TOPICAL POSTS by SERIES | Norma L. Brumbaugh

The Awe of Sacred Space

Her eyes alight in awe as she gazes into the globe. It is magical, like a winter snow scene in Toyland. The coordinated moving parts of each tiny figure, delight her. The train, as it moves in a figure eight, blows it whistle and chugs its pattern. She follows its movement as she takes it all in: the falling snow, the street lights, the horse and carriage, a church with carolers in muffs, top hats, scarves and waist-coats and singing Christmas cheer. The scene is from a different era and it is enchanting. Her parents, watching her, smile with matching delight, transfixed with the beauty of the moment as they watch the child’s wonderment. The moment is surreal, precious, one to be remembered and cherished.

One could cry.

The child remains transfixed by the mesmerizing scene. Her childish thoughts take her to that place inside the glass sphere where all is peaceful and quaint. Like entering a Thomas Kinkade painting, she wishes she could step into its scene to play in the snow, sing carols with the carolers, sit in the white-steepled church, stroke the horse’s mane, look up at the street lamps, and feel snowflakes dampen her face. The girl’s long sandy-colored hair falls forward in gentle wisps, resting on the curved glass as she remains still. Her winter nightwear is cozy, warm, soft to the touch. It is evening now and bedtime for her, but she can’t bring herself to leave the spot where her feet are anchored; not now, not with the magic in the globe calling to her, beckoning her into its silent joy.

You are like that child, your eyes open wide in wonder.

Gifts soon to be discovered now await you, compelling you to see them, saying to you, look here, isn’t this lovely? They are calling out to you to enter this place of enchanting silence, where you have never been before. You look around about you, soaking in the cathedral of beauty; the valley oak trees, the daffodils raising their heads to the sun, the hawks flying in the sky. You know it in your heart, this is something special. If only it could be real. If only it could be what it claims to be; if only it were possible like a tiny slice of heaven. If only one could keep this moment forever in the hollow of God’s hand. But it can’t be true. No, you think not. God does not work like that; we cannot enter His presence in the silence even if we wanted to, and we do want to, or even in the middle of His creation on a mountain bluff.

Or can we?

Does God allow His children to enter into His world, to see a little glimpse of His beauty, of Who He is? You think not, still not convinced that you can enter that imaginary place where special things happen to those who seek it. What would that be like?

It would be amazing.

Unlike the young child who cannot enter the snow scene, you, instead, are given the hidden opportunity to discover what seems highly improbable, impossible and totally unimaginable, which may, after all, be probable, highly imaginable and utterly possible. God is eager for relationship and He can be met in the silence, in the quiet place, in the prayer that seeks His face to know Him. Only those who partake of its secrets can really know this is true. That is what we are here for, to show and partake of that which is real, genuine, and beautiful. What you observe and seek is obtainable. The wonder can be yours. The delight can be experienced. God, the Father, the divine Parent in residence, is the benevolent Giver Who can make this happen for His children. He meets us where we’re at when we are ready to seek Him with our whole heart.

God desires relationship with His children.

* * *

I invite you to enter a secret, silent, sacred space; a preserved, quiet, holy time. Miracles happen in this place, and you are part of the miracle. God has been waiting for you to unwrap His gift; you have only to request it. He offers you more than you have ever wanted before because this time you are asking to be put into the scene, into the story, your story, into the place where God makes things happen for people who live centered in Him. You are on the cusp of a game-changer, where spiritual life meets human life and creates a vital new dynamic. It doesn’t seem possible? You’re right, miracles never seem possible.

But some dreams do come true.

Come along and look inside the globe, see the secret, sacred place where God is found. Experience the love of Him and all that He offers to teach you and to give you. Best of all, you will get to know Him as a caring parent who has your best interest at heart. God desires to know you and for you to know Him in a deep and profound way through the gift of relationship, in a child with Parent relationship, a human with Divine relationship, or as an unsure struggler in a loving Redeemer relationship.

. . .

Lois Faith Brumbaugh at age 20.

Lois is my sister, and she was my friend. Today I honor her memory with Lois’ Song written by my cousin a decade before her death. The words are apropos for I’m thinking of her. It is September. I always think about her in September because that is when we lost her. I was a little mommy to her when she was a baby. We would play house together, me, the big sis, and she, the little sister. She was born in September. She died in September. I am not very fond of September.

Lois as a baby, and with me holding her in the bottom two photos.

Just over a week ago, on Labor Day, 2016, I drove to Stayton Cementary in Stayton, Oregon to visit my sister’s grave. Actually, to visit Lois because I miss her. It was a lovely day for a visit; perfect weather, quiet, pretty blue sky with a few white billowy clouds, peaceful. Our mind remembers and I am grateful for the memories. I pictured the mourners around her grave, for that was what we were that day in 1993, grief stricken and in shock and disbelief that this had happened. I couldn’t seem to stop weeping. My heart was so full and my pain was so great. It all came back and the sorrow touched me once again. It feels different now but a part of me departed with her those twenty-three years ago, never to be returned. That’s what love does to you.

