Angel Of Mercy
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Angel of Mercy"
Shining Moments: "A Dog's Life" by David Michael Smith
Good Stories: "God's Call" by Stephen Groves
Scrap Pile: "The Way Less Taken" by Garry Deverell
What's Up This Week
by John Sumwalt
The tsunami is still very much on our minds as the death toll keeps on rising and the utter horror of the devastation wrought on that terrible day continues to give us pause. Check out the story of Jessie Maulder in this week's Story to Live By. She is the young Australian medical student who cut short her vacation to help survivors. Jessie said, "You can't go sightseeing, looking at Buddhas in northern Thailand, when you see something like this."
In Shining Moments you will find a touching story of a family who lost a cherished dog. How often have you heard a child or an adult ask "Do dogs go to heaven? Will I see my pet again?" We grieve for our pets as much as we grieve for our human family members. David Michael Smith tells of the unexpected comfort that came as he and his wife faced the loss of Brandy, their beloved companion of thirteen years.
A Story to Live By
Angel of Mercy
For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
1 Corinthians 1:18
Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.
Matthew 4:23
Twenty-year-old Australian medical student Jessie Maulder was holidaying in Thailand when the Boxing Day tsunami hit. With a friend, Ineka Dane, she survived the disaster. They were on an island south of Phi Phi when the disaster occurred. Many tourists came home in shock. Some continued their holiday. But Jessie knew she had to stay and help. "You can't go sightseeing, looking at Buddhas in northern Thailand, when you see something like this," she said. Jessie realized something needed to be done to help friends and relatives searching for their loved ones. Nothing had been done to organize the bodies of the victims, so she set up a makeshift morgue. They took photos of the victims, and listed identifying features such as tattoos, piercings, and birthmarks. When it seemed a match had been made, Jessie would take the family in to see the body -- revealing only the distinguishing features to try and soften the blow. She and her friend sit with grieving families and ring embassies on their behalf when there has been a positive identification.
Previously she had only seen a dead body in the anatomy room during her medical studies -- never "real people," as she put it. But for Jessie the dead bodies are not the problem. What affects her most is seeing the loss on the families' faces. It's something she'll never be able to forget.
At only 20 years old Jessie Maulder has left an indelible impression on the Thai people, who have given her the nickname "the angel of mercy."
(The full story, and a photo, can be found by clicking here)
Shining Moments
A Dog's Life
by David Michael Smith
One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life...
Psalm 27:4a
The phone rang at precisely 9:00 p.m. as a drought-buster of a storm raged angrily outside our bedroom windows. Instinctively, my wife and I both knew who it was, and I answered the call with a dull numbness, as if I'd been maced with Novocain.
"Mr. Smith, this is John at the veterinary hospital," the voice flatly reported in a grave monotone. "I'm afraid things have taken a turn for the worse." My heart sank and tears spilled from my wife's eyes behind me. She could tell from my wooden expression that the news wasn't good.
"I'd like your permission to do some emergency exploratory surgery, to see if there's anything I can do to save your dog Brandy. It's a long shot, but it's our only hope." I paused, knowing there was more. "But if I can't do anything, I'll need to put her down," he added with a solemn whisper. "It's the humane thing to do. She's very sick and she's suffering."
I felt like someone had sucker-punched me in the gut. I couldn't breathe. "I need to discuss this with my wife, please, John," I managed, my voice shaky. "I'll call you right back."
I hung up and discussed the matter with my wife. We both agreed that we wanted to be there for our friend, for our child, to provide a comforting and familiar presence. For years we had tried to start a family with no success. Everything was tried during those tedious months, every imaginable process and method and wives' tale and suggestion, not to mention countless prayers of faith. But it was not meant to be; some things just aren't. Each effort fell short, and our marriage, though strengthened by the experiences, remained childless.
This dog was more than a pet to us; she was a precious jewel in our daily lives, a member of our family. She was a faithful companion -- lovable, loyal, and humorous. We made the hard decision while wiping away tears, the humane decision, to bypass the surgery and go over in the evening rainstorm. We would hold our dear pet Brandy as she was given the needles that would help her to pass over to the eternal side of existence.
