Word Dump

Prior to 2020, Websters dictionary defined racism as the superiority of one race over another.  In 2020, Kennedy Mitchum a student who had just graduated from Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa, didn’t think the definition went far enough. She wrote to the editors:

“Racism is not only prejudice against a certain race due to the color of a person’s skin, as it states in your dictionary. It is both prejudice combined with social and institutional power.  It is a system of advantage based in skin color.” She got a reply the next day. After several more exchanges, the editors agreed to make the change.   https://www.cnn.com/2020/06/09/us/dictionary-racism-definition-update-trnd/index.html

Summed up, it’s a definition that activists have been using all along: Racism is “prejudice plus power.”

Websters defines vulnerable as what “can be wounded or physically injured, open to criticism or attack (a vulnerable reputation); easily hurt, as by adverse criticism; sensitive.”  With that definition, who would WANT to be vulnerable? I believe – like racism – the definition of vulnerable is changing.

I recently did a “word dump where I took ten minutes and tried thinking of every word I could that came to mind when I thought of vulnerability.  This is what I came up with: weak, in danger of being hurt, brave, honest, truthful, fearful, small, messy, complicated, open-minded, scared and freeing.  I invite you to do the same and email me your list at tamara@noggin-notions.com.

I next looked at a thesaurus and discovered other words: helpless, unprotected, movable, persuadable, brittle, fragile, delicate, exposed and open are only a few. How do we understand a word so broad in scope? How do we define a word with so many differing synonyms?  Perhaps we should contact Websters dictionary with a new definition of the word!

That may be a little far-fetched, but I do think it is important for us to think about vulnerability and what it means for us in 2024. I hope you’ll spend some time examining it with me. And I’m waiting for your word-dump!

Violin

notions

Violin and viola (The violin is in front)

I’ve been putting off writing this post by checking Facebook, drinking coffee, walking Chip and a whole lot of other things.  I’m feeling several emotions at once and I don’t really want to think about them. After putting my violin up for sale at a shop in Raleigh, it finally sold. I feel relief, grief, and sadness all at the same time.

Grief is a complicated emotion. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross says there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. A former neurologist of mine viewed grief as a coil. One experiences the same emotions over and over again – just a little bit less than before.

That’s how I view grief. There are more than just five stages.  I think I’ll always be sad that I can’t play anymore due to physical issues with my left hand. It will always hurt to watch and hear others play. This means I’ll never get to pure acceptance – in Kubler-Ross’s terms – and that’s okay.

I spent so many years practicing, performing, and trying to improve. Playing brought me to a place I can’t really explain. It was a little like being in the presence of God. Getting to that place is difficult when I sing because I don’t have the technique I had when I played.

This brings me back to the violin.  I loved playing and feeling as if I was in God’s hands. Despite my grief and sadness, I am relieved that it sold. Now I just must hope that my Viola sells as well!

Violin and Viola

We are going to Raleigh next week to take my violin and Viola, have work done and put them up for consignment in one of the shops there. We went to Charlotte a couple of years ago and had a violin shop there look at them. They thought the shop in Raleigh would do a better job of making needed repairs. Michael suggested I check with the shop in Charlotte to see what percentage they take off on consignment so we can make a comparison between the three.

What are my feelings about this? I’m not sure. It’s been so long since I’ve played them that I’ve separated myself from them. But they are a big part of my history. I’ve played the violin since 4th grade and I began playing the viola in college. I always thought music would be my career forever but it turned out it was only for a few years. I had quite a large violin studio and I was supporting myself through that and my freelance work. 

The most fascinating freelance job that I had was playing violin in  a duo called Bellows and Bows. It was an accordion and violin duo and e played at parties, weddings and other public events. The most interesting was at the Hyatt Regency hotel where we played for breakfast and lunch. As people ate their pancakes and eggs we played all sorts of tunes that weren’t very difficult but were hard for me to memorize. I remember constantly making mistakes where Kevin just followed right along with whatever I played. He was great and an award winning accordionist. At the time I remember being frustrated because it wasn’t an orchestra and the music was easy. But I looked back on it fondly.

 I remember having difficulty with one of my fingers.  I also decided I would never make a professional orchestra even though I played really well. Technically I was weak but musically I was very good. I’m sad about not playing in an orchestra professionally but as I said before that part of my life is over.

I need to take my instruments out of their cases and think about them because they were such a huge part of my life. I haven’t done that yet but I plan to before we go to Raleigh. It’s possible that I’ll never see those instruments again after going there.

