Lost
Stories
Contents
"New Leadership" by Sandra Herrmann
"Lost" by Keith Hewitt
"Three Paths for the End of October" by Larry Winebrenner
"Ahmad's Final Lesson" by Larry Winebrenner
"Freedom to Live" by Peter Andrew Smith
"The Fullness of Life" by Constance Berg
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New Leadership
by Sandra Herrmann
Joshua 3:7-17
"It's never easy following a highly popular person. Especially when that person more or less 'invented' the position you're being called on to fill. But you have to make this your office, your position."
Professor Burnham sat back and looked Megan in the eye. "If your employees are refusing to do the work you are giving them, fire them and hire new. The new employees will be yours, not just because you hire them, but because they will not know who came before you. They will also follow you because they owe you. You hired them so they feel they owe you something."
"And they won’t know how much trouble Jayne has been giving me," Megan replied with a wry smile.
"Exactly." Professor Burnham cocked his head to one side. "And you know, Megan, Jayne was offered the opportunity to be recertified as the new Administrative Assistant. She didn't want the responsibility of your job."
Megan was taken aback. "But that doesn't make sense! If she turned down the job, why does she resent me?"
"She resents you because she really didn't think the situation through. She didn't want the responsibility but it never occurred to her that she would be taking orders from whomever we hired for the job." Professor Burnham shrugged slightly. "We tried to tell her but she wanted to just work 8 to 4:30 and go home on time every night. All she thought about was the difficulties of the job, rather than considering the dynamics of the situation."
>br>"And she resents me coming in half an hour late when I've worked till 5:30 or 6:00 the evening before."
"Yes, of course she does. She opted for a more regimented situation for herself. But it would be nice to be able to come in late some mornings, and she doesn't see how late you're working the evenings when you are still here past suppertime. But listen: you don't need to explain anything to her. If you ask her to take something over to the college administrative offices and she gives you lip, you do not have to explain to her why she's going and you're not. Don't give your power away that way. You tell her what to do because you're the boss and she's not. End of story."
Megan was shocked. She hadn't realized that in giving explanations for why she delegated tasks the way she did she was giving away any power. But when the department chairman said this, she instantly thought back to the way supervisors had treated her in the past. Did they ever explain? No, she thought, they really didn't. Funny how she had never noticed this little fact but she had never been the type to question authority, either. If she was told to do certain tasks, she did them without backtalk. She found herself shaking her head.
"What?" Professor Burnham asked. "You disagree?"
"No. I'm shaking my head because I never even questioned the right of my supervisors to assign work and tell me what to do. But here I am, thinking that if I explain my way of thinking, I'll win her over and have her like me but that's not happening. So do I have to settle for having her follow directions?"
"Why is it important for her to like taking orders? Is it just that you want her to like you?"
Megan realized that she would have to think about that for a while and said so. She rose from the chair and smiled at the chairman. "Thank you, professor. I guess I have some things to think about."
"One other thing, Megan: if you need me to talk to one of the staff, for whatever reason, I'll be quite willing to do so. You don't have to fight this battle yourself."
Megan stopped with her hand on the chairman's door knob. "Well, that's nice to know. It would make life easier knowing I have the option of kicking someone 'upstairs' so to speak. And it helps just knowing that the Great and Powerful Oz has my back."
Professor Burnham laughed out loud. "Thank you for the promotion, Megan," he said with twinkling eyes.
Megan left the office and walked over to Jayne's desk. It was time to start her own regime. She had a feeling that Jayne would, indeed, take her complaints to the chairman. But now she knew where she stood with him and with her office staff, she was on firmer footing.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Lost
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37
Four wagons.
Four wagons and three families.
Four wagons, three families, and a cross made from half a Commanche war lance and a wooden spoon, lashed together with a strip of dirty plaid cloth -- the bottom of Mitchell Barnard's shirt. It had seemed okay to use it, as the cross marked the spot where Mitchell Barnard had been laid to rest, as far down in the dry, hard earth as a trio of thirsty men could dig. A few planks from one of the wagons had been laid atop the filled-in hole, and the rest of the dirt mounded over it and packed down. It was a shallow grave -- just deep enough for one man's used-up body and the dreams of three families.
Ralph Morgan stood at the foot of the grave, head bowed, lips moving silently as he read from a small, worn book. He had remained there after the others left, when the simple ceremony had been completed and the others had gone back to their wagons to be alone with their thoughts, or to the campfire that smoldered under a pot of something they called coffee, but was just a distant relative.
After some time he became aware that another shadow had crossed his on the mound of fresh-turned earth, looked up at the tall, lanky man standing almost next to him. He stood there, hat in hand, wincing at the hot sun. His skin was dark and cracked, his eyes sunken, and he was barely sweating -- a bad sign, Ralph knew. He put a finger on the page he was reading, closed the book and looked at him expectantly.
"Didn't figure you'd still be readin' over him, Preacher, not that I reckon it'll do any harm, what with him bein' dead and all -- just not sure what good it does."
Ralph flickered a faint smile, felt his dried lips sticking to his teeth; he pushed them away with a sweep of his tongue. "You're right, Caleb. I wasn't really praying over Mister Barnard, anymore -- his troubles were over, once the fever took him. I was praying for us."
Caleb nodded. "Oh, are you sure you're not wastin' your time there, too, Preacher? That there's the last man who had any idea where we were going or what direction we should take to get there." He kicked at the mound with the tip of his boot, played with the dirt. "I wish Old Barnard had writ somethin' down, once the wagon master and his boy had the bad sense to get theyselves scalped."
Ralph chuckled, a gravelly sound from deep in his chest. "The thought crossed my mind, too, Caleb." But how much had Barnard really known? He put up a good front, but Ralph had seen the uncertainty and worry in his eyes when the old man thought no one was looking. "But here we are, and no, I don't think time spent in prayer and meditation is ever wasted."
He looked around -- there was no one by the fire, now. He caught Caleb's eye and the two of them walked over to it. As they walked, Ralph said quietly, "You know, this isn't the first time I've been lost, Caleb."
"Do tell, Preacher."
"No, sir, it is not." Ralph squatted by the fire, put his hand over the glowing embers -- it was losing heat rapidly. Fires out here were mostly dried brush and handfuls of grass; not much in the way of wood, unless you carried it with you. They were dry enough to light easily but tended to consume themselves quickly. He took a red rag out of his pocket and wadded it up in his hand, picked up the coffee pot and offered it to Caleb.