I called back to inform the doctor of our decision. Strangely, it took John five rings to answer his cell phone, despite knowing that I was calling right back. He told me he'd have the phone by his side. Finally, the call was accepted with an echoing click.
"Mr. Smith," the voice hesitated with great emotion, "your dog just collapsed into my arms. Oh God, I think she's dying..." He fumbled with his stethoscope on the other end while I listened to the surrealistic nightmare in my ear, wishing I would wake up. "Oh God, I'm so sorry... she just took her last breath. She's gone." The man was in tears. I soon joined him, sobbing like a newborn.
Our drive over to the vet's office was a silent one until my wife suggested we relive special memories. There were many, and we found ourselves laughing and then crying all over again. Brandy had impacted our lives more than we realized.
Inside the doctor's office, abandoned and quiet on a Sunday night, we thanked John for being there to hold our friend as she passed away. It was more than sheer coincidence that he happened to be there. Moments later, our hearts were warmed when we saw her still, furry body. She was clearly at peace, as if she were merely sleeping. After wrapping Brandy in cotton blankets, we laid her gently onto the backseat of our car. Wet and still in shock, we slowly backed out and exited the parking lot with a reverent spirit.
About a mile or two later, my wife broke the solitude with a loud, startled scream. I quickly asked her, "What's wrong?"
"Brandy just licked me! On the back of my neck! Honestly, I felt it!" My wife was ecstatic, thrilled beyond words. I peered into the back seat, half expecting a modern-day Lazarus miracle, but of course the dog remained very much still and wrapped in blankets.
"Maybe you just felt something, honey, a wisp of air or something," I offered, confused yet intrigued.
"No, it was her, I know it was her," she insisted, assured of what occurred. "That dog has given me so many kisses over the years; it was exactly the same. I know it was her." For several long moments silence returned to the compartment of our vehicle. Only the rhythmic reverberation of wipers working to clear raindrops from the windshield was audible.
"Brandy wanted to let us know she's okay," my wife explained, breaking the quietness. "I bet that's why she licked me -- to let us know that she's fine, that she's moved on and waiting for us." The event comforted our mourning hearts and softened our sorrow.
The next morning we buried our precious daughter as it lightly misted from the dreary, carbonized skies. We read the liturgy from the Episcopal prayer book and offered prayers for her soul. We gave thanks for her thirteen years with us, each one good, happy, and healthy. I placed a University of Tennessee Volunteers baseball cap on her furry head, one I often wore on cold mornings as we walked together in the woods, before closing the box for the final time. My wife also added several of the dog's favorite treats and all of her play balls. (There were many. Even during her last days the dog played with those balls with the energy of a puppy.)
The next evening our kindly church priest called to check in, having heard the news of our loss. We discussed animals and souls and heaven mostly. He assured me that the perfection of God's holy landscape would be dotted with all kinds of creatures, especially pets. If God cared enough to make it, He would surely care enough to desire it in His heavenly kingdom. But this I already knew -- for on the rainy, dark night our dog left us, she also left a sign that she was still very much alive, a wet lick across my wife's neck, a canine kiss from the golden retriever we knew as Brandy.
David Michael Smith is the author of one suspenseful novel and a joyous collection of Christmas short stories. He has also had several stories published in a variety of books, including the Cup of Comfort series. David attends church at Trinity Cathedral in Berlin, Maryland, with his wife, Geralynn. For more about David and his writing, visit his website: http://www.davidmichaelsmith.net.)
Good Stories
God's Call
by Stephen Groves
As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea -- for they were fishermen. And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." Immediately they left their nets and followed him.
Matthew 4:18-20
It all started with two questions put to me by my grandmother during one of our family's regular Sunday afternoon visits with her in the nursing home where she spent the last three years of her life. She was always glad to see us. There were smiles and hugs all around every Sunday. But once in a while she would let her guard down and tell us just how difficult her life had become for her. Grandma had outlived her husband and two of her sons, and she was bedridden. One day she said to me, "Why doesn't God let me die?" That was the first question. Naively, I said what many of us have said in response to questions like that: "Maybe God has something more for you to do." These words would prove to be prophetic. Years later I would recognize that moment as the beginning of what was to be a great change in my life.