I began teaching private lessons at my parents home when I was in college. They allowed me to teach there for a long time which was quite a commitment on their part. They had to stay out of the dining room where we worked all day Saturday. Finally I left their house and began working in a studio in a shopping center nearby. Those were tough years because I never knew if I would have enough money or not. Freelance work isn’t easy.

The hardest thing about not playing anymore is, playing was the way I expressed my emotions. Expressing emotions is difficult for me but I could do so in my music. Many years later while here in Asheville,  I sang in the choir at Grace Covenant Presbyterian for a while and I was able to express my emotions that way. However singing is not the same for me. even though my voice is OK. It is still difficult expressing my emotions through my voice.

So how do I feel about selling my instruments? I feel empty and lost. Even though I couldn’t play them anymore having them around was a comfort to me. But it isn’t good for instruments to sit around in the case and not be played.  Of course I hope I get a good price for them but I think it’s more important for me to have them played.  I do love them.

Now that I’m 61 I realize that the bulk of my life is over and I wasted so much time worrying. I worried when I was a freelance musician and hoped I would get into an orchestra. After graduating seminary and even while in seminary, I worried about getting a call. After my accident, I worried about finding a way to serve God. Maybe that’s the lesson in selling these instruments. It is time for me to stop worrying and trust God that She will use me for good.

Sparky

happy to meet you

We had to put Sparky down the Friday before our trip to Kansas City for my grandmother’s 100^th birthday celebration.  More about that later but due to the trip, I wasn’t able to really begin grieving.  This week I have really missed him.  These past mornings when I was cutting my banana for my cereal, I thought of him because he would always run into the kitchen in recent months when he stopped eating because I would give him the end of my banana so he would eat something.

It was so quiet when we did the garbage on Sunday because he would always try and steal things from our baskets as we emptied them.  Most times he succeeded and we discovered chewed up Kleenex and food wrappers everywhere. Whenever we came home, he would greet us at the door with his happy bark and a smile on his face.  I never realized that dogs could actually smile until Sparky. 

I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach which I attribute to him not being here.  I loved that little guy even if he was sometimes a pain.  I walked him every morning to get his energy out and sometime in the nine months before we got him, someone taught him to walk on a lease.  When I walked him, I felt a little like I was in a dog competition in the healing category because he was spectacular.  In fact, someone in the neighborhood posted on my Facebook page that we were an institution on Haywood road since we always walked there.

When he was little I used to meet my friend Sarah and her dog at the park.  We would let them run and play in the baseball diamond but as time went on, signs went up saying we couldn’t do that.  We often did it anyway cleaning up after our dogs of course.  Sparky had so much energy and he would run around that diamond like a crazy person. 

Sparky and me singing.

I remember how he would always find a way out of our yard.  Sometimes he would run out the gate when we had it open.  Other times he found holes in the fence and would sneak out through them.  I don’t know how many times I went through the neighborhood calling out his name with treats in my hand. 

He did have a bad habit of biting.  He wasn’t mean and I’m not sure I understand why he was that way.  I know he was taken from his mother too early so he never developed as ‘soft bit” like other dogs.  I couldn’t give him treats or he would chomp off my hand.  I learned to put the treat in the palm of my hand and let him get it that way.

I suspect he was abused by one of his first families in some way which is why he would bite.  I learned that all dogs bite it’s just they have different levels of anger.  Many dogs never get to their upper level but Sparky got there often.  He bit Michael and I several times when we had to go to urgent care.  The urgent care people were required to report it and animal control would always come and tell us he had to be quarantined for a week.  There was no way I could do that since he had too much energy.  I walked him anyway and just hoped no one caught me. 

We used to take him to doggie day care because he needed to diffuse some of his energy.  He loved going there and the staff loved his crazy attitude.  He was the kind of dog one either loved or hated.  We could tell the first vet didn’t like him much so we found a new vet named Dr. Heath at All Pets. He appreciated him and he verified for us that he really was a smart dog.  He said you really don’t want a smart dog because they figure things out all the time and you have to stay one step ahead of them.

