I believe in prayer. I have never made it complex. I trust in prayer.
I have thought a lot about prayer as it relates to the current pandemic and its horrific physical, mental, and spiritual toll.
I take great comfort and find great hope in knowing our prayers have been answered!
God has provided answers through those who care about us as he does. Those who lead and direct this mighty public health issue …through people he has gifted the potential to use their education, their intellect and their scientific based experience to prevent further spread of this virus….and return the sick to wellness. Dr. Schaffner at Vanderbilt, Dr. Shelley Fiscus and all the others in our local PHD, those at the CDC and NIH levels. We are grateful for their tireless work.
Through them, God has gifted us the ability to be his answer for one another. Following the guidelines to stay home is indeed that gift. It will save lives. It will change the course of this pandemic. It will reflect our love and care for our fellow human beings, for the well being of all. It will mark us as his disciples.
In the end, it will define who we are.
Following the lead of those tasked with the safety of our health will, in turn, lead us back to freedoms we enjoy with our families and friends. Back to jobs, a stable economy. It will take time.
And though I pray intermittently through the day, my more intentional prayers seem to find the quiet of night. I will pray for son, John, Jr., on the frontlines in anesthesia at Vanderbilt, daughter Missy, an RN on the front lines at the hospital in Fayetteville, John, III as he continues anesthesia grad school online and works as a RN when he is here in town. For Brad Olds, Sandy’s son, an ER doctor in Kentucky, my friend Kim Graham, an RN in Nashville, my neighbor Shelley’s grandson, Michael, in his third year of medical school who will likely be called to duty….and many more!
And I will pray God’s comfort on the families of those who have died.




A clergy friend of mine in another part of Tennessee posted to Instagram this morning a plan for her congregation to go outside and ring bells at the same time in the evening. A lovely idea!

It immediately brought a memory forward…something I haven’t thought about in years! In the early days of our mentoring/tutoring young children at an inner city church, I remember so well the children often didn’t want us to leave for the day. All of us had built relationships with these children and their families. They were comfortable with us and we with them. Their tutor was an important person in their lives. Tutors were consistent with their presence, consistent with their expectations, flexible on not so good days, people who expanded physical boundaries through lessons and books. Field trips.

So, one day this little first grade girl grabs my hand as the time to leave approaches; asks me to come home with her, stay with her. She even told me my husband would be okay if I would just stay with her! Oh, those kids!

My response was short and simple. One thing it included was an agreement between the two of us. I suggested we both “meet” outside that evening at 7 PM, each in our own spaces outside, and look at the moon. I had always started each tutoring day with asking the children “who are you special to today”? So, I suggested she think of why I might be special to her and I would think of why she was special to me. We would share our answers at our next time together. I asked her to say a little prayer for me and I would do the same for her. She was immediately onboard, making plans for her Mom to tell her when the time was right. And we shared very precious stories the next time we met.

What made this work was our relationship; our trust of one another; our time together throughout a school year. Our resource was our connection; it was not tied to anything tangible.

We had many tutors over many years in this ministry. They all provided the same intangible gift…in their own ways….connection.

I realize those connections were built by threads, over a period of time. I think the same of our current situation, finding ways to connect while we are all in a social isolation as well as physical.

I am more than grateful for our worship services available online; a very real sense of community is continued among people who have already built the connections…and invite others to join in that gift. The many ways we are being cared for by church staff will long be remembered.

I hope to look back on this time and know I have been intentional in connecting with people of all age groups, not just what we call the “vulnerable,” knowing that usually refers to age or health issues. I need to make sure no one need qualify. We are all vulnerable, regardless of age, of job security, of resources.

I want to look back and know I saw the same moon.



Numbers Are Real People

Everyday, we are barraged with more information about this virus, clearly needed to make good personal decisions based on public health experience and expertise. Yes, numbers matter. Yes, statistics paint a picture that can empower changes in behaviors. Credible medical information is gold right now. Government mandated behavioral changes can affect and modify outcomes. For sure. We are following those mandates and guidelines personally.

But in my mind, every day…..I wonder when we will acknowledge the dead as more than a number?

