Hello, Friends!
       On Sunday we reflected together on how we can tune in, to hear and heed the authentic,  life-affirming voices that can help us navigate wisely and well through life.  We also celebrated the gifts of father figures in our lives, that have helped us learn Valuable life lessons.
        I lifted up my own father's gift of what I termed "endless  patience" -- and then Dick had a bit of fun underscoring our collective need for that same gift in our new year of relationship as pastor and parishioners.  Yep, we're in our seventh year together, so  we've learned a good bit about some of our individual and collective  "growing edges," which can at times try the patience even (or especially?) of those we love and respect most.
    My dad was patient to a fault, maybe even to the point of quiet stubbornness, because in every aspect of life, he just refused to be  hurried, about anything.  He was habitually the last person left  eating at a family meal, taking his time to savor every bite, unfazed  by the pace of others' gabbings and gobblings.  He was known to  strike up conversation with just about anybody who crossed his path, and he was a consumate listener, asking polite and genuine questions  to elicit even more from the person in his circle of attentiveness.  
I regret to admit sometimes feeling the opposite of patient when I was with him, as we kept standing in the grocery line or waiting outside church or "needing" for him to wrap up a conversation.  What I wouldn't give for just one more such moment in his company, today.
 Now I know we're all busy people, and I know we have a lot  to accomplish here at St. Luke.   We want to grow in numbers, in faith, in compassionate capability.  We have families, jobs, demands on our attention that can press on us from all sides.  We come to our  various kinds of meetings and gatherings with sensible agendas,  reasonable goals, solid and idealistic  aspirations.
     And we come to every moment of our being with a most precious, priceless charge and opportunity--to show up for life, and to be genuinely present with one another.
      I can't promise you that I'll have anything like my dad's  "endless patience", because I'm not wired like my dad--and I don't expect that from any of you, either.  We are who we are.  I do hope, though, that we'll keep practicing all aspects of becoming fully human with each other. That includes being patient, taking simple delight in one another, allowing time for easy, unforced listening, genuine acceptance, real respect to ground us, center us, give us breathing and playing and growing room.  
 I look forward to delighting in the journey with you this Sunday, and all our days to come. I ask for your patience, and I offer you mine.
 

Shalom,
Sarah