Humbled By The Thought

By Cynthia Ruchti

If asked to name someone who exemplifies true humility, who would, you choose? Let’s say Jesus is off limits, because, frankly, He’s off the charts when it comes to humility. Name a contemporary. Famous or infamous.

Having a hard time? Mother Teresa came to mind, but she’s no longer a contemporary.

Why is humility such a radically obscure concept in today’s world? Why is it so foreign a thought that we struggle to think of a single living example? And how will we ever teach it to our children and grandchildren if we can’t point to someone and say, “See? Like that!”?

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Anywhere But Where I Am

By Cynthia Ruchti

Alanna ran through the concourses to her gate, and then sat for nearly an hour waiting for the attendant at the desk to call her name from among the dozen other stand-bys hoping to get on that plane. She eyed the gates near hers. Denver. Detroit. Dallas. Des Moines. Duluth. All the “D” locations. Any one of them would do.

“Alanna Blake?”

She barely caught the announcement above the din of stir-crazy toddlers and people mid-conversation on their cell phones. “I’m sorry, Ms. Blake. This flight is full. All passengers have checked in. We have another flight later this afternoon, but prospects are iffy for that one as well.” “The destination doesn’t matter. Can you get me on a flight to…what’s boarding for other locations right now?” The gate attendant looked up from her computer. “Where are you headed?” “Anywhere but where I am.”

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Cross Country in the Rain

By Cynthia Ruchti

Rain? More sleet than rain.

As I drove with the heat cranked up as high as it would go and the vents blowing on my feet and face at the same time, huddled over the steering wheel as if it were a glowing log in the fireplace, I noticed a handful of young people in shorts and t-shirts running along the side of the road. On this ugliest day in the history of ugly, the high school’s cross country team members showed up for practice and ran…in the sleet.

Behind the handful of runners came another bunch, and another. While I bent over my steering wheel in the comfort of my vehicle, they leaned into the wind and rain, their legs pumping, arms slick with the precipitation that coated the sidewalks and roadway. One foot in front of the other. Silent. Focused. Plodding forward despite the Terrible, No Good, and Awful Day.

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WINDOW WITH A VIEW

By Cynthia Ruchti

Just beyond our bathroom window, Adam and Eve Barnswallow built a nest on top of a wooden shutter. As the season progressed, we watched the parents tend the nest and warm their eggs. Eventually little fluff-heads attached to massive, always-open beaks peeked over the edge of the nest.

When my then five-year-old granddaughter Grace was at our house one day, I took her by the hand to show her the incredible sight. Six now-adolescent barn swallow babies were crammed into a tiny mud-and-fiber nest. Grace took such delight in watching the mom fly back and forth with nubbins of insects for her children. We mocked their bird voices as we watched the beaks open and close.

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So Not My Gift

By Cynthia Ruchti 

I caught myself saying it again the other day as I cleaned up the church kitchen after helping to serve snacks during fellowship time following the worship service.

Choosing how much to purchase and prepare for an unknown number of congregants is “sooooo not my gift.”

The family of a newborn is counting on me to provide their supper on Wednesday night. Me? I can cook. It’s not that. I actually cook pretty well. But I feel so much more comfortable writing a clever little poem for a baby shower than I do providing a meal. I told the deaconess in charge of scheduling meals for situations like this, “I found it funny, considering my crazy life this week. Rather than saying yes, I should have requested meals for ME!”

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