If you’ve gotten this far, please forgive the length of this post.  I really loved that crazy dog and it helps to write about him.  I felt guilty for putting him down since it seemed early but I realized later that we gave him his dignity.  He was skin and bones and the only time he got excited was when we were in the kitchen.  I think he wanted to eat but it hurt too much.  If we had waited longer, he would have become incontinent and miserable. 

me and Sparky at the beach

This may seems like heresy for a minister to make the following comment, but I’m not sure I believe in a physical heaven.  Scripture doesn’t say much about it and the little bit there is, can be interpreted to mean different things.  So what do I believe about death?  I think it’s a place where all the souls of animals and people live.  It’s a spiritual place.  I believe that is where Sparky and my other dog, Abu has gone.  They are with the many other people and animals that have died before them.

I’m, still grieving for Sparky and I probably will for a long time.  I think Elizabeth Kubler-Ross was a little off when she put grief into set stages.  Grief is a coil and we keep going through that coil, experiencing the many different stages, over and over again.  I will never finish grieving for Sparky, just like folks never stop grieving for their loved ones.

And that’s okay.

Ash Wednesday

 

Haywood Street logo

Lent is my favorite time of the church year. I went to Haywood Street Methodist yesterday and received the imposition of the ashes.  Haywood Street is a church with people who have homes and some who do not.  Local restaurants take turns providing a free meal with three serving times offered prior to worship on Wednesdays and Sundays.  It is NOT your typical soup kitchen fare!

It’s been a while since I have eaten there so I’m probably due again. I value talking with my table-mates who are often in difficult life situations.  It’s funny but I always feel more comfortable talking to them than with my usual table-mates. My brain injury challenges allow me to connect with them, more so than with other people.

At the service today, the preacher spoke of how in our faith life we have inner and outer work to do. Outer work is the ministries we do – work in a soup kitchen, support immigrants, visit older people and many other thin gs. In contrast, Inner work occurs in quiet time, meditation and prayer.  Lent is especially a time for inner work.

The closing song at Haywood was based on Psalm 51 written by Mark Siler. Here are the words:

Create in me a clean heart

Help me start over again

Please Lord don’t leave me, I need our spirit

I cannot make it alone

Restore to me the joy of salvation

Oh my God.

Many years ago, Mark gave me a CD with some of his songs and this one was on it. I think I lost it and I can’t remember the melody so I may have to call him and ask if he’ll sing it to me over the phone.  Songs are an important part of my life and I would love to sing it during this inner time on my Lenten journey.

Church Adventures

I don’t see myself as a bumbling, muddle-headed person but sometimes I feel like one.

Last Sunday at Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church, many of my brain injury challenges showed up. Twenty-three years after my TBI I still think of my challenges as separate from me rather than part of who I am.  I wonder when that will change!

There are two services at GCPC; the first is at 8:30AM in the alcove outside the fellowship hall and the second is 10:45 in the sanctuary. I’ve been attending the class called “The Spirituality of Vulnerability” at 9:15 am. Participating in a class as well as attending worship pushes me cognitively which is why I like to attend the first service. It is shorter with fewer people and for some reason; I don’t get as overwhelmed when I go to class after worship.  However, I often miss the liveliness and energy at the second service so I sometimes attend it.

As usual, I was late for class. I rushed to church not obeying the speed limit and parked in the lot across the street. This allows folks who need to park close to the door, to do so.  Merrimon is a busy street with cars whizzing by. For some reason the stoplight seemed further than usual so I simply crossed without it.

The class is in the choir room with chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing a CD player. Since I knew the youth choir was going to practice in the next room, I wanted to sit on the other side of the room so the sound would be minimal but the door there was locked so I had to enter on the other side.  I sat in a seat by the door in the second row.  As expected, I wasn’t able to divide my attention in order to hear the presentation so I moved to the other side of the room.

Of course I had my purse and a bag with my books in it.  When I settled in, the choir was softer but still bothered me so I put in my unobtrusive ear plugs which help minimize outside sound.

Prior to my TBI, I never thought about how hard one’s brain works every day. I had to manage the sound of rustling paper, group conversation, the singing next door and the class facilitator.  As a result, I needed to “rest my brain” during the thirty free minutes prior to worship.

I went into a nearby office but even wearing my bright pink earplugs which blocks sound better than the other ones; I could hear the commotion out in the hallway. Plus there was a ticking clock that drove me insane so I moved it across the room.  Looking back, I wish I had closed my eyes and rested my brain but instead I first checked my emails and Facebook until the hall got quiet.

I then closed my eyes and rested my brain. But it was difficult quieting my thoughts which seemed to come at me from all directions. This happens often and a cognitive therapist once suggested I go or do something else to shift my focus.  Since there was no place to go I tried her second suggestion which is to internally yell, “Stop!”

