Mr. Stinky Feet's December Blog post

On the front of the Kansas City Star's FYI section today was published a blog entry by Mr. Stinky Feet (Jim Cosgrove) who is an entertainer extraordinaire of young children everywhere. His post is below. Jeni is his wife, Lyda his older daughter:

"Angels Shop At Target"

Lyda told me an amazing story tonight about how when she was an angel in heaven, she picked Jeni and me to be her parents. Lyda went shopping one day at the heavenly Target. It was August 13th. She remembers the date because it "felt like August, and it smelled like August. And, well, it really tasted like August." She found Jeni on the "girl" shelf and me on the "boy" shelf. She picked me first, she said, because she loves me as big as the world. And Jeni and I were kind of like statues, just "heads and shirts."

"You had on a blue shirt and mom had on a purple shirt." (Naturally – our favorite colors.) Then Lyda went shopping for the rest of our body parts. "I picked out your bones, and your arms, and legs, and hair, and paint to color your eyes, and some peach-colored stretchy, flopppy stuff for your skin. I even picked out your toes," she said proudly.

"How come you didn’t get me some more hair?" I interrupted. "Well, sorry," she said, "we were kind of in a hurry and we were really hungry. It was about 5:30 and we had to get back to God’s house to get something to eat."

"What did God serve for dinner?"

"Noodles, of course. We had noodles pretty much every night."

"Did you ever get sick of eating noodles every night?"

"No! God had lots of Parmesan cheese and parsley. And we had milk, but that’s about it."

"You said 'we.' Who else was with you?" I asked.

"There were other angels with me to help me pick you out. Your dad helped me pick you out," she said. "He was the only boy helping me. But, there were about 12 girl angels who helped me pick out mom."

"My dad helped you pick me out?" I asked. "That must have been a long time ago."

"Oh yeah, it was before you and mom were babies. Because you’ve got to start as babies, you know. We took all the parts over to God’s house and he put you together. I helped him a little, maybe this much," she said, holding her thumb and index fingers about an inch apart. "And then God put you in your mommy’s tummy and he put mom in her mommy’s tummy. And then I helped God get you and mom together, but that took a long time."

A long time, indeed, but it seems like we’ve always been together. Now I know why it "seems" that way, because we have been together -- always.

I must say I am comforted knowing that someone as wise and loving as Lyda helped put me together and helped Jeni and me find each other. How cool that she picked us! No need to worry about anything, because it's all part of the master plan.

First box run 2010

Today I actually did a box run. Those of you who have been reading this blog the whole 5+ years, I am sure will recall the unforgettably well written (;-}) post I did back in March of 2005 on making the first box run when I received the news that I would be moving into the superintendency. Then, I moved the household. This year, praise the Lord and the bishop, I will not. I am able to continue living in my condo.

The box run today was only for liquor boxes into which books fit so nicely. I need them to pack my office. The last time I was in a liquor store was back in the spring of 05 when I was collecting boxes for the last move. Today, I hit the jackpot when I stopped by Berbiglia on the Southwest Trafficway extension at 45th street. There were lots of boxes, and the young guy working gave me as many as I could fit in the Prius. My camera ran out of juice or I would have a picture of them in the back of the car. Instead I took this photo from the Internet, but the boxes looked a lot like these. Barbara and Gary at the office came downstairs with a dolly that got them all upstairs.

The young man at the liquor store looked lonely when I came in. No other workers and definitely no other patrons than me, and I wasn't really a patron, just a scavenger of boxes. He was tall, and bearded and had great looking glasses. I introduced myself to him. His name is Chris. The reason I asked his name was twofold: 1) It is always a good idea when you find a generous box giver, to make friends with him so that he will continue to be so; and, 2) I like to know by name those with whom I interact. After we exchanged names, Chris became even more helpful, bringing the boxes out to the car with me, volunteering to take the "innards" out as I call them---the wine bottle dividers and such.

Twas only a simple encounter. But who knows, I may have been the only customer (or box scavenger) today that asked Chris's name. He was the only person I met today that I did not already know. For some reason, I hope to encounter this young man again. And maybe find out a bit more about him than his name. And not just because he is a soft-touch when it comes to boxes. There are times like today, when we all encounter someone, who stays in our minds, who God places in our minds and hearts. I don't know quite what reason there would be for me to go back into Berbiglia. But if Chris is in my mind and heart and God put him there, I imagine that the boxes might just run out, and the miracle of God's love exemplify itself instead of through grain that does not give out, nor in there being more than enough fish and bread to feed 5000, nor with fish that break the net of sadly befuddled disciples who see Jesus on the shore, This time, God's love might exemplify itself in not quite enough liquor boxes.