The second question was much less dramatic than the first. Grandma simply asked, "What did the preacher say in church today?" We had to admit that we didn't know, because we hadn't been in church that day. We knew that we didn't dare tell her any stories, because the pastor called on her regularly and she was sure to find out the truth. We went to worship the following Sunday, and every Sunday after that, so that we could give Grandma accurate reports about the content of the services. Sometimes we actually took notes during the sermon so that we wouldn't forget what the preacher said.
This went on for about a year, and as the Sundays passed we found ourselves more and more drawn to the gospel message. One day, my wife and I both realized that we were going to worship for ourselves, because we wanted to go, and not just so we could give a good report to Grandma. We became excited about God and the church. It was a genuine conversion experience for both of us. Christ became real to us for the first time in our lives. Grandma didn't have to pump us to tell her about church anymore. We shared without being asked, because we couldn't help ourselves.
That's how it all started, but that was only the beginning. God wasn't finished with me yet. A few months later, at the end of the ordination service at annual conference, the bishop invited everyone who felt called into ordained ministry to come forward to the altar. I had a very strong feeling that I ought to go. It felt like someone was tugging at me, urging me to go. I didn't understand what was happening to me. My father and I had just purchased a business together. It was no time to be thinking of a career change, so I overruled the feeling. I remember literally hanging onto my chair to prevent myself from going forward.
But that wasn't the end of it, either. In the next few years the Spirit led me into a deeper and deeper relationship with God. I became a certified lay speaker in the church, and I continued to feel strong urgings to enter the ordained ministry. In the summer of 1982, our pastor said to me one day, "Steve, when are you going to go to seminary?" I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew he was right, but I didn't want to admit it. I began to wrestle with God every day and every night. I couldn't concentrate on my work and I wasn't sleeping well. I had this recurring vision where I saw myself in seminary. Finally, in desperation, I prayed to God, "If you really want me in ministry, I'm willing, but you will have to open some doors for me." I didn't know it at the time, but the doors had already been opened. Grandma's questions had pointed the way, and I'm sure now that her prayers opened the doors.
By December of that same year I was enrolled as a freshman at the university. It would take me seven long years to complete my college and seminary education. But I had no doubts after I made up my mind to say yes to God's call. For the first time in years I was at peace with myself and God.
Stephen Groves graduated from the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary in June, 1990. He serves as pastor of the Colfax-Tainter charge in the Wisconsin Conference of the United Methodist Church. Steve's grandmother, Mayme Marks, died in August of 1977 after her work here on earth was finished. It was five years later that the seed she planted in Steve took root and grew. This story was published in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A by John Sumwalt, CSS Publishing Company, 1992, p. 35.
Scrap Pile
The Way Less Taken
by Garry Deverell
In 1916, as the horror of the First World War unfolded in Europe, the American poet Robert Frost wrote this poem:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
The took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Friends, the lure of the well-trodden path is powerful. In 1914, and again in 1939, the whole of Europe stood at the diverging of two paths. One path, the path most taken in the history of that continent, led to the darkness of war. The other way, the way less taken, was (and is) the hard way of diplomacy and concession in order to make for peace. In 1914, and again in 1939, Europe chose war: the way most familiar, the way that made some winners but most losers, the way that is broad, making for the wholesale slaughter of many millions of lives. In this, Europe did only what human beings usually do. It chose the road most taken, the road for those intoxicated by the spoils of war, the lure of power and status and riches.
The members of Paul's Corinthian church were not immune, it seems, from such intoxications. Somehow they forgot the simple commandment of Jesus -- "love one another as I have loved you" -- and became obsessed with the desire to lord it over each other. They became like a modern political party, forming factions gathered around charismatic leaders or preachers, each claiming a holier ground than the others. Each group in the Corinthian church claimed that their version of faith and practice was somehow more authentic than the others, a better expression of the traditions received from the fathers and mothers of the movement. Which meant, of course, that all the people who did not take such a view were to be regarded with suspicion. Indeed, with the passage of time and with the application of that lethal cocktail of fear and propaganda, these others became not simply suspicious, but the very face of all that is wrong with the world. They became the enemy. And isn't this how it goes with so many of our churches; or, indeed, with our attitudes to those who come here seeking asylum? Well, Paul will have none of it. "What has all this lusting for power over and against one another to do with the message of the cross?" he says. "I came amongst you, not in power or using the arts of persuasive rhetoric to seduce you. I came only with the message of the cross, which is sheer foolishness to those who lust for power. But to those of us who are being saved, it is the very power of God." Listen to what the apostle is saying: If we are Christians, if we are followers of Christ and his gospel, then there can be only one power -- the power of love, the power which lays down its power for the sake of including everyone in the wide embrace of God's love. The power iconically presented in figure of a crucified God.