"Don't reckon I need anything hot right now," Caleb answered and squatted down opposite Ralph without taking any coffee.
Ralph shrugged. "Suit yourself. Wet's wet." He poured himself a cup, touched the tin cup tentatively to his lips, and took a long sip when he'd determined it wouldn't scald him. "So, as I was saying, I've been lost before. Kind of grew up that way -- never knew what direction I wanted to go with my life, always chasing after this or that. Whatever seemed shiny at the time. Got myself in some trouble, too."
Caleb nodded. "Ain't we all, Preacher."
"Girls, drinking, gambling -- tried it all, now and then. And I knew it wasn't right for me, but I didn't know what it was I should be doing. Then the war came along, so I joined up. Thought maybe that was the direction I was supposed to go."
Caleb's expression changed -- he looked at Ralph as though meeting him for the first time, scanned him up and down. "You was in the Army?"
"Yes, sir. I was with Taylor in Mexico -- and I got a bellyful of it pretty early on, and I spent the next few months wondering why I was there, and what I should do. The Army doesn't take kindly to deserters, but then I didn't take kindly to having to kill people, so we had ourselves kind of a standoff. Then one night in some little pueblo outside of Monterrey, it happened."
"What's that?"
"God showed me the way. That's all I can say -- he led me to this little mission outside of town, just a little adobe church that must have been there before the town, and it had fallen all to hell. Maybe we did it, maybe that's just how it was. I went inside and I looked up at the sky, and it was like the moon was shining down on me, and me alone." He paused, his voice lowered. "I was just bathed in light, and I looked up and I said, 'Lord, I've been trying to find my way on my own, and I just keep getting lost. Now it's your turn. You lead me.' "
He paused again, then fell silent, took another sip from his cup and stared at the web of glowing red brush.
After the silence had gone on for what seemed like a very long time, Caleb shifted his feet and said, "Well? What happened then?"
Ralph shrugged. "I knew what I had to do -- God led me, once I gave him the chance."
Caleb frowned. "And he led you here?"
Ralph's face flickered with another smile. "Eventually. He led me into the ministry, then he led me here." He shrugged again. "What can I tell you, Caleb? I had wandered very far from where I should be, and he led me back. Led me to my true calling -- he made me realize that even someone like me could be saved... and better than that, I could be part of his plan." He pulled the black book out of his pocket, then, and tapped it lightly. "Like it says in the One Hundred Seventh Psalm, 'Give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth forever.' I have given thanks every day since that night."
Caleb nodded toward the grave. "Even today?"
Ralph nodded. "Even today. Here's the thing, Caleb -- Old Barnard, there, he might have been able to tell us how to get across this desert or maybe not. We'll never know. The way I see it, now, we can just sit here and moan about how bad we've got it... or we can just go chasing off in one direction or another and probably spend the next forty years wandering around out here, and might be we'd find someone, and maybe we'd just go in circles."
"That's kinda the way I see it, too, Preacher. Don't make me feel too joyful, if you don't mind me sayin'."
"Or we can let God handle it. Cry out to the Lord, and let him deliver us, just the way it says. It worked okay for me, back in Mexico. It worked okay for the Hebrews, I expect it'll work okay for us."
"I don't know, Preacher," Caleb answered doubtfully. "That requires a powerful amount of faith, don't it?"
"Here's what I found early on, Caleb. You don't have to have enough faith to believe that it's all going to work out, to get you through the rest of your life -- you just have to have morning faith. That's the faith that gets you out of bed in the morning because you know God's going to be there with you that day, just that day. And then you do it again the next day, and it's a little easier because you made it through the day before. Then you do it again, and again, and eventually you just trust without thinking." He drained his cup, then, tipped it upside down and tapped it against the side of his boot to shake loose the grounds.
The two men looked at one another across the burnt-out fire for a long, silent time, and then Ralph asked quietly, "So what's it going to be, Caleb?"
Caleb sighed and looked around...
Four wagons, three families, and a cross... was that how the journey ended? Or was it the start of a new one? He would know in the morning.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Three Paths for the End of October
by Larry Winebrenner
Jeremiah 31:31-34
October 31 this year has three paths for Bible students.
The first path is Reformation Day. It is called Reformation Day because a monk named Martin Luther used what was considered the city bulletin board on October 31, 1517 to post ideas he thought church leaders should consider to make the church more holy.
This caused a rash of activities that grew into what some call the protest revolution, or as we call it, the Protestant Revolution.
The second path is the path of the evening before celebrating all the saints of the church. You'll remember in the Lord's Prayer we pray "hallowed be thy name." What that means is we will attempt in word and deed to keep God's name holy. Folks considered holier than the general run of the mill folk were called saints in the old church.
Nowadays we call all Christians saints, though sometimes we wonder why.
One day was set aside to celebrate all saints, or all hallowed people. It was more common in olden days to refer to those special people as hallowed.
The evening before all hallows celebration was called all hallows evening. That was reduced to hallows evening and finally hallow e'en or, as we call it, forgetting its origins, Halloween.
At last we have the lectionary lessons for October 31. In the lectionary passage from Jeremiah this week, Jeremiah has one basic message. The message is: God will choose a new way to give his love. God will give it directly to people.
Back in the days when God led the people of the Lord out of slavery in Egypt, Moses went up on the mountain and brought back the laws of God written on stone.
Maybe an experience I recently had will help us to see what Jeremiah was talking about. Several weeks ago I was talking to a man from Brazil. He spoke perfect English. Several phrases common to us, though, gave him problems. If we say, "The whole nine yards," or "She kicked the bucket," we usually don't have problems. He did.
One of the most puzzling for him was the term: "to learn by heart." I learned Bible verses by heart. You probably did also but he said we learn with our brain. True but it really means more to us when we say we learned it by heart.
I think Jeremiah must have felt this way when he wrote about God's new promise. Jeremiah says God will write the new law of love on the hearts of God's people. No longer will one person need to tell another about God's new law. It won't be necessary. Everyone will know it by heart.
So you have three paths to travel. Don't get lost. Just follow them one at a time.
Ahmad's Final Lesson
by Larry Winebrenner
Romans 3.19-31
Ahmad was an old man. His life had been lived in perfect obedience to God's command. He was tired -- tired of struggling, tired of living. He rubbed the painful, arthritic wrists once more. Peace would come from dying. He was ready to go.
