The Midwife
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Midwife" by Keith Hewitt
"Immanuel: God With Us" by John Fitzgerald
The Midwife
by Keith Hewitt
Isaiah 7:10-16
If anyone had cared to, it would have been easy to follow Rebecca’s trail.
From the rough wood door to the sleeping area, she had left bits of her things -- her cloak, by the door; a small pouch of ointments and incense a little further on; then a bundle of clean cloths; a lamp sitting on a shelf outside the sleeping area; and, finally, a half-eaten loaf of barley bread sitting on a table next to the sleeping pallet.
Her husband woke as she sat down on the pallet, causing the rushes to crackle and shift. After years, he had learned how to sleep while she was gone, and wake enough to greet her when she returned. He yawned, scratched himself, and opened one eye to look at her in the gloom. “Are you well?” he asked, yawning again.
“I am, Jeremiah. Go back to sleep.”
“And the mother?”
“Well enough. She had a son -- a healthy baby boy, thanks be to God.” She turned, then, to look at him. “But I’m concerned for him, Jeremiah. I’m not sure what kind of a life he’s going to have.”
That called for both eyes to be open; her husband propped himself up on one elbow, so he could see her better. “What do you mean, wife?”
She started to speak, seemed to think better of it, and turned away. “I shouldn’t say.”
He reached out, touched her arm gently. “You know you can’t leave it at that, now, Rebecca. Why are you concerned? Is he -- deformed?”
She patted his hand with her other hand, and clucked softly. “No, no -- nothing like that, husband. He is a healthy boy -- probably the healthiest I’ve seen this year. His mother took good care of herself; you can see that in the child. But I’m afraid there’s something...well, wrong with the mother, not the child.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Something not physically wrong...but wrong.”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Oh, I see. You think she’s -- “ He trailed off, made a gesture toward his head.
“Yes. I think she’s not well in her mind.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. There, she thought, I said it “Truly, I don’t know her -- you know that. We only met today -- last night. But in the time I spent with her, I came to believe that she has some unusual notions.”
“Like that one girl -- who was it, a couple of years ago...she was worried she was going to give birth to a dog, because a wild dog had crossed her path on the day she found out she was with child?”
“Oh -- this is worse. That one, I could show that the baby was normal after she was born. No, this one wasn’t afraid her baby was going to be an animal.” She hesitated, then plunged in. “This one is convinced that her child is the Messiah -- the king foretold by Isaiah.”
Her husband let out a long, low whistle. “I see. She thinks her child, born in an inn -- “
“No, in a stable at the inn,” she corrected with a slight smile; he nodded.
“ -- born in a stable, is the Messiah? Is she of royal blood, perhaps, fallen on hard times?”
“She’s the wife of a laborer, from some small town in Galilee.”
“So how did this come up?”
“She said it during labor -- I gave her some myrrh, to help with the pain, and I think it loosened her tongue. She told me this story about being the young maid, chosen by God to bear the Messiah -- Emmanuel--that had been foretold by Isaiah. I didn’t think much about it, at first -- women in labor are prone to say all sort of things, particularly young women -- girls -- having their first child. I just kept talking, trying to keep her focused. There was more, but I ignored it. And then...the child was born.”
She stopped. Her husband studied her in the gloom, waiting, then finally reached out to touch her again. “And then what?”
With a faint smile -- almost invisible in the indirect, flickering light of the lamp -- she said, “The woman said, ‘Behold, my miracle child.’ I just agreed with her, and said that all children are miracles. That’s when she looked at me and said, ‘No, this is a real miracle. I’ve never known a man, and yet I have been blessed with a son.’” She shrugged. “That’s when I decided to get out of there. I made sure all was well, waited long enough to take care of what needed doing -- and left. We didn’t speak again -- not really.”
“So -- what about the father? Is he also deluded?”
