Family and Friends of Jolane Gervasi.
PRAYERS – Jon Cook; Karen Engels; Millie Mutka; Myria Strong; Kathy Mayo; Barb Zima’s friends Mick, Steven and Marilyn Hummel, Ryan Lauritzen; Nancy Ehlinger, Gregory Bowens; Laurie Nelson; Amber Ross’s daughter Linda; Karen Stanton’s friends Don & Penny Waite and sister Pam Schweitzer; Bev Epping’s daughter Kimberly Epping Cardenas and son Michael Epping; Sandy Bishop’s friend Kelly Newman and brother Larry; Randy & Diane Niemczyk’s daughter Julia VanAvery, Randy’s mom Beverly, niece Sarah Joda, Denise Runde and Denise Hazel; Valeria Hesselberg; Chris Markussen; Anne Verona’s sister/brother-in-law Pat & Woody Woodworth and friends Dennis Peterson, Natalie Madine, Eli Peters and Randy Ballard; Strong’s friend Erin Molle; Mark Lickteig’s daughter Missy; Debbie Cyrtmus’ mother, Rose Wicker and sister, Corrie Trittin; the Ebert’s friend Donna; Patricia Rasmussen’s sister Christine; Joyce Leander’s son Kevin Church; Ashley Clark’s friends Keith & Becky Hernandez and Kristie Dehart; the Waggoner’s sister-in-law Cheryl Busse, and friends Karla Zyhowski, Chris Sturgeon; Karen Engels niece Lisa and friend Bob; Ann Carlson’s people Don, Enid, Ben, Christian and Darren; peace for all nations and comfort for those in distress.
PRAYER LIST PROCEDURE – Submit your prayer requests to the office in writing, by phone, by email or in person. If requesting prayers for someone other than yourself or an immediate family member, please obtain permission – unless the circumstances are public in nature.
GUESTS – if you are visiting us today, please sign our book at the entrance to the sanctuary.
FELLOWSHIP HOUR – Sign up for Fellowship Hour in the Fellowship Hall! The new sign up sheet is out.
BIRTHDAY SUNDAY – Today we celebrate July birthdays – Jeff Currie, Roger Tesch, Evelynn Clark, Shayne Wilfer, Karen Stanton, Karen Young, Dawn Nordine, Sue Waggoner, Brian Clark and Karen Maahs. Celebrating anniversaries this month are: Chris & Jackie Markussen; Dave & Marlys Tipple; Dan & Judy Laatsch and Brian & Ashley Clark.
QUILTERS UNTIE! – I mean unite to tie. Tie one on with the quilting group as they assemble quilts. Meet every first and third Wed of the month 9:30 to 11:30 am.
SEPTEMBER MOVIE NIGHT – Sep 30. We will be showing HAMILTON! Don’t worry – a copy of the lyrics will be on hand. And we will have the movie close-captioned.
BLOOD PRESSURE CHECKS – due to a busy summer ahead, blood pressure check dates will be a moving target. If the signs are out when you arrive, then we will be having a BP check.
NEW CHURCH DIRECTORY – the updated church directory is out. The Eppings and Waskows are still listed as I don’t want to acknowledge their moving. ☹ Next update will be in three months. Please advise if your information has changed, or if you are a friend of the church and would like to be added.
BE THE CHANGE … and boy were you ever! We raised $563.74 for Fortune Lake!
CHRISTMAS IN JULY ENDOWMENT FUND DRIVE
Celebrate Christmas in July while supporting our Endowment Fund!
Throughout the month of July, a special red, white, and blue Christmas tree will be displayed in the Narthex, beautifully adorned with handmade ornaments created by members of our church family.
We invite you to choose a special ornament and make a donation to the Endowment Fund. Your gift will help grow this important ministry, ensuring ongoing support for a variety of community organizations, outreach programs, and local resources that make a difference in the lives of others.
