“Cast Forward by Love”, A Worship Poem from L.Willows (Hope, Prayer, Jesus Christ)


Cast Forward by Love

Song of becoming, break in the dawn’s plea
Come, for the moments that hasten to see
Where is the daylight, the promise of heart
Cast from the dreams of yesterday’s part.

Journey remembered from stories ago
Left in the embers, lived in life’s glow.
Carry the fire, Your Light forward though
Here in the walk that burrows hearts pew.

Listen to the whispers that hope, that plea.
Listen to the cries that rise to be free.
Song of becoming, we are formed here to pray,
Carried by The Life that Lights our way.

Journey remembered from stories ago
Left in the embers, lived in life’s call-
Come yet tomorrows, far greater than these,
Cast forward by Love, the Hope that leads all.

© 2020 Linda Willows

Jerimiah 29:11 —For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Psalm 139:23-24 —Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!

Ephesians 3:9 —And to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things,

“She is Blessed, She Is Free”, my neighbor from L.Willows (faith, freedom, trusting God, courage)


My neighbor’s door is well watched. She is loved by many. At 96, my Ethiopian friend lives quietly, almost secretly for more than 30 years in a small apartment after fleeing her country during the late 1980s. I knocked on her door. I knocked again.

My Neighbor’s Door

Then again. Concerned, I knocked louder. There was no answer. This was not the first time. I noticed that her door had been still for days. I felt alarmed. Her health has been precarious for several years. She is precious to me. I feel like my heart is attached to her. I can’t answer why. I love her and this love has formed over years of witnessing her strength and the beauty of her soul.

She is my neighbor. The last time that I visited with her I gazed into her wondrous brown eyes with light blue rims. I remember feeling concerned about her health because of her increasing weakness and inability to eat. I prayed that we would have many times together in the next year but worried, even wondered if she would live until Christmas of this year, truly she seemed so frail. I had learned that she had been challenged by cancer for the past years and season after season, she survived- she regained strength. I was in awe of her ability to challenge life. There was a secret to the strength within her. I knew that.

I went to another neighbor and knocked. I was welcomed into a room filled with more familiar faces, friends all. They sat together sharing the custom of gathering to pray, listening to Ethiopian teaching, news from home and community news.

A Sea of White

Here was a sea of white, each wearing the traditional orthodox robes of their country. Though I looked and spoke differently, I was accepted and known as “friend”. It felt like an honor. I touched my hand to my heart as a greeting that they understood.

One spoke as an interpreter for me. As I asked about my neighbor and her whereabouts. I was told that she was alright, that she and her son had gone to Ethiopia and would return soon. “Really, I said?” I asked several times. I needed to be certain that this was not a cultural way of saying that one’s spirit had ‘gone home’ to God!

From traveling I knew that sometimes I was told things in a metaphor or in what I would call the “gentle truth”. After hospitality from the group, I  greeted the host who I discovered last in the corner gazing out at me. (a friend of my neighbor’s from the same holy region of Ethiopia). I bent towards her, held both of here hands in mine and looked into her eyes. They smile with stories of God and life inside.

Stories of God and life inside

I returned home with the hope that my friend would come home again but I was not completely certain. My heart is one that needs reassurance. I am still on the learning curve of trusting God with full and complete holiness, aren’t we all?

For a week I had watched my neighbors’ quiet door. I remember thinking that I did not want anyone else to live there, not in her lovely space. This is a remarkable woman. She and her friend both are from a wondrous part of Ethiopia. It is called Aksum. It is called the Holy City. This is where Biblical scholars say the ark appears to have been lost sometime between 955 B.C. when Solomon built the First Temple in Jerusalem to house it, and 587 B.C., when Nebuchadnezzar’s army razed the city but, according to the Bible, did not find it.

This was her home

To Ethiopians, this is like a Jerusalem. When I found out that my neighbors were born and raised in this Ethiopian Holy Land, I wanted to read about it. I soaked up the rich history of the lost Ark of the Covenant. It made my heart marvel. I understood her devotional nature so much more. This was her home. She was here only since being displaced from the conflicts of the 1980s. I understood the longing to be home, to go home.

The last time I saw her, I looked into her eyes. I saw something different in her gaze that worried me. When I looked into her lovely face, I saw something that seemed to recede, to almost back away despite her courage. “What are you seeing, she asked?”. I told her that her eyes were very beautiful. They are. Large and brown with light blue rims around the edges. I have not seen blue around brown, how can that be, I remember wondering.

I thought to myself, “This is a woman that loves Jesus deeply. When she goes to Heaven, there will be very much Joy, and someday- I will see her again.” I watched her bravely challenge pain and weakness through many seasons. I also saw that she always lived with hope and patience. She never wished for more than she had at the moment. Once I asked if I could offer her a fan in the summer when we had excessive heat. She smiled and refused. I realized that it was not to be stubborn, it was a gospel “no”. It was because accepting the fan would be saying that the moment was not good enough as it was “from God”.  She accepted everything with endurance and patience and trust. 