“I don’t know. He seemed overwhelmed by it all, just focused on making sure the baby was fine, and safe. I didn’t stick around to ask more questions -- I just felt very strange being there, with someone who was so obviously troubled. I stopped outside the stable and said a prayer for the three of them -- but especially for her. I hope -- I really hope -- that this is a momentary madness, and that she doesn’t continue this way.”
“Should you tell someone?”
“Tell them what -- that the Messiah has been born in Bethlehem?” She smiled again, in wry amusement. “I’m a midwife, not this child’s grandmother. I have no stake in this, other than to hope that he lives. I just hope the father isn’t as delusional as the mother seems to be.”
Jeremiah shrugged, and patted the bed. “Right. Well, you did what you could, Rebecca. Now get some rest -- daylight will come soon enough, and we will see that the light brings us.” She sighed, and lay down next to him, pressed up against him, to draw warmth against the chill of the night. There, in the darkness, she could almost hear him smile. “Wouldn’t it be something, though -- to be the midwife who delivered the Messiah? Too bad this girl is out of her mind.”
“Not out of her mind -- just troubled. And scared,” she said gently, thinking better of what she had shared; she should have kept silent, she thought, too late. “This is a frightening time for any first time mother. I can understand some confusion.”
Jeremiah patted her hand, and smiled again. “You’re a good woman, Rebecca.”
They had just fallen asleep when there was a knocking at the door -- soft at first, then progressively more urgent. Jeremiah looked at his wife, still asleep, and got up quietly, hurried to the door. It was some long time later, before he came back to bed and stood next to her, touched her on the shoulder. “Rebecca -- wake up!”
Her eyes fluttered in the darkness, and she yawned. “What is it?” she asked groggily. “Is there a problem with the child?”
Her husband hesitated, looked over his shoulder toward the door -- then looked back at her and licked his lips. “No. Not exactly. Maybe. I don’t know.”
She sat up, started to gather her clothes to her. “What is it?”
“There are some men at the door -- “
“Men?”
“Yes -- there are men at the door. Shepherds, from the country. They want to know where the baby is.” He looked over his shoulder, again, then back to her. “They say they were visited by angels, a couple of hours ago, and told to seek out the newborn Messiah here in Bethlehem.” He paused. “Where was the baby when you left him?”
“I made sure he was settled, and sleeping. The mother needed to rest, so I wrapped him and lay him in the manger -- to serve as a cradle for the night.”
“Right,” her husband said slowly. “A manger. And that’s right where they were told he would be...”
She didn’t hear the rest, because the rush of her world changing was suddenly loud in her ears...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. 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.
* * *
The Power of Patience
by Keith Wagner
James 5:7-10
I have always struggled with the virtue of patience. I was the one on family road trips who was always asking, “Are we there yet?” Although I have not mastered the art of being patient, I had something happen to me about 30 years ago that taught me the valuable lesson of patience.
I had a denominational meeting to attend in Urbana, Ohio. I was in a hurry, traveling north on route 68 from Springfield. In front of me was a car going slower than the speed limit. I knew I would be late to my meeting unless I managed to pass the car and increase my speed. I finally got an opportunity to pass and managed to navigate around the “slow poke” in front of me. It was an elderly woman who was not in a big hurry. A few minutes later I arrived on the south side of Urbana at a traffic light. It was red, so I had to stop. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was the car I had just passed a few minutes before.
I glanced back to the traffic light, which was still red and then, suddenly, the car behind me plowed into me and knocked me forward into the intersection. The damage wasn’t excessive but since I had been involved in an accident I had to wait for the police to come and file a report. The woman who hit me wasn’t hurt and there was no damage to her car. Obviously I was late for my meeting and I had a stiff neck for about a month. Had I not been in such a big hurry and remained behind the “slow poke” for a few more minutes I would have made my meeting with time to spare.
James told the people of his day to be patient. Patience is a virtue that is essential for people of faith. When it comes to matters of faith we want God to respond to our needs immediately. Since we live in a society where everything is available to us and we can get what we need as quickly as possible, we believe that God should do the same.
