Christmas a few years back, I sent out my usual Christmas cards to friends.  One friend had moved away, so we stayed in touch at least with Christmas cards.  This year, I didn’t receive a card.  Awhile after Christmas, I received a note from an unrecognized person.  It said, “My mother took her life.”  It was from my friend’s daughter.

I had signed up for an Alpha class at our church.  I was the first one there and I was still troubled about my friend.  As I sat waiting for the class to start, I decided to try and understand why my friend would take her life.  I tried to imagine what it would feel like to want to end life.  As I was putting myself into a state of mind of total despair, hope barren.  I thought of Jesus on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Chills overcame me and I had a vision of Jesus hovering above me.  His hands were held out and his gown was flowing.

I then knew that in my friend’s last hour, she was not alone.

I had always thought Jesus was alive.  Now I know it.  He is alive thru the Holy Spirit and always with us.  May the gentle breeze of the Holy Spirit be a reminder that Jesus is Alive!

I know that I have the ability to keep God’s visits inside my heart  or tell others.  Telling others is difficult for me because I become very emotional.  Members of my mother’s family host bi-annual family reunions.  The most recent reunion, in June of 2008,  included a worship service on Sunday morning during which I shared this experience with those present at the service.  Almost everyone became emotional and there were few dry eyes in the room.  I know that God wants me to share this experience.  Please feel free to share this with others.  Thank you.

I feel extremely fortunate to have been raised in a family where strong faith was present.  During challenging times in my life I  Believed.   Actually I knew God was present in me and that strength of knowing sustained me.  I know what a blessing such a strong faith is, and I am deeply grateful.

In continuing my faith journey I realize how important HSLC is to me.  I know God calls us to champion justice, protect our planet and reach out to those less fortunate. 

My wife, Anja, and my HSLC family help me deliver on that calling.  Many people describe the joy and satisfaction and rewards they receive for helping others.  I don’t feel those things, so external motivation encourages and prods me to action.

Jeremiah 29:11

When I was a child, it was a very special privilege to be allowed to look in the very large Bible, which my father had collected over some years. Reproductions of famous painters art work illustrated it, and these pictures were the attraction for us.

Michelangelo’s picture from the Sistene Chapel caught my eyes. The old man in the picture seemed special to me, so I asked my mother who the he was. My mother answered of course, that it was God. That baffled me, because God really looked an awful lot like my Dad.

I also had problems with what Jesus looked like, but from looking at many pictures and statues, I thought he would have looked like a tall blond Scandinavian. Then one day a few years ago I read in the newspaper that scientists in Israel had compared many skulls and skeletons and made a model of what an average person at the time of Jesus would have looked like. He was not very tall with a round face and black curly short hair and beard. A portrait of what Jesus might have looked like was included in the article.

I read it just before I was going shopping, and as an old fuddy-duddy I had placed my handbag on the trunk of the car and promptly forgot it. I drove off, but when I came to the store, I realized that I didn’t have my purse. I went back looking for it on my way. It was gone!

I went into the house to look for it there, but right then the telephone rang. I answered, and a man’s voice asked if my name was Minna Brask. I said, yes, and he asked where I lived. Much perplexed, I gave him my address. He continued asking if I had lost my purse. “Yes,” I responded, quite puzzled. He asked me if I would be home for the next half hour, because he would bring my purse right then. I offered to come and get it, but he was adamant about bringing it to me. I waited and saw a young man coming in the driveway. He was short with a round face and short black curly hair and beard.

I gasped, and looked at him again. He smiled and handed me my purse. I wanted to give him something for his trouble, so I took a quick look in my wallet. I only had a twenty dollar bill, which I handed to him. He refused it! I then said that it would make me feel better, if he took it and did something good with it. Reluctantly he took it.

Since then I have no longer wondered what God or Jesus look like. I knew. They look like the human beings I encounter on my way through life. They are the divine in all the people I meet.