Everything is from God

This was an enormous lesson for me, even as I returned to my own apartment and was still unwilling to let go of my own extra fans and tools to stay cool!

Doesn’t God put teachers in our lives all the time? We need to be attentive and watchful to see them. Often we can miss the wise ones that are in our lives.

Often in the mornings, I would see her at an eastern window placing herself near a ray of the sun so that her back could catch the warmth of the light. Patiently and with trust, she would sit peacefully and allow the light to enter her body and heal her. I would wonder with my Western thought, “But how can the sun heal through the double panel glass? Don’t we need direct access to get the real benefit?” But she trusted her way. The natural warmth was enough. She never uses anything artificial.

Now it was weeks later. I missed her. Again I habitually scanned out of the corner of my eye to see who was near. Was my friend home or was this the other kind of trip “home”? Then my heart jumped. I saw her two sons outside of her door turning the key and another neighbor smiling and heard her congratulating one of them on the return from Ethiopia. She was back!

My Neighbor Returns

I asked for permission to visit her from her sons. He said that she was well and would be delighted. When I entered I was very surprised at what I saw.

My dear friend was joyfully leaning forward with a grand smile. She extending her arms to greet me. Though she was fragile to behold as always, her appearance was completely altered. The real sun had touched her life, her heart and her whole self with healing. A vibrancy lit up her face. I pointed to the photo of her on the wall when she was in her 20s and said, “You look like this woman!” It was remarkable. This was a renewal in front of me.

“What have you done!” I teased her. “You went to Ethiopia and the whole country almost had another revolution while you were there.” I had checked the news as soon as she left and found out that there was much upheaval that began around the day that she left. See Ethiopian News- Ethiopian Assassinations, Arrests push towards Ethiopia’s fragile push towards Democracy

Renewal in Ethiopia

She smiled, denying any relationship to such things saying no, that she had been in the Holy City; in Aksum, where it was peaceful. But this morning I read online that Ethiopia was generally safe today except for Aksum.  Goverment Travel Advice /Aksum

I have been witness to violence and war in other parts of the world; in places that where many generations have lived inside of historic, cultural and political environments that seem to be hosts to unfortunate conflicts. The victims are the hearts and minds that need to see life in new ways and with new possibilities.

Perhaps in places where there conflict has bred violence, minds and hearts become accustomed to it over time. It becomes the norm, like a climate. Generations sadly learn that it is a way to form change. And sometimes desperation erupts from the sense of feeling imprisoned by circumstances. It can lead folks to the reasoning that this is the only way to break free when surely it is not.

The juxtaposition of such rich history and holiness in Ethiopia with the current urgent outcries for change give me many reasons to pray for this special place and for these people longing for democracy and freedom. 

Yet my friend’s heart was free. She had always been free. Now as I looked into her joyful eyes, there was new life. She looked like all illness had been lifted from her. Looking into her shining brown-blue-rimmed eyes, I knew that she had experience a remarkable renewal. Her hair was whiter, longer (is it my imagination?). Her skin was darker, touched by a strong sunshine.

She was eating an orange. It was the first time that really saw her eat. She noticed that I was viewing the orange. “Please take one, have a banana, take several for yourself”, she kindly gestured at the bowl of fresh fruit on the table.

I could not refuse an orange! Taking one, I said, “Is it from Ethiopia?” With a pearly white smile, she answered, “No, really. No.” Then I took it like a baseball into my hand and pretended to hurl it out of the window, “Well then, I will send it all the way to there!”, I said, “There it goes!” We had a good laugh. Culture to culture joking is an art. Later, I savored that orange and thought of her. It was sweet.

The holiness of Love, God is With Us

I said to her, “May I write about you, may I write about your joy? Today I see you with your arms raised up high, with your face looking up to the sky, basking in the light of the sun. You are so happy. You feel God, you know that He is with you, near you. His Kingdom is near. Is that right?” “Yes,” my friend said with her lovely eyes enjoying the image, “This is how I feel. This is how my heart looks. You may write about me.”

I took her hands into mine and looked into her shining face. “I have to go now. Thank you so much for letting me visit you. I love you so much.” I said. “I love you too”, she said. I let myself out knowing that soon her son would be back to care for her that night. She is never alone.

She is blessed. She is free.

© 2019 Linda Willows

“The Table with a Story of Love”, from L.Willows (our story, His Story, the Lord’s Table, Lost and Found)

For years I have had “tables” on my mind. They are part of my story. I have only recently realized it. Many decades ago after my mother passed away I was able to purchase a dream table that lived in our family home. It was very long and sturdy with beautiful wooden planks and had a strong base that connected on the floor. I loved that it could seat many. I even had a large picture window installed next to it so that we could enjoy looking out to the garden when seated all around.

The story of that table is that the family that gathered around it became fractured; its heart was wounded. The table moved around, lost the sweet voices that once laughed and told their own stories around it. Eventually, the table was lost. I mourned the outcome (of everything, of everyone) and then told myself that it was a thing, I must not be attached to “things”.