That night Ahmad had a dream. God spoke. "You are not yet ready to die. You have yet one more thing to learn."
When Ahmad awoke in the morning, his bones seemed not so painful. He remembered his dream. "What must I learn?" he asked himself. He went to the well and drew a bucket of the refreshing cool water. He poured some into the wash basin. He washed his face.
"Am I to learn all tasks are pleasing to God, even washing one's face in the morning?" he wondered. He took a long satisfying swig of the water from the common dipper that hung by the well. The cool water trickled down his throat, a bit coming out the sides of the dipper, falling coldly on his chest.
A poor beggar came up to the well. His face and hands were dirty. He had a hungry look in his eye. He only asked for a sip of the water. Ahmad gave him the dipper. "Drink as much as you like," he said. The beggar drank thirstily.
Ahmad held out dates he would have for breakfast. "Share some of God's gift of fruit," he said. The beggar daintily lifted a single date with dirty fingers. "No. Take more," said Ahmad, feeling good about his generosity. "Take them all," he said.
The beggar left without thanks, both dirty fists crammed with sticky dates. Ahmad thanked the Creator that begging had not been his lot in life. Perhaps generosity and thankfulness were the lessons he yet needed to learn before dying. That day he was as generous as any occasion called for and thankful each time he could be generous.
That night he had trouble falling to sleep. It wasn't his sweaty tunic he wore. It wasn't the lumpy mat on the floor. Those were nightly experiences. Normally, Ahmad fell instantly into a deep slumber as soon as he had unrolled the mat and lain upon it.
No. He knew the problem. He just didn't know how to solve it. He was eager to get to sleep to hear God once more. Finally, he dozed off. In his dream world Ahmad asked God, "Is generosity and thankfulness what I needed to learn, gracious Lord?" he asked.
"Those are important lessons, Ahmad," said the Lord, "but this is not something you must learn and Ahmad..."
"Yes Lord?" asked Ahmad.
"You don't have to go to sleep to talk to me. Nor to hear, if you listen," said the Lord.
Ahmad felt his face grow hot with shame.
"And is..."
"No," broke in the Lord, "but it is important."
Ahmad awoke very troubled. He tried to do everything his religion taught him. It was the Sabbath. Maybe he would learn the lesson at worship. He cleansed himself. He donned the proper clothes. He stepped out of his hut automatically counting "One," with his first step. Ahmad never exceeded the allowed number of steps on the Sabbath.
He stopped short on the first step and glared. Once more old Zechariah forgot to gather hay so his cows would not have to wander the meadow, grazing sinfully. Why couldn't Zechariah learn to obey the Law?
"Keeping the law is very important," said a voice, "but the Law serves only to reveal sin."
Ahmad turned toward the sound. It was the young neighbor returning from milking her cow. In his mind Ahmad tried to calculate the number of steps she had taken.
Now Ahmad heard another voice, a voice burned into his memory. He shuttered a bit as he heard, "Nor to hear, if you listen." Could the Lord speak even through a maiden?
As so often happened these days, Ahmad nodded off during the speaker's droning voice. Another voice spoke as he dozed.
"You will find the final lesson you must learn on your way home."
Ahmad awoke with a start. A few of the younger men chuckled under their breaths. No matter. Ahmad would find the answer on the way home. He sat restless during the rest of the service.
Homeward bound, Ahmad was no longer counting his steps. He looked at neighbors. He listened to conversations. Perhaps the voice of God could be heard there. He looked at the clouds in the sky. He listened to birds' chirps. He stumbled.
Looking down, he saw Barely. Barely was a sheep from his fold. He had named the sheep Barely because it was barely a sheep. It was bald with only a few spriggles of hair. It was too skinny to eat. Butchering Barely would be a waste of time. And to top it off, it was a runt.
Ahmad reached down and picked up the creature, forgetting rules about carrying loads on the Sabbath.
"Don't worry, Barely," said Ahmad. "I'll take you home and find the hole you sneaked through. I won't let those dogs bother you."
Ahmad spoke of a time Barely wandered the streets and was cornered by a pack of vicious dogs. Ahmad had been looking for Barely and had beaten the dogs off with his staff.
"Not quite wolves," Ahmad whispered into Barely's ear.
As if initiated by this whispering, some of the village rowdies called to Ahmad, "Why don't you just feed that beast to the dogs?"
Ahmad turned on the youngsters and cried, "This precious sheep belongs to me. It is just as important as any sheep in my flock!"
He turned and strode off toward home. He thought, "Barely is as important to me as any other sheep in that flock. No matter what those other sheep think or anyone in this whole village, Barely is..."
"Ah," said the voice so well known. "You have learned the final lesson. The beggar, Zachariah, the milk maid, the hecklers in the street are just as important to me as you are. Can you accept that?"
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Freedom to Live
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 8:31-36
Jake pulled open the door to the mall and saw a face that he hadn't seen in years. "Tommy?"
"As I live and breath, Jake Miller!" Tommy broke out in a huge grin. He reached out a hand to pull Jake close and pound his back. "How are you? How is university going?"
"Into my final year," Jake said. "Still enjoying every minute of it."
"You always loved school." Tommy chuckled. "Which was lucky for me since your help was the only way I got through English Lit."
"Hey, there were days I wasn't sure what was happening when old man Pole started talking about shaking spears." Jack quipped making his old friend crack up. "Seriously though, I saw in the paper where you got a promotion at the shipping company. Congratulations!"
"Thanks. I still can't believe that they put me in as a district manager already. It doesn't seem real." Tommy walked with Jake into the mall. "Have time for a cup of coffee and a chance to catch up?"
"Only if I can buy," Jake said. "Cream and sugar right?"
As they sat down at a nearby table Tommy tilted his head to one said. "Did I hear that you and Laura have a baby girl?"
"Elizabeth Jane, she's just turned two." Jake pulled out his wallet and some snapshots.
"She is adorable. Looks like her mother."
"Thanks." Jake smiled. "She is a little angel that's for sure. Anyone special in your life?"
"I've been dating someone for a few months."
Jake shook his head. "Don't tell me that 'I'll never settle Tommy' has gone and fallen in love."
Tommy's face went scarlet. "I think maybe I have."
"Well good for you," Jake said. "I hope you have nothing but happiness."
"Thanks." Tommy handed the pictures back. "I'd like you and Laura to meet her and I know I need to meet Elizabeth."