     In my hunger for faith I have always read, not just for information, but to know myself and to be changed and be changeable.  I've been influenced by Marcus Borg and by Henri Nouwen among others.  I was moved by a short story by Flannery O'Connor which we read in our Thursday Education Group here at Church.  Its called The River.  A child who, while not physically abused, was harmed by his family.  He, with God-given understanding of his need,  moved towards Grace and clarity and was baptized in the river as he died.  He wanted  to count.  The child and, now, I know that God participates in our joys and our sorrows.  This can be a new experience for some of us.  We count with the One who matters.  I'll never get over a sense of amazement.       When I was baptized on Easter I really truly understood and felt that I am a child of God.  I don't have to bother with pettiness because I am  God's child.  I no longer worry about the solid fact that many years ago I chose to divorce and worried how I would be accepted.  I worried at lot, not surprisingly, whether I would ever have trouble being the beloved and on and on.  I am a child of God.  That takes precedence over anything and I'm grateful.      Somehow our church community has committed to be my guide and companion on our co-journeys.  Our pastors keep spoon feeding me with new ways to think about things.  Our church as a community is part of God's plan for our world.  We are to give our lives in service to a broken world.  I've always done a lot of volunteer work but maybe I've been too pleased with myself.  Baptism is the dying of self and becoming part of something that is larger than any of us.  Church community is the environment which can enable that change.  Through it all the most profound change is finally the most simple--love.  My friends,  John and Katie Gienapp were at my Baptism and wrote to me of their hopes.  Katie knows me better than anyone else.  They wrote, "We pray that your love of God will grow and reveal itself in every part of your life."   More encouragement.         A week after my own Baptism, my youngest Granddaughter, Anna, was baptized.  Someone asked her what she was feeling.  I don't know if she heard her answer somewhere but at age six, she's pretty honest.  She said "I feel that I'm part of the Kingdom of  God".   Anna really got it.   

Nearly twenty years ago, on a crisp Virginia winter afternoon, I headed outdoors to rake up some of the leaves my housemates and I had missed that previous fall.  I looked forward to the diversion this small task would bring me.  My heart still ached from the loss of the grandmother who had raised me – there is no simple formula or set timetable for healing sorrow.  In addition, I was anxiously waiting to see if a job lead would finally pan out - in the interim, I didn’t have a steady source of income. 

All the worries and grief I was grappling with were compounded by being in a “questioning” cycle of faith – trying to reconcile logic with a system of beliefs that was based on something for which I had no tangible evidence or firsthand experience.  It seemed like I had always wrestled with points of faith that others found so easy to accept.  Some friends were so happy and assured when they spoke of their faith, and could easily point to how God was an active force in their lives.  I envied and longed for this type of conviction, desperately wanting to experience some degree of inner peace.  How wonderful it must be to be able to accept the reality of God’s presence in the world, despite what I perceived to be a lack of concrete, logical proof.  I yearned for some sign that God was really out there.

It was when I paused briefly from my raking that I saw “the bird.”  It was a dusty, disreputable looking black bird, probably a starling.  What caught my eye was the fact this bird had only one leg, in addition to what appeared to be an injured wing.  While it could carefully and with great effort hop around the yard on its single good leg, it could not keep its balance if it tried to hop quickly.  Instead, it would fall over on its side with a huge crash. The bird could only right itself again through tremendous exertion.

Although backyard bird enthusiasts do not usually describe starlings in glowing terms (more often characterizing them as obnoxious and contentious), the animal lover in me surfaced, and my heart completely went out to this pitiful creature.  How many times as a child had I found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, only to be told to leave it alone (or put it back where I’d found it), as there was nothing that could be done for it?  Those same feelings of helplessness and despair welled up as I pondered the likely fate of this bird – it would either die from starvation, exposure, or as some cat’s next meal. 

The overwhelming need to do SOMETHING constructive propelled me inside, where I scooped up some of the birdseed my housemate fed to more “desirable” backyard birds.  Returning outside, I tried to approach the bird near enough to sprinkle some seeds in its path.  That caused an agitated frenzy of hopping/crashing, as it desperately tried to flee in the opposite direction.  My next tactic was to place some birdseed on the ground, and then try to slowly and carefully herd the bird in that direction.  More hopping/crashing ensued, but it finally got within range of the birdseed.  I retreated back towards the house so that the bird could assess the food offering in peace. 

My great relief when it eagerly began to peck at the seeds was short lived, however – one of the yard’s resident squirrels bounded onto the scene, and immediately bowled the bird over to claim the seeds for itself.  Back I went to chase away the squirrel, which also meant I unintentionally inflicted more pain and fear on the bird, as it wildly struggled to right itself and flee.  As soon as the squirrel was gone, I carefully herded the bird back in the direction of the birdseed, but once again, after the bird finally reached the seed and I’d made my retreat, that insolent squirrel resumed its attack.  This sequence repeated itself several more times, until I realized I had to stop, for the sake of the bird. 

The afternoon had worn on while this drama ensued, and it began to grow dark.  Now I began to fret about where this bird could possibly find refuge during the night, both from the cold and any marauding cats.  I positioned a small pile of leaves at the base of a large old tree, and slowly herded the bird towards it.  Rather than feel any relief to see it finally huddled in this makeshift nest, I felt as miserable as it must have felt, and I dejectedly went inside.  Not only miserable, but also frustrated and completely disheartened – the plight of this bird represented every uncertain, out of control, incomprehensible aspect of my own life.  I knelt at my bedroom window and leaned my forehead against the pane, straining my eyes to see the nest of leaves in the deepening twilight.  My heart screamed out to God, shrieking “Why won’t you do something?  Please help this poor creature!”  I knew the only thing that could salvage this impossible situation was...a miracle – and those sure seemed to be in short supply.