I went to worship, late of course. I always sit in the front so as not to be distracted by rustling paper and other sounds.  The service was full of energy and life giving. The children even helped with communion as pictured. I stayed to hear Jeff play the postlude which I don’t often do due to my weakened cognition.  I knew I didn’t have much cognitive energy left so I quickly walked to my car.  It wasn’t there.

A husband and wife were standing next to their car and the man said he arrived at 9 AM.  This made no sense for when I arrived at 9:30 it wasn’t there. I know lots of folks with brain injuries who get confused but nothing like this has ever happened to me so I began questioning myself. The woman drove me through the parking lot next to the church but it wasn’t there either.  “What is happening?” I thought.  “Am I going crazy?”

Now I was really upset. I began thinking someone had stolen it and I was going to have to call the police. I spoke to John Legerton and he looked in the lot where I usually park. John is a very calm guy which was perfect since I was not calm.

“I better call the police because it has been stolen.” I wished I hadn’t stayed and listened to the postlude.   I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to do all the necessary things when one’s car is stolen.  All I wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep.

Finally John returned and told me he had found my car. I had parked in the parking lot NEXT to the bank not in the bank.  Relief overcame me.  John drove me to my car and I rested a bit before going home.

This whole event reminded me again why it is so important for me to concentrate on what I’m doing and on nothing else. Hopefully I’ll remember this lesson.

 

Communion

Me leading communion at Haywood Street Congregation

I led communion this past Sunday at the church I attend in the late afternoon – Circle of Mercy. I really like public speaking but I still always get nervous. (Fun fact: Some studies say public speaking is a person’s greatest fear.)  Maybe if I had been leading worship these past twenty odd years; this would not still happen.

I wish I could lead communion without using notes. I used to be able to do this but my brain seems to freeze now and I can’t remember what I planned to say.  We used Psalm 56:1-7 as the call to worship (“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble…..”) which is one of my favorites.  I often read it when I’m frustrated and angry about having a brain injury and I always feel the Spirit of God as I read.

We also sang one of Mark Siler’s songs as our call to prayer. (Words by Br. Roger of Taize Music, music by Mark.) I love this song and remember when I first moved to Asheville, Mark gave me a C.D. of his music.  I vividly remember working with polymer clay in what we call the “art room” in our house and playing this song over and over and over again.  Here are the words:

Rest your heart in God, let yourself float on the safe waters,

Living life as it comes, with all the rough weather it may bring.

Give, without counting how many years are left,

Give, not worried about surviving as long as possible.

(repeat first two lines ending with “all the rough weather it may bring.”)

I said, “We know about rough weather, don’t we?” I then spoke of Greta Thunberg’s call for a climate strike but that here, weather wasn’t meant that way.  “Every day there’s another troubling story about Trump.  Every single day we see injustice.  Rough days are ahead which is why we need this table….. We come hungry for God’s love, comfort, and justice.  We bring our battered hearts and minds.  But more important, we come hungry for transformation.  At this table, lives are changed.” I prayed and followed with the words of institution.

When I first started attending Circle of Mercy, I did not take communion if the person presiding didn’t use the “Words of Institution.” In my Presbyterian mind, I believed participating was betraying my ordination.  I have come a long way from that belief!

I always liked communion at The Open Door Community in Atlanta because it was different every Sunday and often, it related to the sermon. I feel the same way about communion at Circle of Mercy and at Wednesday’s Haywood Street worship service.

Here, in the Presbytery of Western North Carolina – the Presbyterian Church body consisting of all ministers and representatives from every congregation in a geographical location that meets 4 times a year – we always have communion at our worship service.  When I was a member of the Presbytery of Greater Atlanta, we celebrated the sacrament once each year which seems right to me. Every meeting seems excessive but I do understand this presbytery has a lot of small and the meeting is the place where they can experience it in it’s full meaning.

I have found in the Presbyterian Church this sacrament to often tacked on to a worship service and seems rather rote. This fall Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church is exploring the sacrament and having it every worship service.  So far it has been led in interesting and meaningful ways. This gives me a chance to think about the sacrament and how others view it as a ritual.  Either way is now okay with me but when I lead, I lead like it is a sacrament.

What are your thoughts about communion? Do you find it meaningful or boring?  Feel free to comment here for I’d like to have a conversation about it.

