Rest in Peace, Sweet Manny

He was a good boy…. He came to me in Connecticut after a hard winter for him and a lonely time for me. He made the move with me to the farm in the south, and lived with the other cats, mostly in harmony. He so missed Mama. He was with her every day in the living room and was not really the same after she died. He just could not go on after today. I will miss him so much. But I am so thankful that my sister and brother helped me bury him on this farm where he lived his last years. 

These animals: They get so close to us and we love them. And they return that love without condition. Bless you on your way, sweet Manny.

http://pastormartha.blogspot.com/2008/02/manny-comes-home.html 
 

Bucket Brigade

We have a number of folks in our congregation who are members of the local volunteer fire department. That means that, if a siren sounds on Sunday morning, they get up and leave. I often pause and offer a prayer for them and whatever situation they are going to encounter. Sometimes it is a fire, sometimes a highway accident, sometimes a false alarm. Whatever it is, though, they respond willingly. 

A lot of folks I know are responding now to the heartbreaking needs of those in western NC affected by Hurricane Helene. Through some personal connections, people here have figured out how to get the right things to the right places to help those who have lost so much. They have made several trips, driving trailer loads of generators, kerosene heaters, coats and hats, and cooking equipment. Like our volunteer fire department, they are on the front lines, giving of themselves, taking risks, responding. 

Not everyone can do that, though – drop everything and respond to a fire call or drive to the mountains pulling a trailer. But most of us can do something. I’m thinking of the old-fashioned way of fighting fires, with a bucket brigade. One person at the source of the water filled the buckets, and they were handed down a line of people to the one on the front line, at the fire. Over and over, the buckets were filled and passed down the line, emptied and passed back to be filled again. It was a true team effort. 

Maybe our efforts to bring aid to the people in the mountains are like a bucket brigade. Many of those who can’t go in person have done the equivalent of filling a bucket and handing it on. They have donated money, coats and blankets, food, generators, and heaters. We aren’t all on the front lines, but we can still fill a bucket and pass it along, trusting that all the hands along with way will deliver what is needed to quench the suffering of so many.

 

Volunteers

Matt's Wild Cherry -- in October

Four summers ago, I started some tomato seeds of a variety named “Matt’s Wild Cherry.” The seeds did well, and I planted the seedlings in a straw bale in my kitchen garden. The plants were prolific, bearing clusters of tiny sweet tomatoes all summer and well into the fall. That winter, we dug up that part of the yard to put down some pavers. In the spring, though, there were tomatoes growing all around the new parking area. The next year: more tomato plants, coming up everywhere. This year, there were still more tomato plants, dozens of them! they are still sprouting here at the end of October. In the gardening world, these are called volunteers: plants that grow on their own without being deliberately planted. 

There is another kind of volunteer, of course. As the dictionary defines it: a person who freely offers to take part in an enterprise or undertake a task. I am a volunteer for several organizations in our area. It is deeply satisfying work, for the most part, and I hope that I am making a difference. 

I’m not a tomato, exactly, but like the volunteer plants in my yard, my own volunteering stems from the actions of others in seasons past. I grew up in a family where people stepped in and stepped up to do what was needed, freely and generously. I watched my parents give money to the church even when the crops were failing. My father gave time and attention as a board member of our small local hospital. My mother navigated the red tape of social security for a neighbor who could not do that on her own. When anyone was in trouble or needed emergency money or food, my parents always provided it, never expecting (and usually not receiving…) any reimbursement. My brother has been part of Angel Flights, piloting his small plane to take people to distant medical appointments. My sister has raised thousands – thousands! -- of dollars through our little church to benefit victims of domestic violence, families of those who are incarcerated, hungry children, and folks devastated by the hurricane. 

My brother, sister, and I are rooted in a culture of serving others. Like my everlasting tomato plants, we are volunteers, growing here not by our own efforts but from seeds planted long ago. I hope our little fruits are good and plentiful!