You see, God, the God of Jesus Christ, is one who takes the way less traveled, the way which human beings seem so very afraid to take -- a way which welcomes and embraces even the sin of another, and bears that sin, the horror of it, the hurt of it, the burden of it, in the hope that love will forge its dogged way through the morass. Emmanuel Levinas, the Jewish philosopher, said famously that the only way in which we may all come to share equally in God's justice is if we assume that the other, the other human being, has a prior claim to our welcome and our service; prior, that is, to our own claims upon them. This way -- the way of a God who wanders lonely though the dark and ritually impure regions of Naphtali and Zebulun, the places where the other actually lives -- is the way which leads to light and liberation from oppression for us all. This way -- the way of a pilgrim Christ who wanders these anonymous and unimportant habitations, touching the impure and loving the loveless -- this is the way by which the kingdom comes near. If the God of Christians were a God who pandered to political success or popular opinion, then Christ would not have lived such a marginal existence and died such a sordid death. Christ would have marched into Jerusalem with an army of Zealots and taken power by force, and stunned everyone with his Hitleresque rhetoric, and built an empire on the labor of the poor and ritually unclean. If God were really like that, then Christ would have taken the way most traveled.
But he didn't. And if we are his disciples, then we shall not either. We shall take the least traveled way. The way that looks out for the other, the neighbor, even at deep personal cost. The way that owns and faces its fear of the other, and of what that other may do to me if I make myself vulnerable. The way which calls on the power of God in prayer, the power of love, asking that God may do in me and in my relationships with others what I am unable to do for myself. If we will welcome the other who is God, if we will sit at table and commune with God in prayer, then we shall find -- as the English Benedictine John Maine often said -- that the power to love even our enemies will grow within. Not as the result of a personal project, a work of discipline which aims to purify the self by practiced technique or psychological training. No, this power comes simply by letting God in, by letting God be in us all that God would be. And in the Christian tradition, that "letting be" is known as the prayer of quiet, the prayer which welcomes God in the less-traveled way of the Psalmist who said: "One thing I asked of the Lord . . . to live in the house of the Lord all my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple." Here God is welcomed into my space, but immediately overwhelms and transgresses that space so that I find that the tables are turned and it is I, myself, who am being welcomed, I myself who cross a threshold into the superabundant hospitality of God.
The way less traveled by is the way of the Christ. He calls us as he called the sons of Zebedee to accompany him on that way -- to leave behind the sin that entangles, to be welcomed by God, that we may have power to welcome and love even our enemies. There is no greater seducer than the God who was in Christ. There is no greater wielder of power. But unlike a Hitler, or a Jim Jones, or a Jerry Falwell, the power of God is laid down at the feet of the sinner in an ultimate gesture of submission and vulnerability and love. And the sinner must decide what to do with this vulnerable God. May God grant us courage to choose the way less traveled by, for that, and that only, will make the difference -- for ourselves, for our church, for our world.
Garry Deverell is a Uniting Church minister who serves at Mount Waverley in Victoria, Australia. He has also pastored two Baptist churches in the "radical discipleship" tradition. Garry works part-time at Monash University as a research academic in systematic and sacramental theology. He loves Radiohead, Lucinda Williams, and "cool jazz" from the '60s, and says he also loves to "waste" his time in prayer. If you'd like to read more of Garry Deverell's sermons, prayers, and meditations, visit his website at http://www.southcom.com.au/~gjd/.
