Our church has a bookstore.  It is full of wonder resources for Episcopalians, from Bibles to Books of Common Prayer.  When Mama and I first joined we always called it the gift shop.  Methodists don’t have gift shops, er, bookstores.  We could never leave without her looking at necklaces or knickknacks.  It is a wonderful resource to buy for christenings, Bible studies, etc. and they have beautiful Christmas decorations as well as lovely statuary in the summer months.  The funds generated go to support our church library and staff and also to finance materials to build libraries in Belize, Honduras, and other mission locations.  After church we tend to stop by the gift bookstore.  A few Sundays ago my little one found this fox.  The kid knows I’m a sucker for stuffed animals but the sweetest part is when you press his paw he prays the prayer commonly attributed to St. Francis of Assisi.  Her Godmother had already given her a lamb that says the Lord’s Prayer.  So Ferdinand came home with us that day.  I think the beaming look on her face in this picture speaks for itself.  What a precious idea; something sweet to cuddle that recites a prayer that she will come to memorize.  Brilliant.  I have always loved St. Francis of Assisi.  I suppose the thirteenth century saint is most renowned for preaching a sermon to the birds.  Many do not know about St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio.  It was said that there was a wolf who was threatening this village and they called upon St. Francis to help.  St. Francis is said to have spoken with the wolf and soon the villagers began leaving him food.  He became beloved and Gubbio, Italy is on my list of places to see because of that wolf and the compassion St. Francis showed for all living things.  His “Canticle of the Sun” is beautiful.  St. Francis of Assisi founded the Franciscan Order and is the patron saint of animals and the environment.  Even non-Christians have him in their gardens.  Many animal lovers of other Christian denominations bring their four-leggeds to an Episcopal church each October 4 for the much loved “Blessing of the Animals”.  We do not worship the saints but I do believe we should try to emulate them.  I will close with the prayer that is most often associated with St. Francis of Assisi:

“Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”  Amen. ~ St. Francis of Assisi

Today is Ash Wednesday.  It marks the onset for Christians of the 40 days of Lent, a time of fasting and abstinence.  In the Old Testament ashes were found to have two purposes:  to be used as a sign of humility and mortality; and as a sign of sorrow and repentance for sin.  The ashes come from burning the palm branches used to celebrate Palm Sunday of the previous year; the cycle of life.  One of the major tenets of the Christian faith is living one’s life with humility and repentance.  For many Christians, it is an annual reminder of where our hearts should be in relation to God, and of the reason Jesus became our atonement.  With the imposition of ashes the priest says, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  Genesis 2:7 reads:

And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.

The same ground we stand upon our ancestors have trod.  We are of the earth.  And so the cycle continues.  The great Nelson Mandela, the first President of South Africa, said, “We must use time wisely and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right.”  I am striving to do better and to be better and I want to add more prayer in my life.  I will start by praying for anyone who is reading this.  For those observing, I hope you have a blessed Lenten season.

