Day 27: When teenagers come home late

 

I'm in my rocking chair watching and waiting for Eddie to get back from bells and for Ulrich to return from work.  It's 8:49. 

Eddie's late. He usually gets home around 8:30ish I'm starting to worry. Every time I send him out on his scooter,  I do so knowing there's a chance he could get hurt or even not come home. My stomach churns a little. If he's not home in ten minutes,  I might go out looking for him. 

I remember my mother panicking when I was a teenager. Back then,  we didn't have cell phones. But one day,  I was riding the bus and and announcer came over the loudspeaker. "If Sara is on this bus,  her mother is looking for her."

Waiting,  just waiting, feels helpless. Mothers don't just sit and wait. If there's something to be done,  then mother's are going to do the thing.  

But sometimes God calls on us to wait and trust even when the result doesn't go the way we hope or expect. It is in that place,  where faith doesn't feel rational at all,  that I call out to God. "Are you there? Are you sure? I'm trying to trust you. "

Jesus's mother followed him all the way to the cross. And I'm almost sure the woman who spoke to angels,  who found herself overcome by the Holy Spirit and who carried the son of God inside her own womb sat in the shadows crying out to God,  "Are you there? Are you sure? I'm trying to trust you...." what else could she do watching her invincible, miracle making boy dying slowly on a tree. Mary had a hard road.   

God was not there.  Jesus cried out. "My God why have you forsaken me. " Mary's heart tore. I would have felt so utterly betrayed by God.  

But the story doesn't end there. The Gospels don't record whether his mother was among the women who went to the tomb. As a mother,  I find it impossible to think she didn't go.  However it went,  I'm almost certain that Jesus gave her that look.  That look the kids give moms that says -- I'm OK.  Actually,  I'm good. Everything is good -- and Mary had peace.  She could see it in his face and her heart held that image for the rest of her days. I'm sure of it. 

And.... Eddie walked in the door. I can sleep tonight. Thank you God for bringing them all home safe at the end of the day.  

Day 26: Longing

The past several days I've been overwhelmed with the feeling of a deep quiet longing. 

It took me a while to name it. Not quite sad.  Not quite anticipation. Not quite pregnant inspiration. Longing. 

The days are lengthening and the world is coming alive. But there is something disquieted deep within me.  

I've been searching for the source. I lingered after church to listen,  to be available for conversation. There was small talk after service but there were pauses that made me wonder -- there's something deeper to say but perhaps no words to say it with. 

I went for a walk with my husband. We talked about the world and life and our kids.  But in all the conversation,  I couldn't name the source. 

Sonja called.  She needed Jesus. I just bought her a new Bible.  It was purple,  her favorite color. I swing by to drop it off. She was stressed and had been drinking a little bit. She climbed into the van and vented. At first,  I was annoyed,  but I let myself just listen. She went on, but as I watched and listen with all the gentleness I could muster,  she softened. Eventually,  she was a little ok. She grabbed her Bible and jumped out of the van. 

Somehow that moment came closest to whatever the Longing I've been feeling. I pondered and still couldn't name it. 

Lent is a season of Longing. As we get closer to the cross, we will hear chants in the streets of Jerusalem.  A people longing for a king. Prayers in a garden.  A longing for a different path.  A groaning on the cross.  

Longing is a deeply human condition. We long in our sorrows for the return of joy. We long in our joy, to stop time and to bottle up the moment. 

I cannot even tell if the longing I carry now is one born of grief or of joy. Perhaps it is both.

But longing is holy. 

Blessed are those who mourn

Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness. 

Blessed are the poor in spirit. 

Blessed are the meek. 

Sacred is the longing. 

Sacred is the seeking to world to be as it should be,  as it one day will be. Sacred is the grief for what is not yet and sacred is the hope for what will one day be. 

God shows up in my longing, even when I don't know what my longing is for exactly. 

Day 25: Jam session

 

I've always loved music. 

When I was 16, we moved into a house that had a piano in the basement. A friend taught me middle C and I was off...

