God's gracious gifts

Each day this week, I have walked in the Duke Gardens...a reminder of beauty in the midst of an emotionally turbulent week.

While it is hard for anything to be more of a favorite for me than the 23rd Psalm, this week, I have been living the psalm of my life: Psalm 116:

Especially with the good news of a clean body scan today. No detectable residual cancer!

Through many delivery systems of healing grace, God has saved my life yet again.

I love the Lord because

he has heard my voice and my supplication;

because he inclined his ear to me,

therefore I will call on him

as long as I live.

The snares of death encompassed me.

I suffered distress and anguish

Then I called on the name of the Lord,

"O Lord, I pray, save my life!"

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous

Our God is merciful.

The Lord protects the simple;

When I was brought low, he saved me.

What shall I return to the Lord

for all his bounty to me?

I will lift up the cup of salvation

And call on the name of the Lord.

I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people.

I am so grateful for the good report...and, with the culmination of these tests comes a tumult of emotions: I feel both stronger and more vulnerable; jubilant and exhausted, excited and apprehensive, humbled and blessed. Being free from the very restrictive preparation diet and the good news that there is no sign of cancer feels like being let out of prison. Now, what will I do with this freedom? How do I make the most of the life that God has saved for me?

As I was leaving the hospital, the title of a book caught my eye: The Bumps Are What We Climb On. This cancer has been a big bump. But it has given me a chance to climb into God's healing grace in a new way...not only healing me, but giving me a new gift of hope to share with others.

Upstaging the old woman who swallowed a fly

Nursery rhymes have a sweet, sentimental sing-song rhymes, but they don't usually have great endings. Humpty Dumpty, Jack and Jill, Little Miss Muffet, just to name a few. I was always particularly horrified by the tale of the old woman who swallowed a fly..."I don't know WHY she swallowed a fly, I guess she'll die..."

Well, today, I upstaged the old woman who swallowed a fly.
I swallowed a camera. Intentionally. No kidding.
And now I have a 3 minute movie of my vocal chords. (How did I ever live without THAT?)

Don't let anyone ever tell you that there's a "good" cancer to have. Thyroid cancer is not nearly as damaging as other cancers. The treatment is not nearly as hard as treatment for other cancers. But there is no easy cancer.
Today, I was swallowing a camera to determine the extent of the damage to my vocal chords from last November's life-saving thyroid surgery. It is, as I have often said, a miracle that my voice was saved. When Dr. Olson came to talk to my family, he prepared them that, in the course of the surgery, he had lost connection with the nerves to the vocal chords. In order to get the cancer -- which had spread widely--he had to cut through and, apparently, take out muscle surrounding the vocal chords. He was thrilled that I had a voice at all. I am certain that my voice is an answer to prayer.
And don't think I am not grateful to be able to talk! I was thrilled to report to him and the ortholaryngetic specialist that 2 weeks ago, I had preached 8 times in less than 48 hours (the UMW marathon) and had no trouble with weakness of my speaking voice. Yippee!
But, since the surgery, I have lost my singing voice. And, although I knew I loved music, I didn't realize how much I missed my singing voice until it has no longer been available to me. I find myself crying through the hymns at worship -- not because I am so spiritual--but because it breaks my heart for my voice to disappear on me for hymns I have sung all my life. People have come up and said, "I noticed you were deeply moved during that hymn". (I guess tears running down my cheeks has been a dead give-away). And it's been easier to not go into detail that once I could sing but that, with the cancer surgery, my singing voice has been lost. TMI for their concerned observation.
Swallowing the camera gave me some informed hope. The specialist thinks that therapy can make a difference. So that is encouraging. But the overwhelming feeling I had today was a very rich sense of blessing and peace and privilege. No, I am not minimizing what's involved with fighting cancer. But I have spent today seeing healing miracles and possibilities up close and personal. God's delivery systems for healing are mind-boggling and awesome. And, today, I felt a deep sense of humility and gratitude for participating in some of these amazing diagnostic and treatment options.
My throat is a little sore. But my heart is encouraged. Yes, I am fighting cancer. But people take so much for granted. I am blessed.

Moving was fun for me this year

Things are a lot quieter at my house this weekend.

Since Mark and Mary Allen moved this week, I hardly know what to do with myself.

I wake up on my own and miss the little voices at dark-thirty in the morning saying "Grammy, time to get up." Connor, at the wise age of 4, knows that it's best to be gentle in breaking the news of morning. Tyler, almost 2, is not so suave: "Grammy! Grammy! Grammy!" And then, the energizer bunnies are up and running and I'm lucky if I can keep up.

I had such helpers!

My backyard is such a great place to play

and we always look forward to bath time...with one or two bath toys!

Connor likes to go to my office and, truly, the Stateville District Office is never as much fun

as when the boys are there!

