12/24/68 and a Messy Story of Love

12/24/68 and a messy story of love

“But the greatest of these is love.”—1 Corinthians 13:13.

Earthrise 12/24/68 from Apollo 8

If you were alive on December 24, Christmas Eve, 1968, to see this picture from Apollo 8, do you remember what else you were doing? I remember much, but also remember so little. My husband and I worked as interns at John Gaston City of Memphis Hospital that night, so we missed the traditional Christmas Eve services. Instead, we went to St. Mary’s Cathedral’s quiet Christmas Day services the next morning. We were not married until the following year, but it was a special Christmas, the first holiday we could be together.

I can not remember the patients I cared for that night. It may have been one of the many African Americans coming in with a stroke, and at the time, we could only offer supportive care. I can remember looking at a patient unconscious with a stroke, and knowing there must be more that we can offer. I do not remember the presents we gave each other for Christmas. I do remember our best friend, Charles Stallings, who taught us how to make gold-and-red Christmas ornament balls we hung on that first tree. We still have some large balls, and we try to tell our grandchildren about them as they traditionally now have fun throwing the decorative balls on our tree each year.

However, the most memorable part of that Christmas was meeting Robert’s parents for the first time at their home for Christmas dinner that night. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do remember the red dress I wore. I was so nervous. I was damaged goods, and I feared they would not like or love me. I was divorced, and Robert was in the process of being divorced. Yet, I remember how they openly accepted me and treated me as if I were a lovable person from the start. Their unconditional love and care never ended. I still feel their presence today, even though they have been dead for some time.

The only way I can continue to return that love is to pay it forward today to my children, their children, and their spouses’ families. I remember that when Elizabeth died, I prayed that if she continued to watch over her grandchildren, I would care for her husband, Bob. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep up my part of the bargain as well as she did. I could always have done more.

I know that love never dies. Bob and Elizabeth have taught me that. I still feel the unconditional love they showed me in so many ways, even today, over fifty years later. It is a presence. It is a feeling. It is not knowledge but wisdom. It is present in their only son, who knows much more about unconditional love than I do. I also see it in their three grandchildren, whom they loved dearly. I know love can change the world, one person, and one family at a time. I have seen it.
This is my messy story of the love that came down at Christmas.

Joanna https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Elizabeth's 118th Birthday

Elizabeth’s 118th birthday

“But Ruth said, ‘Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.’”—Ruth 1:16.

 During Advent, we hear the story of Elizabeth and her family. Our family also has a unique Elizabeth. In August, we celebrated my mother-in-law’s 118th birthday. She was born in 1907 and died at 81. Our church tradition remembers people on the day of their death. However, our family still remembers those we love on their birthday. Perhaps this is because we recall how we celebrated their birthdays, or maybe their love and presence seem closer on their birthday for some unknown reason. My daughter and our youngest granddaughter are named after her. Elizabeth taught school and second grade for over forty years. Her class was called Happy Town. I keep wondering if any of her thousands of students remember her. They do not know that August 30th is her birthday.

 I tried to Google her to find out the exact day she died. But, unfortunately, I do not find her. There is no Google picture of her either. But my life was changed by knowing her, her kindness and acceptance from that first Christmas night we met, and her unconditional love for her grandchildren. So many saints like Elizabeth changed many people’s lives, but they have become unknown. When Elizabeth died, I remember asking her in my prayers to watch over our children like a guardian angel, and I promised I would care for her husband, Bob, whom she so loved, who was left behind. But, unfortunately, Elizabeth did a much better job watching over our children than I did for her Bob.

Whenever our children were gone from home, I would pray for Elizabeth to be with them. I truly know she was, in some way, reminding them that they were loved, keeping them out of harm’s way. I feel her presence today, telling me that all shall be well, all shall be well. I pray that others may remember and feel the Elizabeth Seiberts, who taught them about unconditional love in Happy Town.

Joanna  https://www.joannaseibert.com/

God's Inside and Outside Voice

Inside voice

Quiet

“For whatever reason, God never seems to shout when trying to get my attention. God always uses his ‘inside voice,’ as my mother used to call it. Shouting, calling, crying out, and throwing people off their horses is great stuff, but that’s not how I hear God. I hear God in a whisper; in a look; in a turn of the head; in a subtle expression on a face.”—Br. James Koester, Brother, Give Us a Word, Society of Saint John the Evangelist, Daily Email, SSJE.org, friends@ssje.org

The irony is that, as we read in SSJE about God speaking to us in God’s inside voice, I am practicing preaching with all my might in my outside voice. My voice is soft. It is a legacy from my soft-spoken father. It is a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing, as I talk to people and can more easily relate to them as a softer listener.

But when I stand in the pulpit to preach the word of God or speak out to a group, I have always had difficulty projecting that message, even with suitable amplification. My husband always sits in the back of any congregation or meeting, giving me signs to increase my volume. I spent years working with a fantastic speech pathologist, but I still have to push my voice. If someone has a hearing impairment, they may especially have difficulty hearing me.

My former rector took me on as a project to increase my volume. He let me read prayers outside at a burial office as an “audition” to see if I had an outside voice. After that, I think he gave up on me! Recently, I preached at a church without amplification. I felt as if I were shouting the entire time.

So, what is the point of all this regarding our relationship with God? First, I have become acutely aware of what an inside voice sounds like and the volume of my outside voice. My connection to God comes through an inside voice, quietly slipping in. But we often hear these soft messages when we least suspect God, usually in interruptions in our daily routine.

God seems to speak most clearly in Advent in an inside voice, while the world shouts more than ever in an outside voice mode.

I wonder, however, if God also speaks to us at times with an outside voice, and we may never hear it because we expect only the quiet inside connection.

Does God’s outside voice also speak at unexpected times by the least expected people we rarely listen to or don’t even want to listen to?

For the present, my best experience with God’s outside voice is in my dreams. Eventually, my dreams become louder, more memorable, and messier if I ignore them.

Joanna https://www.joannaseibert.com/