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New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
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About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
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StoryShare, January 23, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Angel of Mercy"
Shining Moments: "A Dog's Life" by David Michael Smith
Good Stories: "God's Call" by Stephen Groves
Scrap Pile: "The Way Less Taken" by Garry Deverell
What's Up This Week
by John Sumwalt
The tsunami is still very much on our minds as the death toll keeps on rising and the utter horror of the devastation wrought on that terrible day continues to give us pause. Check out the story of Jessie Maulder in this week's Story to Live By. She is the young Australian medical student who cut short her vacation to help survivors. Jessie said, "You can't go sightseeing, looking at Buddhas in northern Thailand, when you see something like this."
In Shining Moments you will find a touching story of a family who lost a cherished dog. How often have you heard a child or an adult ask "Do dogs go to heaven? Will I see my pet again?" We grieve for our pets as much as we grieve for our human family members. David Michael Smith tells of the unexpected comfort that came as he and his wife faced the loss of Brandy, their beloved companion of thirteen years.
A Story to Live By
Angel of Mercy
For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
1 Corinthians 1:18
Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.
Matthew 4:23
Twenty-year-old Australian medical student Jessie Maulder was holidaying in Thailand when the Boxing Day tsunami hit. With a friend, Ineka Dane, she survived the disaster. They were on an island south of Phi Phi when the disaster occurred. Many tourists came home in shock. Some continued their holiday. But Jessie knew she had to stay and help. "You can't go sightseeing, looking at Buddhas in northern Thailand, when you see something like this," she said. Jessie realized something needed to be done to help friends and relatives searching for their loved ones. Nothing had been done to organize the bodies of the victims, so she set up a makeshift morgue. They took photos of the victims, and listed identifying features such as tattoos, piercings, and birthmarks. When it seemed a match had been made, Jessie would take the family in to see the body -- revealing only the distinguishing features to try and soften the blow. She and her friend sit with grieving families and ring embassies on their behalf when there has been a positive identification.
Previously she had only seen a dead body in the anatomy room during her medical studies -- never "real people," as she put it. But for Jessie the dead bodies are not the problem. What affects her most is seeing the loss on the families' faces. It's something she'll never be able to forget.
At only 20 years old Jessie Maulder has left an indelible impression on the Thai people, who have given her the nickname "the angel of mercy."
(The full story, and a photo, can be found by clicking here)
Shining Moments
A Dog's Life
by David Michael Smith
One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life...
Psalm 27:4a
The phone rang at precisely 9:00 p.m. as a drought-buster of a storm raged angrily outside our bedroom windows. Instinctively, my wife and I both knew who it was, and I answered the call with a dull numbness, as if I'd been maced with Novocain.
"Mr. Smith, this is John at the veterinary hospital," the voice flatly reported in a grave monotone. "I'm afraid things have taken a turn for the worse." My heart sank and tears spilled from my wife's eyes behind me. She could tell from my wooden expression that the news wasn't good.
"I'd like your permission to do some emergency exploratory surgery, to see if there's anything I can do to save your dog Brandy. It's a long shot, but it's our only hope." I paused, knowing there was more. "But if I can't do anything, I'll need to put her down," he added with a solemn whisper. "It's the humane thing to do. She's very sick and she's suffering."
I felt like someone had sucker-punched me in the gut. I couldn't breathe. "I need to discuss this with my wife, please, John," I managed, my voice shaky. "I'll call you right back."
I hung up and discussed the matter with my wife. We both agreed that we wanted to be there for our friend, for our child, to provide a comforting and familiar presence. For years we had tried to start a family with no success. Everything was tried during those tedious months, every imaginable process and method and wives' tale and suggestion, not to mention countless prayers of faith. But it was not meant to be; some things just aren't. Each effort fell short, and our marriage, though strengthened by the experiences, remained childless.
This dog was more than a pet to us; she was a precious jewel in our daily lives, a member of our family. She was a faithful companion -- lovable, loyal, and humorous. We made the hard decision while wiping away tears, the humane decision, to bypass the surgery and go over in the evening rainstorm. We would hold our dear pet Brandy as she was given the needles that would help her to pass over to the eternal side of existence.