 

The Gift of Vulnerability

I have a difficult time “tooting my own horn,” as they say so I am grateful Joyce Hollyday who helped me write my book, Forgetting the Former Things: Brain Injury’s Invitation to Vulnerability and Faith, wrote a post on her blog about it on June 6 2019.  (joycehollyday.com).  I am printing it below.

“The jangle of an incoming text woke me from a deep sleep. “We’re in trouble,” it began. It was 5:16 a.m. California time. I was 2,000 miles from home, jet-lagged and groggy. I managed to send a reply to Michael along the lines of “Be there as soon as I can.”

Tamara, Michael, and Sparky at the beach

Michael Galovic and Tamara Puffer met almost 25 years ago at the Open Door Community in Atlanta, when he was living there as a resident volunteer and she showed up one day to help out in the soup kitchen with the youth group from the suburban Presbyterian church where she served as associate pastor. Tamara kept coming back. Her time at the Open Door reshaped her theology and calling, and she began seeking a position where she could serve marginalized people like the homeless ones and former prisoners who were revealing Jesus to her there in transformative ways.

In August 1996, just three months after they married, both Tamara and Michael sustained brain injuries in a car accident, Tamara’s the more serious. I was in Atlanta then, just starting my second year of seminary at Emory and spending a lot of time at the Open Door. I remember the shock of the news and the prayers that went up from many corners.

Tamara spent two weeks in an induced coma and then, though she wasn’t fully aware of it at the time, woke up to a totally different life. She had to relearn how to walk and speak and write. A former professional violinist, she no longer possessed the mental focus or manual dexterity to play, and she had to climb out of an abyss of despair to accept that she would never again serve a church as its minister.

Tamara and I caught up with each other again years later when we were both living in Asheville, North Carolina. She asked if I would help her write a book. One of the great joys of my life is working with people to bring their life journeys into print, and Tamara’s, I knew, is among the most extraordinary. I felt honored by the invitation.

It took us three years to birth Forgetting the Former Things. During Tamara’s long rehabilitation after the accident, on nights when dread had kept her from falling asleep, words from the 43rd chapter of Isaiah echoed through her mind: “Do not remember the former things…I am about to do a new thing.” The book title is a double entendre that speaks of both the memory challenges that result from brain injury and the need to let go of what once was in order to be open to re-imagining one’s life.

Throughout our work, I was moved by Tamara’s heart, courage, and perseverance. The challenge of writing a book seemed at times overwhelming, and more than once she considered giving up, but always she found the strength to keep on. We can all rejoice that she did. Forgetting the Former Things is a rare tapestry of first-person faith journey woven with gritty theological reflection and persistent hope.

In June 2017, with the book almost finished, we were at Azusa Pacific University near Los Angeles, where we were scheduled to lead a workshop at the Summer Institute on Theology and Disability. Travel is particularly difficult for many people with brain injuries, and the “trouble” came to Tamara as a result of the stress, disorientation, and overstimulation of a cross-country trip via two of the world’s busiest airports, compounded by jet lag and lack of sleep. Michael’s early-morning text was the beginning of a grueling, heartbreaking day that ended with Tamara being taken by police and emergency medical workers to a behavioral health hospital.

“This is the worst thing that could have happened,” I lamented to Michael, both of us raw from concern and exhaustion. I thought of all the time spent planning our workshop, and Tamara’s excitement and anticipation of it, now all lost. Three days later I was shocked when she announced upon her release from the hospital that she wanted to offer the workshop at a rescheduled time. She went right to work modifying it to incorporate the recent trauma.

My fear that the experience was a setback that would derail completion of Forgetting the Former Things evaporated when Tamara instead gave it a prominent place in the book. She wrote that, in a world of fast food and instant communication, of cutthroat competition and the illusion of self-sufficiency, where busyness and stress are considered normal, “Those of us who ‘can’t keep up’ can be teachers…Those of us with disabilities offer the world the gift of our vulnerability. We know that life is an endlessly moving target. We’re always responding to uncertainty, re-creating ourselves, being reshaped by the Spirit as we journey on through the wilderness to the next mountain.”

Back in 1996, a few weeks into her intensive rehabilitation after the accident, Tamara had a profound insight, which she also reflected on in Forgetting the Former Things: “In one life-shattering moment I had gone from feeling like someone in control—with a clear career path, the privilege of choice, and a measure of power—to being an invisible person on the sidelines, merely trying to cope with each challenge as it came and get through each hour as it unfolded. I wasn’t simply feeling called to ministry among the marginalized. I was the marginalized.”

