The Journey Begins…

Lent begins with sooty smudges on our foreheads reminding us of who we really are, children in need of a savior.

Children who are indeed blessed beyond blessed in our brokenness. The smudged foreheads on Ash Wednesday remind us of who we really are and of the walk we have been called to walk in the season of Lent.

What a beautiful reminder.

What a beautiful walk.

This is a snippet from my sermon I am preparing for this Sunday, and as I prepare to invite those in the congregation to a deep and meaningful life-changing walk, I extend that invitation to you as well.

I know a thing or two about walks, journeys and wandering.

Last November, after three plus years of living away from the place God originally called me to serve–a little white church on the border of Upstate New York and Vermont–I returned home. I returned home with nothing more than faith and trust in God. No job, no health benefits, no “sure thing” for the future. I came home to an 18th century home which translates into “money pit.”

But home I came, because I know life is not fully experienced as God wants us to experience it until we take those leaps of faith. It’s so easy to say, “Well, I can’t do that because it just doesn’t make sense.”

When God calls us, it NEVER makes sense. In fact, rest assured that God always seems to lead us to do the impossible, to break open those closed doors so that those who are blinded by hate or jealousy or ignorance can see the light of Christ shining.

I was led a decade ago to do the impossible in a little rural church. The church I fondly refer to as “the little white church.” Its structure is really not little, if anything, its New England clapboard frame is quite large. But in terms of numbers gathered, it would rate as small.

But I walked the crazy walk into that pulpit and learned a beautiful lesson. While small in numbers that congregation had hearts that were/are huge. Quick to argue; quicker to love. Quick to doubt; quicker to fall on their knees to pray.  Quick to accept a former New York City fashion editor as their pastor; quicker to embrace that accidental country pastor as one of their own.

I am walking the hard walk again. I am journeying again. I am haplessly wandering again…or so it seems. I have made it back home, but now I need to go all the way in trusting God in how it is God wants me to serve him.

I am so glad the season of Lent is here. I am glad because it reminds that Jesus made a hard journey as well. Yet Jesus never stumbled, never faltered, never doubted each step he took–even when there were naysayers on the path and those who tried to make him stumble or worst yet, sought his life. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead to the painful yet beautiful cross that awaited him. He kept knowing that the journey would indeed be worth it.

I believe too that the journey is worth it.

So journey with me. Let us pray together. Let us keep one another from stumbling or giving up.

If you have a prayer I can lift up for you, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. The prayers will be confidential and I will add them to my prayer time every morning when I walk up to the top of Sofie’s Hill here at the Old Stone Well Farm. And know that as I am sitting on a fallen tree overlooking the valley and gazing at Vermont’s Green Mountains in the distance, I will be praying for this broken world, for all the little white churches who are such amazing witnesses of faith in their communities, for God’s provision for those struggling and I will be praying for you.

You can send your requests to accidentalcountrypastor@gmail.com.

Blessings and peace,

Pastor Donna 

 

I just love this picture of the path on the rail trail here behind my little old house in Vermont. I thought it was the perfect Lenten journey picture to share with you. Notice how there seems to be a “opened door” at the end of the path. With God, my friends, there is always an opened door waiting for us.

 

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This Way of Life: A Little White Church Lenten Journey

Join Pastor Donna as she reflects on the transforming power of Lent and takes you on a 40-day journey of discovering God’s message of hope and renewal that she discovered in a little white church and in the hearts of the people who called the church home.

A Return to Happiness

The excitement was growing among those in the little white church as my wedding day drew closer. There were plans to spruce up the church, which included ordering new tablecloths for the time of refreshments and wedding cake to be served after the ceremony.

“What color should the tablecloths be, Pastor Donna?” was the question from the woman tasked with this very important mission she took seriously, coming into my office with swatches and suggestions. I really didn’t have a strong opinion of either cream or sage green and suggested to get the cloths that would work for future church events.

“What about flowers? You have to have flowers in the church?” asked another woman later that day.

I really had no strong opinions on flowers either.

“Whatever you have blooming in your garden by the time of the wedding would be beautiful,” I said.