I called back to inform the doctor of our decision. Strangely, it took John five rings to answer his cell phone, despite knowing that I was calling right back. He told me he'd have the phone by his side. Finally, the call was accepted with an echoing click.
"Mr. Smith," the voice hesitated with great emotion, "your dog just collapsed into my arms. Oh God, I think she's dying..." He fumbled with his stethoscope on the other end while I listened to the surrealistic nightmare in my ear, wishing I would wake up. "Oh God, I'm so sorry... she just took her last breath. She's gone." The man was in tears. I soon joined him, sobbing like a newborn.
Our drive over to the vet's office was a silent one until my wife suggested we relive special memories. There were many, and we found ourselves laughing and then crying all over again. Brandy had impacted our lives more than we realized.
Inside the doctor's office, abandoned and quiet on a Sunday night, we thanked John for being there to hold our friend as she passed away. It was more than sheer coincidence that he happened to be there. Moments later, our hearts were warmed when we saw her still, furry body. She was clearly at peace, as if she were merely sleeping. After wrapping Brandy in cotton blankets, we laid her gently onto the backseat of our car. Wet and still in shock, we slowly backed out and exited the parking lot with a reverent spirit.
About a mile or two later, my wife broke the solitude with a loud, startled scream. I quickly asked her, "What's wrong?"
"Brandy just licked me! On the back of my neck! Honestly, I felt it!" My wife was ecstatic, thrilled beyond words. I peered into the back seat, half expecting a modern-day Lazarus miracle, but of course the dog remained very much still and wrapped in blankets.
"Maybe you just felt something, honey, a wisp of air or something," I offered, confused yet intrigued.
"No, it was her, I know it was her," she insisted, assured of what occurred. "That dog has given me so many kisses over the years; it was exactly the same. I know it was her." For several long moments silence returned to the compartment of our vehicle. Only the rhythmic reverberation of wipers working to clear raindrops from the windshield was audible.
"Brandy wanted to let us know she's okay," my wife explained, breaking the quietness. "I bet that's why she licked me -- to let us know that she's fine, that she's moved on and waiting for us." The event comforted our mourning hearts and softened our sorrow.
The next morning we buried our precious daughter as it lightly misted from the dreary, carbonized skies. We read the liturgy from the Episcopal prayer book and offered prayers for her soul. We gave thanks for her thirteen years with us, each one good, happy, and healthy. I placed a University of Tennessee Volunteers baseball cap on her furry head, one I often wore on cold mornings as we walked together in the woods, before closing the box for the final time. My wife also added several of the dog's favorite treats and all of her play balls. (There were many. Even during her last days the dog played with those balls with the energy of a puppy.)
The next evening our kindly church priest called to check in, having heard the news of our loss. We discussed animals and souls and heaven mostly. He assured me that the perfection of God's holy landscape would be dotted with all kinds of creatures, especially pets. If God cared enough to make it, He would surely care enough to desire it in His heavenly kingdom. But this I already knew -- for on the rainy, dark night our dog left us, she also left a sign that she was still very much alive, a wet lick across my wife's neck, a canine kiss from the golden retriever we knew as Brandy.
David Michael Smith is the author of one suspenseful novel and a joyous collection of Christmas short stories. He has also had several stories published in a variety of books, including the Cup of Comfort series. David attends church at Trinity Cathedral in Berlin, Maryland, with his wife, Geralynn. For more about David and his writing, visit his website: http://www.davidmichaelsmith.net.)
Good Stories
God's Call
by Stephen Groves
As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea -- for they were fishermen. And he said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." Immediately they left their nets and followed him.
Matthew 4:18-20
It all started with two questions put to me by my grandmother during one of our family's regular Sunday afternoon visits with her in the nursing home where she spent the last three years of her life. She was always glad to see us. There were smiles and hugs all around every Sunday. But once in a while she would let her guard down and tell us just how difficult her life had become for her. Grandma had outlived her husband and two of her sons, and she was bedridden. One day she said to me, "Why doesn't God let me die?" That was the first question. Naively, I said what many of us have said in response to questions like that: "Maybe God has something more for you to do." These words would prove to be prophetic. Years later I would recognize that moment as the beginning of what was to be a great change in my life.