My mother also purchased a special table. She took exceptional care of it. I remember polishing the wood for her every Saturday. It was an octagon. In those days that was very rare. The seats were low and comfortable. She enjoyed having discussions and guests for dinner. It was a center of study, information; a place where questing happened. I thought that she, and the table had all the answers until I was 15 or so and rebelled. Then I pushed away from the table and “sat” on my own for many years before returning. When I “came back”, there was a place for me. Everything seemed more proportional. Soon after I was on my own again, set to travel for many years on journeys that placed no value on physical tables.

Later in life when I desired to share the heart luxury of sitting around a table with friends and enjoying their company, I found that I longed for that large luxurious table that I once had in my former home. The lost one. Somehow, perhaps because I moved from place to place and kept my possessions ‘light’, or because of one circumstance or another- there was no table now to share with friends.

I really enjoy home. I love making it a peaceful and welcoming place. It delights me to fill it with what feels joyful. I like to experience God in my home. I pray there. I sense the His Pew vividly. There is a special place near a large eastern window where I sit, kneel and wonder. I gaze outward and inward there. We can all have that wherever we live.

When I have invited friends to my home I have no table. There is just a sweet little round serving table that seats two. You know that we have an enjoyable time! My story today is filled with joy and a pew near the window that sheds love into my home. There is an altar filled with thousands of prayers and the aroma of God everywhere.

However, in the imaginings of a self that still contains some deficiency (we all still only see ‘in part’…we are sojourners), that sees “this world” – I have purchased a long wooden table similar to the one that was lost and placed it in front of the long bright window. I see myself sitting there in the morning light reading, praying. In the afternoon and evening, I imagine that I am able to invite many friends over. They can sprawl around the long table and talk, dine and linger. That is the story in my dream.

Here, I smile. I invite you to enjoy the best part of the Story of the Table.

With the eyes of my soul and the longing of my heart, I am invited to God’s Table at every moment.  Each time that I approach His Altar in prayer, with my heart when I am prompted with the words that say, “Father, I am reaching to you with praise and thanksgiving…”

But wonderously, once a month at church we gather longingly at the Table of The Beloved for Communion. I only made this “table” connection this Sunday after my Pastor said, “Would someone please write about The Table?”, meaning of course, other writers writing far more profoundly than what I am attempting here.

The Lord’s Supper which is also called “The Lord’s table” (1 Corinthians 10:21), “communion,” “cup of blessing” (1 Corinthians 10:16), and “breaking of bread” ( Acts 2:42 ). The purpose of taking part in it is to remember the person and work of Jesus: “Do this in remembrance of me” (1 Cor. 11:25). The Greek noun for the word remembrance is anamnesis [ajnavmnhsi”] which means to recollect. Many believe that this means that we are to bring the one being recalled into the here and now- into the present. From the viewpoint of Communion, we bring, before the Father of the one, the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ so that His power will be known and operative in us.

The remembrance uses the tangible elements of bread and wine. It is a personal experience that involves confession. In accepting communion, one proclaims belief and hope in Jesus Christ celebrating His Worth above all else. The experience is joyful because our hearts unite with The Lord.

The table that holds the bread and the wine is actually an altar. It is called the Table of the Showbread (Hebrew: לחם הפנים lechem haPānīm, literally: “Bread of the Presence”), in the King James Version: shewbread, in a biblical or Jewish context, refers to the cakes or loaves of bread which were always present on a specially dedicated table, in the Temple in Jerusalem as an offering to God.

Since it is used to hold the offering, it becomes an altar. The altar is often on a higher elevation than the rest of the church. In Reformed and Anabaptist churches, a table often called a “Communion table”, serves an analogous function.

This is The Table that matters in my life. It is the one that I go to for Hope and affirmation. When I listen to the words that introduce Communion all of my heart says “YES”. I anticipate the bread and the wine. Part of me leaps towards Christ Jesus. I feel His Presence. I Remember. Remembering means I am overwhelmed with gratitude for His sacrifice for us. My heart turns into a melting bowl that receives more love than I or words can express. I am not alone in this.

I can feel a family that is vast and uncountable both here and beyond in His Kingdom. The division opens and all seems to be One. For those moments God the Father, Christ, and The Holy Spirit seem to open a Door to all hearts that enables us to be flooded by Love. We do Commune with His Kingdom and all that is contained in it. Such a brief Holy Glimpse. It is like seconds, and then as if with a breath, and a sigh- we are returned to mortal life. But Believing and by Faith, we are encouraged, strengthened and emboldened.

We have taken part in the offering at The Table.

I don’t need any other table in my life. And oh, what a glorious family to gather with! I feel so fortunate.

I never imagined that I would gain such a precious story. I think that I have found the only Table that will ever matter.

And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me. –1 Corinthians 11:24-26

© 2019 Linda Willows