Friendship - A Beneficial Food Group

Friendship - a Beneficial Food Group
How many friends do you have? Sometimes I think I have one. Sometimes I think I have 5 or 6. Sometimes I think I have multiples of 6. A gathering recently reminded me that friends are this fragile, unique, ever-changing, inspiring combination of certain characteristics that draw me to them. And if I exhibit some characteristic that draws them to me, well...then we begin to share in this mysterious fellowship called friendship, giving and receiving, offering it up freely with love and acceptance, and friendship grows and becomes this rare treasure.
Just as eating certain amounts and types of food is recommended as one of the most important ways to achieve a healthy diet, a special combination of friends can bring together personality traits that strengthen, enrich, and motivate one to be the best they can be. They are different for all of us , but common threads connect.
I am not a psychologist, but I would venture to say that the areas in which one looks to others for friendship and finds value are the areas in which they themselves might feel the weakest. I think it must be what "compliments" a friendship. For example, a good listener is attracted to the one who can tell a story. And a good story teller certainly needs the good listener. It is a two-way street. That is not to say that the good listener should always have to listen. One must learn the art of give and take.
Here are some examples of friendships that compliment each another:
The one who makes me laugh, diminishes my quietness and lifts my heart; she sees the glass half-full and teaches me her viewpoint
"Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down."
Oprah Winfrey
The one who inspires me, pulls out my own creative efforts and encourages me to rethink, redo, start again
"Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit."
Aristotle
The one who calms and soothes me gives me time to breath and rest with thought-out, clear ideas .
"The real test of friendship is: can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy those moments of life that are utterly simple? "
Eugene Kennedy

The one who challenges me and demonstrates in her own profession that I, too can begin fresh and contribute something in the workplace.
"You can always tell a real friend: when you've made a fool of yourself he doesn't feel you've done a permanent job."
Laurence J. Peter

The one who confidently shares my faith and touches my soul, stabilizing and strengthening my heart.
"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares."
Henri Nouwen

And overarching all of these unique characteristics of friendship is the little word "love." We often say we love someone, but are we patient with them? Are we kind to them? Do we envy them? Do we brag? Are we rude? Do we get angry? Do we keep a record of wrongs? Do we protect and trust and hope and persevere? Those are the words found in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
Everyone wants to have a friend. Being a friend is first step.

Whiter Than Snow

Ahhhh - a snow day!! Living in the South one never knows whether the weatherman 's forecast of snow will come true. Trust me, it snowed. Five or six inches at my house is enough to make everything a winter wonderland and shut down a city. Fortunately, it is not so terribly cold and the power has stayed on - at least for now. After a call from a friend, I was shamed into wrapping up and heading out into the calm of the white morning. I'm so glad I did.
There was no traffic and families were out with sleds and saucers swirling down driveways and sloping streets. Laughter and relaxing smiles were welcoming a Monday where meetings and agendas had been "whited-out" on full calendars. A trek to the grocery on foot became a simple adventure; the spotting of an American Goldfinch sitting on a snowy branch rewarded my walk . My camera never seems to be quite ready or the zoom good enough, but the picture in my mind has been taken.
It's the quiet I love the most. Somehow the blanket of snow muffles even the slightest wind. The birds conserve their chatter and the white of everything calms my spirit. There are no airplanes or leaf blowers, carpool horns or garbage trucks. Even the ringing of the phone becomes a blaring interruption, reminding me that oh, yes, life stirs elsewhere - somewhere. But can it not wait? Can't I just savor these few hours of silence and allow the white to purify and cleanse, offering rest, offering quiet peace?
I think it was Jack London who wrote about it - The White Silence described in the great Yukon Territory while racing a dog sled team to victory:
" Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot's life, nothing more. Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance. And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him--the hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God."
While we are miles away from the romance of the Yukon Territory, I can still transport myself to the utter feeling of smallness as Nature steps in and transforms my world - quietly, magically, mysteriously - into white space, white silence, white beauty.

A snow day in January becomes like the margin on my word document. As my calendar fills up and the year launches into busyness, Nature quietly takes charge and says, "take a break - quiet now, be still, wait and watch."
And as London so beautifully articulates, we wonder about our smallness and our place in this vast world and our hearts yearn for something that pursues us to the white spaces, leading us further down our life's journey toward wholeness. The Apostle Paul says in Romans that by taking a thoughtful look at creation, we are without excuse for not seeing God's divinity in all of nature - yes, even the pure and spotless snow.

