A Marine's Daughter

Standing in the parking lot ready to enter the funeral home for my grandpa Hamilton’s funeral, my dad squatted down and gave my brother and I a stern “talking to.” He warned us that there would be no crying and carrying on from his kids. He would have none of that. If we cried, we would be taken to the car. It was one of the worst examples of parenting by today’s standards and at the same time he was passing on some of the best of his life’s lessons. I have filed it along with his other words of wisdom: “Never let them see you sweat” and “let it roll off you, like water off a ducks back.”

My dad was a tough Marine and there would be no crying in the ranks. I was not sure I could make it through my dad’s memorial without crying, but I did. My eyes may have watered up a time or two, but no tears. It was truly the celebration of his life and what a joy and privilege to lead the celebration. Many cautioned me against trying to officiate or speak at his memorial, but it felt like something I needed to do. I am glad I listened to that inner voice. It was a gift to my family and it also gave me the opportunity to integrate my life as a pastor and preacher with the girl from Radnor.

Thank you Dad, for lessons on being strong in the face of emotionally difficult circumstances.

Thank you God, for the voice of calling and ears to hear.

Sadly I return from Ohio while my father has yet to pass from his world of pain and confusion into the eternal peace I believe waits for him beyond death. I truly believed I would be there at the end to mourn and celebrate his passing hand in hand. No decision is the right one or the wrong one it is just the decision to be made in any given moment. When I arrived some 13 days ago he was alert and able to transfer from wheelchair to bed or recliner. He was clear headed and excited about my arrival. “Come over here daughter and hug your old man” he said. He made several references to me being a sight for “sore eyes” and that he loved me. In the days immediately preceding my departure, he had not once known my name. Twice he thought I was Audra, my oldest daughter, once his younger sister Bertie and once my mother. This morning as I said good-bye and prepared to leave, he puckered and gave me a kiss from his bed. It was so sweet. I recognized his lips and his pucker through the years, wrinkles, and grayed mustache. He may have thought I was my mom; I am pretty sure he did not know who I was. Yet, I will remember the kiss just the same because I know who he is. It was knowing who I am that I pondered throughout the week.

When I arrived in Radnor, one of the first adjustments, was getting used to being called Shari. While I have expressed my desire to be called Sharalyn, the name given me at birth, no one back home seems to get how important it is to me to be called Sharalyn. For me it represents my maturity, education and specific decisions I have made along my life’s journey. I re-claimed that name when I was ordained, and re-claimed the Hamilton name when I divorced. Ten years ago it was a declaration of my liberation and symbolic of my growth. Back in Radnor, I am still Shari, even though most know that I now live in California and the once wild child has become a pastor with some presumed taming of that rebellious nature. At times during this visit back home, I felt confused about who I am. I was constantly faced with what I used to do and how I used to be and yet maintained my contacts and the work that partially defines me today. Much as I wanted to rebel against being called a little girl’s nick name, as time went on there became something comforting about it. They knew me. They knew who I was and more and more I realized it is also who I am. So much has changed and yet so very little has changed.

Last Sunday I took the opportunity to go to church in the little Welsh church now called Radnor Congregational United Church of Christ. I hoped that taking my mother to that church might rekindle some relationships that would be helpful to her as she navigates my father’s death and her life as a widow. While I have never been a member of this church, it holds a special place in my childhood memories. My mother often played the organ there and I accompanied her as she practiced. The interior was white and bright in contrast to the dark woods of the Baptist church where we attended. The stained glass windows did not bear my beloved images of Jesus, just symbols. It always felt more sterile and God felt royal and set apart rather than the one who walks with me in the garden. As I entered this week it was a happy and welcoming place. While the congregation was small, there was a warmth. As we entered from the back of the sanctuary, we were looking at the backs of most people’s heads. When it was time for greetings and passing the peace, I saw faces that, while wrinkled and grayed looked familiar. My brain sorted through the old files and dusted off memories to recollect names and stories. And then, I saw a face and a smile that were unmistakable, Sally. Sally and I started first grade together and across the room was our first grade teacher, Mrs. Sparks. Forty some years later there we were, all the miles and events in between meant far less than that formative beginning we shared. Sally and I were in class together through out grade school and on and off in High School until graduation. We have each gone our separate ways, pursued education, found love, married and had children but in that moment, when we began to talk, I knew her and she knew me. It is great to see her boys and to talk about my kids, and career but beyond all the changes in our lives there was this incredible sense of connection and knowing. I look forward to keeping the connection more alive in the future.

