Suzanne Schaffer

We take communion and attend church. We do our duty. We walk the straight and narrow. We set ourselves apart. We quote John 3:16.  It is the mostimportantverseintheBible after all.  But we never look at John 3:17 "For God did not send His son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him." (NIV) Jesus didn't condemn people. He was kind to them. He met them where they were and ministered to them. Without being rude. Without name-calling. Without looking down at them. Jesus doesn't call us by our sin. He calls us by name. Why do we think it's okay to call people by their sin? Why do we label them and lump them into groups? See them. Look into their eyes. What do you see? Anger Hate Hurt What happened to make them this way? Put a little love in your heart. When you call names or label someone you are lowering yourself to the level of the enemy. He is the accuser. He is the name caller. He is rude. They have a nam

We met our son for an early birthday celebration. He chose a Korean restaurant for lunch and as I ate I made sure not to get any of the spicy red sauce on my white shirt. I left the restaurant a little too proud of myself. We wandered in and out of a few shops before stopping at a coffee shop where I ordered a medium ginger peach tea. I let my hot cup sit on the bar by the window to cool down a bit while we caught up with our son. I got excited during our conversation and used my Italian hands to emphasize my point, knocking over my drink that I'd not even sipped from. It. Spilled. Everywhere. Can I tell you that there was way more in that cup as it came out than was actually in the cup? It was on my hair, my face, my white shirt (whimper) and my jeans. I was covered, front and back and side. It spilled onto and in my purse and on the newly upholstered stool (as in, the man redoing the stools was still carrying in the new cushions....), all over the counter and onto the floor

I've been pondering memories lately, filling in a journal that asks questions about my earliest remembrances. I think my earliest memories involve riding in a car driven by my mom. She and I are not a lot alike. I can stay home for days at a time and she needs to get out and go somewhere each day, even if it's just to get a newspaper or cup of coffee. It's no wonder I remember riding in the back seat, even tucked into a car seat before they were mandatory. For years a memory has floated around the periphery of my mind and I wasn't sure if it was something that had happened or if it was a dream from decades ago. I recently asked my mom about it and she laughed and said that yes, it had happened. We were driving the back country roads in Rhode Island in the very early 1970's and somehow, maybe she was trying to turn around, got stuck on a rock. The car didn't budge. My recollection of this is vague, but I do remember pieces of the story. Mom tells me that it i