I will never forget the time I moved away from my parents in 1979. Until that year I had always lived in close proximity to them. Except for my college years and time in the Navy, this was the first time as an adult I had literally cut the apron strings and ventured out on my own. It was soon thereafter that I entered the ministry.
The day I left Florida, I remember my mother standing in the driveway trying desperately to hold back the tears. She sensed I would not be returning. Mothers are like that. They have the ability to sense things that others can’t. As strange as this may sound I felt that at that moment I was also being affirmed in my decision to move on. Although it was painful for my mother to see one of her sons move away it was also something she had to do. I had come into my own and it was time to make my life’s journey.
About a year later I received the call to ministry. When I called my mother to give her the news she said, “I am not surprised. I knew from the very beginning you would someday be called.” I asked my mother why she didn’t share that with me before. She replied, “I couldn’t, because you had to discover it on your own.” My mother waited over 30 years for this to take place, always keeping it a secret. Talk about patience.
There is a story from The Best of Bits & Pieces, by Arthur Lenehan, that illustrates the virtue of patience. One time a wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone in the wise woman’s bag, admired it, and asked the wise woman to give it to him. The wise woman did so without hesitation. The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the jewel was worth enough to give him security for the rest of his life.
But a few days later he came back, searching for the wise woman. When he found her, he returned the stone and said, "I have been thinking. I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back to you in the hope that you can give me something much more precious. If you can, give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone."
* * *
Immanuel: God With Us
by John Fitzgerald
Matthew 1:18-25
The scripture lessons grants a wonderful picture of God’s Son coming into this world with a common and simple moment of conception. No trumpets blaring to announce the Messiah. Jesus did not have parents who witnessed to wealth and power. Mary and Joseph were two teenagers with a working class background. Into these humble circumstances our Lord arrived. The weight of this glorious birth announcement hangs upon a declaration found in verse 23: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel which means God with us. Immanuel: God with us is what took place on Christmas day.
All of history revolves around this singular event. God took pleasure in sending us His only Son so that we have a Living Savior and Lord. No longer do we have to endure trials and tribulations of this world alone. We know Immanuel who is with us every step of the way. God promises never to leave or forsake us. When problems mount-when crisis strikes-the Lord Jesus is right by our side. Frankly, I don’t know how people get through terrible times without having God on their side. I feel sorry for folks who struggle and yet remain stubborn without turning towards the Lord for help.
Certainly this Christmas season we need to rediscover the God who is with us. Fore we face a despairing landscape. The weather is cold and nights are bleak. People become sick and it is not uncommon for some folks to pass away in December. This makes the promise of from our Bible even more prominent. There is the Christ whose title Immanuel ensures He is with us in good seasons and bad.
The presence of Jesus makes a real difference for everyone who is hurting. There is a great story from the Jewish tradition which speaks to this matter. A Rabbi became well known for his interpretation of scripture and gained quite a following. One day one a student came to the Rabbi and said, “I love you and will practice your teachings wherever I go.” The Rabbi replied simply, “I hurt.” The student became perplexed with this response and went on to say, “Rabbi?I never intended to hurt you Please forgive me.” The Rabbi once again said, “I hurt.” At this point the student remained seriously confused and said, “Rabbi I do not understand. I can think of nothing I have said to hurt you.” The Rabbi replied, “My son?you have said you love me and desire to follow teachings of scripture. If you truly know me and hope to fulfill the Bible-you will know where I hurt?because love begins at those place we hurt.”
The Rabbi had it right. If we want to be agents of divine love we must minster where people are hurting. This Christmas we must redirect our attention to Immanuel who teaches us about love. Christ Jesus sends us into a bruised and broken world with ministry of hope and love. May you and yours have a Merry Christmas!
John Fitzgerald lives in Leesburg, Ohio, with his wife Carolyn and has served as pastor at the Leesburg Friends Meeting for the past 27 years. Cornfield Cathedral (Fairway Press, 2013) is the second book authored by Pastor Fitzgerald. John has earned a Master's of Ministry Degree from the Earlham School of Religion in Richmond, Indiana.
