God's Grace

The amazing grace of God has been so alive since I returned to my roots. Though the climate in Memphis is the opposite of the climate in Uruguay, where I have a freedom and simplicity that I have nowhere else, I’ve had to adapt. But oh, what a welcome God gave me that first morning on return to Memphis, when I put on my shoes and took off to walk the parking lot, followed by a long 2.5 miles around the misty lake, comparable to the great three mile walk on a dirt road up and down through giant pine trees with views of the river almost every blink. Why this crazy walking habit? I was preparing for an attack on Mt. Kilimanjaro, and more important on Egypt’s Mt Sinai near the monastery of St. Katherine of Alexander, miles from civilization outside Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt.

But to start out day one at my Memphis home, Oh what a glorious arrival for me. It was 6:30 a.m. Not freezing but I was bundled up. And as I started my walk routine, I looked up at the sky. It was the most glorious sapphire blue I have ever seen that covered the sky, an early dawn display of perfection. The sun was obviously stepping up somewhere down below, but had not quite arrived over my head, or my soul and heart, and as I looked up in awe (trying to keep on walking) I was amazed at the colors God was sharing and I felt, I knew God was giving me a gift of a sort.

So, I stopped and as I woooow, I watched a thin pink line make a giant arc from one side of the blue sky to the other - so beautiful, so obvious a gift, so spectacular as a work of God’s heart - it was all I could do to hold back tears of joy. I’m not a crier but I was almost dancing in some sort of step as I watch the artwork of God. Then there arose from the south one of my favorites, a FedEx plane - they always take off from the airport and fly right over the condominium - but this plane had just lifted, obviously, right from its runway (a couple of miles away) and as it begin to cross the blue sky with the pink arc, I smiled. Hi FedEx, I shouted, and trust me, I saw that the whole plane was pink. The same shade of pink as the thin arc. It was part of this early morning gift from God that I have never ever received in my life, and I yelled out, thank you Jesus - and applauded, and smiled, and yelled “thank you Jesus” again, and kept on walking.

I was just sorry I didn’t have my iPhone to take a picture, and yet it seemed to be something for me, and a picture would have never caught the beauty of that morning rise. As I look back today, I think it was a “don’t give up” sign from God, because a couple days later I got the nasty Corona Virus, all thanks to frightening, crowded and disrespectful hours in the airport in Charlotte, North Carolina, where for four hours there was no attention to the Corona Virus at any time - and me wearing a mask etc. didn’t give a damn to the virus bug. Since there was no seat space, I stood up as much as I could with distancing from the crowds. That didn’t work either. People traveling don’t care. They push and pull and worry about selves, not about anyone on the left or right or front or back.

On the first day of the new year, there was a different yellow sky spreading like a lightweight rug across the sky, outlined with the winter, leave-less as most trees were then, and it also reflected the yellow balls of light poised on a series of poles so there is no darkness, but they give light for those parked in the early morning light, while double decker train cars bumped and squelched, and scratched and  tooted long  horns so loud, sleep would not be an option at 6:30 a.m. But the trains suggested life, and hope, and yes, so much is being transported still by the miles and miles of trains awakening those trying to beat the train before it blocks the crossroads, where lines of cars are anxious to get across to get people to work or school on time. It’s a daily phenomenon in my neighborhood. We have no Mr. Rogers. Just train conductors who blast those horns to welcome us to the day.

It’s a lifestyle that reminds me of when we lived by the L&N railroad at the back of our small garden and barn back in 1940s. And horns blew then just like today. And transport was a major business, as it seems to be today, especially if one walks the Mississippi Bridge, where walkers can share the giant bridges where trains cross, pulling produce, cars, whatever scary tank might contain that could explode if needed, but we trust that won’t happen. It is so wonderful to even have the delight of watching trains go by, that they still have purpose, that they can still go from one end of this nation to another and keep industry shining somehow.

And it is great to know whatever point on this round earth, that skies dress in all sorts of colors. Especially in the giant spaces of heavenly Tanzania, where man and animal and weed and crop all work together to keep a nation thriving. It is there as well where there are enormous mountains of clouds deep gray to threaten a storm at some point, or the charming blue that kicks the bright sun in front of it so we can enjoy daylight while the narrow but new reddish brown streets allow trucks and vans and bumpy, loud land rovers and motorcycles to hog whatever side they wanted to use to speed up their greeting somewhere, risking a quick pass. 

And then one must remember here in Tanzania - cars are reversible - they use the left side while we foreigners are accompanied by the right side as the lane used day in and day out. I didn’t know the British style was still used, but it is. And thank God I didn’t have to drive on the wrong side of the street. Tiny children with big sticks and a rust red robe wrapped around him to keep him or her warm, while they gather and move along the drops of goats and cattle, and skinny dogs, It’s their lives. The Masai. It is their task which ends when night pulls down its new shade for the evening, and fire is the only light that has valor and use. And what is particularly fascinating is that when I lived in Tanzania in 1962-3 there were few Christians, and today, through God’s great mercy and surely His delight, most of the Masai tribe and so many other tribes have walked on the Christian path, the holy one, the blessed one, because these people are the salt of the earth, who take care of it and never abuse it as those of us in the too modern world do day in and day out. It twists the soul but can delight in some hope through the treasures that are the Masai and Mbulu and other tribes in these fervent green pastures of the Lord.

~ Rev

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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com