The second question was much less dramatic than the first. Grandma simply asked, "What did the preacher say in church today?" We had to admit that we didn't know, because we hadn't been in church that day. We knew that we didn't dare tell her any stories, because the pastor called on her regularly and she was sure to find out the truth. We went to worship the following Sunday, and every Sunday after that, so that we could give Grandma accurate reports about the content of the services. Sometimes we actually took notes during the sermon so that we wouldn't forget what the preacher said.
This went on for about a year, and as the Sundays passed we found ourselves more and more drawn to the gospel message. One day, my wife and I both realized that we were going to worship for ourselves, because we wanted to go, and not just so we could give a good report to Grandma. We became excited about God and the church. It was a genuine conversion experience for both of us. Christ became real to us for the first time in our lives. Grandma didn't have to pump us to tell her about church anymore. We shared without being asked, because we couldn't help ourselves.
That's how it all started, but that was only the beginning. God wasn't finished with me yet. A few months later, at the end of the ordination service at annual conference, the bishop invited everyone who felt called into ordained ministry to come forward to the altar. I had a very strong feeling that I ought to go. It felt like someone was tugging at me, urging me to go. I didn't understand what was happening to me. My father and I had just purchased a business together. It was no time to be thinking of a career change, so I overruled the feeling. I remember literally hanging onto my chair to prevent myself from going forward.
But that wasn't the end of it, either. In the next few years the Spirit led me into a deeper and deeper relationship with God. I became a certified lay speaker in the church, and I continued to feel strong urgings to enter the ordained ministry. In the summer of 1982, our pastor said to me one day, "Steve, when are you going to go to seminary?" I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew he was right, but I didn't want to admit it. I began to wrestle with God every day and every night. I couldn't concentrate on my work and I wasn't sleeping well. I had this recurring vision where I saw myself in seminary. Finally, in desperation, I prayed to God, "If you really want me in ministry, I'm willing, but you will have to open some doors for me." I didn't know it at the time, but the doors had already been opened. Grandma's questions had pointed the way, and I'm sure now that her prayers opened the doors.
By December of that same year I was enrolled as a freshman at the university. It would take me seven long years to complete my college and seminary education. But I had no doubts after I made up my mind to say yes to God's call. For the first time in years I was at peace with myself and God.
Stephen Groves graduated from the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary in June, 1990. He serves as pastor of the Colfax-Tainter charge in the Wisconsin Conference of the United Methodist Church. Steve's grandmother, Mayme Marks, died in August of 1977 after her work here on earth was finished. It was five years later that the seed she planted in Steve took root and grew. This story was published in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A by John Sumwalt, CSS Publishing Company, 1992, p. 35.
Scrap Pile
The Way Less Taken
by Garry Deverell
In 1916, as the horror of the First World War unfolded in Europe, the American poet Robert Frost wrote this poem:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
The took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Friends, the lure of the well-trodden path is powerful. In 1914, and again in 1939, the whole of Europe stood at the diverging of two paths. One path, the path most taken in the history of that continent, led to the darkness of war. The other way, the way less taken, was (and is) the hard way of diplomacy and concession in order to make for peace. In 1914, and again in 1939, Europe chose war: the way most familiar, the way that made some winners but most losers, the way that is broad, making for the wholesale slaughter of many millions of lives. In this, Europe did only what human beings usually do. It chose the road most taken, the road for those intoxicated by the spoils of war, the lure of power and status and riches.
The members of Paul's Corinthian church were not immune, it seems, from such intoxications. Somehow they forgot the simple commandment of Jesus -- "love one another as I have loved you" -- and became obsessed with the desire to lord it over each other. They became like a modern political party, forming factions gathered around charismatic leaders or preachers, each claiming a holier ground than the others. Each group in the Corinthian church claimed that their version of faith and practice was somehow more authentic than the others, a better expression of the traditions received from the fathers and mothers of the movement. Which meant, of course, that all the people who did not take such a view were to be regarded with suspicion. Indeed, with the passage of time and with the application of that lethal cocktail of fear and propaganda, these others became not simply suspicious, but the very face of all that is wrong with the world. They became the enemy. And isn't this how it goes with so many of our churches; or, indeed, with our attitudes to those who come here seeking asylum? Well, Paul will have none of it. "What has all this lusting for power over and against one another to do with the message of the cross?" he says. "I came amongst you, not in power or using the arts of persuasive rhetoric to seduce you. I came only with the message of the cross, which is sheer foolishness to those who lust for power. But to those of us who are being saved, it is the very power of God." Listen to what the apostle is saying: If we are Christians, if we are followers of Christ and his gospel, then there can be only one power -- the power of love, the power which lays down its power for the sake of including everyone in the wide embrace of God's love. The power iconically presented in figure of a crucified God.
