Blessings abound in this life.  Some blessings we notice right away and we rejoice and give thanks.  Or maybe we just smile and keep on keeping on.  Some of the blessings we receive are quiet.  They sit off on the horizon waiting for the right time to be revealed.  And yet others are silent forever.  We never notice them.  We never realize they have come to us.  The Calvary congregation makes me proud.  Without fanfare you do many things that become blessings for members and strangers alike.  Every time I am privileged to give a Purple Heart blanket to someone in need, I am humbled.  I give them away even though I don't make them.  I receive the thanks of the recipient without putting in any of the work.  Make no mistake, I like giving them away.  I also make sure those who receive them are aware of the Purple Heart Women.  In a few days I will give another blanket to a person in need.  And the blessings it brings to that family have their source in the love of women who worship God at Calvary UMC.  The ripples in history the blankets create are blessings.  They surely do abound and for them we give thanks to God.

These weekly offerings do not always come to mind easily.  I try to write something interesting.  Sometimes, off beat.  Other times, focused on current events.  Lately the current events pool has been more than sad.  The last week's news has our nation on edge.  I almost feel as if I'm running out of words to address yet one more tragedy.  But words are often times the only thing most of us have when met with such trauma as we have witnessed of late.  We scream them at politicians and policemen and television sets.  We scramble to post something relevant on social media.  We wring our hands and say our prayers and hope it all ends.  These hot July days may get hotter; in more ways than one.  I hope our passions cool, if only that we may find a just and peaceful resolution to what divides us.  May our cities and towns know safe streets.  May our leaders find ways to unite us.  And may God bless us all.

Today I'm a bit nostalgic.  It was just a year ago on the 10th when I fell in the office and broke my right hip.  Believe me when I say I was laughing as I sat there on the floor.  Lori was so concerned she kept asking "Are you OK?"  I just kept laughing.  Well, about an hour later, after I'd wheeled myself into my office to finish a few things for Sunday, I still couldn't stand and that's when Lori called an ambulance and I was on my way to the hospital.  A year later and lots of help and support and visits and prayers and food and laughter, I'm happy to report things are well with my hip.  My orthopedist, and every nurse, aide, volunteer, food service attendant...the staff at the rehab center in Ligonier...the physical and occupational therapists... I was in good hands and I am able to amble and walk and hustle along because they did their jobs in magnificent fashion.  I am thankful to them and to my church family (about whom I cannot say enough) and to my sons who watched over me and "prodded" me firmly (if you know what I mean) to be a good patient.  And Julia.  "In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish..." and not for the first time.  My undying love.

Life doesn't always provide smooth sailing for human beings.  Never has the life we live been accident free or calamity free or misery free.  No one lives a life that does not contain its own measure of, shall we say, "discomfort."  Life comes with very few guarantees.  Among the two that come immediately to mind are "death and taxes."  I wonder if we, in the Western World, have entered into a new and unhealthy cultural age?  Let's call it  "The Age of Political Grievance."  I find it astounding there are so many who find every personal slight cause for political action or a law suit.  Have we grown so tender and insensitive that we can tolerate no slight?  Is every mistake or accident to be taken as a personal attack such to warrant a court case?  I'm all for appropriate justice.  But whatever happened to "turn the other cheek?"  I hesitate to quote the late Rodney King, but "Why can't we all just get along?"  I wonder what generations far in the future will think of how we have personalized and politicized every little thing? 

I found myself in a hospital waiting room with nothing to read.  There were only three books on a table and not a magazine or newspaper in sight.  My choices were Lewis Carroll's "Alice Through The Looking Glass," Louisa May Alcott's "Little Women," or Franz Kafka's "The Castle."  There I was and my choices were satirical nonsense, sentimental romance, or humanity's endless struggle with an unfeeling bureaucracy.  Humanity's struggle seemed the more challenging option.  How often are we faced in life with choices that challenge us?  How often are we alone to make a decision with limited options?  My situation paled to the emotions and anxieties of the family waiting for the quadruple bypass surgery being performed on their loved one.   As it was just beginning, their morning was tense and their day would be long.  They were powerless to do anything but pray.  The life of their loved one was in the hands of others. Their prayer was that those hands were guided by God's own.  As it turned out, the surgery went well.  The patient's prognosis is better than good and everyone breathes easier.  The dilemma of my reading choices was nothing compared to the worry of a family who waited and worried and prayed.  God bless them all and also for he who now has new hope for a longer life because of modern medicine and prayer.