Twice while in Ohio, I was blessed to have a meal with my dear friend and college roommate, Kim. While our relationship includes many failures in keeping up with each other and staying in contact, we have managed to keep up with each other’s journey a little better than most who met working at McDonalds at age sixteen. We have probably averaged seeing each other once a year. The blessing is that we pick up where we left off and there is immediate familiarity no matter how long it has been or what has happened or how our appearance might have changed. Beyond the life transition created by my father’s impending death the always present topic of conversation and contemplation with me is men. Being single, lends itself to questions about my love life from my happily married friends. I looked forward to telling Kim about the men in my life over the past year and to hear her thoughts and advice. After listening to my stories and hearing my ponderings what stuck me was not her assessment of the men in my life, or whether they were right for me. It was how she framed her responses, “I know you.” I listened to her describe me as up front and forthright in what I want, where I am going and what I need, never leaving to question where a person stands with me. I could not help but think, “have I always been this way?” I thought it was something I developed over the years of education, experience and psychological work. Do you mean to tell me that I have always been this way? After all these years, the distance between California and Ohio, and the different courses our lives have taken, she is still quite certain she knows me. And, why would I ever question it, when I know that I know her. I know the depth of her passion for life and the ways she expresses it in a big style. I know her heart, her compassion and her strong sense of right and wrong. And, I know when she draws the line, saying “enough” of something. What a blessing to know and be known.

I have contemplated and struggled with this concept of being known for over a year. I began with a belief that everyone longed to be known intimately and yet loved because of and in spite of that knowledge. Yet, I have met people who don’t seem to have that need and for whom the thought of being known that deeply is scary. I kept thinking that I wanted to be known authentically and that it would be the foundation for the partnership I wanted with a man. I had a belief that maybe it was only in the context of an intimate male/ female relationship that I could be known. After going home, I will have to contemplate knowing and being known differently. There are people who know me in Ohio. They call me Shari and remind me that they know my roots and were a part of my formation and maybe, just maybe they showed me the piece of myself I was calling into question. I am more sure of who I am having seen myself through their eyes.

Little Brother, Big Sister

We fought like cats and dogs, bickering about everything from splitting the bottle of Pepsi to the way I pronounced Po-lice. I teased and tormented that boy mercilessly just for the joy of it. He was intense and focused setting up an entire battle field on our playroom floor oblivious to everyone and everything beyond his plastic army men. I could not resist sneaking up and scaring the bajeebers out of him, causing plastic army men to go flying. I can hardly recount the event without laughing today. I could not stand that little brat; mommy’s favorite. But caring for him was one of my chores. Waking him each morning for school packing his lunch and making sure he got breakfast that included Tang, Instant Breakfast and toast. It was also my job to boss him around. How else was he ever going to turn out right. He became a broken record, “Mom, Shari is bossing me.”

As we got older the fighting often ended up being physical. Walking behind me on our way to school one day he was kicking stones at my feet. He didn’t stop even after my repeated warnings. Finally I swung around and wacked him in the head with my metal lunch box at which time I needed to take off running like HELL. On this day I managed to out run him and find safety at school. The time came when I could not longer out run him and his fist would leave bruises, so I had to get smarter in my torment.

It was all fair in love and war between brother and sister, until we actually needed each other. His mechanical skills proved useful when I ran over a parking block, or numerous other incidents where calling my father might have resulted in loosing my car keys. And a sister with a car was convenient for him at times even if he was a bit nervous about my driving. He tends to exaggerate stories like almost getting hit by an oncoming freight train while I was applying mascara. He had the option of taking the bus to school if he didn’t want to ride with me. But when I got to college, and he was still in high school, it was pretty cool to have a sister with her own apartment and cute girl friends. Then, when I lived in Memphis, it made for a great place to visit and bring friends; Graceland, Mudd Island and Beal Street.

Somewhere along the line he got less annoying and I got more compassionate. I am still bossy and he is still focused on some strange things. But, I think he turned out pretty well, and maybe just a little bit of it is due to his bossy older sister. Sorry for all the terror.

Today, I am glad we are side by side as we navigate through the last days of our father's life.

