I had hoped to move these paragraphs to more sunny territory, but our clouds and shadows linger. This week, we have suffered the loss of one of our pastors. Sunday night, Jesus escorted Pastor George into his rest and reward. Our shock could not be greater. Our hearts ache for Mary and the family. Pray for the grace of His comfort. Now, we all have to bridge the space between what we thought would be and what is. The Shepherd will lead us.

The Psalmist proclaims, “We are fearfully and wonderfully made!” God has created the body to be its own best physician. Our body’s capacity for healing carries us through life. We are protected and preserved in health in far greater measure than we are sick. But even our bodies need help.

Cancer has been painless for me. I had no sign of its presence. I was living symptom free, completely unaware of a growing invasion of malignant cells. Were it not for a careful doctor and the clarity of medical tests, I would have continued my days, oblivious to the situation, until there was no straightforward remedy. So here is the irony. My disease was painless, but the cure was not.

My recent surgical experience stripped me of misconceptions I had about hospitals. I believed them to be places of healing and care, which they are, but I discovered they are not places of sleep. The lingering effects of anesthetic dragged me towards slumber, but hospital noises and routines tugged in the opposite direction. 

The ways of God are found in our living. Yes, they are found articulated in the Scriptures, fleshed out in our faith communities and underneath every global event. But since I am more acquainted with my own life than anything else, I should exegete the ordinary routine of my coming and goings. After all, we are walking temples of the Spirit. Since He keeps better pace with me than I do with Him, I should try to keep up.

Recently I have been thinking about what I will do when I get to heaven. All of us at one time or another have had thoughts about heaven – and how we will live there. We know about the streets of gold (Rev. 21:21) along with all the jewels imbedded in the city (Rev. 21:19). Heaven will be a beautiful place. But what will we be doing in heaven?

It is Thanksgiving Monday as I am writing this column “For Pilgrims.”  We truly have much to give thanks for. The questions then come to our mind, “How do we determine what is of genuine worth?” “What are we truly grateful for?”

I welcome this weekly opportunity to arrange letters into words, words into sentences and sentences into thoughts. I try to target those thoughts towards the path walked by faith pilgrims. I could type about the weather or the latest current events, but I can think of nothing more vital than the journey of our soul Godward.

Latin students will tell you that the word “fortis” means strong. So, fortitude is a good quality to have in tough times. A breakfast cereal may be improved, or fortified, with vitamins. A fort is more than a child’s backyard creation. A real fortress is a safe refuge and conveys a feeling of granite protection. So, what do we do with the word comfort?

by Joy Gadsby, Celtic Daily Prayer, Book Two  

As we grow older, we slow up and our memory often fails us. Too often we can feel sidelined. The world will not stop still for us, but is constantly changing. We are tempted to give up and opt out. Instead, we should be willing to be uncritical, patient, and understanding. Jesus is still able to maintain the flame in our hearts if we continue centering our lives on Him.