Free classical sheet music was available on the internet. I downloaded my favorite pieces,  moonlight sonata, claire de line,  pathétique. They were tough pieces. I pecked away.  Over years,  I learned to play some of them. But it was hard. There were so many notes. My brain was so focused,  so full.  It was hard. But slowly,  my hands learned. And every once in a while I could play a few bars without thinking so hard and the music was so beautiful that id forget I was playing and I'd lose my place and have to start over. 

My junior year of college,  I moved into the dorms. I had so much free time. I spent hours in the practice rooms. I was overwhelmed that there was a whole building full of pianos that you could just play. I had my folder of songs. Id listen for new pieces that I loved enough to learn to play.  I print out the music at the computer lab and peck away at them on Friday nights.  

I moved to Haiti,  then to Africa and music had to stay behind. I learned a ton of local music. I learned to dance local rhythms, but there weren't any pianos to practice on. 

Eventually,  I moved to Davis and joined a little Lutheran Church. Davis is a university town and the church had an evening service for students with an amazing band. I started singing with the band and eventually led the service as a lay leader -- planning music,  attending rehearsals and jam sessions. Occasionally we had gigs in town. 

These were amazing musicians and i learned entirely new things about music just by hanging out. I learned about chords and guitar music. Short hand ways that people can write out music and then just play with it. It was MAGIC.

I promised myself someday I'd learn how to play that way.   

We moved to Livermore. I got real busy with kids. We lived in a tiny house but I  always kept hope that one day I'd find space for a piano. 

As a baby,  Andrew was sensative to noise and he wouldn't even let me listen to music.  I longed for a time when music would find its way into my house. Eventually,  I introduced him to gentle sounds,  then flutes, then classical music,  then jazz.  Eventually he learned to tolerate music. Q

During the last couple years,  my autoimmune disease has attacked my vocal chords. My range is much smaller than what it once was and sometimes,  when I'm having a flare,  no sound comes out at all. It's a quiet grief. Not having time.  Then not having access to the one instrument that let me praise God in the shower and sing my kids to sleep. Maybe music was just for listening. ... my heart still ached.  I missed making music.  

Last year,  my church was cleaning out the choir room and there was a practice piano that needed a new home. The seas parted and in October my heart swelled looking at my very own piano.  

My boys flocked to it. They started playing video game music.  Movie scores. Sea Shanties. Classical.  There was hardly time for me to play.  But from time to time, I  hop on and pull out my old folder of classical pieces. They were lovely.  My heart was happy. 

Recently,  I began learning how to read guitar music. It looks like the lyrics of a song with random letters sprinkled over them. The letters represent chords that guitars strum while someone sings the melody. On piano,  you can play the melody with one hand and the chords with the other. 

There's so much to look at and think about when playing sheet music. This notation is incredibly simple. Once I figured out how to do it,  I found new freedom. I could play and not use every single brain cell. I could listen,  I could improvise. I could even sing while I played. I never thought in the whole world would I have enough brain cells to control two hands doing two different things and then add my voice. 

I looked up all my favorite songs and just jammed. And then,  I looked up all the hymns and praise songs and last night I sat and played and sang for hours. I tried different rhythms and experimented with adding parts of the chordto the melody to figure out where the harmonies might go. I was lost in the beauty of music and just enjoyed a musical time of prayer. 

There is something that music adds to prayer. Some element that makes it more than just the words. It carries the emotion,  the energy,  the soul of the prayer. 

Today I'm so so grateful that music has found its way back to me.  

Day 24: Trust

Routine surgery.  

I didn't even give it a second thought. 

He actually had the exact surgery when he was four. I still remember his little face smiling back at me as they wheeled his little body away in a wagon.  Now he's 13 and he needs ear tubes and his adeniods out -- again.  

I hung out with him in pre-op and we watched tic toc videos while he got his IV put in. He did great. But then it was time and they wheeled him away. 

That's the moment.  Watching him leave when the vulnerability becomes real. 

Anesthesia is alchemy. 

Modern surgery is a miracle. 

