Exodus 1:8 - 2:10 "Babies, Baskets, and Bulrushes"

         We read it as a child’s story really – a baby, a basket, a princess, and a happy ending.  We illustrate it so antiseptically too – a smiling crooning infant, a floating cradle, a dark-haired wide-eyed daughter of a king, and a happy ending.   And we completely miss the context from which this deceptively delightful vignette arises.

         You see, generations before, the Israelites had settled in Egypt.  They had escaped the continuously on again-off again famine in Canaan and had migrated out of desperation to the Fertile Crescent on the banks of the Nile, to the shores of the river of life where flooding each year brought fresh and lush sediment for planting and subsequently abundant harvests.  Egypt was a land of generosity, where precious surplus grain was stored and shared with starving immigrants seeking asylum – and bread - at the borders.

         The Israelites had been welcomed in Egypt.  Joseph had been the one to welcome them: Joseph, the brother who had owned the infamous cloak of many colors, the Technicolor dream coat of which his brothers had been so envious, so jealous that they had once beaten him silly, thrown him in a ditch, and left him for dead. 

          But Joseph had not died.  He had been rescued as God rescues all people who need rescuing.  And so Joseph ended up in Egypt, worked his way up through the ranks, and, consequently, was in a position to welcome his starving extended family.  For many years to come, the Israelites (or Hebrews) would turn out to be good stewards of the land and dependable political allies.

         However, as luck would have it, on a dime, everything changed.  A new pharaoh (or king) assumed power.  Apparently this one had slept through his Egyptian history class because he did not know the story of the Israelites in Egypt.  He did not know that they had a history of being good caretakers and dependable compatriots. 

         Under this Pharaoh’s rule, immigration policies became stricter.  Perhaps the Pharaoh feared these undocumented aliens.  Perhaps he saw them overrunning the country.  Perhaps he really did need brick makers and hard workers to do the tasks his own people felt were beneath them, so that he could build the mighty pyramids tradition says that he left as his legacy. 

         At any rate, the Pharaoh pressed the Hebrews into labor, enslaving them for all intents and purposes. And so the years passed, one after another, the pharaoh growing ever stronger and the Israelites ever more oppressed.  It was a very difficult time for them, a time when their God seemed very far away, if their God even still existed at all.  If the Israelites had ever needed a divine intervention, surely it would be now.  But God, it seemed, was off-duty. 

         I mean, come to think of it, what had God done for the Hebrew people lately?  As Reformed pastor Scott Hoezee writes, “From the looks of things, they didn't have any God worth bragging about,…As time went on, God became the stuff of legend, of old memories, of long-lost hopes. Whatever God was, he was not an active presence in Egypt. “

         At the very least, the Hebrews might have supposed, God was just looking the other way because all they had to hold on to was a rumor, an unlikely rumor too – and not a well-publicized one at that.  You see, amidst the Pharaoh’s astrologers and seers, a story was going around that a child would be born among the Hebrews, a boy who would become their leader.

         It certainly was hard to believe since the Hebrews had not had a leader of any consequence since Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – and even they had their considerable flaws and shortcomings.   Not that the Pharaoh knew (or cared) anything about the Hebrews except that they had turned out to be excellent brick makers.  Still, even an off-handed prophecy that might turn the tables on the breadth and depth of his power was enough to make the Pharaoh sit up and take notice. 

         And so – feeling himself to be quite clever – he called for two midwives (and surprisingly - because it does not happen very often with women in our Bible - we know that their names were Shiphrah and Puah).  The Pharaoh commanded them:  At every birth they attended, they were to kill any male child born to a Hebrew woman. 

         But Shiphrah and Puah did not do it. They did not do it.  They defied the Pharaoh because, we are told, they were God-fearing, more in awe of the love of their God than they were in the power of their king.  Such courage!  Such a leap of faith!

         And later on when the Pharaoh asked them why the population of Hebrew babies was not dramatically declining, they were one step ahead of him.  “Oh” they replied innocently.  “The Hebrew women are so strong that their babies just pop out of them. We can not get there in time to attend to the births.”