It was February 7, 2011.  My husband and I were going to Waco, Texas for his grandfather, Clint Murchison, Jr.’s induction into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame as founding owner of the Dallas Cowboys.  Burk was the eldest grandchild and had the most memories of him.  Family was heavily on my mind as I had seriously been trying to get pregnant for several years.  I had finished my second round of in-vitro after the first picture perfect one didn’t take.  Plus I just turned 40 and, to make matters worse, because of an accident they did not fertilize the eggs in time.  So the first try when everything was as good as it could possibly get I had about a 35% chance.  This time they said they would perform another round and cover the cost because of their mistake.  I asked if I even had a 10% chance and they said no.  But I will never forget my doctor saying, “I can guarantee you this:  if you do nothing you will have a zero percent chance.”  There I was, cold, huddled under a hospital gown, and holding Burk’s hand trying not to cry.  Those embryos were ours and I knew I had to try.  The thing is, after all my positivity, I KNEW I wasn’t pregnant.  I mean for several years I was so positive and this last time I literally had no hope.  Two weeks later I realized I had to go back to the doctor the next day to take a blood test to confirm I wasn’t pregnant — again.  The last time had been so hard and I dreaded going through it yet another time.  So I decided that morning to take an at home test.  Since I wasn’t pregnant I wanted to be able to drink the champagne the family was having on the way down to the induction in the party bus.  I took the test, set it on the counter, and left.  I truly don’t even know why I did it to begin with since I didn’t even bother to look at it.  Minutes later my husband called down, “Um Baby Doll” and I went back up to see what he wanted.  He was in the bathroom shaving and had noticed the stick; the dreaded stick that always came back with one line.  He was staring at it and I had honestly forgotten it was there.  And then, right before my eyes, an ever so faint second line started to appear.  Our heads knocked together as we peered over it in disbelief.  I honestly thought I had conjured it in my mind because I had wanted it so badly.  The desire for champagne flew out the window on the merest chance I could finally be pregnant.  And so the picture above is particularly special because it is the very day I knew my life had changed forever.  It was our secret and we were glowing.  Even after I passed my first trimester I was asked by the doctor who made the mistake not to tell anyone.  I could not understand why.  I had a wonderful, easy pregnancy with no morning sickness or complications.  *braggy mother alert*  After she was born nurses kept coming in to see the baby.  Convinced something was wrong I finally asked one of them why.  She told me that in all the years she had been a delivery nurse, she had only seen ONE other baby get a perfect 10 on their Apgar test!  A year and a half later we took Maris to show the staff and the endocrinologist.  Literally shaking, he asked if he could hold her.  I said sure and handed her over.  Cupping her cheek and, with a tear streaming down his face, he looked me straight in the eyes and said “medically this child should not exist.”  Then he asked if he could have his picture taken with her.  He also told me that he was Christian and he absolutely knew it was the hand of God.  He had been afraid for me to tell anyone fearing I would miscarry.  I had my precious miracle at 41 on my late father’s birthday.  She has my late mother’s name and her middle name is Grace because it is truly by the Grace of God that she is here.  She carries in her the blood of French royals from my mother, Choctaw tenaciousness from my father, Murchison history, and her daddy’s beautiful dark eyes.

For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition which I asked of Him. ~ 1 Samuel 1:27

Both of our families live on through her … and there is no greater legacy than that.  Achukma hoke.

Last year the day after Thanksgiving I found myself stunned standing in the middle of my driveway.  We had a relatively new postal carrier who saw me and stopped to ask something I cannot remember.  I’m pretty sure he was just checking to see if I was OK.  I had just received the most devastating phone call of my life only a few minutes earlier.  He was the first person I told that my mother had just passed away and I think he was debating whether or not to hug me.  That’s when I found out he was a Christian.  And the quiet conviction in his words affirmed what I already knew about eternal salvation.  I just remember looking into his eyes and trying to absorb his sincere strength, both in his unswerving faith in scripture and in his own personal fortitude.  My then three year old was with me and I was trying not to cry.  She loved her namesake and had been with me to visit my mother almost every day since the day she was born.  When I asked his name, he told me it was Churchill, “like Winston Churchill”.  I do not think that precious man will ever know what he did for me that day.  I was suddenly an orphan with no father, mother, or grandparents left.  And then I watched as he cast loving eyes on my child who is the embodiment, by God’s grace, of all of my blood who have already been called home.  I realized then God was showing me His goodness, mercifulness, and kindness in the midst of such incredible sorrow.  The angel He had sent to comfort me was standing right in front of me.  It really is true that kids and dogs know good people.  My little one took to him instantly.  He calls her sweetheart in a way that never fails to get me.  She looks for him every day with her little eyes, nose and hands pressed against the window and I have often had to stop the car so she can wave to him as he is going along our neighborhood route.  Winston Churchill said we make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.  I am blessed to say I know a great man named Churchill.  And I am grateful to God for putting him in our lives.  He is a daily reminder to me to be as happy, positive, and full of joy as he always is — in rain or shine.  As far as I’m concerned he is family and my daughter and I love him as such.  Seeing him each day is healing in a way I cannot explain.  He was kind and thoughtful enough to send back a card after we had given him one at Christmas.  It reads:

“Life is a lovely garden, An ever-growing thing, Where thoughtfulness and kindness bloom like flowers in the spring.”

