Sweet June

I had intended to write this post as a six month update chronicling the events of my life and wellness journey during this past month. (Get it... June? duh) But, almost instantly as I typed the title, I realized the post was being hijacked for unplanned destinations. So, I'll just let my fingers take over and see where this goes.

Sweet June... maybe in another post, I'll write what I had originally intended, but or now I want to remember my sweet June, the woman who gave me hope during a particularly desperate time in my life when I was on the brink of giving up. (Not giving up as in suicide, but just plain ol' giving up where the body goes through the motions while serving as a tomb for a decaying, lifeless soul.) June was an unlikely source of hope. She was a frail, extraordinarily ill, home bound member of my church. Every morning one of us would call her, always dreading the possibility that our day on the rotation might be the one when the call would go unanswered.

June asked me to be one of her callers. We had never met. I didn't even know she was out there. But somehow she knew me. She knew that I was a new Christian and she knew (how?) that I was struggling in a desperate wrestling match with God over my disability, alternating between fervent pleas for healing and pounding my fists at heaven's door demanding answers for my pain. "You are all powerful. You say you desire good things for your children. Why in the hell won't you heal my legs!"

It was a time of anguish and uncertainty. Just who was this God who had entered my life like a ... this is going to sound cliche but it is the only description that comes remotely close... like a consuming fire?

Once a month, I would call June. We would talk for five minutes or so. (She was too ill to talk much longer than that.) Well, really, she would talk and I would weep. She would express her delight that I was the one calling her that day. (I suspect she was equally delighted with each caller, but she made me feel like I was special.) She would then ask me how her precious Lynna was doing. She would tell me how much I was loved, how special I was. For five minutes each month, I soaked up her love like a magic healing elixir. At the end of the conversations, she never failed to extract a promise from me to take care of her precious Lynna. Between sobs and blowing my nose, I told her I would do my best.

I only had about a year with June before she died. In total, we talked no more than about sixty minutes. One hour given, one life transformed. Those brief moments reside powerfully in my soul as a healing touch from the living Christ. It is good to remember June, and to remember the powerful lesson I learned through that experience with her that God can and does use unlikely people as ministers of his grace, and that as long as there is breath there are opportunities to love others and to be used to change the world.

I wish I could say I always remember that; but, too much of the time, especially of late, I'm prone to mourn my lost ability to serve in my former capacity in my job at the church. I've felt cast aside by God... used up, broken down, and replaced with others more whole of body. I need to repent of that attitude and to joyfully seek and embrace opportunities, even five minutes here and there, to cast seeds of love and healing grace. I KNOW firsthand that five minutes can change a life.

If June were here right now, I would give her a bright smile and tell her that I AM taking care of me. I would thank her for instilling in me the fledgling belief that I am worthy of that care, and for helping me to believe in love.

Sweet June. I'm so blessed to have known you.