Michael Jackson - Big Deal Indeed

I know there are some people who are tired of the news coverage of Michael Jackson's death. "What's the big deal?" posted a 13 year old acquaintenance of mine on Facebook.
Here's where age has advantages. One of my most prized possessions is a Michael Jackson pin. It was given to me as a gift from a beautiful 5 year old in my first congregation in Indianola, Mississippi. The gift was breathtaking. Her Michael Jackson pin was, truly, her most prized possession.
I know it's hard for some people to grasp his impact after the strange--sometimes bizarre-- twists that Michael Jackson's life took. But, back in 1984, Michael Jackson had a remarkable impact on the black young people I loved and pastored in Indianola. He lifted their spirits and put a pride and energy into those young lives like nothing else. "Thriller" was big. His extraordinary dance moves set everyone's feet to tapping and hands to clapping... Every kid I knew could moonwalk or was trying to learn. There was no denying the powerful impact he had on their lives--an impact that was energizing and positive.
I'm no expert. But I put his lifting impact alongside Michael Jordan in sports and Barak Obama in politics. He was a singing, swirling hero at a time when breaking barriers was life-impacting, especially for black young people. That's what I remember. That's what I value. Although twists and torments developed in Michael Jackson's life through the years, I marveled at the way he made a difference to young lives that I loved. And, in that historical context, Michael Jackson's giftenedness was an invaluable contribution to them and to us all.
Life is intense, complicated and fragile. Some of the most gifted people are also the most tormented. We never know what will be next. His death is a chance to celebrate the good and learn lessons. That will take some time.

Things DO change--Thank God!

What a thrill it was to see my daughter, Christi, commissioned this Wednesday night in the North Carolina Conference! It was a thrill because she is (in my unbiased and correct opinion) such a beautiful, extraordinary, remarkable young woman. What rich gifts she brings to Christ and the church. Yes, it is a twist of irony that after all these years of being such a passionate Duke fan, my Christi would be appointed to a church in Chapel Hill for her first appointment. But every place needs missionaries...

Christi DeSha Dye on her commissioning day June 10, 2007 with her grandfather, Dr. James

A. Shepherd who, in 2009, celebrates 66 years of service as a United Methodist pastor.

The joy of Christi's commissioning was enough to thrill me from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. But I have two other thoroughly joyful dimensions to complement the day. One is the rich sense of family heritage that met us in North Carolina. Christi was commissioned by Bishop Al Gwinn...who grew up in a church in the Kentucky Conference which was built by my grandfather. My 87 year old father was able to be present for Christi's commissioning -- witnessing the 4th generation preacher legacy from the Shepherd side of the family.

And I couldn't help but revel in the way things have changed in the church. When I was taking the equivalent step in my own journey of ministry -- in 1975--the attitude and practice in the church was very different. My bishop in Mississippi, Bishop Mack Stokes, spent the night before my deacon ordination with the head of the Board of Ordained Ministry asking how to get out of ordaining me as a deacon (which was, back then, the equivalent step to today's commissioning). My dear friend and mentor, Dr. Prentiss Gordon, told the bishop that he would have to go through with it. And he did. But everything about the atmosphere for women was so adversarial. When people were just uneasy about women preachers, we considered that to be a blessing! North Mississippi had two second career, very devoted clergywomen who had come through the Course of Study track. And what a blessing and inspiration and encouragement they were to me! Being a young woman coming through the seminary track was not a welcome prospect. Formal and informal discouragement and opposition met me at every turn.

What a wonderful change has taken place in the church! Women are carefully screened -- along with male colleagues--but gender is no longer an intractable barrier. Christi sailed through the ordination track credentialing with not even a word of hesitation based on gender. That's a thrill for me that she and other young women have no way to measure. Of course I am proud that she is so theologically astute, wise and articulate. But I also rejoiced in the change of circumstance -- that she could come to ministry on her own merits--that she could step forward into God's calling without the resentment and resistance of the generations before her.

I've prayed and worked for this change for decades. Through the years, I didn't know that working for open doors for women would be a direct benefit to my own daughter. But what an exquisite dimension of joy to see her process unfold in that way--to see her welcomed into the conference and respected and valued. So many times, breaking new ground was discouraging, depleting, disillusioning. So many wonderful women were wounded along the way. To see Christi--and other young women in the commissioning and ordination process--be welcomed and blessed fills my heart to overflowing with a joy that can't be comprehended for those who haven't lived through the hard times. What a sign of hope for me! Persistent, persevering faithful action does make a difference! Things DO change. Thank God! What an extraordinary experience of joy and rejoicing have been able to experience this week!