Love You, Bill

The Promise

Snow covers everything except the roadways and wherever people have made the effort to clear it. It is piled high at intersections and in parking lots, covered with the black grime from car emissions and scraped asphalt. Most of the trees are but grey black sticks piercing the frozen snow. Even the evergreens aren’t recognizably green. Flying into Columbus, the world below looked black and white, void of color. I had forgotten how ugly Midwestern winters can get. Snow is beautiful when it is fresh, fluffy and falling. Its beauty does not last as people have their way with it. Tromping it, scraping it, shoveling it and salting it down change it from a beautiful white heavenly blanket into the dirty, tattered and torn, misfit coat of a skid row alcoholic. The beautiful and the ugly each in the eye of the beholder and neither eternal are my lessons of life and death.

The scene outside is not so different than the scene inside my childhood home. The floor is covered with green and blue shag carpet, once proudly purchased and installed as part of our remodeling in the early 1970s. I remember with a chuckle the classmate who came home from school with me one day and asked if she could do my chore of vacuuming the carpet. She wanted the experience of vacuuming our new shag carpeting. Today it not only dates the house but matted and discolored it looks old, worn out and years beyond the point of needing replaced. What was once beautiful is now ugly and depressing. Wallpaper stained, paint chipping and the smell of antiques adds to the feeling of eminent death. What was once new has become old. What was once bright and shining is now dull and cracked. For everything there is a cycle of life.

For two days, I have sat by my father lying in the hospital bed provided by hospice. I have learned to give him Vicodin, Ativan and Morphine. I have closed my eyes and helped him take care of personal needs that a daughter never imagines she will be doing. Interspersed with the care giving are brief conversations about the past. We remember the way I used to come running into the same room and jump into his lap. Oh, what a difference forty plus years have made. Today such a move would probably kill him, put me in the hospital and break the chair into pieces. We laughed at the absurdity, then reminisce about the winters I sat on the arm of his recliner, weaving potholders and watching Ohio State basketball with him. He would crochet the edges of my potholders when I had one completed. Such was the way we spent our winters waiting for spring and the new life that would bloom.

I bought this bunch of tulips home from the grocery store yesterday, beautiful pink with spring green leaves. As I trimmed them and arranged them in a vase, my mother removed the poinsettia from the kitchen table and replaced it with the vase of tulips, remarking how she hopes the bulbs she planted last fall will bloom this spring. In a household waiting for death, the tulips remind us that spring will come and new life will spring forth. It is the promise of creation.

Hymn of Promise

There’s a song in every silence,
Seeking word and melody;
There’s a dawn in every darkness,
Bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future;
What it holds, a mystery
Unrevealed until its season,
Something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning;
In our time, infinity;
In our doubt there is believing;
In our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection;
At the last a victory,
Unrevealed until its season,
Something God alone can see

My Social Butterfly

For four years she was my constant companion. Being the first born gave her the privilege of my undivided attention. Audra and I did everything together, from the house work and cooking to socializing to creative projects. She was often sitting on the kitchen counter or standing on a chair pulled up to the counter as I was cooking, doing dishes and even laundry. Every aspect of home and garden were projects for us to do together. It is interesting that when I look at what Audra enjoys today it seems to be the very things we did together in those first 4 years. Audra is a great cook, can entertain with the best of them and always has a creative project in the works. I would imagine we are carrying on the traditions of the women in our family from generation to generation. I know it was at my mother’s side that I learned cooking, sewing and caring for a home and family and it was at my side that Audra developed not only the skills but the joy of domestic arts. I think at the heart of this enjoyment for both of us is the joy of giving others the gift of a delicious meal or a welcoming home. We share a love of caring for others through these comforts of home.

At some point during those first years Audra’s friend Rink joined us. I was never formally introduced to Rink so I am not sure how Rink and Audra first met. Rink would mysteriously appear sometimes without notice and Audra would have to warn me not to sit on Rink or remind me to include him in lunch or snacks. I never heard Rink say anything, he must have been shy, but he provided Audra with endless conversation and companionship while playing house and Barbies. I never knew what happened to Rink but gradually he joined us less and less and then he was gone. I always wondered if Rink moved out of town or did we leave him in Memphis when we moved. We all have fond memories of Rink. I think he would be a nice young man by now.