         The Pharaoh apparently bought their bogus explanation hook, line, and sinker – and went back to the drawing board.  How to keep these prolific Hebrews in check and under his thumb?  After all, they were breeding like rabbits.  How to ensure that his political power base remained strong and untouchable? 

         He gave these issues considerable thought and finally came up with a final solution:  Genocide - It was the only way to purge the population.  And so the Pharaoh decreed to everyone – to all Egyptians:  Drown every Hebrew baby boy you see in the Nile River.

         And so it was that a Hebrew mother hid her baby for three long months until she could hide him no more.  Then, putting all her trust in God – such a leap of faith – she put the infant into a watertight basket and set him afloat on the Nile, on the waters that had once been the river of life and abundant harvest and now for all intents and purposes was the river of death and the certain demise of the Hebrew people. 

         But such was not to be: Out of death, once again came life. You see, the daughter of the Pharaoh found the baby, took a hankering to him, convinced her father that he was just so adorable – and came with a wet nurse to boot – and how much difference could one little helpless Hebrew make in the great scheme of things, and how could a father turn down the single wish of his dark haired, wide-eyed princess of a daughter – and so the baby was snatched from the jaws of death and adopted by the princess herself.  She called him Moses, which in Egyptian most likely meant “son”, and in Hebrew happens to mean “delivered” or “pulled from”, as in “delivered” from death or “pulled from” the Nile. 

         It is a wonderful story, this tale of the birth of Moses.  However, it is hardly a child’s story.  It is a story of oppression, of genocide, of the interplay between power and violence.  It is a story of the courage and faith of women – from Shiphrah and Puah, the two midwives, to Miriam, Moses’ big sister, who, to a large extent, orchestrated the rescue of her kid brother, to Moses’ mother, who still believed in the faithfulness of a God who seemed so far away, still believed in the power of that God’s love, still believed that such holy love could and would save her only son. 

         It is also a story that does not stand alone with its happy ending but rather begins the sweeping saga of the Hebrew people as God’s chosen ones – from the pivotal event of the Exodus to the decades of wandering in the wilderness before crossing into their promised land.  It is a saga that spirals down through the ages, where centuries later it remained at the very heart of who Jesus was, of what he knew to be true about the love and faithfulness of God, and of, from our Christian perspective, what lies at the origin of the Last Supper.  It is a saga that has continued to wend its way through the millennia to us, even us.  This is no child’s story.  It is the very beginning of our story.

         And so, in light of its importance, what might we take from this tale of babies, baskets, and bulrushes?  What might be the essence of this narrative that surely lies at the very core of who God has called us to be?

         First and foremost, this story illustrates for us that God says no to the powers of death.  God says no to oppression and to power assumed at the expense of others.  We will find in the weeks to come that God says no to the Pharaoh in more ways than you can shake a stick at until the blustering, bullying, power-hungry king finally gets it.  However (and this is important), God’s saving work only begins when we too say no to the powers of death. 

         Had it not been for the courage of Shiphrah and Puah to stand up for their convictions and openly defy the Pharaoh in the name of their faith, Moses would have never made it into the floating basket to begin with.  Had it not been for the trust that Moses’ mother had that her God was a God of love and the faith that her God would not crumble in the face of the Pharaoh’s power of death, Moses never would have floated down the Nile River. 

         Had it not been for Miriam, the kid sister, who put her own life in danger for her belief that everyone – even her baby brother – deserved a lifetime, Moses would have been left to die in the reeds and bulrushes.  Never let it be said that women – nameless though most of them are – did not do their fair share of orchestrating God’s saving work by saying no to the powers of death itself.  May we be as courageous, as loving, as faithful!

         Second, just as these courageous women found it within themselves to resist the Pharaoh, each of them taking a leap of faith, so we are challenged to do the same. Otto Kroeger, the father and guru of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), when describing a particular personality preference that seems to get all caught up in analyzing options and possibilities, gives this succinct advice:  “Start somewhere.  Do something.” 

         Sitting around talking about our faith is not enough – even if it’s sitting in these hard, but holy, pews on a Sunday morning.  Shiphrah, Puah, Miriam, and Moses’ mother:  They all trusted in their God.  They all stood firm in their convictions, even in the face of death.  And, most importantly, they all did something. 