Jake's face fell. "Laura got a job out of state and took Elizabeth with her."
"Oh, man. I'm sorry I didn't know." Tommy put a hand on his shoulder. "It must be hard being apart from them."
"I see Elizabeth on holidays when Laura is visiting her family." Jake shrugged. "Laura and I spent most of last year fighting so our separation is probably for the best. We still do talk though."
"I hope you guys can get back together."
"Yeah, me too." Jake gave a half-smile and returned the pictures to his wallet. "Tommy, I know it has been years but it seems like we just graduated high school."
Tommy nodded. "I've missed just sitting down to talk. We go way back."
"All the way to first grade," Jake said. "You still have those pictures of us as pirates at Halloween?"
"I sure do. Mom had them beside her bed all the time she was sick. Sometimes I would hear her laughing and when I'd look in she would be staring at those pictures remembering the trouble we got into."
"Your mom was great. Sorry I couldn't be there for the service."
"Your note and flowers were beautiful," Tommy said. "No one expected you to drive all that way through a snowstorm. Mom would have hated the thought of you being on the road in that weather."
They drank coffee in silence for a few minutes.
"Tommy, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Has life turned out the way you expected?"
"What do you mean?"
Jake took a drink from his cup. "When we left high school the whole world was open to us. We were free to do anything we wanted. Go to work, study more, even take time off and travel."
"Yeah, those were exciting days."
"But now I find myself with huge student loans, a broken marriage, and a daughter I don't see that often." Jake paused. "Sometimes I think that all I have the freedom to do is worry and mess things up."
"The last year must have been really rough."
"Yeah," Jake shook his head, "but I mean that isn't as bad as losing your mom."
"It was hard but the people at her church were great and their pastor was there for us." Tommy said. "You still go to church, Jake?"
"Not really. I guess my life got busy and there really wasn't time anymore. Sometimes I think about it but..." Jake shrugged. "Wait a second, you're going to church? You told me that you couldn't wait until you were free to do whatever you wanted on Sundays."
"I guess I found that turning away from the church and Jesus didn't make me free but made me a slave to my fears, worries, and sins." Tommy took a sip of coffee. "How long has it been since you were at church and prayed?"
"A long time." Jake looked at his watch. "Tommy this has been great but I need to get back to the books. Thanks for listening. I feel better talking to you."
"Want to feel even better? Then come to church tomorrow morning with me."
Jake looked at his old friend for a few moments. He remembered what things had been like and thought about what his life was like now. He reached out his hand to Tommy. "You know what, I think I will."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
The Fullness of Life
by Constance Berg
Matthew 5:1-12
Some in our generation grew up hearing about World War II. We can't relate too much because we weren't there, but we have heard stories and understand the horrific events that took place. Some people came out okay; others did not make it out alive. But everyone who has been through it has been changed forever. Some are stronger; some can never recover; some are outspoken; some are prisoners in their own silence.
One story has touched the hearts of many as a woman shared her story from riches to rags to riches again. She feels she has been blessed to be through the war because she knows the tragedy it brings, the preciousness of life, and the opportunity it gave her to make every second count. She has a fullness of life about her.
Willy, as her friends call her, was born in southern Germany and was a teenager during the war. Her father was a clock maker, renowned for his intricate work and the ability to fix just about any timepiece that came his way. Her mother died when she was young and Willy was very close to her father. The only problem was that her father was Jewish. They lived in a beautiful flat with mahogany furniture made especially for the rooms. The parlor was draped in pink and maroon velvets. Gold brocade and fringe accented much around the home. Her mother had an eye for decorating and her father's wealth allowed the home to be beautifully appointed.
Willy was driven to private school across town by the family driver. She wore fur coats to ward off the chilly German air and her shoes were polished daily. Willy admits she lived a life of luxury when she was young.
But the war changed that. Her father was killed in a concentration camp and Willy escaped to Holland, where she was passed off as a daughter of a Dutch family. She was not bothered. She went to school with the children of the family, riding their bicycles along the canals in Voorburg. She wore dresses that were handed down through the family and thought they looked wonderful! Willy grew up remembering what it was like to have only a piece of cheese and a half a slice of bread for supper. She was poor living with this family; but she was rich. She had her life. She had her faith. She was going to live her life to the fullest!
Willy grew up to marry a wealthy entrepreneur who owned a chain of hotels. They eventually moved to the east coast and the business took care of itself. But Willy never forgot the kindness of her Dutch family, sending for them often to come and see the sights. She also visited them many times over the years until the children -- her "siblings" -- all grew up.
At the age of sixty, Willy wanted to leave behind a legacy, not for her own glory, but to honor her father and her adoptive family. She started a scholarship fund for students of German, Jewish, or Dutch ancestry. They would have the opportunity to be awarded thousands of dollars toward their education. The only catch was they had to get high marks and write an essay on what it meant to live life to its fullest. Willy got funny letters from people saying living life to its fullest meant spending lavishly and getting the most out of life they could. That wasn't even close to what she had in mind.
Willy received many truly thoughtful letters from young people who felt living life to its fullest included reaching out to others, helping where they could in their own communities, or changing negative thoughts. Willy has single-handedly sponsored many scholarships -- full scholarships -- to several young men and women. She loves to tell their stories.
One is a young woman who was born with a cleft palate. Her family was poor and a team of doctors operated on her free of charge. Ruby was an excellent student and used Willy's scholarship to go an Ivy League school. She is now a doctor who works in Brazil, where babies born with cleft palates are a particularly common problem. Her clinic is sponsored by churches and she and her team are able to help many children each month. She feels she is living life to its fullest.
Willy gets a kick out of Jeremy, who learned what it is like to be a prisoner at the ripe age of ten. He wrote Willy a letter saying that the fullness of life meant staying out of juvenile hall. He was in and out of foster care until he spent seven years straight in a juvenile facility. His loneliness made him swear that he would grow up to make a difference for children. He is now a successful lawyer in a large town. He works in family law.
Willy has many more stories like these as well as her own. Willy could have been killed in Germany -- or even in Holland had her identity been revealed. She regrets her father's death but she also wants to go on with life. She chooses to give so that others may give and be of service in their professions. She hopes gifts of scholarships will make a difference.
Constance Berg, Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series III, Cycle A (CSS Publishing Company, 2001), pp. 183-185.