When Jacob arrived just before Audra’s fourth birthday, she was excited about her new brother or so we thought. Being the inexperienced father of two, Mark went to answer the phone leaving Audra alone with her new baby brother, less than twenty-four hours old. Upon returning, he found the baby on the floor and Audra and the dog both on the sofa where the baby had been left. Both dog and girl looked innocent and Audra swore she did not know how the baby ended up on the floor.

Like everything else we had done for the previous four years, Audra and I took care of Jacob together. It was just another part of our day, taking care of the baby. I don’t recall any jealously. Why would there be? He was her baby too. One day we went to the pediatrician’s office for a well baby check up. I laid the baby on the exam table and undressed his for the doctor’s exam. Audra pushed the chair she was sitting on to the side of the exam table so that she could be in the center of what was happening. The doctor was appalled when she answered questions about the baby. He informed me that she needed to know that she was not the baby’s mommy. She was the sibling, another child and needed to know her place. I don’t think Audra has ever known her place. She takes the place she wants to have and assumes it is hers for the taking! We really didn’t like that pediatrician and soon found a replacement.

I remember a roller skater, and ice skater, a wrestler and a swimmer, cheering her on from the sidelines and taking her to practice and being a soccer mom. It was not so much that Audra was an athlete as much as she was a social butterfly, always loving to be with people and in the center of the action. Today the activity might be different but Audra still likes to be with people and at the center. One of her greatest gifts is her warmth and effervescent personality. She was born an incurable flirt; big blue eyes and petty blond hair complement her endless smile. Audra has used those big blues eyes to get what she wants more than once. Men who like curvy women with big personalities are no match for her feminine wiles.

Audra works hard for the things that she wants, able to put forth the effort and dedication when she needs to pull herself out of a mistake or take a new path. I have never doubted her determination and strength when she is sure of the prize. Audra is a butterfly, having struggled through life’s challenges to emerge from her chrysalis. Now, spreading her wings, drying them, testing their strength she is preparing to take flight. Look out world! Audra is about to soar.

Happy 27th Birthday Audra, and have a really great year, I love you! Mom

The Man I See in the Boy I Raised.

Born under the most wonderful conditions, gently birthed and never separated from me, Jacob was the most welcomed of babies. I had longed for another chance and thought I might never have a second opportunity at motherhood. Due on Christmas Day 1986, he finally appeared on January 2, 1987. He graciously held tight until after the Buckeyes won the Cotton Bowl against Texas A&M, 28 to 12 on New Year’s Day. Maybe that explains his being a fervent Ohio State football fan today. His respect for the tradition began in utero. Yesterday we texted throughout the Buckeye victory in the Rose Bowl. I would have loved for him to be there with me.

As a little boy, Jacob was an independent explorer seeking to know and understand everything. My first born, never roamed far from my side so maybe she gave me a false sense of security. Jacob would challenge that security often, scare me to tears and was no doubt cause for wrinkles and gray hair. Wherever we ventured, stores, malls, or fairs, Jacob would inevitably roam off. Taking advantage of the two parent system, where we each thought he was with the other, Jacob would escape. It was always something that intrigued him, something new and compelling, something thought provoking that lured him away from the safety of my side. Jacob was an explorer seeking to touch, examine and understand the things in his world. Shopping malls were vast unexplored wildernesses calling him to discovery and the safety of his mother’s side was of little concern. Thanks no doubt to his guardian angel, I always found him in the next isle over, two stores down in the mall or holding the hand of a stranger who discovered him out in the parking lot alone. Embarrassment at my lack in parenting skills and anger over his direct disobedience to the rules would give way to the immense relief at seeing him safely returned to my side. I can’t help but think this is one of the reasons Jacob excels in academics, especially math and science; he began his life wandering and seeking answers.

It would be years before he understood the pain and terror he caused in my heart. Maybe it is his juvenile understanding of that pain that caused him to use running away as a tool to get my attention and make me realize how much he was hurting at times in his preadolescence and into his early adolescence. My favorite was the day he packed a partial loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter into a bag and went to his makeshift tree house on a nearby hillside. He ran out of food and came back angry that I had not yet noticed he had run away. It only added to his fury and proved his point, “I was not paying any attention to him.” It was hard to be the middle child, the usually self sufficient and trustworthy kid of a mother overwhelmed with grad school, a crumbling marriage and trying to run the household. I am sure he was right and I deserved the wake up call even if he had to explain the situation to me before I would realize just how much he needed me right then.

