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| Margaret on the occasion of her ordination July 15, 2012. I love this picture, it's all Margaret. "It's not for someone to take this away," she wrote about female genital mutilation, in a very personal essay printed in The Lutheran magazine in 2005. Margaret's advice basically consists of two things: don't mess with me and don't let no one mess with you. As mentioned in this blog post for Kibira Films International, she was a pastor long before her ordination. |
I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes at my friend Margaret’s apartment. Curtains closed, the place was dark and quiet.
A slab of freshly butchered goat meat waited in the refrigerator, splayed across an entire shelf.
Margaret worried it would go bad, as it had been sitting there for a few days. It needed to be cut up for the freezer, but there was a crisis at hand. Margaret’s teenage son had been put into a medically induced coma the night before.
We had lived together in student housing at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minn., a few years prior to this emergency. My family moved on; Margaret’s was still there.
When I heard about Margaret’s son, my kids and I pretty much jumped in the car and drove four hours due north. Margaret had been a key source of support for us (in the year of our liver failure, thyroid cancer, and open heart surgery). Margaret was like a liver-whisperer, knowing what to do and say when not even the Mayo Clinic doctors did.
I couldn't think of anything else I’d rather do at that moment but wash her dishes and consider the fate of the goat meat in the fridge. >>full post here
A slab of freshly butchered goat meat waited in the refrigerator, splayed across an entire shelf.
Margaret worried it would go bad, as it had been sitting there for a few days. It needed to be cut up for the freezer, but there was a crisis at hand. Margaret’s teenage son had been put into a medically induced coma the night before.
We had lived together in student housing at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minn., a few years prior to this emergency. My family moved on; Margaret’s was still there.
When I heard about Margaret’s son, my kids and I pretty much jumped in the car and drove four hours due north. Margaret had been a key source of support for us (in the year of our liver failure, thyroid cancer, and open heart surgery). Margaret was like a liver-whisperer, knowing what to do and say when not even the Mayo Clinic doctors did.
I couldn't think of anything else I’d rather do at that moment but wash her dishes and consider the fate of the goat meat in the fridge. >>full post here
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