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StoryShare, October 30-November 1, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"New Leadership" by Sandra Herrmann
"Lost" by Keith Hewitt
"Three Paths for the End of October" by Larry Winebrenner
"Ahmad's Final Lesson" by Larry Winebrenner
"Freedom to Live" by Peter Andrew Smith
"The Fullness of Life" by Constance Berg
* * * * * * * *
New Leadership
by Sandra Herrmann
Joshua 3:7-17
"It's never easy following a highly popular person. Especially when that person more or less 'invented' the position you're being called on to fill. But you have to make this your office, your position."
Professor Burnham sat back and looked Megan in the eye. "If your employees are refusing to do the work you are giving them, fire them and hire new. The new employees will be yours, not just because you hire them, but because they will not know who came before you. They will also follow you because they owe you. You hired them so they feel they owe you something."
"And they won’t know how much trouble Jayne has been giving me," Megan replied with a wry smile.
"Exactly." Professor Burnham cocked his head to one side. "And you know, Megan, Jayne was offered the opportunity to be recertified as the new Administrative Assistant. She didn't want the responsibility of your job."
Megan was taken aback. "But that doesn't make sense! If she turned down the job, why does she resent me?"
"She resents you because she really didn't think the situation through. She didn't want the responsibility but it never occurred to her that she would be taking orders from whomever we hired for the job." Professor Burnham shrugged slightly. "We tried to tell her but she wanted to just work 8 to 4:30 and go home on time every night. All she thought about was the difficulties of the job, rather than considering the dynamics of the situation."
>br>"And she resents me coming in half an hour late when I've worked till 5:30 or 6:00 the evening before."
"Yes, of course she does. She opted for a more regimented situation for herself. But it would be nice to be able to come in late some mornings, and she doesn't see how late you're working the evenings when you are still here past suppertime. But listen: you don't need to explain anything to her. If you ask her to take something over to the college administrative offices and she gives you lip, you do not have to explain to her why she's going and you're not. Don't give your power away that way. You tell her what to do because you're the boss and she's not. End of story."
Megan was shocked. She hadn't realized that in giving explanations for why she delegated tasks the way she did she was giving away any power. But when the department chairman said this, she instantly thought back to the way supervisors had treated her in the past. Did they ever explain? No, she thought, they really didn't. Funny how she had never noticed this little fact but she had never been the type to question authority, either. If she was told to do certain tasks, she did them without backtalk. She found herself shaking her head.
"What?" Professor Burnham asked. "You disagree?"
"No. I'm shaking my head because I never even questioned the right of my supervisors to assign work and tell me what to do. But here I am, thinking that if I explain my way of thinking, I'll win her over and have her like me but that's not happening. So do I have to settle for having her follow directions?"
"Why is it important for her to like taking orders? Is it just that you want her to like you?"
Megan realized that she would have to think about that for a while and said so. She rose from the chair and smiled at the chairman. "Thank you, professor. I guess I have some things to think about."
"One other thing, Megan: if you need me to talk to one of the staff, for whatever reason, I'll be quite willing to do so. You don't have to fight this battle yourself."
Megan stopped with her hand on the chairman's door knob. "Well, that's nice to know. It would make life easier knowing I have the option of kicking someone 'upstairs' so to speak. And it helps just knowing that the Great and Powerful Oz has my back."
Professor Burnham laughed out loud. "Thank you for the promotion, Megan," he said with twinkling eyes.
Megan left the office and walked over to Jayne's desk. It was time to start her own regime. She had a feeling that Jayne would, indeed, take her complaints to the chairman. But now she knew where she stood with him and with her office staff, she was on firmer footing.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Lost
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37
Four wagons.
Four wagons and three families.
Four wagons, three families, and a cross made from half a Commanche war lance and a wooden spoon, lashed together with a strip of dirty plaid cloth -- the bottom of Mitchell Barnard's shirt. It had seemed okay to use it, as the cross marked the spot where Mitchell Barnard had been laid to rest, as far down in the dry, hard earth as a trio of thirsty men could dig. A few planks from one of the wagons had been laid atop the filled-in hole, and the rest of the dirt mounded over it and packed down. It was a shallow grave -- just deep enough for one man's used-up body and the dreams of three families.
Ralph Morgan stood at the foot of the grave, head bowed, lips moving silently as he read from a small, worn book. He had remained there after the others left, when the simple ceremony had been completed and the others had gone back to their wagons to be alone with their thoughts, or to the campfire that smoldered under a pot of something they called coffee, but was just a distant relative.
After some time he became aware that another shadow had crossed his on the mound of fresh-turned earth, looked up at the tall, lanky man standing almost next to him. He stood there, hat in hand, wincing at the hot sun. His skin was dark and cracked, his eyes sunken, and he was barely sweating -- a bad sign, Ralph knew. He put a finger on the page he was reading, closed the book and looked at him expectantly.
"Didn't figure you'd still be readin' over him, Preacher, not that I reckon it'll do any harm, what with him bein' dead and all -- just not sure what good it does."
Ralph flickered a faint smile, felt his dried lips sticking to his teeth; he pushed them away with a sweep of his tongue. "You're right, Caleb. I wasn't really praying over Mister Barnard, anymore -- his troubles were over, once the fever took him. I was praying for us."
Caleb nodded. "Oh, are you sure you're not wastin' your time there, too, Preacher? That there's the last man who had any idea where we were going or what direction we should take to get there." He kicked at the mound with the tip of his boot, played with the dirt. "I wish Old Barnard had writ somethin' down, once the wagon master and his boy had the bad sense to get theyselves scalped."
Ralph chuckled, a gravelly sound from deep in his chest. "The thought crossed my mind, too, Caleb." But how much had Barnard really known? He put up a good front, but Ralph had seen the uncertainty and worry in his eyes when the old man thought no one was looking. "But here we are, and no, I don't think time spent in prayer and meditation is ever wasted."
He looked around -- there was no one by the fire, now. He caught Caleb's eye and the two of them walked over to it. As they walked, Ralph said quietly, "You know, this isn't the first time I've been lost, Caleb."
"Do tell, Preacher."
"No, sir, it is not." Ralph squatted by the fire, put his hand over the glowing embers -- it was losing heat rapidly. Fires out here were mostly dried brush and handfuls of grass; not much in the way of wood, unless you carried it with you. They were dry enough to light easily but tended to consume themselves quickly. He took a red rag out of his pocket and wadded it up in his hand, picked up the coffee pot and offered it to Caleb.
