coming day as a journey, but, from now on trips and vacations will be my practice field for life.
Though funding may prove to be a hurdle, I came up with a new resolution: Journey more.
© Laura Hedgecock 2009
Memories in the Wind 