         As Episcopal priest William Dols reminds us, “The ultimate challenge to us, however, as it was for those who accompanied Moses to the sea, may be finally to step into the deep water and brave the darkness in search of that person we are waiting to become rather than cursing the shadows and clinging sadly to what was.”  We are not meant to be people of the past, living in broken dreams and the death of the visions of yesterday.  We are meant to be people of faith, people of future possibilities, people of life.  Do something.

         Third, when you get to thinking that whatever you might do does not really amount to a hill of beans, think again.  Time after time, God works through the little people. Time after time, God resists resorting first to the flashy – the pillars of fire, burning bushes, parting waters.   Instead, God works through women no less and through babies and maybe, just maybe, even through us. 

         I am sure you have heard that saying that when you throw a rock into a pond, you never know how far the ripples will travel.  That is certainly true, but the other truism is that there are always ripples.  Doing something makes a difference. 

         You will change the world this week.  When you leave this place, you will change the world for good or for ill.  As Lutheran pastor David Lose challenges us, “The things we do this week -- our actions, decision, choices -- will, in fact, ripple out with consequences foreseen and unforeseen, for good or for ill, for the health or damage of the world. (The) question isn't whether, but what...what will we do this week to make a difference in the world. Some of these actions may be big, bold, and courageous. Others may be small, hardly noticeable. And yet they all have the potential to ripple out, affecting countless lives.”

         Babies, baskets, and bulrushes?  It was never meant to be a children’s story.  It was meant to be our story – a call to faith, a call to courage, and, above all, a call to action.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church, U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

        

Journal Excerpts from our 2014 Mission Trip to Maine Seacoast Mission

    

         This past week, nine people accepted the challenge to become the hands and feet of Jesus – as well as your hands and feet – by representing our church family on a mission trip to Maine Seacoast Mission in Cherryfield, Maine.  Cherryfield and the surrounding small rural towns are in Washington County, one of the most impoverished counties in all of the United States.  Based in Bar Harbor, the Mission provides spiritual, health, and youth development programs in such coastal and island communities from mid-coast to Downeast Maine. 

         Through food pantries, emergency financial assistance, home repairs, in school, out of school and summer youth leadership and development programs for children in grades 4- 12, the mission brings support, compassion, and hope to the people it serves.

         Our team (myself, Joe Foran, Caryl Gilman, Marie Guerin, Martha Morrison, Lois and Chuck Waldron, Sue Dexter, and Tom Wiley) was based on the Mission’s Downeast Campus.  In addition to a staff and office building, there is the Edge Community Center, which houses the youth programs in addition to the Table of Plenty, a weekly community-wide supper which has managed to bring what, in many places would be disparate factions unable to see eye to eye, into a cohesive community committed to bettering the lives of one another.

         There is also a building called the Weald Bethel Chapel which became our “elegantly appointed” home away from home for the week – lots of space upstairs for cots and mattresses, a downstairs kitchen and eating area, bathroom, and outdoor showers. It is no longer used as a chapel per se, but Martha discovered that its name means “a forest sanctified by the presence of God” – and I do think that a Holy Presence graced us both in the chapel and on the jobsite this week.

         We began each day after breakfast with a centering time.  Every morning, someone read the poem you just heard as well as a different translation of the reading from James.  The Message Translation was the one WE found most meaningful.  Then we headed off for a full day at our assigned jobsite. 

On Thursday, the day it rained, we completed some work instead around the chapel on the handicapped ramp and outdoor showers before knocking off early to visit the Downeast Salmon Federation in East Machias, a non-profit facility raising over 135,000 salmon fry to introduce into the local river in an effort to repopulate these fish that are now on the federal endangered species list.

         After work each day, we returned to the chapel for a well-deserved shower and then all pitched in to prepare delicious meals ranging from stir-fry to burgers to turkey with all the fixins’. We ended our days with an evening reflection, prepared each night by one of the team. 

