A gift in the mailbox!

     Many of the books I read come by mail, many for a penny plus $3.99 postage and handling.  Now, I didn't remember ordering any books that hadn't arrived but here was one in my mailbox. Looking closely at the package I saw the return address of a west coast theologian, Paul Lundborg. Opening it revealed this, BECOMING A PASTOR: Stories of the Flock shaping the Shepherd, Paul S. Lundborg.
     Now, wasn't that a nice surprise? The gift was the surprise, but I was aware that he was working on a book. Lundborg is a long time friend, a year behind me in college, seminary and arriving at our first congregations in North Dakota where we were neighbors. Not only that, I grew up with his wife's family in South Dakota and her parents are buried in the same cemetery as Joanne. (See picture)
    Yesterday I finished Independent People, which was long and complex. With that accomplished I turned to Lundborg's book using much of the afternoon to read. It was like having a long conversation with my good friend, granted he did most of the talking. It's a conversational book in which he tells his story of ministry filled with anecdotes from his 37 years as an ordained Lutheran pastor. It's winsome, delightful, grace filled and wise. Perhaps 'memoir' would be the appropriate category in which to place it.
   One of the defining events of Lundborg's life was his father's death when Lundborg was ten years old. Included in the book are some of his poems and other writings. This one is under the heading 'GRIEF'

"Absence"
Holden Village
September 14, 2010    (Lundborg was pastor in Wenatchee, WA, 1982-1999.)

Both grandfathers left before I was born;
By the time I was ten I was bereft of my dad.
Who were these men known only by absence?
Why so often did I feel sad and mad?

They weren't deserters forsaking their family;
They were but mortals with lifespans too brief.
They weren't to be faulted or scorned by my wrath;
They simply were gone; their legacy my grief.

Like the sun in the winter and rain in the desert,
I knew them best when their absence cut deep.
A father shaped emptiness was formed in my soul.
They appeared in my dreams while asleep.

So now I have sons and granddaughters, too.
I give them what I longed for, my touch, my presence.
Grief bathed in grace transforms all my longing.
How else would I know the great power of absence?

P. 138     Thanks, Paul!

Takk for alt,

Al

The marker for Lundborg's wife's parents.