I studied her hands, folded in her lap as she sat in her favorite chair.

Calm. Poised. Spotted with age. Her fingers adorned with rings representing deep family ties.

Patiently waiting to receive the sacrament of Holy Communion.

We'd just enjoyed one of our visits in her home that are always a mix of joy and sadness, hope and uncertainty, and consistently infused with her vibrant, unwavering faith.

Despite the tumors in her chest and lesions on her brain, Ms Debra remains unmoved in her convictions of faith, her trust that God has not and will not abandon her in the critical condition of her health, and that she is "in God's hands."

We prayed together, asking that the Holy Spirit be poured out "on these gifts of bread and cup" and that the Holy Spirit be poured out on my parishioner...my friend... that she would have what she needed for the remainder of that day: comfort, strength, rest, peace.

After receiving the sacrament, she told me she felt lighter, that she was already feeling the beginnings of the things for which we had prayed. I felt them, too, not being with it enough to realize I was in need of them in the first place.

Debra's affirmations of the sustenance she received was the second sign for me that day that Holy Communion really does bring us together and helps us to encounter the Spirit of God that is alive and well, loving us with full force, giving us what we need for each moment, and giving us what we need to love one another as God intends.

Earlier that morning I was at a gathering of ministers where I was asked to help serve Communion to those gathered. Though honored, I groaned internally knowing that there was someone in that room toward whom I was harboring disdain and frustration.

"How can I offer this person communion when I am still so annoyed, frustrated, and baffled by them?" I asked myself as the liturgy began.

When it was time to go forward, I was still feeling uneasy about the hypocrisy in which I was about to participate. "You can't serve someone Communion if you've got beef with them--beef that they don't even know or care about, mind you!" spat the inner critic within my mind.

Then the darndest thing happened.

The person walked up. I looked them in the eye, called them by name, and told them "the body of Christ, given for you." In that moment (believe it or not), I felt my disdain for this human melt away and in its place was shoved the recognition that they, too, are made in God's image and that they, too, are loved by God.

And even if just for that moment, it was enough. It was enough to get over myself, it was enough to forgive, it was enough to move on, and it was enough to be reminded that each of us belongs to each other and that each of us belongs to God. All of us. Not one single human excluded.

Holy Communion does something that almost nothing else in this world can do: It brings all of us to a common table to share a common meal to be reminded of a not-so-common love that was given to us and that continues to be spread far and wide for all of creation in every moment.

It causes us to love when that's the last thing feel like doing because it reminds us that we have been loved at our most unlovable. It gives us hope when that's the last thing the world can possibly offer us because we are reminded that our hope is beyond this world.

So, thanks be for Holy Communion. As annoying as it can be for our hearts to be softened against our will and for us to receive the reality checks we need most, it is absolutely essential for journeying our life and faith together.

A month or so ago, I had a chance to sit across the table from a newfound friend at a little Mexican restaurant right outside the famed downtown Franklin, Tennessee.

This friend and I have actually known of one another for some time through mutual friends but haven't spent much time getting to know each other until recently. We're similar in a few ways that are of note: 

-We're both ENFJ according to Myers Briggs
-We both share July 6th as our date of birth
-and we are both hard on ourselves in most aspects of life...in our vocations of ministry, in particular.

Despite the busy morning that had preceded our lunch meeting, as soon as I scooched into the booth and folded my legs to the side of me, I felt instantly at peace.

This being the first meal we'd ever shared I imagined there would be some awkwardness, some slowness in getting conversation started, but we jumped into discussion and the chips and salsa like we'd been pals all our lives.

This lunch date came at a time when we were both feeling a bit low...lots of feelings with no time or space to feel them, lots of questions with no one to ask. And then all of a sudden, here we were with one another, gifted with the safe space for which we'd both been longing. 

We voiced the feelings.

We asked the questions.

No holds barred. No tiptoeing. No second guessing. Unapologetically saying exactly what we meant, knowing that we wouldn't be judged by the other.

We emerged from the restaurant later that day deciding to do more of the following:

-Take care of ourselves (physically, spiritually, emotionally, and socially--thanks Mountain T.O.P.)

-Tell the truth when things are difficult. We need not struggle alone.

-Be kinder to ourselves and remember that the world will not come crashing down if we do not do things perfectly because, well, we're human, so that's impossible anyway. And there is always another new moment unfolding before us.

As I walked back to my car that afternoon, I breathed in the just-finished-raining smell that was simultaneously holding space around me and soaking into the asphalt underneath my feet. I felt for the first time in a while that there was hope, that I could breathe, that I wasn't alone, and that these "new moments" were the grace that had always been there but that I hadn't come up for air to accept and embrace.

Because she knew the positive outlook we helped one another reach over Mexican food that day would not be a constant, she sent me a canvas of the T.S. Eliot quote below in the mail a few days ago for the times that I need a little extra encouragement and a reminder to breeeathe.

I am thankful for her friendship and for the ways she continues to care for others even in the midst of all she has on her plate. Krislyn is currently finalizing her United Methodist commissioning paperwork, along with working in ministry full time, AND finishing her seminary education. Will you join me in praying for her to have all she needs throughout this very busy season of life--for patience, strength, comfort, and peace?

Thanks for being you, Krislyn! And thanks for the lunch date that helped give me a much needed "fresh beginning."