         In the quiet candlelight of our reflection time, we wrote haiku and 6 word sentences.  We listened to a sung version of the Prayer of St. Francis and reflected on important questions about Christian mission and our expectations and attitudes toward those we serve.  Then we would always end our time together with the reading of a psalm, the singing of a song that Caryl had chosen, and a sort of benediction lifted and paraphrased from John Irving’s novel, The Ciderhouse Rules: “Good night you queens of New England and Princes of Maine.”

         Each one of us kept a journal during our time away.  I hope I can give you a flavor of our experience by reading excerpts from all of our journals – and by showing you what the week was like through the visual presentation Joe put together from the many photos he and I took.

         One evening as l lit our candles for our reflection time, one candle for each day that had passed, I spoke a single word, which I intended to summarize each of our days.  The words were travel, overwhelming, opinionated, breakthrough, and, I would add now, community.

         The following journal excerpts are both a day-to-day recounting as well as a musing on those five daily words.

 TRAVEL

         Here we go again.  Three and a half hours driving with a stop for lunch.  What does this journey hold for us?  I am leaning toward a great moving experience.  As I said – faith, fellowship, and fun.  Let’s hope that frustration does not rear its ugly head!

         The scripture at worship today was just right – get out with the people in person.

         Here is a sign that our team will work closely together.  We each brought our own individual lunches, but when we stopped, those lunches were arrayed up and down the picnic table – an open invitation and never spoken assumption that all was to be shared – egg salad, vegies, chips, blueberries, home made chocolate chip cookies.  Perhaps in that simple gesture we were like the earliest Christian congregations where everything was held in common.  Is sharing the basis of true community?

         What will I experience this week, and what will I see differently that can help me make sense of my life and start to ask myself different questions before I make decisions?

         I hope to be coaxed out of my comfort zone.  There’s no room for “can’t” or “not sure” when there are certain things to be done in a certain order to get the overall job done.

         I expect to work very hard this week.  The jobs will be much more physical than the normal workday, but I am ready for it.  Perhaps I am like the awestruck youth on Christmas morning in anticipation of what lies ahead for us.

         My thoughts turn to all the things we didn’t bring – all the things we will need to take to the jobsite.  But I need to let go and let God.  Things will work out fine.  They always do.  Besides, we can only handle what God expects from us – nothing more.  God gives us what we can handle and the desires and knowledge to overcome all obstacles. 

        

         May we grow stronger in compassion.  May we encounter God’s spirit in each other as we get down into the mud together to serve humanity.  Guide me as I strive to be present in loving kindness in the midst of pain and suffering, joy and peace.  Help me to embrace it all as I have the privilege to serve this week and to be in fellowship with such a warm and generous group. 

OVERWHELMING

         We will be adding insulated skirting to a 60+ year old trailer that houses a family of four – in addition to Muffin, an elderly dog, and a variety of cats.  Laurie appears to be a stay-at-home/unemployed Mom.  Danny is employed seasonally when he can get work.  He was on a lobster boat most of the time we were working on his home.  I understand that their annual income as listed on their application to the Mission for this work was $15,000. Sky is their15 year old daughter who is recovering from a compound leg fracture and getting used to a new set of braces.  Derek is their quiet middle school-aged son.

         Earlier this spring, the trailer was condemned because part of the roof had caved in, and the children were removed temporarily from their home.  Since then, volunteers from Maine Seacoast Mission have put on a new roof, which seemed to satisfy DHHS on the livability issue, so the family has been reunited.

         As is often the case with rural poverty, the signs are more hidden than overt:  a cracked septic line that had never been fixed and leaked sewage, a gerry-rigged series of ancient propane tanks in need of repair, no contract with a propane company for lack of upfront money, obesity and the tendency toward it most likely the result of food insecurity – not lack of food but lack of the ability to shop for much other than processed foods with all that high fructose corn syrup – a sense of hopelessness, a feeling that this is the way life is, and a loss of energy perhaps best exemplified in the old tires and rusted tools lying around, the complete lack of landscaping, and the nasty wasp and hornet nests left to multiply in the walls.  The only thing that seemed precious to Laurie was a poorly maintained lilac bush that her father had given her and that she asked us not to remove.