And somewhere I remember the verse of a song:
Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole;
I want Thee forever to live in my soul.
Break down every idol, cast out every foe;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Making Fruitcake

Yesterday was the perfect Christmas Sunday. After attending early morning church we joined our daughter and watched the snow flurry outside the restaurant windows. Feeling festive, we returned home to build a fire, watch football, and ... make fruitcake. I know - go ahead and laugh. Everyone loves to share their fruitcake jokes. People make fun of us brave souls who proclaim that fruitcake holds a fond place in our heart each Christmas. We don't mind.
My mother made a dark fruitcake and steamed it in a pressure cooker. She then wrapped and stored them in a cool place until time for giving or serving. Delicious. I never quite figured out the use of a pressure cooker, so I have moved on from that recipe. But my Aunt Bea has been making a lighter version of fruitcake that has become popular with my family. It's full of cherries and fresh pecans and has a light lemon texture. I gave it to our minister one year and he liked it so much he recommended that the congregation be more open-minded about fruitcake....among many other things that we close our minds and hearts to in this life.
Making Fruitcake is labor intensive, especially the final part where you combine all of the ingredients. Sometimes I talk myself out of the effort. But this year I was pleased and a little taken aback when my husband said, "I want to help you make the fruitcake." I knew there was no getting out of it. And so as I creamed the butter and sugar, Mike chopped. When it came time to fold the egg whites into the fruit mixture - it was nice to have my man in the kitchen! I held the bowl and he folded the whites and fruit to a beautiful mixture. We had just enough for two loaf pans and two mini-loaves.
When the cakes were done, I popped those mini-fruitcakes right out of the pans to cool. Perfection. I popped one of the large ones out to cool. Perfection again - and proud. But the third fruitcake did not want to release. We put it back in the oven for a few minutes, and trying again, the fruitcake split down the middle and fell out of the pan in three pieces. Now, I have had that happen before and if you are quick enough, you can stick a fruitcake back together and no one ever knows - hehe! But yesterday I was not so lucky. I just happened to be standing beside of the sink, and as the cake erupted from the pan, one-third of it fell to its death and drowned in a sink of soapy water. No fixing! All those beautiful cherries and fresh pecans down the drain!
I have heard of people throwing out their fruitcake disasters and starting over - working until they have perfected the process. I was just about to do the same when my assistant watching the disaster, stepped up, burst out laughing, grabbed the remains and said, "Not to worry, we will still enjoy what we have left."
At the moment of crises in a kitchen, laughter is good medicine. You've worked hard, bought expensive ingredients and followed the recipe. You did everything right and you are disappointed when things fall apart. Sometimes, there is no fixing it. Sometimes, you simply have to be content and enjoy what you have salvaged from the disaster.
This Christmas, are you enjoying what you have? Is there laughter and a spirit of love in your home? Is there an aroma of fresh generosity and a spirit of hope? Making a fruitcake is one way to find out.
Aunt Bea's Fruitcake
Divide: 6 eggs, beating the whites until stiff and set aside
Cream: 1 lb. butter
2 cups sugar
6 egg yolks from above, added one at a time
Combine: 1 lb. raisins
1 cup candied pineaple
1 1/2 cups red cherries
1 1/2 cups green cherries
1 cup coconut
1 lb. pecans
4 cups four (1/2 cup of this mixed with fruit)
Add: fruit and flour to creamed mixture
Add: 1 2-oz. bottle lemon extract
1 tsp. grated fresh lemon rind
Fold: egg whites into fruit mixture
Bake: 1 large tube pan - 3 hours at 275 degrees.
2 loaf pans - 2 hours 30 minutes at 275.
(if using loaf pans, you will have enough for two mini-loaves which will bake in
just under hour - when top is light brown and tester comes out clean)