The tree will be available every Sunday in July, giving everyone an opportunity to participate. Whether you select an ornament that catches your eye or one made by a friend or family member, each donation helps extend our congregation’s mission beyond our church walls.
Stop by the Narthex, pick out a treasured ornament, and support the Endowment Fund today! Together, we can make a lasting impact in our community.
FUN FACT – Smokey Bear is an American campaign and advertising icon of the U.S. Forest Service in the Wildfire Prevention Campaign, which is the longest-running public service announcement campaign in United States history.
The first campaign featuring Smokey began in 1944; it used the slogan “Smokey Says – Care Will Prevent 9 out of 10 Forest Fires”. (Smokey’s name has always intentionally been spelled differently from the adjective “smoky”.)
In 1947, the slogan was changed to “Remember… Only YOU Can Prevent Forest Fires.” This version of the slogan was used continually in Smokey Bear campaigns until April 2001, when the message was officially updated to “Only You Can Prevent Wildfires.” This change was made in response to a massive outbreak of wildfires occurring in natural areas other than forests (such as grasslands), and to clarify that Smokey was promoting the prevention of unplanned outdoor fires, not prescribed burns.
According to the Ad Council, in 2018, 80% of outdoor recreationists correctly identified Smokey Bear’s image, and 8 in 10 recognized the campaign’s public service announcements. Smokey Bear’s name and image are protected by the Smokey Bear Act of 1952.
The living symbol of Smokey Bear was a five-pound, three-month-old American black bear cub who was found in the spring of 1950 after the Capitan Gap fire, a wildfire that burned in the Capitan Mountains of New Mexico. Smokey had climbed a tree to escape the blaze, yet his paws and hind legs had been burned.
At first, he was called Hotfoot Teddy, but he was later renamed Smokey, after the character created a few years prior. Ranger Ray Bell of the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish heard about the cub and took him to Santa Fe. Bell, his wife Ruth, and their children, Don and Judy, cared for the little bear with the help of local veterinarian Dr. Edwin J. Smith. The story was covered by the national news services and Smokey became a celebrity. Many people wrote and called asking about the cub’s recovery. The state game warden wrote to the chief of the US Forest Service, offering to present the cub to the agency as long as the cub would be dedicated to a conservation and wildfire prevention publicity program. Soon after, Smokey was flown in a Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser airplane to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. A special room was prepared for him at the Saint Louis Zoo for an overnight fuel stop during the trip, and when he arrived at the National Zoo on June 27, 1950, several hundred spectators were there to welcome him.
Smokey Bear lived at the National Zoo for 26 years. During that time, he received millions of visitors and so many letters addressed to him (more than 13,000 a week) that in 1964, the United States Postal Service gave him his own ZIP Code (20252), which is still in use. He developed a love for peanut butter sandwiches in addition to his daily diet of bluefish and trout.
In 1962, Smokey was paired with a female bear, “Goldie Bear,” with the hope that perhaps Smokey’s descendants would take over the Smokey Bear title. In 1971, the zoo added “Little Smokey,” another orphaned bear cub from the Lincoln Forest, to their cage, announcing that the pair had “adopted” this cub.
On May 2, 1975, Smokey Bear officially retired from his role as living icon, and his adopted son, Little Smokey, was given the title of “Smokey Bear II” in an official ceremony. Little Smokey died August 11, 1990.
Upon the death of the original bear on November 9, 1976, his remains were returned by the government to Capitan, New Mexico, and buried at Smokey Bear Historical Park, operated by the New Mexico State Forestry Division. The facility is now a wildfire and Smokey interpretive center. The bear is interred in the adjacent garden.