God bless you and keep you Churchill.  You are a special man and certainly a great one.  I so hope you know you hold the heart of a little girl who lost her beloved grandmother over a year ago now.  She still remembers her and her grandfather, whom she never got to meet, in her prayers each and every night.  Angels walk amongst us; you, sir, are among His finest.

Having spent the early years of my life drinking grape juice from a tiny plastic shot glass once a month as a Methodist, I never fully understood the importance of January 6.  It was not until I was in college attending the Episcopal church, ironically, on the SMU campus that I learned about it.  One might say I had an epiphany.  I discovered the old carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas” STARTS beginning Christmas day and leads us up to today.  Also known throughout the Christian world as Three Kings’ Day, it marks the time when the three Wise Men arrived to visit and worship the baby Jesus.  The word “epiphany” means the manifestation of Christ.  Everyone knows the three kings found Him by following a star across the desert to Bethlehem.  According to the Gospel of St. Matthew, we also know they offered symbolic gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  The symbolism was important as gold represented His royal standing; frankincense His divine birth; and myrrh His mortality.  During medieval times Christmas was celebrated the entire twelve days and today was just as big as Christmas Day.  For Anglicans and Episcopalians the feast marks the end of Christmas and Epiphany ushers us all the way to Ash Wednesday at the beginning of Lent.  The liturgical seasons are a lot for my little one to take in.  Right now she understands that tomorrow our tree and lights come down and she is very sad about that.  Maris said she wished we could keep them up all year.  I told her the beauty and magic of Christmas is that we carry the light of God in our hearts with us the whole year through.  I have always loved to sing; particularly in church.  My Daddy would sing church hymns in the car all the time.  Mama loved to sing as well and had a beautiful voice.  So a great love of church and music has always been a part of me — whether Indian Methodist or Latin Episcopal.  I shall close this evening with the first and last verses of a hymn written for this occasion which is a favorite of mine, “Songs of Thankfulness and Praise” penned by Christopher Wordsworth in 1862 (tune Salzburg):

Songs of thankfulness and praise,
Jesus, Lord, to thee we raise,
manifested by the star
to the sages from afar;
branch of royal David’s stem
in thy birth at Bethlehem;
anthems be to thee addressed,
God in man made manifest.

Grant us grace to see thee, Lord,
mirrored in thy holy Word;
may we imitate thee now,
and be pure, as pure art thou;
that we like to thee may be
at thy great Epiphany;
and may praise thee, ever blest,
God in man made manifest.

A blessed Epiphany to all.

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step,” was said by Taoism founder Lao Tzu and has long been one of my favorite quotes.  I am trying to take steps in several areas of my life to be better — more fit, stronger, more knowledgeable, better organized, and way less concerned with what others may think of me.  I got the Apple Watch right when it came out and it has made me painfully aware of how sedentary I have been.  I walk dogs for a living so how could that be?  It was shocking.  But I started the New Year off on the right foot by moving my feet until I had met all three ring goals … calories burned, 30 minutes of my heart rate elevated, and not sitting over an hour at a time.  I felt so good seeing those three rings completed one would have thought they were five Olympic rings.  I started 2016 off right and did it yesterday, and I am going to do it again today — and the next, and the day after that until it becomes habit.  My steps have started; I’m trying not to get daunted by counting them.  Rather I believe I’ll focus on the journey.