Jacob still has some of that quest to see and understand that caused him to roam, but the world has somehow created a tad bit of shyness not noticed in the innocence of his childhood. As an adult he ventured off to college without any noticeable homesickness. He moved into an apartment and began a five year path at Cal Poly without looking back. This year he moved into a suite with 6 unknown roommates all of whom have become his companions and friends. The extroverts managed to get him to agree to shared meals most evenings, but being an introvert, he has no problem eating alone, or hanging out with himself in his room.

Jacob has always been big hearted and sensitive. His big brown eyes easily fill with tears even as a young man and he has a way of saying Mom, with the vibrato of a little lamb that will immediately cinch my heart. One of the hardest lessons of his young life was the day our beloved dog Duchess was hit and killed by a car. Jacob’s heart was broken as he came to terms with the fragility of life and the responsibility we have in caring for those more vulnerable. Jacob was devastated. When we brought home a new puppy, Jacob adopted Trudy as his dog. He would play endlessly with this scrappy little pup as he bonded with her. Throughout her life, Jacob would be ultra protective of her, dropping everything and running when she escaped through the front door or in any way escaping our tether. I will never forget the day she jumped from the car and ran to the edge of the Grand Canyon with Jacob running behind her screaming her name. Thank God the dog had the good sense to turn before reaching the edge. I am not sure Jacob would have stopped if she had gone over. Thus began his protective nature. We have come to the conclusion that is why he was the meanest babysitter Leah ever had; he was protecting her from all dangers on his watch. Today, I watch him with his dog, Millie and his girlfriend, Corrie and see the same protective nature manifest in this young man as head of the family. It makes my heart proud to watch him care for his girls both canine and human. It is as it should be.

In a year when I will be letting go of my father as his cancer advances, I can’t help but notice how much Jake, as he prefers to be called these days looks and acts like my father. From the distinctive nose, and deep set eyes to his hairline with widows peaks, it is not hard to see the resemblance. Like my father, Jake has a cool and calm demeanor that can be deceiving when his temper flares. Resembling a flash of lightening it is sharp and usually short lived. As someone who’s temper is slow and rarely expressed outside acceptable limits, I have never known how to help him manage his man-sized anger. My father didn’t always manage his well and I know he regretted the times he hurt others in his rage. I am confident Jacob’s huge heart and his amazing intelligence will guide him in finding ways of channeling his anger into healthy expressions. At Thanksgiving, when we all gathered in Ohio, I watched with a swollen heart as Jake helped my brother install a ramp for my father’s wheelchair. Taking his place as the youngest generation of Hamilton men, Jake did much of the physical labor as my brother instructed him in the process and Dad watched from his wheelchair at the window. He was the man I could not have imagined on January 2, 1987, but the one who makes me so proud today.

The girls tell me I favor Jacob; maybe they fear I love him more. I don’t think it is possible for me to love one of my kids more than the other two, but I understand why they might think so. There is something special about a mother’s boy, the way he can touch my heart, and make me proud in the simplest of ways; just being a boy and growing into a man.

Happy 23rd Birthday, Jacob. I am proud of you. Love always, Mom.

Magnificat Sermon from Evensong 12-20

Tonight, we encounter God’s embarrassing and threatening “challenge to good order” Pregnancy comes unexpected, and out of order to a young peasant girl named Mary who then runs off to visit her cousin Elizabeth after being made aware of her pregnancy. Elizabeth who has miraculously conceived in her old age, confirmations the miracle of Mary’s pregnancy and proclaims her blessed.

The scene is absurd, the coming of the Messiah who will redeem Israel is anticipated and proclaimed, not by archangels or high priests or emperors or even ordained preachers … Rather it comes from two marginalized pregnant women. Two marginalized, pregnant women carry the future and proclaim the messiah.

Last night I watched the movie Precious. It is a raw look at how the vulnerable are oppressed and can in turn oppress the even more vulnerable and one young woman’s decision to stop the chain of oppression. A very powerful scene in the movie is when Precious is given one more piece of bad news:one more way in which she will be marginalized, she begins to cry and says, “Nobody loves ME.” She teeters on giving up and giving in to her vulnerability. Yet in that moment.. she is able to hear, really hear her teacher say, “Your baby loves you, and I love you.”