I have no answers; at least none that will bring comfort or explain the atrocity perpetrated in Orlando Sunday morning last.  The dead and wounded were human beings.  They were (and still are) bearers of the Image of God.  In more ways than some are willing to name, they are no different from other humans.  I'd quote Shylock here, but I'm not sure we know enough Shakespeare to make the connection.  Suffice it to say, murder, directed by hatred, consumed a person's being and the consequences are that sadness and grief and mourning now accompany us in our living.  At least for a while.  A couple of weeks will pass and the variety of diversions which occupy our living will once again take center stage and the names of the dead and wounded will fade from every common arena.  But the sadness and the grief and the mourning will continue to mark far too many families who now have fresh graves to visit and unfulfilled futures to imagine and tears beyond number to shed.  May they Rest In Peace and Rise In Glory.

Today is D-Day.  On this date 72 years ago the armed forces of freedom landed on the beaches of Normandy and the Nazi reign of terror was one huge step closer to ending.  My uncle, Fred Smith, was a combat engineer and made his fourth landing of WW II; North Africa, Sicily, Italy, Normandy.  He survived to return home to marry my mother's sister Kate, raise a family, and die in his bed at a ripe old age.  The loss of life on D-Day and the immediate aftermath was staggering.  More than 4,400 Allied personnel died.   German numbers range as high as 9,000.  Victory wasn't assured.  It was feared even the beach-head would be difficult to hold and retreat was still an option almost 24 hours after the landing.  Seventy-two years is a lifetime.  Those harrowing hours on Normandy's beaches were endured by brave men.  Today we remember and say thanks to a generation of patriots who stood up to evil and blessed the world with victory.  Their sacrifice is immeasurable.  Our gratitude is undying.

It's now ten weeks from Easter, 2016.  We've moved along at nature's pace for just over seventy days from that Sunday.  Our liturgical color has gone from white to red.  We're finally leaving the Upper Room.  The seasons of the Church are such so as to keep us mindful of the sweep of God's presence and activity in the world and in our lives.  I'm ever mindful of the human tendency to move quickly to the next thing, whatever it is.  Oh, sure we do look back with nostalgic eyes and hearts, but we all know yesterday will never be our present.  It will never be where we live and breathe.  As to Easter, it is never in our past.  It's never seventy days ago.  We don't need to be nostalgic about Easter, as its reality is ever present.  The Resurrection is God's gift to us in Jesus for our every breath and our every day and for all eternity.  We can remember Easter, to be sure.  We will celebrate it again in the year of our Lord, 2017, to be sure.  But just as surely, Easter is the divine reality for the life of the Church on earth and in heaven.

Last week I was nostalgic about the McDonald's restaurant in Kokomo where I began working in 1974 and where Julia and I met.  I saw on Facebook it was being demolished.  That was all too true.  I was taken aback and realized I'm getting old.  But hope does indeed spring eternal.  After talking to my very good friend Dave Voris I learned the razing of that corner of my memory is no reason for despair.  McDonald's is building a new store on that sight.  The Golden Arches are still there and the sign reads: "Here we grow again!"  Hip, hip, hooray!  There are all kinds of surprises in life.  The place of so many fond memories is being replaced with a new facility.  It will not quite be the same.  But it will continue to be a welcomed sight as Julia and I drive in and remember over four decades of happiness.  Would that there were places like that somewhere for all of us.

Alas, I have reached the age where significant places from my past are gone.  The Methodist church where my parents were married and I was baptized is in ruins.  My first grade school is gone.  Where I played little league baseball is an empty grass covered field.  This morning I learned the McDonalds restaurant at Markland Avenue and US Highway 31 in Kokomo has been demolished.  It's where I began working at $1.70 an hour.  That was the minimum wage in 1974.  It's where I met Julia.  We stopped there on the afternoon of our wedding, still dressed in tux and gown and ordered a Coke.  Plenty of life passes by in forty years.  It was a stopping off place going through Kokomo for four decades.  It's gone.  I have no idea what will occupy that corner of the world.  It won't be the same and it doesn't need to be.  Life moves on.  While I'm sad it's gone, I'm glad to be around to see it go.  It's a far sight better than the other way around.  I consider myself blessed.