I couldn’t think too much about tablecloths and flowers because at that moment I had a more pressing wedding detail to take care of which was irking me.

I had to find the perfect wedding invitation.

After many a late night of searching the Internet not finding exactly what I was looking for, I was getting a bit anxious. Cream or ivory? Matte or satin finish? Embossed or not?

The problem was I really had no idea what I had wanted in a wedding invitation.

Then one day, as I was putting away some books back onto the shelf in my office, a piece of scrap paper fell onto the floor. I looked down and staring up at me was the sketch of a lily of the valley done on a piece of notebook paper in blue ballpoint ink.

Lily of the valley had always been one of my favorite flowers—one of the first flowers of spring that has the most incredible perfume coming from its small white bell shaped petals. They used to grow under the forsythia bushes in the backyard of my childhood home. I would pick them and create little bridal bouquets for my Barbi dolls and dream of the day I would someday carry lily of valley in my own bouquet.

I picked up the paper and read the note on the back: “Remember, I found these in the snow. Love, Valerie.”

Valerie was an older woman at the church I attended in New York City who had seen her share of heartache in the game of love and in the game of life. She had always persevered, though, and as a result her trust in God was evident to all who came in contact with her. I was one of those lucky ones who had come in contact with her.

We had shared some of our struggles with waiting on God in a small group at a church retreat and it turns out we both had a lily of the valley story to tell.

Valerie remembered how one bitterly cold and snowy winter day, as she made her way through the city streets with a heavy heart and many questions about her future on her mind, she spotted a bunch of lily of the valleys peaking through the snow—snow that hid concrete underneath. How could this be? She walked closer and realized the flowers were plastic. Still it didn’t matter. The sign of hope in the snow was for her a reminder to hold on and to trust that God was leading her.

Mine was that these flowers were growing outside of my boyfriend’s mother’s apartment in Manhattan the weekend we went there to pack up her belongings after she quickly succumbed to cancer. And how, just three years later, after my that same boyfriend died in a jeep accident Africa, I found those flowers growing bountifully on the side of the new home I had just moved into.

The minister who listened to us share our stories fought back the tears in his eyes and smiled as he then shared something with us I didn’t know.

“The lily of the valley has often been portrayed in religious paintings. It symbolizes the promise that happiness will always return.”

I gazed at the sketch Valerie did for me so long ago and remembered the unrelenting years filled with my own waiting and heartache and wondering if God was hearing my cries or not. Of course, God was and now here I was in the midst of planning a long-hoped for wedding. I looked at the scrap paper and realized what my wedding invitations had to be.

I ran to the computer and logged on to a wedding invitation site that I had seen two months before. There on that site were wedding invitations that had embossed lily of the valleys on them. I wasn’t too sure about them at first glance. They were white vellum, which was a bit lighter and more delicate than the heavier card stock I had been looking at. But now I knew they were perfect. I proceeded to order the invitations.

I logged out of the computer and stared some more at Valerie’s sketch and thought about this wedding and the excitement that was building in the little white church.

I realized this wedding was more than just about Pastor Donna getting married—finally. This was about the miracle of love found—between my soon-to-be-husband and me, between a pastor and her congregation, between and congregation and its community—love found in God who had never stopped loving us.

There are miracles of love everyday for us to see. For me those miracles have come in the way of hearing about plastic lily of the valleys peeking up from the snow on a city street and then seeing hundreds of lily of the valleys in full bloom on the side of my house after praying to God for a sign that God was still there. Miracles of love have come in the way of seemingly mundane discussions on what color for tablecloths and what kind of flowers for the sanctuary. Miracles of love come from God in the most unexpected ways

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Sprigs of lily of the valley grace Pastor Donna’s bridal bouquet. A reminder of the miracle of love and God’s promise of the return to happiness.

I gently placed Valerie’s lily of the valley sketch back into a book, knowing someday when I needed to see it the most, it will once again miraculously fall gently out onto the floor. Until then, I remember. With God there is always a return to happiness.

This Way of Life Lenten Challenge: Where are the miracles of love blooming this day in your life? Take note of them and remember to say “Thank you, God.”