Did I mention that the sermon was actually a response to a card that we added to our pew racks? Someone had asked for a sermon to be preached to answer the "How long?" question about grief. This is what I did -- twice.
It didn't go so well at the Chapel service. I was afraid of that. I was without my mauscript and I wondered around as I tried to get these frigid New Englanders to talk about their pain. You could see it in their eyes -- but no one talked. It's one of those rare moments where I wanted the safety and protection of the pulpit. Alas, it still preached and it resonated somewhere with someones. That's the Holy Spirit, isn't it? Even when it's not just right, the Spirit guides. Thank God.
At the 10 am service, I did it. I preached it. I didn't cry. I got choked up once -- as I clung to my manuscript. I was too emotional to memorize it. I wish I could have but you can't do it all, right? I was so nervous about the poor grandchild complex that this would cause. You know, where these church ladies suddenly feel the need to care for me. No one did. There were so many hugs in the receiving line after worship my arms got tired. It was met with tears and thanksgiving. Someone had finally told the truth. I got that comment a lot. I heard about people's pain that I never knew before. And God said, Amen.
To all that were praying for me this morning: I felt it and thank you. Thank you for listening and reading. Thank you for your wisdom and grace. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.