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 18, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
"The Midwife" by Keith Hewitt
"Immanuel: God With Us" by John Fitzgerald
The Midwife
by Keith Hewitt
Isaiah 7:10-16
If anyone had cared to, it would have been easy to follow Rebecca’s trail.
From the rough wood door to the sleeping area, she had left bits of her things -- her cloak, by the door; a small pouch of ointments and incense a little further on; then a bundle of clean cloths; a lamp sitting on a shelf outside the sleeping area; and, finally, a half-eaten loaf of barley bread sitting on a table next to the sleeping pallet.
Her husband woke as she sat down on the pallet, causing the rushes to crackle and shift. After years, he had learned how to sleep while she was gone, and wake enough to greet her when she returned. He yawned, scratched himself, and opened one eye to look at her in the gloom. “Are you well?” he asked, yawning again.
“I am, Jeremiah. Go back to sleep.”
“And the mother?”
“Well enough. She had a son -- a healthy baby boy, thanks be to God.” She turned, then, to look at him. “But I’m concerned for him, Jeremiah. I’m not sure what kind of a life he’s going to have.”
That called for both eyes to be open; her husband propped himself up on one elbow, so he could see her better. “What do you mean, wife?”
She started to speak, seemed to think better of it, and turned away. “I shouldn’t say.”
He reached out, touched her arm gently. “You know you can’t leave it at that, now, Rebecca. Why are you concerned? Is he -- deformed?”
She patted his hand with her other hand, and clucked softly. “No, no -- nothing like that, husband. He is a healthy boy -- probably the healthiest I’ve seen this year. His mother took good care of herself; you can see that in the child. But I’m afraid there’s something...well, wrong with the mother, not the child.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Something not physically wrong...but wrong.”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Oh, I see. You think she’s -- “ He trailed off, made a gesture toward his head.
“Yes. I think she’s not well in her mind.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. There, she thought, I said it “Truly, I don’t know her -- you know that. We only met today -- last night. But in the time I spent with her, I came to believe that she has some unusual notions.”
“Like that one girl -- who was it, a couple of years ago...she was worried she was going to give birth to a dog, because a wild dog had crossed her path on the day she found out she was with child?”
“Oh -- this is worse. That one, I could show that the baby was normal after she was born. No, this one wasn’t afraid her baby was going to be an animal.” She hesitated, then plunged in. “This one is convinced that her child is the Messiah -- the king foretold by Isaiah.”
Her husband let out a long, low whistle. “I see. She thinks her child, born in an inn -- “
“No, in a stable at the inn,” she corrected with a slight smile; he nodded.
“ -- born in a stable, is the Messiah? Is she of royal blood, perhaps, fallen on hard times?”
“She’s the wife of a laborer, from some small town in Galilee.”
“So how did this come up?”
“She said it during labor -- I gave her some myrrh, to help with the pain, and I think it loosened her tongue. She told me this story about being the young maid, chosen by God to bear the Messiah -- Emmanuel--that had been foretold by Isaiah. I didn’t think much about it, at first -- women in labor are prone to say all sort of things, particularly young women -- girls -- having their first child. I just kept talking, trying to keep her focused. There was more, but I ignored it. And then...the child was born.”
She stopped. Her husband studied her in the gloom, waiting, then finally reached out to touch her again. “And then what?”
With a faint smile -- almost invisible in the indirect, flickering light of the lamp -- she said, “The woman said, ‘Behold, my miracle child.’ I just agreed with her, and said that all children are miracles. That’s when she looked at me and said, ‘No, this is a real miracle. I’ve never known a man, and yet I have been blessed with a son.’” She shrugged. “That’s when I decided to get out of there. I made sure all was well, waited long enough to take care of what needed doing -- and left. We didn’t speak again -- not really.”
“So -- what about the father? Is he also deluded?”
“I don’t know. He seemed overwhelmed by it all, just focused on making sure the baby was fine, and safe. I didn’t stick around to ask more questions -- I just felt very strange being there, with someone who was so obviously troubled. I stopped outside the stable and said a prayer for the three of them -- but especially for her. I hope -- I really hope -- that this is a momentary madness, and that she doesn’t continue this way.”