The Washington Post ran a semi-humorous obituary for Smokey, labeled “Bear,” calling him a transplanted New Mexico native who had resided for many years in Washington, D.C., with many years of government service. It also mentioned his family, including his wife, Goldie Bear, and “adopted son,” Little Smokey. The obituary noted that Smokey and Goldie were not blood relatives, despite the fact that they shared the same “last name” of “Bear.” The Wall Street Journal included an obituary for Smokey Bear on the front page of the paper on November 11, 1976. The New York Times published one as well; in fact, so many newspapers published articles and obituaries that the National Zoo archives include four complete scrapbooks devoted to them (Series 12, boxes 66–67).
NOTES FROM ANN: Pastor Grant wanted me to remind everyone that if the air quality is terrible on Sunday, to please consider watching the service online. He would like everyone to remain as healthy as possible. And he won’t be offended if you aren’t here. (But it is Birthday Sunday – so there will be cake. It’s a tough decision)
As you enter the church from the Fellowship Hall side of things – there are a couple of new things happening. First – Emilie Braunel came up with the great idea of having a large calendar in place. We are trying to get the darn thing to stick to one of the windows for easier viewing. So far it has been calender “2” – Ann “0” in getting it to stay put.
Then – I’ve temporarily loaned the church one of my latest art acquisitions. It is a print by Matt Moberg, an artist from Minneapolis, MN. There is also a literary piece that goes with it. The piece lifts my heart and I thought it might do the same for others. I hope you enjoy it. (Yes, I know at first glance, it looks like Bernie Sanders, but I assure you – it is not. First of all – there aren’t any mittens …). The literary piece may be difficult to read due to the font. I’ll share the text below.
The other day we noticed the funky speaker installed near the ceiling in the Fellowship Hall. After further research, determined it to be a Soundsphere speaker. We now have more technical information regarding it – but really would like to figure out how to use it now. It would be a great option for movie night. Is there anyone with knowledge from when the Fellowship Hall was the sanctuary – as to how to make it work? I may try reaching out to Pastor Margaret. Dawn said she doesn’t know. Anyone else?
Finally – I am in the market for a new car. My minivan its quickly nearing its end. I would like to get something a bit smaller, better fuel economy, and something will AWD. I know our crowd is heavy into Subaru. We also have our CR-V folks etc. I would love to hear about the best and worst of your AWD vehicles.
Pictures – we have pictures of Smokey the Bear and a picture our neighbor took yesterday morning. It’s a little after 12 on Thursday. I’m in the office, windows closed, the HVAC system is working – and still – my eyes are burning. Oof.
I have a deep thought that I’ve been holding on to for several weeks. I’ll wait until next week to share because there has already been a lot in the ‘ann’ouncement section.
Be joyful!
Matt Moberg:
I think every human being
eventually has a moment
where they are standing outside in sweatpants
that have lost the will to be pants,
holding a trash bag, a divorce, a parking ticket,
or some other receipt from the universe
that says, “surprise, this too is part of it.”
And then the sky bruises purple.
And the air touches your face
like it knows your whole story.
And suddenly you realize:
all the real is actually unreal.
The dirt.
The breath.
The weird little bones in your hands.
The fact that we are here,
on a floating rock with pollen counts,
paying bills,
missing dead people,
loving living people
who say “leaving now”
while still fully naked and looking for socks.
And still,
the moon clocks in.
No applause.
No benefits.
No note from management saying,
“Great work being ancient and luminous again.”
Just the moon,
working nights
like a single mother with no applause,
packing silver lunches
for every dark thing
that still has to rise.
Tell me that isn’t holy.
Tell me there is a better word
than sacred
for the way light keeps returning
with no guarantee
we will actually stop and take note.
I know people who believe in therapy,
probiotics,
tarot,
twelve-step meetings,
manifestation journals,
and waiting exactly eleven minutes
before texting back
so they do not appear emotionally available,
even though their whole nervous system
is standing in the driveway holding flowers.
And underneath all of it,
every ritual,
every doctrine,
every smoothie with chia seeds,
the prayer is the same:
Please let me be loved.
Please let me be forgiven.
Please let this strange little life
mean something
before my lower back
submits its formal resignation.