Thoroughly Loved

This morning I had the privilege of being present in a church where this year's confirmation class members answered for themselves the questions of baptism and belief. Three of the class had not been baptised and wanted to be immersed, so arrangements were made to have a water tank (borrowed from the Baptists) placed int the sanctuary. It worked very well for the immersions. But I wasn't thinking about that during the baptisms. I instead watched as the pastor held the handkerchief over the mouth and nose one by one, took them down into the water, and brought that newly baptized back up. And what pulled at my heart was after each time the child was brought up, the pastor would hold him or her tight to his chest, encircling that boy or that girl completely in his arm and pray over each one in a most beautiful way lifting up unique gifts and and hoped for future for that specific youth. And as I watched this, I watched the face of each youth, as the pastor held him or her tight, and I saw the radiance on each face, the expression of one who knows what it is to be thoroughly loved and held tight in the arms of God just like was happening in that moment. It was a thing of unspeakable joy. Thank you, God.

I want to keep this image in mind as a picture of what I want my pastoring to be---yes, sometimes holding a person close in body, but more often creating relationships with persons, young and old, of trust and love, as a vehicle of God's love, as a person whose heart will not let go no matter what. Can I do that? By God's grace, I will.

A Day of a New Beginning

This is a day of a new beginning... a student pastor in my district, Crystal Hughes, is marrying Chris Ruddell at 4:00 pm at our Corder church, and I am bound and determined to get there before 3:30 so I will have some sort of a chance of getting a seat with Barbara, my assistant. The gift I purchased for them is simply impossible to wrap, so I bound it with ribbon and put a big bow on top. I think they will understand.

Corder has been a student appointment for over 50 years, with sporadic times when a retiree has served. This church I know pretty well, having weathered my first major issue as a d.s. here in September 2005, when it was discovered that the then-student pastor had wrecked the parsonage to the tune of upwards of $30,000. The church's response was, I believe word for word, "we will get it ready for the next student," which they did, and then after that pastor came Crystal. She has been marvelous for this church and the one yoked with it, the Alma Federated Church.

This wedding reminds me of my sister's wedding back in 1963. I was eight and the flower girl, and witness to the making of a wedding first hand. Ellen's gown was purchased through Montgomery Ward, for $29.99, and my seamstress mother made it over into something that looked like a French original. She also made an identical gown for my Barbie. The wedding was held in our home church, Oak Grove Methodist, down south of Carbondale, out in the country 10 miles. I remember doing something a few months before the wedding that Chris and Crystal may have done as well--since the sanctuary was quite small, our family went to the church and sat right next to each other in the pew, and then kept moving down to see how many people could sit in one pew. Seventeen, I recall. That helped with how many invitations to send. When the wedding came, the church was packed, with many standing in the back. There was a cake and punch reception in the basement; I am not sure where the indoor restrooms had been installed yet or not.

The only point of this blog post, really is to celebrate the joy of marriage. I am reminded so much of a marriage hymn in the UMH , the text by Brian Wren, When Love is Found:

When Love is found and hope comes home,
sing and be glad that two are one.
When love explodes and fills the sky,
praise God and share our Makers joy.

When love has flowered in trust and care
build both each day, that love may dare
To reach beyond homes warmth and light
to serve and strive for truth and right.

When love is tried as loved ones change,
hold still to hope though all seems strange,
Till ease returns and love grows wise
through listening ears and opened eyes.

When love is torn and trust betrayed,
pray strength to love till torments fade,
Till lovers keep no score of wrong,
but hear through pain loves Easter song

Praise God for love, praise God for life

in age or youth, in husband, wife.

Lift up your heart let love be fed

through death and life in broken bread

Amen

25 North Eugene Field Road

As most of you Missourians know by now, I am going forward into my future into local church pastoring again. On July 1, I become the pastor at McMurry UMC in Claycomo, MO. Both the church and the street it sits on are named for persons of distinction. Bishop William McMurry's name was given to the new church whenit was started in1922, because he was the presiding bishop at that time. The street, though, was named before that. Earlier in the century, when Claycomo was established as a township, the man who owned the property named all the streets, several after poets. McMurry UMC's street address is 25 North Eugene Field Road. The first time I drove by the church, I noticed the street name. I knew I knew who that guy was---something about children---but I will admit I had to go home and google. Silly me. Eugene Field, who lived only 45 years, is the most prolific writer of children's poetry who every lived. He was born in St. Louis in 1850. I have learned quite a bit about Mr Field, especially preparing for this blog post. I've just read over 30 or so of his poems, and the way that he was able to take children out of the mere fairy tale into a different place and time is mystical and magical. Think Wynken, Blynken and Nod, if you have ever heard it. Find it on the internet and read it if you haven't. He was quite an interesting man too. I read an account of how, early in his career when he was working for the newspaper in Denver, the town was to be blessed :-) by a visit from Oscar Wilde, by all accounts a conceited and "puffed up" man as the account reads. Field got word that Wilde's train had been delayed several miles east of Denver, and so, Field found his way over to the next town east, hopped a train that would arrive in Denver several hours before Wilde's would, dressed up to look like him, and fooled folks into thinking he was Wilde, until Wilde himself appeared.

Despite all this, though, he had much loss in his life. His mother died when he was quite young; one son died in childbirth; and, one of his little boys died young. Several of his poems have a melancholy, poignant theme running through them.