“Should you tell someone?”
“Tell them what -- that the Messiah has been born in Bethlehem?” She smiled again, in wry amusement. “I’m a midwife, not this child’s grandmother. I have no stake in this, other than to hope that he lives. I just hope the father isn’t as delusional as the mother seems to be.”
Jeremiah shrugged, and patted the bed. “Right. Well, you did what you could, Rebecca. Now get some rest -- daylight will come soon enough, and we will see that the light brings us.” She sighed, and lay down next to him, pressed up against him, to draw warmth against the chill of the night. There, in the darkness, she could almost hear him smile. “Wouldn’t it be something, though -- to be the midwife who delivered the Messiah? Too bad this girl is out of her mind.”
“Not out of her mind -- just troubled. And scared,” she said gently, thinking better of what she had shared; she should have kept silent, she thought, too late. “This is a frightening time for any first time mother. I can understand some confusion.”
Jeremiah patted her hand, and smiled again. “You’re a good woman, Rebecca.”
They had just fallen asleep when there was a knocking at the door -- soft at first, then progressively more urgent. Jeremiah looked at his wife, still asleep, and got up quietly, hurried to the door. It was some long time later, before he came back to bed and stood next to her, touched her on the shoulder. “Rebecca -- wake up!”
Her eyes fluttered in the darkness, and she yawned. “What is it?” she asked groggily. “Is there a problem with the child?”
Her husband hesitated, looked over his shoulder toward the door -- then looked back at her and licked his lips. “No. Not exactly. Maybe. I don’t know.”
She sat up, started to gather her clothes to her. “What is it?”
“There are some men at the door -- “
“Men?”
“Yes -- there are men at the door. Shepherds, from the country. They want to know where the baby is.” He looked over his shoulder, again, then back to her. “They say they were visited by angels, a couple of hours ago, and told to seek out the newborn Messiah here in Bethlehem.” He paused. “Where was the baby when you left him?”
“I made sure he was settled, and sleeping. The mother needed to rest, so I wrapped him and lay him in the manger -- to serve as a cradle for the night.”
“Right,” her husband said slowly. “A manger. And that’s right where they were told he would be...”
She didn’t hear the rest, because the rush of her world changing was suddenly loud in her ears...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. 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.
* * *
The Power of Patience
by Keith Wagner
James 5:7-10
I have always struggled with the virtue of patience. I was the one on family road trips who was always asking, “Are we there yet?” Although I have not mastered the art of being patient, I had something happen to me about 30 years ago that taught me the valuable lesson of patience.
I had a denominational meeting to attend in Urbana, Ohio. I was in a hurry, traveling north on route 68 from Springfield. In front of me was a car going slower than the speed limit. I knew I would be late to my meeting unless I managed to pass the car and increase my speed. I finally got an opportunity to pass and managed to navigate around the “slow poke” in front of me. It was an elderly woman who was not in a big hurry. A few minutes later I arrived on the south side of Urbana at a traffic light. It was red, so I had to stop. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was the car I had just passed a few minutes before.
I glanced back to the traffic light, which was still red and then, suddenly, the car behind me plowed into me and knocked me forward into the intersection. The damage wasn’t excessive but since I had been involved in an accident I had to wait for the police to come and file a report. The woman who hit me wasn’t hurt and there was no damage to her car. Obviously I was late for my meeting and I had a stiff neck for about a month. Had I not been in such a big hurry and remained behind the “slow poke” for a few more minutes I would have made my meeting with time to spare.
James told the people of his day to be patient. Patience is a virtue that is essential for people of faith. When it comes to matters of faith we want God to respond to our needs immediately. Since we live in a society where everything is available to us and we can get what we need as quickly as possible, we believe that God should do the same.