What is going on?
For real tho—What is this place?
This unbearable tenderness
of being alive long enough
to watch steam lift from coffee in winter
like a soul practicing leaving.
To see your friend laugh so hard
they slap the table
as if joy is a mosquito
they are trying to kill.
To hear a child say “pisghetti”
and, for one shining second,
realize language
has finally been improved.
I know I already noted this in the first piece,
but the older I get,
the less use I have for certainty.
Certainty has never made me pull over
because the sunset looked like God
dropped a jar of peach jam
across the whole midwestern sky
and decided to be lazy
and not clean up.
Certainty has never made me gasp
at rain on hot pavement.
Certainty has never found me
in the cereal aisle,
holding Captain Crunch,
suddenly remembering
that everyone I have ever loved
was made from stardust,
hunger,
and a series of decisions
we probably should have slept on.
No.
It has always been awe.
Awe was the first church.
Before steeples.
Before committees.
Before men got involved
and started making rules about skirts.
Awe was there
with its wild hair
and muddy feet,
saying:
Look.
Look again.
Look until looking
becomes love.
Awe, and soup.
Awe, and someone rubbing your back
when you are sick.
Awe, and old couples at Target
arguing gently about avocados,
as if marriage is not one vow
but ten thousand errands
performed beside the person
who knows exactly
how you like the cart pushed.
Maybe gratitude
was never meant to sound elegant.
Maybe gratitude sounds like:
“Damn.
That woodpecker is trying
to beat that tree from itself.”
Maybe gratitude sounds like:
“Thank you, body,
for continuing to drag me through this world
despite the many slim jims
I have done to you
at gas stations.”
Maybe gratitude sounds like:
“Thank you to the dogs
who lose their entire minds
when we come home
as if we have returned from war
and not Walgreens.”
For me, that might be my gospel.
That joy that does not wait for us
to be impressive but only needs us
to come through the door.
Because the truth is,
this life is devastating.
And ridiculous.
One minute you are 22 and invincible,
driving too fast,
eating gas station nachos
with the confidence of a Greek god.
The next minute you are googling,
“Can sneezing cause a hamstring injury?”
and the answer is,
apparently,
“Welcome to the second half of your life.”
But even now—
even tired,
even grieving,
even emotionally held together
by iced coffee, playlists,
and one very specific wolves hoodie—
we keep finding reasons
to stay soft.
We plant tomatoes
even though grief is real.
We bake bread
even though the news is on fire.
We send photos of the sky
to people we love
with captions like,
“LOOK,”
as if beauty is an emergency
and we are all volunteer firefighters.
We keep saying,
“You have to see this,”
because wonder
is the oldest form
of resurrection.
So here’s to the believers
and the atheists
and the agnostics
and the people whose entire theology
is just trying not to cry
in the DMV line.
Here’s to the people clinging to faith.
Here’s to the people clinging to Xanax
and oat milk
and the one group chat
where nobody pretends to be okay.
Here’s to the tender-hearted weirdos.
The accidental mystics.
The ones who can contemplate mortality
for six straight hours
and then become emotionally attached
to a perfect peach.
The ones who know
despair has a mouth,
but so does laughter.
May we never stop being drop-kicked by beauty
in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.
May we never become so polished
that we forget how to stand
in the Starbucks line of existence
with our dumb, gorgeous hearts open,
feeling the enormity of it all
rattle around in our bones
like thunder
looking for somewhere to laugh.
And may we remember:
whatever else this is,
whatever mess,
whatever miracle,
whatever cosmic group project
no one was prepped for—
all’ve it is astonishing.
that we are here.
that we have loved enough to be ruined.
that the moon keeps showing up.
that bread exists.
So pass it on.
Tear off a piece
with your bare hands.
Take it in as you take it down.
And then go outside and look at that moon.
MM
“Thank You”
36×36
Oil on Canvas