Even small ones.  

It is of the most vulnerable experiences we can have. For a moment,  our bodies are under the complete care of the surgeon and anesthesiologist.  And as I watched them wheel away my baby,  I felt both vulnerability and trust. 

The trust part is what made me think of writing this post.  I trusted so fully because I knew the surgeon.  He had operated on me. But more than that,  I visit him regularly and he scopes my sinuses and trachea. His hands as incredibly skilled and steady. He is deeply knowledgeable in the field. He is kind and thoughtful. He's a great doctor. 

Last week in Sunday school,  I taught the lesson of the Good Shepherd.  The sheep know the voice of the Good Shepherd and they trust him because he leads them to calm water and protects them. 

I knew the doctor. I knew Andrew was in good hands. 

When we know the shepherd we can be vulnerable with our body,  our hearts and our spirits. And even in those moments where we have zero control over what happens,  we are in good hands. 

I went down to the Cafe and had some breakfast. By the time I finished,  he was already waking up. The doctor called and the said surgery was a good idea. 

Day 23: Christian optimism and pessimism

I'm still not feeling great so I allowed myself a tiny bit of Instagram scrolling and came across a reel by Kate Bowler about Lent. It was really good. I forwarded to a girlfriend who does Lent with me every year.  

Basically the message is - Lent isn't a 40 day fix up.  It's starting with dust and sitting with who we are and to give up on the fantasy that we will be able to be "finished" some how.  

I love it because I think there is a huge temptation to think of Lent as a 40 day self improvement plan and to me,  that misses what Lent is. It is creating space to feel our humanity and reach towards God with honesty. 

But the reel did something more. It made me think of this huge contradiction in how Christians seem to approach human suffering. Because i don't want to write an incredibly long post I'm going to use stereotypes and broad brushes here. Theology is complicated and humans are even more complicated. 

But I see the struggle that we all have to have a people of faith -- if God is good,  why is there human suffering? And I think, as Christians we rightfully look to Jesus who fully carried this question. And yet,  we can't look fully as Jesus. Because Jesus doesn't give us a straight satisfying answer.  

On one hand,  there are those among us who look to Jesus's conquering of suffering. Jesus healed people. Jesus raised people. Jesus suffered willingly but then defeated death. God wins in the end. Suffering is temporary and healing is inevitable. 

Others among us see Jesus and say - he wept at Lazarus death.  He was a man of sorrows. God came to suffer with us.  To dwell with us in our suffering. 

Some of us lament. Others unswerving optimism.  Perhaps we all find courage in Christ.  

I think it is hard to hold. But perhaps both views are true. God has both conquered death and suffering and yet somehow still dwells with us in it. 

Holy week is coming. The way of sorrow.  The stations. The garden. The grief. The dawn.  The empty tomb. The joyful women. 

Lent does start with dust and finding a way to be honest in our humanity. It is a path marked with grief and bodies that don't cooperate and tiredness and frustration and an inability to reach God the way we want to.  But it ends with an empty tomb and a sun soaked garden.  

Easter is coming. May we rest in God's grace and God's power. 

Day 22: My Many Colored Days

On Bright Red Days how good it feels to be a horse and kick my heels!

On other days I'm other things. On Bright Blue Days I flap my wings.

Some days, of course, feel sort of Brown. Then I feel slow and low, low down.

Then comes a Yellow Day and Wheeee! I am a busy, buzzy bee.

Gray Day....Everything is gray. I watch. But nothing moves today.

One of my favorite Dr Suess book is the lesser known "My many colored days. " I read it often to my kids to help them have another way to identify emotions. 

Today was supposed to be a yellow day.  Chapel with Miles,  lifting with Eddie,  writing class with Eddie,  work meetings, house projects and gardening with Zander in the afternoon.  

I did some of the things but the rest of the day I was curled up in a hoodie.  Bummed.  Such beautiful weather and my body is not up to doing anything. 