My inner agonies were interrupted when two figures suddenly walked up the slight slope from the sidewalk into the yard.  This was odd - although our house stood on a corner lot, pedestrians never used the yard as a short cut to reach the next street.  These two individuals appeared to be young adults, perhaps a bit on the shaggy side, clad in long trench-style coats.  One of them glanced in my direction, and then they purposefully strode to the base of the tree.  They stooped down, and one of the figures scooped up the occupant of that makeshift nest.  Standing once more, and cradling the bird, they continued to walk through the yard and out onto the next street, disappearing into the dusk – with me goggling wide eyed after them, in a state of “shock and awe.”

I have tried many, many times since that night to analyze and “make sense” of what I witnessed, but I find I cannot.  No human intervention caused that bird to be tenderly borne off in the arms of those mysterious strangers.  Aside from myself, only God could have known what unfolded that afternoon.  Here was the visible sign of God’s presence I had always yearned for – indeed, it was quite a dramatic sign, and it was humbling as well as eerie and a bit frightening.  I was unprepared for such a tangible demonstration, and the fact that it involved the salvation of a scruffy, injured, down on its luck bird made it so much more poignant.  This incident is simply layered with lessons in faith – about God’s mercy and compassion, about The Creator’s love for creation, about trust, about hope, about tenacity, about how God constantly works through the most unlikely vessels to teach and reassure us.  Like everyone else, I still go through times when the “questioning” cycles and dark valleys are upon me, but now I know these are healthy and natural parts of faith life.  How we respond to these cycles directly influences how our faith grows and matures.  I don’t have to completely understand how this process works – I just simply know that the deep, steady pulse of God’s presence is always there with me, no matter what.  From that knowledge, I draw peace and quiet conviction.

LIVING LIFE THROUGH CHRIST

Malissa Hudson 

Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me

Philippians 4:19 and my God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus. 

These two scriptures really speak true to my heart because God has indeed met and has abundantly supplied my needs.  I was born totally blind and grew up in a Christian family.  My mother taught me as a young child how to pray, serve, and to obey God’s great commandments.  She also taught me how to present myself in a sighted world as a blind person such as making eye contact with someone to whom you are speaking with.  As I grew older, I started realizing how much Christ loved me and how much he wanted me to do all of those things in which my mom taught me.  God has blessed me with the opportunity to go through life even in the midst of obstacles as a blind person such as getting through school, going through two training programs to learn the skills of blindness, and volunteering.  Since moving to Seattle in October 2006, I’ve been fortunate to have a job, supportive friends both blind and sighted, and being a part of Holy Spirit Lutheran Church.  Since coming here, I’ve been heavily involved as an assisting minister as well as a greeter.  If we all take the time to serve the Lord, pray, and obey His commandments, we too can live our lives through Jesus Christ who is the supplier of all our needs.

The thing that struck me most when my family and I first visited Holy Spirit was the truly inclusive way that individuals with disabilities were accepted.  Often in our society, those with disabilities are “accommodated”, but there is a difference between accommodation and true inclusion.  From the accessibility of the facility, to the participation of those with challenges in the service, to the Pastors’ sensitivity in serving communion, Holy Spirit accomplishes not only inclusion, but acceptance.  As one of my loved ones faces the prospect and challenge of losing mobility, I find great comfort that there is an inclusive spiritual home for us, filled with love and acceptance.

Tuesday, ‎October ‎26, ‎2004 Last Sunday night I had an inspirational experience. I was driving toward Ballard on NE 46th St up on Phinney Ridge. It began to rain as the sun was showing . The sun was so bright that the rain was very illuminated. Like little drops of light.  Immediately I thought of what Eric Peterson (Choir Director) had said to the men about how to approach the beginning of "Communion Invitation" . Eric told us sing it as an invitation - not a command "come and sit beside me". The point is to be drawn in, welcomed, cleansed, and forgiven. So as I was driving west on 46th st. The bright sun illuminated not only the drops in front of me, but also drops further down the road . I could see the fall colors from the leaves on the trees to the brightly colored houses that lined the streets . Many bright things to say the least.  Suddenly I not only knew what Eric was talking about, I also felt it in the center my heart. I felt the bright colors welcomed me and drew me into a driving rain of redemption. My polarized lenses removed from my eyes to see the world for what it really is. To perceive people as they really are not as they appear. To see shiny metal boxes as people with problems, not as heartless automobiles. Not forced into this state of mind but drawn in.