         We arrive at the job site, and it feels somewhat overwhelming – lots of stuff around that has to be moved, lots of digging, sawing, building to be done – WOW!

         We will have a lot of cleaning up to do before we can actually begin work on the skirting – hauling, digging, clearing brush.

         No decent plumbing, rotted wood, and lots of stuff all over the yard.  I have seen such places many times, but the impact of discovering people actually live there is humbling.  

         I’m thankful for the energy to bend, lift, throw, kneel, give something of myself to others. 

         Lois went right to the digging and leveling.  I think she worked on it almost across the whole front of the trailer.  I liked working with her and with Martha on measuring and cutting.  She is very calm and right there with tools you might need. 

         The team is working well.  People see a job that needs to be done and just “get their hands dirty.”  And oh, also their face, shirt, pants, and places in between. 

         Joe and Chuck are the problem solvers.  Chuck said one evening that he had not done that sort of thing in a long time and did not know if he was still capable of it (Believe me, Chuck, you are!).  Each segment of insulating foam board and plywood needs to be attached to a wooden frame.  Those frames need to be appropriately reinforced and fitted plumb under the trailer.  Since the trailer is so old, there are rusted structural flanges to be taken into account as well in getting a proper fit.  The two of them spent a good part of their day on hands and knees or prone:  measuring, digging, shoving, digging some more.

         Building and installing the frames in picky work and slow going – doesn’t feel very productive.  Each frame has to be custom-built, and the next one can’t really be customized until the first one is installed. 

         Like the tortoise – slow and steady wins the race.  Building the frames takes time, but just like all we do.  If we are in a hurry we don’t enjoy it.  Also we do not build a strong basis as we are taught each and every day of our lives.

         We all know something that needs to be done but not always how to do it. 

         There was a lot more progress made than most people had expected – in spite of things like wasp and hornet nests and structural pieces of the trailer which became working obstacles.

         Marie is the Chop Saw Queen.

         It’s part of my make up to think we are supposed to stretch and take on hard work and not expect God to carry us through.  But what if the whole point is that God is like Tom and Joe and Caryl and creates thoughts in us that we then examine? God starts us; we choose what to dare, and God keep us going.  Yesterday, Joe said, “Come on – it needs to get done and you can do it.”  I said, “Not sure, but I’ll try – and don’t let me hurt you.”  Joe arranged the task so I could do it.  It was not about him, and now I can dare more next time.  And so in that recognition, I cry out “Abba”, which a teacher three years ago told me means “daddy” in Aramaic:  my daddy on this trip as well as my Heavenly Father. 

         Where two or more are gathered in my name – there is love.  St. Francis’ prayer always grounds me and nourishes my soul and my heart.  I want to begin each day reflection on this with intention.

         I love painting.  

         Faith into action. 

         The teams shift depending on what needs there are.  There is no animosity for folks taking breaks as we each are pushing ourselves at different paces.

         “Being useful”:  my Mom’s voice echoes to me.

         Many hands make light work they say – it’s often times like that one can accept the difference they’ve made but it also makes me think that another saying “it takes a village” might be more appropriate.  We contributed in keeping this family together. 

         Hot sun, misty rain, bee stings, dirt, mud, bandaids, power tools, measuring, cutting, hauling, lifting, fitting, refitting, refitting again, laughing, eating, praying, reflecting, asking more difficult questions than perhaps we have asked before.  No mission trip is the same.

OPINIONATED

         What is the purpose of mission?  Why are some people so easy to serve – and others not?

         It continues to puzzle me why people would throw trash in their yards.  This worksite reminds me of India.  It puzzles me how careless some can be of their surroundings.  I need education on this. 

         Despite the pigpen around the mobile home, there are some beautiful trees.  Nancy helped me liberate a small one from undergrowth.  I would like to know the skill/secret to liberating people from patterns of living that are not positive and lead to poor decision-making. 

         I understand diversity and varied levels of motivation, but I wonder why.  Will the answer be revealed in the afterlife – or will we not need to know?

         How can a family with an annual income of $15,000 afford a satellite TV dish and a separate internet dish?   Is TV really that much of a necessity?

