Hello, Friends,
   I'm so grateful to those of you who have expressed caring and sympathy for me and mine, in this sad and strange time for our family. There were glorious flowers from members of the St. Luke family for the memorial service, and all the offerings of food, plants, flowers, cards and calls really do make a difference.
     As with any life experience, there are reminders for how one can choose to be in relation to others in the human family.  One such gift to me is the positive proof that yes, in fact, letting people know we care is a good and healing thing. Taking the time to mail a card, make a phone call, or send an email message or other sign of caring lets our neighbor know he's not alone--that what's happening in her life is important--that thoughts and prayers are in the atmosphere of connection, offering sustenance for a  challenging time.
   So I'm making a new commitment today, not to let an opportunity pass to let people know I care.  It only takes a moment to write a note, make a call, send a message--and today I can tell you for sure, those "little things" mean a lot.
     I look forward to learning more about caring with you this Sunday, and all our days to come.

Shalom,
Sarah

P.S.:
     Here are words from our much-loved “Hymn of Promise,” sung at so many times of remembrance, including the memorial service for my dad—a sweet affirmation for all of us, in the midst of unknowing.

“Hymn of Promise”

 In the bulb there is a flower;
 in the seed, an apple tree;
in cocoons, a hidden promise;
butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter
there’s a spring that waits to be,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence,
seeking word and melody;
there’s a dawn in every darkness,
bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future;
what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning;
in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing;
in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection;
at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season,
something God alone can see.