"Don't reckon I need anything hot right now," Caleb answered and squatted down opposite Ralph without taking any coffee.
Ralph shrugged. "Suit yourself. Wet's wet." He poured himself a cup, touched the tin cup tentatively to his lips, and took a long sip when he'd determined it wouldn't scald him. "So, as I was saying, I've been lost before. Kind of grew up that way -- never knew what direction I wanted to go with my life, always chasing after this or that. Whatever seemed shiny at the time. Got myself in some trouble, too."
Caleb nodded. "Ain't we all, Preacher."
"Girls, drinking, gambling -- tried it all, now and then. And I knew it wasn't right for me, but I didn't know what it was I should be doing. Then the war came along, so I joined up. Thought maybe that was the direction I was supposed to go."
Caleb's expression changed -- he looked at Ralph as though meeting him for the first time, scanned him up and down. "You was in the Army?"
"Yes, sir. I was with Taylor in Mexico -- and I got a bellyful of it pretty early on, and I spent the next few months wondering why I was there, and what I should do. The Army doesn't take kindly to deserters, but then I didn't take kindly to having to kill people, so we had ourselves kind of a standoff. Then one night in some little pueblo outside of Monterrey, it happened."
"What's that?"
"God showed me the way. That's all I can say -- he led me to this little mission outside of town, just a little adobe church that must have been there before the town, and it had fallen all to hell. Maybe we did it, maybe that's just how it was. I went inside and I looked up at the sky, and it was like the moon was shining down on me, and me alone." He paused, his voice lowered. "I was just bathed in light, and I looked up and I said, 'Lord, I've been trying to find my way on my own, and I just keep getting lost. Now it's your turn. You lead me.' "
He paused again, then fell silent, took another sip from his cup and stared at the web of glowing red brush.
After the silence had gone on for what seemed like a very long time, Caleb shifted his feet and said, "Well? What happened then?"
Ralph shrugged. "I knew what I had to do -- God led me, once I gave him the chance."
Caleb frowned. "And he led you here?"
Ralph's face flickered with another smile. "Eventually. He led me into the ministry, then he led me here." He shrugged again. "What can I tell you, Caleb? I had wandered very far from where I should be, and he led me back. Led me to my true calling -- he made me realize that even someone like me could be saved... and better than that, I could be part of his plan." He pulled the black book out of his pocket, then, and tapped it lightly. "Like it says in the One Hundred Seventh Psalm, 'Give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth forever.' I have given thanks every day since that night."
Caleb nodded toward the grave. "Even today?"
Ralph nodded. "Even today. Here's the thing, Caleb -- Old Barnard, there, he might have been able to tell us how to get across this desert or maybe not. We'll never know. The way I see it, now, we can just sit here and moan about how bad we've got it... or we can just go chasing off in one direction or another and probably spend the next forty years wandering around out here, and might be we'd find someone, and maybe we'd just go in circles."
"That's kinda the way I see it, too, Preacher. Don't make me feel too joyful, if you don't mind me sayin'."
"Or we can let God handle it. Cry out to the Lord, and let him deliver us, just the way it says. It worked okay for me, back in Mexico. It worked okay for the Hebrews, I expect it'll work okay for us."
"I don't know, Preacher," Caleb answered doubtfully. "That requires a powerful amount of faith, don't it?"
"Here's what I found early on, Caleb. You don't have to have enough faith to believe that it's all going to work out, to get you through the rest of your life -- you just have to have morning faith. That's the faith that gets you out of bed in the morning because you know God's going to be there with you that day, just that day. And then you do it again the next day, and it's a little easier because you made it through the day before. Then you do it again, and again, and eventually you just trust without thinking." He drained his cup, then, tipped it upside down and tapped it against the side of his boot to shake loose the grounds.
The two men looked at one another across the burnt-out fire for a long, silent time, and then Ralph asked quietly, "So what's it going to be, Caleb?"
Caleb sighed and looked around...
Four wagons, three families, and a cross... was that how the journey ended? Or was it the start of a new one? He would know in the morning.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Three Paths for the End of October
by Larry Winebrenner
Jeremiah 31:31-34
October 31 this year has three paths for Bible students.
The first path is Reformation Day. It is called Reformation Day because a monk named Martin Luther used what was considered the city bulletin board on October 31, 1517 to post ideas he thought church leaders should consider to make the church more holy.
This caused a rash of activities that grew into what some call the protest revolution, or as we call it, the Protestant Revolution.
The second path is the path of the evening before celebrating all the saints of the church. You'll remember in the Lord's Prayer we pray "hallowed be thy name." What that means is we will attempt in word and deed to keep God's name holy. Folks considered holier than the general run of the mill folk were called saints in the old church.
Nowadays we call all Christians saints, though sometimes we wonder why.
One day was set aside to celebrate all saints, or all hallowed people. It was more common in olden days to refer to those special people as hallowed.
The evening before all hallows celebration was called all hallows evening. That was reduced to hallows evening and finally hallow e'en or, as we call it, forgetting its origins, Halloween.
At last we have the lectionary lessons for October 31. In the lectionary passage from Jeremiah this week, Jeremiah has one basic message. The message is: God will choose a new way to give his love. God will give it directly to people.
Back in the days when God led the people of the Lord out of slavery in Egypt, Moses went up on the mountain and brought back the laws of God written on stone.
Maybe an experience I recently had will help us to see what Jeremiah was talking about. Several weeks ago I was talking to a man from Brazil. He spoke perfect English. Several phrases common to us, though, gave him problems. If we say, "The whole nine yards," or "She kicked the bucket," we usually don't have problems. He did.
One of the most puzzling for him was the term: "to learn by heart." I learned Bible verses by heart. You probably did also but he said we learn with our brain. True but it really means more to us when we say we learned it by heart.
I think Jeremiah must have felt this way when he wrote about God's new promise. Jeremiah says God will write the new law of love on the hearts of God's people. No longer will one person need to tell another about God's new law. It won't be necessary. Everyone will know it by heart.
So you have three paths to travel. Don't get lost. Just follow them one at a time.
Ahmad's Final Lesson
by Larry Winebrenner
Romans 3.19-31
Ahmad was an old man. His life had been lived in perfect obedience to God's command. He was tired -- tired of struggling, tired of living. He rubbed the painful, arthritic wrists once more. Peace would come from dying. He was ready to go.
