...a time for embracing

A Lexicon of Hugs

     In the South, people hug. Regularly. And, depending on the occasion, the strength and duration of the hug will vary. Here is my short list of hugology:

The Greeting Hug- "I am glad to see you!"

The Obligatory Hug- "Oh, ok."

The Congratulatory Hug- "Well done!"

The Celebratory Hug- "This is a Good Day!"

The Comforting Hug- "You are not alone."

and, of course, there is the hug shared between man and wife; a hug that encapsulates decades of memories and says, "We are in this together."

     Saturday I extended the entire list, a busy day for hugs. Two of my hugs were for fathers. One father was grieving over the death of his young son, the other was rejoicing over the marriage of his son- a morning funeral and an evening wedding...

hugs remind me to be grateful for arms.

Is there a right time for everything?

There seems to be time for every kind of activity under the sun: 

time to be born and time to die,

time for planting, time for weeding out what was planted,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

time to break down and time to build up,

time to weep and time to laugh,

a time of mourning, and a time of dancing around,

time to throw stones and time to pick up stones,

a time for embracing

and a time to keep yourself far away from embracing

Ecclesiastes 3:1-5

Translated by Calvin Seerveld

Voicing God's Psalms

Pocket Stuff

'What has been and what is to be- already is.

And God holds accountable all the pursuits of humanity.'

Ecclesiastes 3:15

The Voice

     Pockets are made for rocks and stuff- every little boy knows this to be true; the little boy in me knows this to be true every time I go for a walk. There will always be, I suppose, the 'perfect' pebble waiting patiently for me... I remember my Mom complaining of "pebbles? in the clothes dryer, again?!" 

     Sometimes, when I think about pocket stuff, I think about Mr. Durisko, my childhood Sunday School teacher. He had a gentle way of teaching. I wonder what he thought about my friends and me- a rowdy mess of boys. He never raised his voice. His kindness was consistent. Parker Palmer said, "...good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher." 

     Mr. Durisko was a good teacher. 

     I was older, Jr. High I think, when the phone call came. It was a Wednesday night- prayer meeting night. After the meeting Mrs. Durisko stayed at the church for choir practice while Mr. Durisko walked home. I wonder, 'What was Mr. Durisko thinking about when the drunken man veered from the road? Did the driver know he had killed a good teacher?'

     I overheard my Dad tell my Mom about a note found in Mr. Durisko's wallet. It was a list: his wife's dress size, ring size, her favorite colors- important information should he want to surprise his bride with a gift.

     It is a mysterious way in which our lives touch one another. Saints and sinners rummage around together, unaware of the value each holds to a Holy God. 

     Mr. Durisko is still teaching me about the word 'husband'. Thank you, Mr. Durisko.