When will we hear a press release or conference, a lament at any level that extends ongoing sympathy and concern for these families? At our own levels? Our prayers personal and collective? When will we consider those at high risk (or no risk) now on ventilators, or critically ill, their lives ever changed? Their families who are experiencing fear based on a harsh reality? Their economics? The uninsured sick? We may have agreed to pay for the test but what about the several hundred thousand dollars ICU generated hospital bills? How do we let these people know they are more than numbers…..numbers I read most people don’t find impressive because they are “low.” Numbers always prefaced by “only”? There is no “low” or “only” if it’s your sister, your father, your spouse, etc. 

I wonder who had a new grandchild? Left behind young children? Was a caregiver to an aging or sick spouse? Was a health care provider? Was a wise professor with years yet to teach? A grandparent raising grandchildren? A gifted artist? Someone simply beloved? What were their stories?

I know that many do pray for these precious people. We do. You do. Our congregations do. I would never suggest compromising their identities or becoming intrusive…but wish we could offer each family our individual and collective condolences.

I want to suggest we do all have a way to honor those who have died, their families and those who are sick…..and we can honor them every day.

We can start by ceasing to diminish them with social media posts that disclaim the significance and power of this virus; by dropping the denial, the inconvenience, the non compliance… and adjusting our lives to accommodate and model all of the guidelines at our disposal. This is a fluid situation…they will be added to as time goes on, almost daily. We need to listen to our public health officials…they are working long, stressful hours on our behalf.

Recognize that “high risk” includes far more than the elderly! It includes cancer patients, the immunosuppressed, diabetics, those with chronic illnesses and many more…in any age group.

We can all do this together. We may not enjoy the usual privileges but the privilege will be knowing each of us played a part in a return to wellness. It will mean those who died have been honored in the most important way we can.

Rating America

I have always been intentional about not watching violent movies or TV shows. Now I realize that includes the evening news. Or any news. 

Not only the more obvious violence, clearly defined by reporting and photos of mass shootings, so quickly abandoned from our memories by compassion fatigue. Or children removed from families, laws in place to separate them even from the kindness and care of strangers.

But also the insidious violence of body language, fists raised in the air; hateful speech, disrespect and combative discourse from leaders across the spectrum that assaults even our subconscious and becomes the norm our children and young people see and hear and feel. I wonder when we will have ratings that address that violence, forewarning parents “not suitable” for children?


In Praise of the Moon

I was naive.

Saw changing seasons from the outside.

A seeming compassionate observer.

Parents, mentors, friends, even events, age.

But my depth never rose to full awareness never

moved from thinking to feeling the sadness.

And now, glimpses still fleeting, of the permanent loss that

that is on the winning side. The battles fewer, the war bigger, the

efforts denied their place in the sun.

But the moon still shines, insistent on bathing the night in stars still sparkling, reminders to share hope, to share dreams, to love with your whole heart, to listen to the wisp of a breeze called grace.

My voice is too often a deafening silence.

But I am still trying.


Everyday Wars

we are all in


different trenches

readying for a war

not named,

now long started.

the enemy

one another


for attack



can be chosen.

no battle plan

just continuous


into stars

that scatter


a darkness

that never leaves.

our flag

in all its glory

flying high

in exclusion

honor misplaced

for those who


for those who still


their sacrifice

hard won guarantees

for the freedom

equality brings

justice brings

unity brings.

the trenches

too dark

to see the fear.


shoulder to shoulder

we feel the





The Other Cold

The Other Cold

God’s power drifting

quietly across early morning

fields of pristine snow

scant surviving leaves

peeking through

looking for one last chance

to shine.

snow days

winter gifts

for young friends

hills their new home

the warm sun

the perfect

layer to coats

and scarves and mittens.

birds visit old friends

feeders full, water plenty

their home safe branches

that protect their songs.

disruption stings the pastoral

interrupts the sweet soul


the other cold.

the real cold.

the cold that transcends

thermometer and adds

the singular life

of the man,

the woman

the child

without home.

no steaming cups

of cider or hot chocolate.

judgment loses to stark reality.

neighbors in need.


My Prayer