February 11, 2008

SWEET SUCCESS

Read Psalm 34:1-10

I did not set out to become a pastor’s wife; I did not dream of serving churches. I cannot cook; I don’t pray well on demand; I am not always kind to other people’s children. Sometimes I can’t figure out what I was thinking when I married a minister . . . but some days are gifts, and the circumstances of sitting in church are such that the oddest moments pull me out of myself and to a better place . . . and my husband is kind. He offers good words and great sweet hope through his sermons such that when I listen – when I stop being “the wife” and am being instead a member of the congregation – I am comforted by what I hear.

Some people have a gift for comforting and caring, for offering what we need exactly when we need it. My Aunt Pat is Betty Crocker re-born and is probably a distant relative of Martha Stewart. Among her many contributions to our family I recall that she made rock candy from scratch at least once each year when I was a child. She talked often about the scent of burning sugar. It made her wonder whether the end product justified suffering the odor every year. I remember examining the candy each time it was offered to me. I dusted sugar from the edges of the candy and popped pieces in my mouth. They were tangy orange, burning cinnamon, eye-watering sour apple, sweet cherry. The strength of the flavors remains with me still . . . .

And here is what has triggered my thoughts of Aunt Pat’s candy: I am sitting in church on a rainy Sunday morning, and the sun is coming through the windows. It bounces from panel to panel and lights the sections of leaded stained glass. The window panes remind me of the candy I shared with my aunt. They are simple in form yet stunning, with colors made bright by the circumstance and placement of sunlight and warmth.

A generally accepted belief in this land I call “church” is that we are called to make a difference in the world. I trust my aunt already knew that each time she dealt with the scent of burning sugar in her kitchen. I remember that too as I measure my comfort on the couch each Sunday morning versus knowing there is a possibility I am helping to create some kind of good memory for someone when I walk through the doors of our church. My words or my touch or my smile could make a difference today.

This is the truth of life still: that even when we are mature and grown, we remain children to the core, and we are continually searching for people who will bring us sweet gifts from their hearts.

Jenneth Wright