December Deception

Two days ago, I worked at the computer, fine tuning talks I will deliver during December and January. All day long I looked out at the rain and the wind blowing against my window. All day long I felt cold and shivery. But it is okay because it is December. Christmas is around the corner. A little snow mixed in with the rain would be just fine with me. Tis the season, right? But when I opened the door I was shocked to feel the warm air. It's wasn't cold outside. It was warm - like spring. In fact, I looked around in the garden and saw daffodils sticking their heads out of the ground. What is going on? Will winter ever really arrive? Have I missed out on my very favorite season?
This morning, looking outside from my same view, the sun is peeking through the trees and it looks warm. But I am not deceived! I have opened the door, stepped outside and it is bitterly cold. The ferns have crispy frozen fingers and the birds are quick to gather their breakfast and take cover.
Oftentimes things aren't always as they seem. We sit in our climate controlled homes and look through a window, thinking we can tell what is going on outside. We don't bother to go out and read the thermometer or spend some time in the elements. We just think we know the temperature because it just simply looks cold from our perspective. We are quick to judge. We shudder and turn away. And we stay behind our glassed-in walls.
Don't we do that to each other in our relationships? We observe from a distance and assume that this or that is the case. We form our own opinions and we keep the glass between us so we don't have to take action. We say, "OH, I am not going around her - or him. She's in a bad mood or he's irritable or she's not even nice. I can tell by the look on her face." And before we even give the person a chance - step into their world - we walk away from what could be an enjoyable encounter - all because we thought our own thoughts were correct. No matter that the person was thinking seriously about a project. No matter that the person was a million miles from the present and needed time to reenter and put on her "happy" face, her approachable face.
This Christmas, don't be deceived. The longing that each of us feel in our hearts is a longing for relationship. The Christmas encounters we engage in can be meaningful or Scrooge-like. It is our choice. We can quickly make up our mind that others are indifferent and really don't have time for us, so we beat them to the punch by deciding for ourselves how it will be - protecting our own egos. And most times we are wrong. We become the losers. We close ourselves away behind the glass walls and focus on ourselves, our fears, our insecurities. We have lost out on what we long for - a relationship. When relationship is nurtured, it can change our perspective; it can become an hour of great conversation, an afternoon together, a trusting friendship, and ultimately.....love.
Love comes at Christmas. It is what Jesus teaches us. Someone said the other day that the song most requested by adults is "Jesus Loves Me, This I know." And we think it is a song for only children. Love comes as a baby - fragile, new, needing care and attention. Love reaches out. Love grows up and takes on responsibilities. Love demostrates the ultimate, taking on pain and suffering. Love dies and rises to new life so that we might love and live too - forever. Love says, "Joy to the World, The Lord is Come!" And Heaven and Nature sing. No deception. No false assumptions. No glass walls. Just love.

On Being Sedulous

I filled the bird feeders today. Not surprisingly, my feathered friends have not yet discovered them, but I know they will return. I take the feeders down in the summer and insist that they sedulously pursue their own food, reminding them that they are, in fact, birds - not garden guests showing up for tasty tapas throughout the day. They must work for their livelihood through the summer, I tell them. And when the temperature drops enough to build the first fire in the fireplace, I surprise them with their fresh, winter course of seeds. Then I watch and wait for their return. I find myself looking out the window, hoping to catch the first glimpse of those who have been great friends in the past, expecting their return and looking forward to their company again.
Yesterday was a great example of that. My church remembered all those people who have gone on to Heaven this past year. Their names were read aloud and a candle was lit in their memory. We sang For All The Saints and remembered those who had lived a Godly life, proclaimed their faith and lived it daily. I shared a moment of friendship with a couple whose young son was on the list this year and I thought back two years when my own child's name was called out. Every year, there will be a list. Every year people will leave us - some young, some old, some tragically, some mercifully. Every year we will stand in remembrance and work our way to the final verse of that hymn that proclaims a glorious day when all the saints shall rise and together we will all see the King of Glory. I fully expect this one day.
In celebration of All Saint's Day, I was honored to be invited to sign copies of When God Comes Near. As the people came with books in their hands, my heart silently prayed for the one who would soon be reading my story. As I talked to each person briefly, I learned that some were going to be mailed to parents, some were going to friends or children, some were for personal healing and hope. Each person trusted that the words written in When God Comes Near will encourage and lighten someone's heavy load. I pray for that to happen with every book that sells.
And more and more I wonder how it is we can carry those heavy loads. I think it must have something to do with bird watching! Did not Job say "Just ask the birds of the air and they will teach you"? I know I will see them at the feeder soon. But in the meantime, I must make preparations. I must wash that feeder, hang it securely, and fill it up with desirable food. I, like the birds, must be sedulous in the feeding of my own soul with reminders of God's love for me and others. I must be diligent through the ease of sunny days so that when the winter winds come, I will have the skills in place to survive. And God is a faithful "soul feeder" with an endless supply of love. I can always find Him ready and willing to feed me - winter, spring, summer, or fall. But why does God do that? We move through these seasons of nature and life and maybe even at times wonder "Moving to what? Moving where? And what am I doing to get wherever it is I am going? And does it even matter?" Why does God sustain me? Isn't it for that "day when all the saints shall rise and together we will all see the King of Glory?" And I thought it was all about me.