That night Ahmad had a dream. God spoke. "You are not yet ready to die. You have yet one more thing to learn."
When Ahmad awoke in the morning, his bones seemed not so painful. He remembered his dream. "What must I learn?" he asked himself. He went to the well and drew a bucket of the refreshing cool water. He poured some into the wash basin. He washed his face.
"Am I to learn all tasks are pleasing to God, even washing one's face in the morning?" he wondered. He took a long satisfying swig of the water from the common dipper that hung by the well. The cool water trickled down his throat, a bit coming out the sides of the dipper, falling coldly on his chest.
A poor beggar came up to the well. His face and hands were dirty. He had a hungry look in his eye. He only asked for a sip of the water. Ahmad gave him the dipper. "Drink as much as you like," he said. The beggar drank thirstily.
Ahmad held out dates he would have for breakfast. "Share some of God's gift of fruit," he said. The beggar daintily lifted a single date with dirty fingers. "No. Take more," said Ahmad, feeling good about his generosity. "Take them all," he said.
The beggar left without thanks, both dirty fists crammed with sticky dates. Ahmad thanked the Creator that begging had not been his lot in life. Perhaps generosity and thankfulness were the lessons he yet needed to learn before dying. That day he was as generous as any occasion called for and thankful each time he could be generous.
That night he had trouble falling to sleep. It wasn't his sweaty tunic he wore. It wasn't the lumpy mat on the floor. Those were nightly experiences. Normally, Ahmad fell instantly into a deep slumber as soon as he had unrolled the mat and lain upon it.
No. He knew the problem. He just didn't know how to solve it. He was eager to get to sleep to hear God once more. Finally, he dozed off. In his dream world Ahmad asked God, "Is generosity and thankfulness what I needed to learn, gracious Lord?" he asked.
"Those are important lessons, Ahmad," said the Lord, "but this is not something you must learn and Ahmad..."
"Yes Lord?" asked Ahmad.
"You don't have to go to sleep to talk to me. Nor to hear, if you listen," said the Lord.
Ahmad felt his face grow hot with shame.
"And is..."
"No," broke in the Lord, "but it is important."
Ahmad awoke very troubled. He tried to do everything his religion taught him. It was the Sabbath. Maybe he would learn the lesson at worship. He cleansed himself. He donned the proper clothes. He stepped out of his hut automatically counting "One," with his first step. Ahmad never exceeded the allowed number of steps on the Sabbath.
He stopped short on the first step and glared. Once more old Zechariah forgot to gather hay so his cows would not have to wander the meadow, grazing sinfully. Why couldn't Zechariah learn to obey the Law?
"Keeping the law is very important," said a voice, "but the Law serves only to reveal sin."
Ahmad turned toward the sound. It was the young neighbor returning from milking her cow. In his mind Ahmad tried to calculate the number of steps she had taken.
Now Ahmad heard another voice, a voice burned into his memory. He shuttered a bit as he heard, "Nor to hear, if you listen." Could the Lord speak even through a maiden?
As so often happened these days, Ahmad nodded off during the speaker's droning voice. Another voice spoke as he dozed.
"You will find the final lesson you must learn on your way home."
Ahmad awoke with a start. A few of the younger men chuckled under their breaths. No matter. Ahmad would find the answer on the way home. He sat restless during the rest of the service.
Homeward bound, Ahmad was no longer counting his steps. He looked at neighbors. He listened to conversations. Perhaps the voice of God could be heard there. He looked at the clouds in the sky. He listened to birds' chirps. He stumbled.
Looking down, he saw Barely. Barely was a sheep from his fold. He had named the sheep Barely because it was barely a sheep. It was bald with only a few spriggles of hair. It was too skinny to eat. Butchering Barely would be a waste of time. And to top it off, it was a runt.
Ahmad reached down and picked up the creature, forgetting rules about carrying loads on the Sabbath.
"Don't worry, Barely," said Ahmad. "I'll take you home and find the hole you sneaked through. I won't let those dogs bother you."
Ahmad spoke of a time Barely wandered the streets and was cornered by a pack of vicious dogs. Ahmad had been looking for Barely and had beaten the dogs off with his staff.
"Not quite wolves," Ahmad whispered into Barely's ear.
As if initiated by this whispering, some of the village rowdies called to Ahmad, "Why don't you just feed that beast to the dogs?"
Ahmad turned on the youngsters and cried, "This precious sheep belongs to me. It is just as important as any sheep in my flock!"
He turned and strode off toward home. He thought, "Barely is as important to me as any other sheep in that flock. No matter what those other sheep think or anyone in this whole village, Barely is..."
"Ah," said the voice so well known. "You have learned the final lesson. The beggar, Zachariah, the milk maid, the hecklers in the street are just as important to me as you are. Can you accept that?"
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Freedom to Live
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 8:31-36
Jake pulled open the door to the mall and saw a face that he hadn't seen in years. "Tommy?"
"As I live and breath, Jake Miller!" Tommy broke out in a huge grin. He reached out a hand to pull Jake close and pound his back. "How are you? How is university going?"
"Into my final year," Jake said. "Still enjoying every minute of it."
"You always loved school." Tommy chuckled. "Which was lucky for me since your help was the only way I got through English Lit."
"Hey, there were days I wasn't sure what was happening when old man Pole started talking about shaking spears." Jack quipped making his old friend crack up. "Seriously though, I saw in the paper where you got a promotion at the shipping company. Congratulations!"
"Thanks. I still can't believe that they put me in as a district manager already. It doesn't seem real." Tommy walked with Jake into the mall. "Have time for a cup of coffee and a chance to catch up?"
"Only if I can buy," Jake said. "Cream and sugar right?"
As they sat down at a nearby table Tommy tilted his head to one said. "Did I hear that you and Laura have a baby girl?"
"Elizabeth Jane, she's just turned two." Jake pulled out his wallet and some snapshots.
"She is adorable. Looks like her mother."
"Thanks." Jake smiled. "She is a little angel that's for sure. Anyone special in your life?"
"I've been dating someone for a few months."
Jake shook his head. "Don't tell me that 'I'll never settle Tommy' has gone and fallen in love."
Tommy's face went scarlet. "I think maybe I have."
"Well good for you," Jake said. "I hope you have nothing but happiness."
"Thanks." Tommy handed the pictures back. "I'd like you and Laura to meet her and I know I need to meet Elizabeth."