After California, Tamara began embracing a calling that she has named “minister of vulnerability.” At the workshop there, and wherever she and I have spoken to crowds about her recently published book, her story moves others to share their own. As they pour out their deepest fears and longings, often with great emotion, I think about how much this world needs Tamara Puffer’s ministry. And I whisper a prayer of thanks for her courage.

Forgetting the Former Things: Brain Injury’s Invitation to Vulnerability and Faith, by Tamara Puffer with Joyce Hollyday, is available through bookstores and at https://wipfandstock.com/forgetting-the-former-things.html.”

 

Faith 4 Justice

Faith 4 Justice is a group of ecumenical church leaders in Asheville led by Tami Forte Logan who have been meeting for a couple of years. Tami sent out a reminder for the meeting and it was the next day. I had planned on attending another meeting in the afternoon but decided to try doing both because I’m very interested in Faith 4 Justice. Of course after this meeting, I realized attending both wasn’t a good idea. Many years ago, I would have attended both and then paid the price.

It met at Haywood Methodist Church right up the street from my house so I could walk. My neighborhood is now one of “the places to be” in Asheville so many cars zoomed by and it was noisy. If housing costs in 2005 were what they are now, we never could have afforded this home. It’s small but I do like it.

Walking to the meeting, I didn’t put in my bright pink earplugs -a mistake – for in the five minutes it took me to walk there, I became overstimulated. I purposely arrived late since I knew net-working was the first order of business and the stimulation would be too much for me. When I arrived, conversations were still buzzing and my brain was tired. Not a good way to begin!

Due to my mental flexibility and overstimulation issues, all meetings are hard. In fact, I’ve finally decided to resign from many committees and Presbyterians have a lot off meetings! I often don’t say much because conversation moves so quickly and by the time I think of a comment, the subject has changed. My brain also freezes and I forget what I’m going to say.

Faith 4 Justice is studying and reading this book together. This was announced at the last meeting I attended but since I didn’t write it down, I forgot. After the business portion of the meeting, Tami told us to split into groups of two and answer a few questions, one at a time. What that meant was one person from each group speaking and there were about 7 groups. I knew it was a difficult environment for me, so I slipped out and “rested my brain” returning after the discussions.

I’m aware that it is important to split up in small groups for workshops and meetings but doing this is usually impossible for me and I don’t get anything out of it. This day was especially hard since I had been tired when I arrived. Sometimes I can push through it but I didn’t want to do that this time.

I plan on reading the book but have not yet begun. In fact, I have much solo writing and reading that I need to do so not having to push through so many meetings will help. I really do better when I’m alone as long as I get to work and stay off Facebook!

Gospel of Mark

The gospel of Mark has two endings. The first ending is in 16:8 while the second adds ten more verses. I won’t go into all the reasons there are two endings but I will say, the first one speaks to me. The following is Mark 16:1-8 in the Common English Bible (the women’s edition).

I first heard of this translation from Rev. Dr. Jaime Clark-Soles at the Summer Institute for Theology and Disability a few years ago. Here it is:

“When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought spices so that they could go and anoint Jesus’ dead body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they came to the tomb. They were saying to each other, ‘Who’s going to roll the stone away from the entrance for us?’ When they looked up, they saw that the stone had been rolled away. (And it was a very large stone!)

“Going into the tomb, they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right side; and they were startled. But he said to them,. ‘Don’t be alarmed! You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised. He isn’t here. Look, here’s the place where they laid him. Go, tell his disciples, especially Peter, that he is going ahead of you into Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you.

“Overcome with terror and dread, they fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.”

This bible has comments scattered throughout. The comment prior to this passage says in part, “Perhaps this ending casts us in the role of the women, perhaps we confront this question of faith; Will we be silent and fearful, or will we proclaim God’s life-giving power in those places where we assumed death to have the upper hand.”

I may be taking the comment a little out of context but what I hear goes something like this. “Tamara, you have just written a book with Joyce Hollyday called, Forgetting the Former Things: Brain Injury’s Invitation to Vulnerability and Faith. How can you use this experience to proclaim God’s life-giving power to those who have sustained brain injuries? How can your story proclaim life-giving power to all those around you?”

I am a little uncomfortable being so vulnerable with those around me. But perhaps my willingness to share my vulnerability will give others courage to share there tender places. I have other thoughts about this book, but it is late and Holy Saturday will soon be over. Tomorrow I will celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and his life giving power.