You see, God, the God of Jesus Christ, is one who takes the way less traveled, the way which human beings seem so very afraid to take -- a way which welcomes and embraces even the sin of another, and bears that sin, the horror of it, the hurt of it, the burden of it, in the hope that love will forge its dogged way through the morass. Emmanuel Levinas, the Jewish philosopher, said famously that the only way in which we may all come to share equally in God's justice is if we assume that the other, the other human being, has a prior claim to our welcome and our service; prior, that is, to our own claims upon them. This way -- the way of a God who wanders lonely though the dark and ritually impure regions of Naphtali and Zebulun, the places where the other actually lives -- is the way which leads to light and liberation from oppression for us all. This way -- the way of a pilgrim Christ who wanders these anonymous and unimportant habitations, touching the impure and loving the loveless -- this is the way by which the kingdom comes near. If the God of Christians were a God who pandered to political success or popular opinion, then Christ would not have lived such a marginal existence and died such a sordid death. Christ would have marched into Jerusalem with an army of Zealots and taken power by force, and stunned everyone with his Hitleresque rhetoric, and built an empire on the labor of the poor and ritually unclean. If God were really like that, then Christ would have taken the way most traveled.
But he didn't. And if we are his disciples, then we shall not either. We shall take the least traveled way. The way that looks out for the other, the neighbor, even at deep personal cost. The way that owns and faces its fear of the other, and of what that other may do to me if I make myself vulnerable. The way which calls on the power of God in prayer, the power of love, asking that God may do in me and in my relationships with others what I am unable to do for myself. If we will welcome the other who is God, if we will sit at table and commune with God in prayer, then we shall find -- as the English Benedictine John Maine often said -- that the power to love even our enemies will grow within. Not as the result of a personal project, a work of discipline which aims to purify the self by practiced technique or psychological training. No, this power comes simply by letting God in, by letting God be in us all that God would be. And in the Christian tradition, that "letting be" is known as the prayer of quiet, the prayer which welcomes God in the less-traveled way of the Psalmist who said: "One thing I asked of the Lord . . . to live in the house of the Lord all my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple." Here God is welcomed into my space, but immediately overwhelms and transgresses that space so that I find that the tables are turned and it is I, myself, who am being welcomed, I myself who cross a threshold into the superabundant hospitality of God.
The way less traveled by is the way of the Christ. He calls us as he called the sons of Zebedee to accompany him on that way -- to leave behind the sin that entangles, to be welcomed by God, that we may have power to welcome and love even our enemies. There is no greater seducer than the God who was in Christ. There is no greater wielder of power. But unlike a Hitler, or a Jim Jones, or a Jerry Falwell, the power of God is laid down at the feet of the sinner in an ultimate gesture of submission and vulnerability and love. And the sinner must decide what to do with this vulnerable God. May God grant us courage to choose the way less traveled by, for that, and that only, will make the difference -- for ourselves, for our church, for our world.
Garry Deverell is a Uniting Church minister who serves at Mount Waverley in Victoria, Australia. He has also pastored two Baptist churches in the "radical discipleship" tradition. Garry works part-time at Monash University as a research academic in systematic and sacramental theology. He loves Radiohead, Lucinda Williams, and "cool jazz" from the '60s, and says he also loves to "waste" his time in prayer. If you'd like to read more of Garry Deverell's sermons, prayers, and meditations, visit his website at http://www.southcom.com.au/~gjd/.
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How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and e-mail the story to us.
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We invite you to forward this offer to all of your friends who are looking for good stories.
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New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
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About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
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StoryShare, January 23, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
