...in their shoeprints

God of past, Who by Your Spirit, led Your people through each age,

may we learn from their example, by their faith our doubts assuage.

May their steadfast resoluteness as they followed in Your way

be for us an inspiration as we serve the present day.

---Milburn Price, 1981

I have written before about the deep and lasting impact that repeated visits to the National Memorial for Peace and Justice have made, continue to make, on my life and spirit. This quiet memorial situated in Montgomery, the heart of the deep South, chronicles the dark cruelty of humanity—and the soul of a culture trying to address that cruelty clear-eyed, and to find a way to heal, and thrive, together. At the Memorial, in addition to the truly overwhelming silent witness of named victims of racial terror lynchings, county by county, several sculptures speak to other steps on the path to ‘now’ for black people. One sculpture work that I am thinking of today is Guided by Justice, by Dana King. In it are depicted the figures of three of the many black women who powered the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the mid-1950’s. The figures shuffle, wrapped in overcoats against the raw midwinter chill, faces etched with weariness, each solitary with her thoughts. Beside the figures are shoeprints planted in the gravel pathway.

In all the time I have stood and watched that sculpture, I have not seen a visitor walk by without at least lining up their own foot beside those shoeprints; many stood in the prints, struggling to manage the emotions threatening to overwhelm them. I know this was my story. And when I’m weary with struggling to see right done, and tempted to give up, I remember that privilege is having the option to give up. And I remember the feeling of fitting my feet into the prints of those women who walked because they had no option left. And their faith and resoluteness lifts me, and reminds me. And I walk on.

...lost...and home.

Words of life, words of hope,

give us strength, help us cope;

in this world where’er we roam

God’s ancient words will guide us home.

---Lynn DeShazo, 2001

Have you ever gotten lost? Turned around? So worn out you lost track of the path ahead of you and stumbled into the high grass off the side of the trail? Have you ever looked around for a sign, or down at a map, or up at the stars, and wondered, “Where in the world am I?” Have you ever sat there, where you found yourself---lost---and asked yourself, the open road, no one in particular, “How in the world did I get to here?”

Friends, I am the queen of getting lost, but not just in a literal way. I cannot count the times I’ve gotten lost behind a guitar, or in the pages of a book, or in front of a screen of some sort. I’ve been lost at the bottom of a mountain of to-do's, and in a deep well of lonesomeness; and lost in frustration with the inadequacies of this broken world, and inadequacies of my own. How about you? Where do you get lost?

What hopeful, life-giving words, then, what a promise---that ancient words, God-inspired and preserved for us in Scripture, stand as a beacon in our lostness, in our turn-aroundness, in our discouragement and weakness. I hear some speaking to me now:

            In this world you will have trouble, but fear not…I have overcome the world.

            The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.

            I have loved you with an everlasting love.

            You are mine. You are precious in my sight.

These are the words that guide me home. Every time…every time.

...borne safe

When ends life’s transient dream,

When death’s cold, sullen stream shall o’er me roll,

Blest Savior, then, in love,

Fear and distrust remove;

O bear me safe above, a ransomed soul.

---Ray Palmer, 1830

There are some days inspiration flows easily. There are others when I sit and stare at the screen (or the composition book page if I’m rocking it old school) and it stares back at me. Then there are days when the text bounces back to me, twisted fantastically, as if by a funhouse mirror, distortions and warps making it hard to grasp meaning.

Guess which afternoon it’s been? This verse from the beloved mid-19^th century hymn pulled me toward it, then reflected back at me: “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream; merrily, merrily merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.” Yep. Talk about a brain freeze.

So, I scrolled down on my page, past those first two lines of the verse (out of sight, sort of out of mind). And got to something I could hold onto, something that would hold onto me. In love Jesus, in the midst of our fear, ransoms our souls. In love the Savior, our distrust notwithstanding, bears us safe through the transient dream of this life.

Let me be wholly Yours.