Once again I shall step into the song booth confessional:  I cannot STAND “Auld Lang Syne”.  I have always admired the Scots and love bagpipes.  I married a man of Scottish descent.  But I just find that song the most depressing ever in the history of music — and that includes its Irish cousin “Oh Danny Boy.”  I believe it is the consensus of Western society that life is linear.  You are born and life leads up to death.  But with the passing of Old Man Time’s top hat to Baby New Year the cycle repeats.  Native culture believes life is cyclical.  And in the Bible Ecclesiastes 3 verses 1 – 8 says:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

I suppose at this time we make resolutions to avoid the Sisyphean fate of having to repeat our poor choices into the next year.  As we enter into 2016 tomorrow I pray we all strive for goodness, tolerance, justice and peace.  It all begins within ourselves.

I confess I may be the only person on the planet who does not revere the The Beatles.  We had to sing “Eleanor Rigby” in elementary school and it STILL haunts me.  I literally run if I hear that awful tune or “Yellow Submarine”.  The relatively new jargon “ear worm” comes to mind.  However, I have always liked “Hey Jude”.  But the song that has been weighing heavily and comfortingly on me lately is “Let It Be”.  I had no idea it was Marian until a few years ago.  Statistically I think this is the time of year when there are the most deaths in general as well as suicides.  There is the stress and pressure of in-laws and dysfunctional families for some and the crippling loneliness of loved ones lost for others.  There is also a certain melancholy for me that creeps up with the ending of each year.  Retired Anglican Archbishop and Nobel Peace Prize recipient The Most Reverend Desmond Tutu said, “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”  And now the lyrics to The Beatles song I suppose everyone knows:

“Let It Be”

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be
For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Yeah, there will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be
Ah, let it be, yeah, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be
I wake up to the sound of music,
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, yeah, let it be
Oh, there will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Let it be, yeah, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

When I was four years old, on the first day of kindergarten, my teacher said, “Now let’s get one thing straight.  There is no such thing as Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny.”  I remember it like it was yesterday.  All the kids around me started crying and I never did.  But a piece of me died that day.  I suppose it was the magic of my childhood.  It was the first Christmas I can remember and I wanted so desperately to believe but after that I never could.  It remains one of the few things I wish I could go back and change.  My parents tried so hard but I just knew.  Now that I have a little girl I want so much for her to have that joy and wonder as long as she possibly can.  We got to see Santa today.  He listened to her and does not wear his gloves so that he can actually touch his tiny petitioners.  He is the first person I brought her to see when she was just two months old.  And she has seen him every year since.  This is the first year she may remember Christmas.  I pray it is filled with all the wonder and magic of reindeer hooves on the roof after our Christmas Eve service, half eaten cookies, and presents left under the tree.  As she grows older, I pray she knows and practices the spirit of selfless giving and unconditional love toward others.  American novelist Chuck Palahniuk posited this:

“What is the real purpose behind the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus?  They seem like greater steps toward faith and imagination, each with a payoff.  Like cognitive training exercises.”

 Of course the secular is rooted in the sacred, as there was a St. Nicholas.  And so the spirit of Santa is real and rooted in the hearts of all who love him — and in all who believe.  I choose to believe.

My daddy used to wear tie tacks.  I looked forward to seeing which one he’d wear to church each Sunday.  My favorite were these praying hands.  I use Daddy’s desk as my own now in my office.  Looking through one of the bottom drawers I came across this.  He lived up to the symbology of those clasped hands in that I know he prayed every day.  Prayer is as natural for me as breathing thanks to him.  Prayer is what leads me through the overwhelming loneliness and pain of missing my parents.  Prayer is what makes me appreciate all my blessings.  Prayer is what picks me up when I stumble.  Prayer gives me hope.  Prayer grants me peace.  Prayer graces me with faith.  And prayer fills me with an assurance that God’s love is always present.  St. Paul, whom my daddy adored, said:

Rejoice evermore.

Pray without ceasing.

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18