I will never forget the time I moved away from my parents in 1979. Until that year I had always lived in close proximity to them. Except for my college years and time in the Navy, this was the first time as an adult I had literally cut the apron strings and ventured out on my own. It was soon thereafter that I entered the ministry.
The day I left Florida, I remember my mother standing in the driveway trying desperately to hold back the tears. She sensed I would not be returning. Mothers are like that. They have the ability to sense things that others can’t. As strange as this may sound I felt that at that moment I was also being affirmed in my decision to move on. Although it was painful for my mother to see one of her sons move away it was also something she had to do. I had come into my own and it was time to make my life’s journey.
About a year later I received the call to ministry. When I called my mother to give her the news she said, “I am not surprised. I knew from the very beginning you would someday be called.” I asked my mother why she didn’t share that with me before. She replied, “I couldn’t, because you had to discover it on your own.” My mother waited over 30 years for this to take place, always keeping it a secret. Talk about patience.
There is a story from The Best of Bits & Pieces, by Arthur Lenehan, that illustrates the virtue of patience. One time a wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone in the wise woman’s bag, admired it, and asked the wise woman to give it to him. The wise woman did so without hesitation. The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the jewel was worth enough to give him security for the rest of his life.
But a few days later he came back, searching for the wise woman. When he found her, he returned the stone and said, "I have been thinking. I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back to you in the hope that you can give me something much more precious. If you can, give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone."
* * *
Immanuel: God With Us
by John Fitzgerald
Matthew 1:18-25
The scripture lessons grants a wonderful picture of God’s Son coming into this world with a common and simple moment of conception. No trumpets blaring to announce the Messiah. Jesus did not have parents who witnessed to wealth and power. Mary and Joseph were two teenagers with a working class background. Into these humble circumstances our Lord arrived. The weight of this glorious birth announcement hangs upon a declaration found in verse 23: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel which means God with us. Immanuel: God with us is what took place on Christmas day.
All of history revolves around this singular event. God took pleasure in sending us His only Son so that we have a Living Savior and Lord. No longer do we have to endure trials and tribulations of this world alone. We know Immanuel who is with us every step of the way. God promises never to leave or forsake us. When problems mount-when crisis strikes-the Lord Jesus is right by our side. Frankly, I don’t know how people get through terrible times without having God on their side. I feel sorry for folks who struggle and yet remain stubborn without turning towards the Lord for help.
Certainly this Christmas season we need to rediscover the God who is with us. Fore we face a despairing landscape. The weather is cold and nights are bleak. People become sick and it is not uncommon for some folks to pass away in December. This makes the promise of from our Bible even more prominent. There is the Christ whose title Immanuel ensures He is with us in good seasons and bad.
The presence of Jesus makes a real difference for everyone who is hurting. There is a great story from the Jewish tradition which speaks to this matter. A Rabbi became well known for his interpretation of scripture and gained quite a following. One day one a student came to the Rabbi and said, “I love you and will practice your teachings wherever I go.” The Rabbi replied simply, “I hurt.” The student became perplexed with this response and went on to say, “Rabbi?I never intended to hurt you Please forgive me.” The Rabbi once again said, “I hurt.” At this point the student remained seriously confused and said, “Rabbi I do not understand. I can think of nothing I have said to hurt you.” The Rabbi replied, “My son?you have said you love me and desire to follow teachings of scripture. If you truly know me and hope to fulfill the Bible-you will know where I hurt?because love begins at those place we hurt.”
The Rabbi had it right. If we want to be agents of divine love we must minster where people are hurting. This Christmas we must redirect our attention to Immanuel who teaches us about love. Christ Jesus sends us into a bruised and broken world with ministry of hope and love. May you and yours have a Merry Christmas!
John Fitzgerald lives in Leesburg, Ohio, with his wife Carolyn and has served as pastor at the Leesburg Friends Meeting for the past 27 years. Cornfield Cathedral (Fairway Press, 2013) is the second book authored by Pastor Fitzgerald. John has earned a Master's of Ministry Degree from the Earlham School of Religion in Richmond, Indiana.
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 18, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