Smoky Mountain Season

The drive from Kentucky to Georgia offers several routes. One is mostly interstate, cities, trucks and traffic. One is a scenic four-lane highway through rolling countryside. And if you are not in a hurry, one is through the majestic Smoky Mountains, touristy, and worth the congestion. That is the route we took returning to Atlanta. We counted as two of the 9,000,000 people who visit the park every year who: picnic beside the rolling, chilly streams; hike on trails padded by pine needles and flanked by woodland ferns; and gaze at smoky vistas that take your breath away. No wonder it is one of the most visited parks in the country.
In 1900, nearly 70 percent of the current park had been devastated by the logging industry. Seeing that a beautiful part of our country was about to be destroyed, great efforts were made by individuals to buy and preserve the land and in 1920, the government started making efforts to buy up the land. In 1934 Congress established the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, and now almost 100 years later, the park encompasses over 500,000 acres of land - always in transition, always under the watchful eye of forest rangers and environmentalists, and always returning with new growth, new splendor, new life.
We stopped only long enough to get a sandwich for our picnic before heading into the park to find a roadside stop. Everyone else had the same idea, so we backed our car in, put down the tailgate and sat, munching on our lunch, admiring the view. I offered to take a picture for the people next to us. They were locals and I asked them about the huge volume of dead evergreen trees in the forest. They explained that a little bug had infested the Firs and Balsams and was destroying the forest. They said they would probably all be gone in the next 10 years. I wanted to cry.
As we drove out of the Smokies, I cherished those tall remaining trees, standing majestic among their fallen neighbors. I could not help but wonder what was being done to save them. I have learned that since the discovery in 1963 of the trouble maker insect - the balsam woolly adelgid - studies are ongoing to monitor and preserve the forest. Researchers are discovering that some of the firs are resisting the trouble-maker and saplings are re-appearing. Lush ferns are replenishing barren soil where the trees formerly prevented light. New life is appearing.
I remembered an earlier trip to Wyoming after some devastating forest fires and one scene comes back vividly. The forest beside of us was burned black. But if you looked closely, you could see a moose with her calf among the tree trunks. They were feeding on lush green growth at the base. Around them were vibrant wild flowers. New life and growth was bursting forth.
Our lives are very much like a forest. In a perfect world, we would have just the right amount of rain and sunshine and something like a balsam wooly adelgid would not exist. We would co-exist with others in a friendly environment where we complemented and nurtured those around us. Nothing would fight against us or seek to destroy. Our lives would be lush and productive. We would all live like The Three Bears in the forest, happily ever after.
Oh, how I wish it were so. Oh, how I wish there were remedies for deadly insects, deadly diseases, forest fires, and disasters of every kind. Today's falling leaves remind me that it is all for just a season. New growth will occur. One day disease and death will be no longer. We must wait. And while we wait, we can live in the hope of it happening. This is just a season.
My friend gave me a pie plate that quotes Ecclesiastes, " To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." She lives daily with Multiple Sclerosis, waiting in the hope of a disease-free world. I wait with her. This is just a season.

The Homecoming

I mentally envision it being something like the old-fashioned Homecoming that I would attend with my family in Kentucky. The date would be set and everyone was invited who had moved away. It would be a day to return to rekindle special friendships, share a meal, sing some songs, and remember those who had gone on to Heaven. Children would be more grown-up. Newly weds would have babies. Some would look older. Some never changed. My father especially loved the fact that the best dishes from every home would arrive for the noonday meal. One year was special - my parent's church celebrated their 100-year anniversary. My mother made herself a long, turn-of-the-century dress with a hat to match. She labored over pictures and displays with other women of the church so that all who returned to celebrate could look at their lives with a fresh glimpse of the past. They would be glad that they had attended.
This Sunday, I will return to the church in Atlanta where Mike and our family attended for 20+ years. It is not "Homecoming" at the church - I guess those have gone out of style. There won't be picture albums or my mother's lemon meringue pies ( I wish!), but it will be a homecoming for me. I will walk into the beautiful sanctuary where my three children were baptized. I will admire the beautiful crystal chandelier and the serene white of the entire sacred place. I will see people I know and love. It will be like home. And I will share with those who attend the beautiful story of Megan, our oldest daughter who is one who has already "gone home."
I find it so appropriate to be invited to return to the church that taught her so well. Through Sunday School and mission trips, youth group and worship, Megan fell in love with Jesus at Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church. Who could not fall in love as Miss Connie, an elderly, beloved Sunday School teacher would greet every child on Sunday by taking their hand and holding each finger spell out L-O-V-E- love? Who could keep from loving the antics of those crazy youth group directors? And who could not feel loved by the many who came alongside my child to encourage her to grow in God's love?
It is out of gratitude for all that was done for my children and our family that I return to speak this Sunday. Oh, it might be a little emotional for me to walk through the doors again - remember all the special times we shared as a family of five. Maybe it will be a closeness I feel - of knowing that those who have gone home are waiting for us to come to them. I don't know, but I would like to invite you to be there with us as we launch the book, When God Comes Near.
Second-Ponce de Leon Baptist Church
2715 Peachtree Road in Buckhead at the corner of Peachtree and Wesley
4:30 p.m. in the Sanctuary
This event is open to the community, so please come and invite a friend to join you!
When God Comes Near will be available for purchase ($16 per copy). Marcia will speak, read excerpts from her book, and answer audience questions in the Second-Ponce Sanctuary starting at 4:30 p.m., followed by a book signing and reception in the Fellowship Hall.