where the rubber meets the road

It has been one of those weekends.

I knew Saturday night that my frame of mind may only be improved with a trip through Andy's drive thru and ordering a key lime pie concrete.

You have probably had one of those kind of weekends.

I don't know if the details are as important as the questions that surfaced.

I didn't really ask the questions aloud.

Well, unless you count as I stood over my college best friend's grave.

Through a random series of events, I found myself looking down at the marker and realizing it had been almost 10 years since I talked to her in person. Theologically, I knew as I spoke aloud in that empty cemetery that my voice being projected was more for me than any other.

The conversation was a process of thoughts developing slowly at first and then snowballed into a rather enlightening awareness.

As a pastor, I knew I would be called into hospital hallways during the most vulnerable of times.

This was one of those weekends.

As a fixer, I wanted to have the answers. I never seem to have the answers when it counts.

I didn't have any answers for the family whose son would only call earth his home for only a few more hours.

Or a family whose little boy has had a rough first few weeks of his precious life and seen the inside of a hospital more than anyone should.

I have no answers for the family who just across the field would be burying a husband, father, grandfather, great grandfather and brother. (The reason for being in the cemetery in the first place).

I told this all to the clean cut grass beneath my feet.

My best friend from college who had always seem to have an opinion about my boyfriends and my college dorm decor was silent.

Yea, these questions were between God and I.

What is it that I believe? What is it that I stand before a congregation and profess?

If what I say when I wear a black robe doesn't mean anything in my sandals and capris in CCU or in the middle of a cemetery than it means nothing.

That is when the rubber meets the road. Faith.

If I profess God to be a comforter, than I must believe God to be of comfort when I pray that for a family.

If I profess that God has more for us than this moment, that Jesus' words of a place beyond this place are true, than I must believe it when standing before death.

If I profess that God is a healer than I must believe God can and will heal when it is God's will to do so.

I guess you could say this weekend consisted of some rubber meets the road moments.

And you could say that I figured out where I stood.

I believe that the God I worship on Sunday morning is in the details of life.

The voice that called me into ministry, tenderly whispers to these families "I love you".

The arms that have led me this far, holds each of these people (including you and me) with a gentleness that is beyond understanding.

Yes, when faith meets reality - God is there.

And for that, I am thankful.

Because the key lime concrete only made me feel stuffed.