Precious helped me to hear that powerful choice that Mary made in her vulnerability… to give praise and be grateful after being affirmed by Elizabeth. Hear again the words of her song:

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.

Mary’s reaction could have taken many forms and maybe it did. Yet in her vulnerability as a young unmarried peasant woman, who did not know at this moment how her world would react to this pregnancy, chooses to give praise, not only for the reality of her situation; the new life growing within, but in the privilege of being an instrument of God. From her most vulnerable place, she gives praise and becomes a participant in God’s miracle. It is from our vulnerability that we can most easily connect with the compassion of God and from our gratitude that God can most easily make us instruments of God’s love, God’s peace and God’s mercy.

When faced with challenges, I am one who’s first reaction is often to lead with my strength, react with my intellect and persevere in self determination. It is hard not to use my places of privilege, such as being able bodied, educated, middle class and white. And yet it is when I allow myself to be vulnerable; out of my comfort zone; maybe in unfamiliar settings such as standing in this pulpit for the first time tonight, that God can use me.

Tonight as we listen to Mary’s song and we visualize her story, you and I can ask ourselves where God is calling us to be vulnerable to the work of God’s world?

As Mary in her vulnerability, accepts her role in this drama of the incarnation she becomes more than she ever thought possible. The vulnerable becomes powerful and at the same time, …just who God created her to be; bringing to mind the quote from Maryanne Williamson, used by Nelson Mandela in this acceptance speech.

You may have heard it many times, but permit me to remind you:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Then in her place of power beyond measure, Mary delivers one of the most subversive messages in the Bible. Mary gives voice to a song for the ages, a song that invites us beyond our realistic expectations and our dull imaginations. She announces the larger implications of the upside-down world that God has inaugurated.

Listen to her words again:

His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

The song proclaims the toppling of oppression and human power such as the oppression that grounds Mary’s very own worth in her ability to bear a son and the culture that deemed men as the owners of her procreative power.

I have seen two powerful movies in just over a week. The second was Invictus, the story of Nelson Mandela’s first year in office. He was faced with monumental challenges in bringing together a new government that would not only topple the oppression but would represent all South African’s regardless of race. One of the scenes that struck me was his wisdom in preventing those who had been oppressed for generations from becoming oppressors and retaliating against those who had once oppressed them. The South African rugby team named the Spring Bocks had once been a symbol of apartheid, and oppression. It was beloved by White So. Africans and hated by Black So. Africans as a symbol of oppression with its all white team.

While in prison, Mandela himself had cheered on any competitor of the spring bocks in hope of seeing this symbol of oppression loose. But in office he would not allow the now black leadership of national sports to change the name and take away this team beloved by White So. Africans. Rather he changed the country’s relationship with the team and the team’s relationship with the country. In All Saints fashion, he sent the team on a transformational journey out into the community teaching Rugby to the neighborhood kids, becoming their heroes and learning first hand the atrocities of oppression.

What looked like a foolish waste of time united a country to cheer and support this team which now represented a United So. Africa. The movie is named for the poem Invictus that Mandela used as a meditation, and mantra while in prison which he later shares with the captain of the Spring Bocks.

I could not help but believe that the poem Invictus also fit the life of this abused young woman, Precious. Especially the last two lines:

I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

At age 16, Precious, the mother of two topples the powers that be and becomes the master of her fate and the captain of her soul.
Few of us have ever faced those specific challenges, so what does that

Magnificat say to us on this night:
Begin with Gratitude. Allow your soul to magnify the lord and your spirit to rejoice in the lord. For God has scattered the proud and put down the mighty to make us the masters of our fate and the captains of our soul.In your vulnerability, connect with the heart and compassion of God that each one of us might become instruments of Gods love, peace and mercy. And, While Precious did become the master of her fate, she had hands along the way: A school administrator who went the extra mile to give her the information that eventually was a catalyst to change; A teacher who chose to work in the alternative school and chose to get involved in this young girl’s life; A nurse, who like the teacher used his own resources and went beyond his job description to give her a hand. None of whom had to go far or sacrifice much at all. But, their participation made a difference; their willingness to be instruments of God’s love and mercy and justice toppled the powers that be and created a new world for one young woman and her children.

Be vulnerable to those places in your life where you can make a difference. Amen