Cripe and Brumbaugh cousins singing at our grandparents’ home. [left to right, front to back] Jerry, Lois, Norma (me), Jana, Paul, Marilyn, Jeff, Juanita -1962

Strong families are rare and we were a strong family. My parents were intentional in their parenting. But their spiritual side was the most important gift they gave us. Church was part of our weekly life. Dad farmed row crops, almond and walnut orchards. Mom cooked, gardened, canned, and sewed (most of our clothing and curtains, you name it, she could sew it . . . even making an umbrella for Dad’s D-4 Caterpillar tractor. We kids helped both Mother and Dad with all the busyness of farm life.

Sunday morning. Paul, Marilyn, Dad, Mom, Norma (me), Juanita, Lois in front. 1969

Sunday morning. Paul, Marilyn, Dad, Mother, Norma (me), Juanita, Lois in front. 1969 (?)

I remember my cousin Jerry wanted a few moments alone at her grave site after my siblings, me, and my parents had stepped aside. They were the babies in the Cripe and Brumbaugh families and shared some similar traits: quirky humor, quick intelligence, spunk and wit, and musical intelligence, both were talented and able to play by ear. Our parents were siblings, and we were a tight family. We spent most vacations together even though they had to drive 500 miles up to the Chico area. My cousins and their folks were with us as we caravaned to Oregon. I was writing what I would say at the next day’s service. It was difficult. Everyone respected our loss. We were trying to make sense of our loss. Why? What did we miss? Suicide is that way, it never makes sense. Other cousins were there, too. A blanket of sadness covered all of us. We lost her at age thirty-three. It is still difficult to talk about our family’s loss.

Jerry and Lois on my wedding day, playing the songs I requested and singing "Longer Than." Two very talented musicians. 1980

Jerry and Lois on my wedding day, playing the songs I requested for the pre-wedding ceremony and then singing Longer Than and Morning Has Broken. They were two very talented musicians and the music was beautiful. 1980

LOIS’ SONG

Were you to rise on the wings of the dawn
to the far side of the sea
Were you to sail like light through the heavens
I would go ahead, prepare your way
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Were you to say that night would hide me
I can see you in the darkness – shining like the day
Were you to say that I’d forgotten
Just because you can’t see me – remember
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Angels watch before and watch behind
And wrap their wings all about you
Till morning comes to chase
The shadows of the night away
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Were you to rise on the wings of the dawn
to the far side of the sea
Were you to sail like light through the heavens
I would go ahead, prepare your way
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.
Jerry Cripe, circa. 1982

JERRY CRIPE”S words about the song he wrote inspired by Lois’ favorite scripture passage:

“On college Winter Break in the early 1980’s, I gathered with the Brumbaugh and Cripe clans at our Grandparent’s home in Chico, California to celebrate Christmas. After much turkey and trimmings were consumed we caroled and exchanged gifts, but on this occasion before breaking off for the customary games, naps and kitchen cleanup, the cousins, parents, and grandparents remained by the tree to go around the circle allowing each a turn at sharing a favorite portion of Scripture. Of the 31,102 verses in the Bible I do not recall which one I chose, but Lois’ treasured selection stood out to me as the most prosaic of possibilities.

Later that morn I asked her in private how she came up with that priceless pericope and in her good humored way Lois confided that she had picked a read at random, but Psalm 139 was her best-loved passage of all. Thereafter, I, too, came to cherish the chapter, so much so that from it I penned the lyrics for a song originally titled ‘I’m Thinking of You’ and which later I changed to ‘Lois’ Song’.”

At Grandma Weigold's house with my sisters. Juanita, me, Uncle Vernon, Grandma W., Lois, Marilyn (& John). Juanita and I were new mothers. 1983

THE BRUMBAUGH SISTERS. My sisters and I rendezvoused at Grandma Weigold’s house in Southern Cal (from Oregon, Washington, and Northern Cal to spend some time with Grandma and to visit our Cripe cousins. Juanita, me, Uncle Vernon, Grandma, Lois, Marilyn (& John). Juanita and I were brand new first time mothers. 1983

I leave you with a photo of her grave marker and a short word of sage advice. Love your children, your spouse, your parents and grandparents well. Say the words, I love you, when you part. Call or text them when they cross your mind. Give extra hugs and say those things you appreciate about them, they might not know the qualities you see in them. I called Lois the day she died, but it was already too late. My sister, Marilyn, and I had teamed up in prayer for her even though we lived in different states. We would try to pray for Lois at the same time every day knowing that scripture says God honors, “where two or three are gathered in His name.” We were concerned because we knew things were not as they should be and she was drifting, but we didn’t realize the true gravity of the situation. Lois was working a respectable job, was buying a house, and outwardly was successful. Marilyn and I and our children visited with Lois up in the Portland area a few weeks before she passed on. Our kids loved Aunt Lou because she was fun (and vivacious). Two of them stayed overnight with her. Lois talked kid language and goofed off with them. Marilyn and I talked with Lois some about what was going on in her life, but we didn’t push and we really didn’t know. It is hard when someone is losing their way and you don’t know what to do or what it is about. Embrace every opportunity for it may be your last. Regrets are punishing.