One of the things I am most looking forward at the McMurry church is working with children. I have not had much chance for interaction with kids since coming on the cabinet, and I miss them very, very much. Driving around the church, there seem to be plenty of children in the neighborhood---many in some of the rental housing that borders the church to the west. There are children in the church, too, and programs are provided to grow these young disciples. I'll get to do "time with children" again in worship! I am excited about this, and especially look forward to getting to know the kids around the church, and down across Vivion Road in the large trailer court that is there, and those who attend the school not too far away, and the kids who play in the parks around the church in the summer. I hope to take my lunch down to the park, to eat and to listen. I plan to laugh and be silly and scoop the toddlers up in my arms and rock the babies. And I hope, in the the ways that I am led, that I too like Mr. Field, can help the kids to use their imaginations and celebrate in the wonder of what it is to be engulfed in the arms of God.

The last stanza of Wynken, Blynken and Nod, which follows the imaginative telling of three fisherman who go sailing reads:

But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken,Blynken,

And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is a wee one's trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:

--Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.

Who knows? Some of those children I will meet might not have parents who, out of their own personal struggles, do not often sing to them, or sing at all. Some of these children might not see too many beautiful things. I know that I will sing, in as many ways as God gives me to sing--I will sing the Lord's song and tell of that place to which only poetry can point the way. Thank you, God.

Loose Park

This is a photo I took today in the Jacob Loose Park, two miles or less from my house. Today was maybe the most beautiful day I have ever experienced, honestly. I pity anyone who has not had the spectacular weather and the loveliest of springs we are having in Kansas City

I first heard of Loose Park my first Sunday at Broadway (also not too terribly far from the park) back in September 2000. One of the adult Sunday School classes made an announcement in worship that the members would have a picnic the following Saturday at the north end of Loose Park...and I, witty as always replied, "Or maybe its the loose end of North Park" which at least showed people I was listening. To me, Loose Park is the gem of all the Kansas City parks (and there are many.) The trees, the flowers, and most especially the roses that will come before long which were planted and continue to be nurtured and replanted by the Kansas City Rose Society.

However, I love Loose Park even more because of an urban legend that I heard about Mr. Loose from back in the 1920's. The land that now comprises the park had been purchased earlier in the century by a man who build a golf course and clubhouse on it. This golf club was very exclusive and was for the "upper crust" of the city. Loose was a successful business man who was one of the founders of what now is the Sunshine Biscuit Company. He was also Jewish. He loved golf and applied for membership at the Kansas City Country Club as it was called. He was turned down...guess why? Because the club did not accept applications from Jews. So a few years later, just after Mr. Loose died, Mrs Loose bought the country club and made it into a public park. I like this story. I really really like it.

When I walk around the park, or when I drive by it, which I do quite frequently, I always remember that story, I also remember that before the park and before the country club, the land had been a Civil War battlefield. From the bloodiness of war, to the segregation of a country club, to the the loveliest of the Kansas City parks, this land has blossomed into Something Beautiful indeed. God had a hand in all this, I know, and I saw that hand today in red bud and pear tress, in the Canadian geese and mallard ducks on the pond, and in those rose bushes that are beginning to sprout leaves. And I am grateful

Susan V and the Labyrinth

It was a gorgeous day here today, made more beautiful by the worship service to celebrate the dedication and naming of the new prayer labyrinth at St. Paul School of Theology in honor of my good friend, Susan Sonnenday Vogel. The picture is of the back of our celebrant Adam Hamilton and those who helped in serving. Jim Simpson who preached profoundly and transcendently is to the right of the altar. Amidst spring time blossoms and the warmth of people who love her, Susan was recognized for her long tenure on the staff of St. Paul and especially for her steadfast and patient work with students in their spiritual formation. The labyrinth itself has been a dream of the Order of St. Luke for a number of years and it was a joy to see so many students whose hearts are gladdened by this mysterious way of seeking God while knowing that they are already found.

















The first labyrinth I walked was in New Harmony, IN---a labyrinth made up of tall bushes and well worn paths. The second, probably the one next to the New Life Center near the campus of SIU in Carbondale. Then the one that now is in the old parking lot of Westport UMC. Over the years I have had a growing love for that walk--and how it places me in the presence of God in a way nothing else can. There are no sharp corners or dead end paths...this is no turning path that turns us away from God, but a constant turning toward him. You have to keep going but God has laid the path. Something happens when you walk the labyrinth as fully open to the Spirit's guidance as you can. It is something that is to be savored and placed down deep inside, and to allow to rise up when life doesn't just become circuitous but becomes chaos. There is order, not a stagnant thing that enslaves our spirits, but a way of walking our lives that brings joy instead of hysteria, wholeness instead of the compartmental, presence instead of mere remembrance.

Thank you St Paul and but mostly thanks Susan, who has been there to listen to me through these last five year when the times when my life has turned to chaos, when I have felt my soul enslaved and who always encourages me to think beyond what is into what could be.