Jake's face fell. "Laura got a job out of state and took Elizabeth with her."
"Oh, man. I'm sorry I didn't know." Tommy put a hand on his shoulder. "It must be hard being apart from them."
"I see Elizabeth on holidays when Laura is visiting her family." Jake shrugged. "Laura and I spent most of last year fighting so our separation is probably for the best. We still do talk though."
"I hope you guys can get back together."
"Yeah, me too." Jake gave a half-smile and returned the pictures to his wallet. "Tommy, I know it has been years but it seems like we just graduated high school."
Tommy nodded. "I've missed just sitting down to talk. We go way back."
"All the way to first grade," Jake said. "You still have those pictures of us as pirates at Halloween?"
"I sure do. Mom had them beside her bed all the time she was sick. Sometimes I would hear her laughing and when I'd look in she would be staring at those pictures remembering the trouble we got into."
"Your mom was great. Sorry I couldn't be there for the service."
"Your note and flowers were beautiful," Tommy said. "No one expected you to drive all that way through a snowstorm. Mom would have hated the thought of you being on the road in that weather."
They drank coffee in silence for a few minutes.
"Tommy, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Has life turned out the way you expected?"
"What do you mean?"
Jake took a drink from his cup. "When we left high school the whole world was open to us. We were free to do anything we wanted. Go to work, study more, even take time off and travel."
"Yeah, those were exciting days."
"But now I find myself with huge student loans, a broken marriage, and a daughter I don't see that often." Jake paused. "Sometimes I think that all I have the freedom to do is worry and mess things up."
"The last year must have been really rough."
"Yeah," Jake shook his head, "but I mean that isn't as bad as losing your mom."
"It was hard but the people at her church were great and their pastor was there for us." Tommy said. "You still go to church, Jake?"
"Not really. I guess my life got busy and there really wasn't time anymore. Sometimes I think about it but..." Jake shrugged. "Wait a second, you're going to church? You told me that you couldn't wait until you were free to do whatever you wanted on Sundays."
"I guess I found that turning away from the church and Jesus didn't make me free but made me a slave to my fears, worries, and sins." Tommy took a sip of coffee. "How long has it been since you were at church and prayed?"
"A long time." Jake looked at his watch. "Tommy this has been great but I need to get back to the books. Thanks for listening. I feel better talking to you."
"Want to feel even better? Then come to church tomorrow morning with me."
Jake looked at his old friend for a few moments. He remembered what things had been like and thought about what his life was like now. He reached out his hand to Tommy. "You know what, I think I will."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
The Fullness of Life
by Constance Berg
Matthew 5:1-12
Some in our generation grew up hearing about World War II. We can't relate too much because we weren't there, but we have heard stories and understand the horrific events that took place. Some people came out okay; others did not make it out alive. But everyone who has been through it has been changed forever. Some are stronger; some can never recover; some are outspoken; some are prisoners in their own silence.
One story has touched the hearts of many as a woman shared her story from riches to rags to riches again. She feels she has been blessed to be through the war because she knows the tragedy it brings, the preciousness of life, and the opportunity it gave her to make every second count. She has a fullness of life about her.
Willy, as her friends call her, was born in southern Germany and was a teenager during the war. Her father was a clock maker, renowned for his intricate work and the ability to fix just about any timepiece that came his way. Her mother died when she was young and Willy was very close to her father. The only problem was that her father was Jewish. They lived in a beautiful flat with mahogany furniture made especially for the rooms. The parlor was draped in pink and maroon velvets. Gold brocade and fringe accented much around the home. Her mother had an eye for decorating and her father's wealth allowed the home to be beautifully appointed.
Willy was driven to private school across town by the family driver. She wore fur coats to ward off the chilly German air and her shoes were polished daily. Willy admits she lived a life of luxury when she was young.
But the war changed that. Her father was killed in a concentration camp and Willy escaped to Holland, where she was passed off as a daughter of a Dutch family. She was not bothered. She went to school with the children of the family, riding their bicycles along the canals in Voorburg. She wore dresses that were handed down through the family and thought they looked wonderful! Willy grew up remembering what it was like to have only a piece of cheese and a half a slice of bread for supper. She was poor living with this family; but she was rich. She had her life. She had her faith. She was going to live her life to the fullest!
Willy grew up to marry a wealthy entrepreneur who owned a chain of hotels. They eventually moved to the east coast and the business took care of itself. But Willy never forgot the kindness of her Dutch family, sending for them often to come and see the sights. She also visited them many times over the years until the children -- her "siblings" -- all grew up.
At the age of sixty, Willy wanted to leave behind a legacy, not for her own glory, but to honor her father and her adoptive family. She started a scholarship fund for students of German, Jewish, or Dutch ancestry. They would have the opportunity to be awarded thousands of dollars toward their education. The only catch was they had to get high marks and write an essay on what it meant to live life to its fullest. Willy got funny letters from people saying living life to its fullest meant spending lavishly and getting the most out of life they could. That wasn't even close to what she had in mind.
Willy received many truly thoughtful letters from young people who felt living life to its fullest included reaching out to others, helping where they could in their own communities, or changing negative thoughts. Willy has single-handedly sponsored many scholarships -- full scholarships -- to several young men and women. She loves to tell their stories.
One is a young woman who was born with a cleft palate. Her family was poor and a team of doctors operated on her free of charge. Ruby was an excellent student and used Willy's scholarship to go an Ivy League school. She is now a doctor who works in Brazil, where babies born with cleft palates are a particularly common problem. Her clinic is sponsored by churches and she and her team are able to help many children each month. She feels she is living life to its fullest.
Willy gets a kick out of Jeremy, who learned what it is like to be a prisoner at the ripe age of ten. He wrote Willy a letter saying that the fullness of life meant staying out of juvenile hall. He was in and out of foster care until he spent seven years straight in a juvenile facility. His loneliness made him swear that he would grow up to make a difference for children. He is now a successful lawyer in a large town. He works in family law.
Willy has many more stories like these as well as her own. Willy could have been killed in Germany -- or even in Holland had her identity been revealed. She regrets her father's death but she also wants to go on with life. She chooses to give so that others may give and be of service in their professions. She hopes gifts of scholarships will make a difference.
Constance Berg, Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series III, Cycle A (CSS Publishing Company, 2001), pp. 183-185.
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StoryShare, October 30-November 1, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