         Trying to keep positive and smile - this puts me at peace.  I truly am here to contribute and re-assess.

         Yesterday Dad raised an interesting question – why do you go?  Is it for the people you help?  Or is it for what you gain in your heart and soul? 

I said the former, and Dad pretty much insisted it must be the latter, but that our goal must be about the changes we know our work will bring – in us, in our faith, our sense of helping and being a part of the world – and in one sense of doing what God would do – and does – through us and our energy.  I don’t know how to answer the question but maybe I will understand a bit better by Friday. 

         Why is the family indoors watching TV all day?  Why does Maine Seacoast Mission not have an expectation that the family will help out in some way – sweat equity?  Sometimes I feel like I’m a hired hand, a nameless contractor here to do business.

         This family is so different from last year’s client we served.  Their level of poverty was so easily traced to uncontrollable medical issues that brought them down and left them in a financial bind they could not escape.  This year’s family is so different. I suspect this is second or third generation poverty. We have all sensed their lack of communication with us.  Why? Is there a sense of entitlement here?  Are they embarrassed? 

         For the family, there seems to be little knowledge of public health.  Reminds me of the novel by Ken Follett (Pillars of the Earth) about medieval living.

         We are all trying to make sense of this.  Maybe we were spoiled last year.  If this year’s work had been our first year’s work, would we have been so eager to return?

         What is mission?  What should our relationship with this family be?  Is what we are doing just a bandaid – eliminating a symptom of poverty but not touching the cause?  Or is a bandaid enough?  Who decides who is deserving?

BREAKTHROUGH

         Who are we to jump to conclusions?  But it can be second nature to do so. 

         Thank you, God, for your guidance and compassion.  What would you do and in what spirit would you do this – our work with this family?

         Just read of the passing of Robin Williams.  That makes you stop and think about how vulnerable we all are in this little world.  We may never know all the details but as I have learned very often dealing with my demons….sometimes the inside doesn’t match the outside.

         I was new to the endeavor and knew not what to expect other than the tales of prior days and pictures to date.   Though I often note the failings of my own aging home, or the upkeep that needs tending...  I realize I live in a very modest home but it's much more than several have in this far northeast corner of our own state of Maine.  First observations are not good, and I don't even realize how judgmental and prejudice my thoughts are until hours later.  

        

         As I sit back later and hear a few others share their dismay at the living conditions, surmising what has brought the family to this situation, and I realize my thoughts were not alone.  I reach a bit deeper to think of my own living conditions.  I realize that this group is trying to make a difference and feeling challenged with the tasks at hand but it's a step.  Who am I to judge?  I certainly don't have the cleanest house, I don't have the most kempt yard in the neighborhood, and I don't strive to 'have it all'.  We each prioritize and either fight for more or accept what we have - thus the phrase "to each his own" but I'm struggling with how bad things must be to just 'accept'. 

         Maurice (our at-the-site contact from the Mission) asked me what I thought of the people we worked with in Washington County.  After hearing his own story, I will say:  “Maurice, when I think of Washington County, I’ll think of peo0ple like you who care, help, participate.  Learning his story has taken away the argh of what appeared to be a family in opposite mind-set.  I do not know their circumstances totally, so no more judgment!

         Dad was right, you know….Yes, it’s about giving and doing as God would do, but it’s also and probably most about what can change within our hearts and perspectives.  It’s about not just doing and execution and getting it done but also about listening and empathy and communicating –

with each other, but also with the family we serve. 

         We talked about our reaction to the trailer and the family and then realized that maybe we had a few prejudices ourselves, some expectations, and some disappointments about our experience.  So Dad was right.  We needed to be self-conscious about the importance of OUR experience and pour in a few cups of “what’s it like for our homeowners “and a few tablespoons of communication with a pinch of common sense. 

         We got to a very good place together and it took all of us to get there and it was very good, the way it happened.