I made the most of it.  I turned on hymns and rocked in the hammock swing. Sunlight on my face.  Grateful for the sandbox that Zander played in, the swing under me,  the blue sky,  the new green,  the soft music and the nice sunlight.  

If I can't get anything done,  I'll at least enjoy the moment of rest.  

As a Midwestern girl,  so much of my identity is wrapped up in work. My family worked for fun. Giant piles of landscaping materials showed up in the yard and all us kids shoveled and hauled them whence they needed to go.  Trees chopped into firewood and nearly stacked on the side of the house.  Work for the family business, a solid part of family vacation -- don't worry,  we also played hard -- but at least one day was spent on opportunistic work since we were in the neighborhood. 

Work feels good for me.  Like exercise. Using my body. Getting stuff done. Helping people.  Making the world a better place.  Even my hobbies are productive - gardening,  painting,  playing music,  learning, hiking,  traveling. 

Sitting still is hard. Especially sitting still and just not doing anything. Maybe I can get some spiritual practice in or reflection or discernment. When my body doesn't work,  my mind is there to work with. 

But today.  Mostly I just dropped the list and let it be. I enjoyed the weather and just let myself rest and heal. And I think,  that was my spiritual practice today. 

Day 21: Big Ideas

Out of the box thinking is one of my birthright.

Sometimes my Dad would wake me up at night to share an idea that was keeping him up.  I loved big ideas. 

Sometimes I  would join him on long road trips for business. He had inventory to deliver.  I had an insatiable appetite for adventure. We would rock out to Chicago and Simon and Garfunkel while passing through endless cornfields of the Midwest all while coming up with new business ideas and random inventions. 

I grew up not even knowing there was a box to think outside of. My default worldview was that life presented problems to be solved. 

When I was in library school, I learned a lot about organizational knowledge and structure. Some organizations are designed to bring about innovation and others are slow adapting,  designed to preserve values and tradition. All organizations change and adapt but over different periods of time. 

Decentralized,  nimble organizations like start ups and small non-profits are structured around innovation.  Government,  education, Healthcare, the church gave very good reason to move slowly,  adopt cautiously and value tradition first. 

This can be a source of frustration for people who want to reform these kinds of slow moving organizations. It's easy to get impatient with beaucracy and out of date practices.  But moving slow gives innovation time to mature, be understood and allow ethical debates to occur. This can,  in the best space, create space for wisdom and a protection of people from harms.  In negative ways,  perpetuates harm.  

I'm currently studying the history of the constitution with Eddie and continuing my study of church history. Both histories are heavy with examples of slow change that led to both wisdom and perpetuated harm.  

I was walking with a friend today and we talked about strategic leadership. Setting a vision and bringing people along. Different types of organizations need different types of leaders. 

It got me thinking how someone like me,  born with new ideas popping like popcorn in my brain can work in realms defined by tradition,  rules and hierarchy.  This is one area that has always caused me to pause at the idea of doing ordained ministry.  I love the beautiful traditions of the church. I think they are important and should be preserved and yet,  I can not help myself but think of 100 different ways to wrap those beautiful traditions in new ministries to reinvent church.  

This is the contradiction with my prior post on being the holy remnant.  Being faithful to our faith and traditions and allowing God to do the work of rebuilding the church.  

And yet, it is who I am, to reinvent things. I don't actually know how to live without doing it. My brain wakes up with 20 ideas how to move in strategic new directions with experiments that would provide insight on how to build and refine a plan,  the resources necessary to get started in a minimal way and what questions need to be answered to understand if the whole premise is viable. Im a start up guy,  through and through,  but morally,  I struggle with the start up world. Only billion dollar ideas cut it there and you have to be willing to throw people under the bus to be successful. 

I loved having a start up.  But I would love more to launch ideas that changed lives more than they made money. And so, right now,  I bring big ideas to Sunday school and parenting and homeschooling. And sometimes it's ridiculous. But God has been using my big ideas in small ways and they've made a difference for kids in my life.   

But I keep wondering... is there a place for wild ideas outside Silicon Valley? How can I be faithful to my faith and faithful to who God made me to be?