I remember how many years the

United Methodism's crossroads of conscience

From the beginning, Methodists have been an opinionated people. John Wesley had passionate opinions which he spread with fervor. Spirited debate has characterized our denominational history and, as long as debate is conducted respectfully within the priority of grace and Christian love, the differences of opinion enrich and bless us.
And, to tell the truth, some of our most passionate opinions don't matter much in the grand scheme of things. The exact wording of a name of a group in the connection is not going to have eternal consequences. But there are some subjects that go straight to the heart of faith and whether or not our practices are aligned with Jesus.
We are at a crossroads of conscience place now with proposed constitutional amendment 1. While other amendments deal with the organization of our denomination, amendment 1 deals with the integrity of Christian practice. The amendment doesn't state a new position. The United Methodist Church has always had evangelical fervor that Christ died for the sins of the whole world and calls ALL to repentance, faith and Christian practice. We are -- and always have been--a John 3:16 denomination. Traditionally, we not only welcome all -- we have a burning passion to reach out to all. The open altar is one of the strongest distinguishing Christlike characteristics of our faith.
The clarity of amendment 1 is, in my opinion, a no-brainer. Anyone who professes faith in Christ and takes vows to support the church is welcome. Our history, our theology and our commitment to Scripture makes this, in my opinion, makes amendment 1 a simple restatement of a profound and central teaching of Methodism.
But, as I said, Methodists are an opinionated group. And, while I thought that this amendment couldn't possibly be controversial, U-Tube and media has reminded me that people can argue anything. The opposition/hesitancy about the amendment does not openly oppose inclusivity. But the appeal is being made to the perogative of the local pastor to determine readiness for membership.
I take clergy leadership seriously. But I unequivocally, unapologetically say that there is no pastoral perogative for a pastor to turn away anyone who Christ would welcome. Pastors NEVER have the perogative to do the opposite of what Jesus would have done. And John 3:16 is clear -- God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that WHOSOEVER believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. Now, friends, that familiar verse won't do much good if we can repeat it but not live it. What part of "whosoever" do we not understand?
How could anyone defend the perogative of a pastor to say "sorry, you can't join a United Methodist church" to someone for whom Christ died and gave eternal life?
Does that mean that pastors are to ignore the sins of anyone coming forward? Absolutely not! That's where pastoral leadership has perogative and responsibility. But no pastor requires perfection from anyone who comes forward -- never has. Watching over one another in love and accountability has been another hallmark of Methodism. If the model of Christ means anything, pastors have no authority to lead in moving on to perfection if they withhold the accepting grace of Christ and refuse to allow people to make a commitment of faith to Christ and the church.
We must never compromise the inclusive invitation of Jesus Christ. We must never fail to embody God's invitation to all. Anything less than full welcome distorts the church into a club and tempts pastors to the Pharisees. A Christ-centered church and Christ-centered pastors have arms and hearts open to whoever professes Christ and seeks to serve Him through the church.
Spirited debate is fine as long as it doesn't cloud our thinking or redefine gospel priorities. There is no more basic affirmation than Christ's welcome to all.

Some days you don't forget

There are some things you never forget.


Two years ago today, by this time (6:30 a.m.), I already been at the hospital for an hour and a half. The first ever surgery of my life was one of the most extensive surgeries a person can have. As my daughter said to my surgeon after hearing what was about to take place, "Well, Mom never does anything halfway!"


Four hours later, the surgeon's report that the operation had gone well was welcome news to my family. But the outcome for my life was still hanging in the pathology report from the pancreatic tumor that had been removed. News from the pathology report would take another week.



The thing I remember is not the time in the hospital. The overwhelming weakness, pain and that barely dulled it--those days are all a blur. My physician sister -- who was my guardian-angel-guide/with-me-every-step-of-the way helper--says the blur is a blessing. The surgeon was right. This was very extensive surgery. But it's not the pain I remember. What I remember most was the peace--a deep, pervasive, profound peace.
You can go to a superb hospital, have a brilliant surgeon, the blessing of medications and the most attentive care in and after the hospital -- I am grateful that I had all those things. But that's not the source of peace. The peace I had went beyond that. And the peace wasn't based on an optimistic outcome. I had a mucinous pancreatic tumor -- the type of tumor that causes pancreatic cancer. The tumor was the size of a grapefruit and we had no idea how long I had had it. Nothing about the prospective prognosis pointed toward peace.

But the peace I felt was, truly, the peace that the world can't give or take away. And as I faced this enormous health challenge, I could honestly tell my children and my congregation and my family that I was fine. Long before the discovery of the tumor, I had placed my life in God's hands. And nothing I was facing changed the peace that comes through faith. That's the part I will never forget.

In all the recovery and the many changes since then, the gift of that peace has remained as continual, constant anchor as well as primary blessed memory...something so extraordinary that you never forget.