         I guess maybe we need to be less concerned about the satellite dishes on the roof, the whys and wherefores of the homeowner’s lack of financial resources or their relationship with us as a mission team – and more concerned with what we were called to do – upgrade a pretty dismal living space so that the family – Laurie, Danny, Sky, Derek, Muffin, and the cats - can remain together under one roof and in one trailer.  It may not be the sort of life we would want to be living, and we should never stop asking the bigger questions, never stop trying to untangle the roots of poverty, never stop walking in the footsteps of Jesus, but maybe for this week, we were called to set aside our prejudices and expectations and be content knowing that we have been that small church with a big heart in action, that we have made a difference. 

COMMUNITY

         I look forward to pizza with the family on Friday and getting to know them. 

         After our breakthrough reflection, I think we are all feeling upbeat about the work we are doing. 

         We have made it to the top of the mission roller coaster and are on the way down.  Powerful and meaningful reflection last night.  My Lord, make me an instrument of your ways.  Take my hand and guide me on this mission.  The work we are doing is your work. 

        

         On our final day, we got to do some stuff from the heart as well as from the hands.  I made a garden box for the front of the trailer.

         We transplanted small evergreens and golden rod and strawberry plants to the front and side of the trailer.  The practical reason was for erosion control, but the heart reason was to add a bit of beauty to this place.  Maybe Laurie will try to keep the plants and trees watered and maybe do some gardening of her own.  Being outdoors working the soil is such a calming thing to do.  Maybe planting and maintaining a garden could give her a bit of control in a life, which must so often seem out-of-control.

         I really loved adding a little extra to both hold the dirt and make it more beautiful.

         The front of the trailer now features a transplanted garden, properly sloped drainage, and on the side a new dryer vent.  What seemed like a daunting task at the beginning of the week is taking shape. 

         In addition to functional changes, there have been aesthetic ones too.  Very satisfying week!

         I have learned or used skills that I don't use every day, I've stepped out of my box and gone on this trip, and I've made a small difference.  So, it's about me and feeling comfortable with myself, but it's also the feeling that we were a team.

         Lois works hard doing everything from shoveling to putting in screws to cutting blue foam to painting to landscaping.  And, if you ask her if she want’ me to “spell her”, the answer is no!

         Chuck, in addition to being a retired chief actuary, is a major problem solver.  He is also one with the puns, keeping us suitably entertained with his crazy word plays.

         Joe laughed more this year than last – either because Chuck tells funny jokes or they just had a good time problem solving together.

         Martha is the perfect surgical or building assistant, bringing just what you need when you need it – when she is not picking up, shoveling, measuring, and more.

         Tom is the chief boy scout – always prepared, lots of energy, and a master at putting the plywood skirting on the trailer.

         Sue will do anything….dig, hold screws, screw in screws, use a pick ax to dig out dirt, landscape, and more.  She does it all quietly and patiently. 

         Nancy, our spiritual project manager, made sure we had a reflective time in the morning and night.  Her choice of the poem was inspired – really had me ready to spread the love as I could each day. 

         Caryl (who wrote this) was in my element as project manager on Wednesday when I knew what needed to get done and could have two crews working on separate but related work. 

         Marie is the Chop Saw Queen (the CSQ).  She stood there for hours each day cutting pieces for the boxes to hold the skirting – or cutting whatever else was needed.  She also did other things as well – putting in screws, grading, and more.

         This is quite a crew and just right to do the work we did. 

         I remember the poem, and I see stardust everywhere!

         Working together, struggling together, learning together, eating together, laughing together, sharing together, praying together, singing together, accepting one another.  So much gratitude – thank you, God. 

         It is time to go home.  Eyes are squinting and very tired looking, but we have made it through.  Hopefully we will help Laurie and her family stay together. 

         The trip is awesome and teaches us what we should be as a fellow Christian.  Yet each and every day we get carried away with our personal needs and not those of our fellows. 

We all need to practice being a better Christian each and every day.  Be more for the men and women around us and less for ourselves.  What a concept!

         This week was a lesson in realizing how often we make assumptions, how near to the surface our prejudices really lie, how the roots of rural poverty are tangled and many, how we are called to set all this aside, to be in the moment for a while, and to be Christ-like in our actions toward others.

         I have gained more spiritually by being a part of our group than I have ever imagined.  Thank you, God, for taking me out of my comfort zone and into the mud.  Amen. 

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church (U.C.C.)