Vine and Branches

Wanted to share a thought provoking sermon our youth pastor shared this morning. The verse was "I am the vine, you are the branches" from John 15. He started out by drawing our attention to what we think of when we think vine and branches. Many of us think of modern vineyards - posts with wires for the grape vine to cling to. But in fact, in Jesus time, that's not how it was done. Grape vines were planted next to trees and the vine wrapped around the branches.

As he continued reading the verse -

"apart from me you can bear no fruit"

The trees were not fruit bearing trees. The only fruit bearing branches were those wrapped in the grape vine.

 "He cuts off every branch that does not bear fruit.."

I imagine a grower shaping a tree to optimally support the the vine and making fruit easiest to harvest. I picture God shaping us. Cutting off parts that are inaccessible to God and to others. Allowing us to grow in the ways and places where we are wrapped in the spirit and where that presence of God in our lives produces fruit that feeds other people.

I'm kind of hoping he can eventually shape me into one fine bottle of Pinot Noir. Cheers!

Peter's vision

So, I'm a few weeks behind, but I wanted to share thoughts on the lectionary verse from a few weeks ago: Peter's vision of the sheet coming down from heaven.

Rough summary of the scripture is that Peter was dealing with an inner (and outer) conflict about whether gentiles should be included in the early church. He was walking and thinking when he saw a large sheet come down from heaven filled with every type of animal known. God said, "Peter, go eat." Peter rebuttaled that the animals weren't clean. God assured him that it was ok. They went back and forth until Peter yielded and agreed. Just then, some Gentiles came and asked Peter to join them for dinner. Peter got God's point. He ate with them. He realized that the church was for everyone.

Over the past 5 months, I've been leading a worship service at our church once a month. The service is designed to open and accessible to kids, babies, parents, teenagers. It is an attempt to worship together. A dream I have had in my heart since I gave birth to Eddie. We go to a wonderfully open and accepting church that allows people to act on dreams and visions like this and so, after chatting with some of the staff we decided to give it a go.

The first service was a bit of a train wreck. It was packed as people wanted to check out what we were doing. It was chaotic and disorganized. But it was a place where people could be themselves. I was disheartened to hear that attendance had been so high because parents thought that they were required to come to the service rather than send their kids to Sunday School. Some people didn't even come to church that week because they didn't want to go to this new worship thing. And they had no where else to send their kids during church. The following month, there was clarity in the bulleton. Parents didn't have to come. Based on feedback, I oriented the message towards the teenagers who had sat in the back and more or less been annoyed with my singing "If I were a butterfly" So, I had the youth pastor speak and we did music more oriented towards teens and young adults. Of course, there were a lot less people. And so it continued, numbers dropped. Participation and excitement waned. And yet, the experience got better. The services better organized.

A week and a half ago, I led service again. It was, this time, mostly older kids and teenagers. We told the story of this verse. I didn't have much of a sermon planned. But I was struck by a bit of inspiration when I got up. After the telling of the scripture lesson I played this Stevie Wonder song:



Humanity hasn't changed much over the course of the last thousands of years. Peter wrestled with who to include at the table and in the church. Rosa Parks decided that white people and black people should be able to sit together on the bus. I struggle to create a place where small people and big people can worship together. In big ways and small ways, we cling to opportunities to divide ourselves and distance ourselves from people who are in some way different. We don't want to deal with the discomfort that comes from facing the complexities that come from diversity.

But God, left us that way. The church was not built by Jesus but by Peter and Paul who wrestled with these issues of division and inclusion. By Luther and Wesley, by Marin Luther King and mother Theresa and St Francis. By every believer who has decided to follow the call to bring God's light into the world and live out a life shaped by the gospel. Do we hide in sameness? Connecting with people in similar situations as our selves? Do we eat with gentiles? Different people that we don't understand. The light has been passed to us. What shall we say?

 

Following the call

I decided that I really got a great deal out of posting during lent and want to try to continue posting regularly. So I'm going to try to post weekly thoughts on the lectionary.

Today's verses: 

Acts 9: 1-20: The conversion of Saul

Psalm 30: You have turned my mourning into dancing

Rev 5:11-14: Praising the lamb

John 21:1-19: Risen Christ eating fish with disciples, calling Peter

I hear the Spirit whisper to me in these verses -- "It's going to be ok." 

I have been a bit anxious about life. What am I doing? What is going to happen with our business? How should I be spending my days? Life is unclear and yet, somehow, I am convicted that there is a call to be who I am, where I am right now. I have had moments like Saul. Blinded on the side of the road. Invited to change course. I have had moments like Ananias. Asked to reach out into danger and trust God's plan. Reminded to cast off my own opinions about who someone is and remember that God's plans are bigger than our personalities. I've had moments like Peter. Conversing intimately with God. In fact, my favorite sentence out of all the readings today was this one...

"When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea." 

It reminds me of Forest Gump when he was on his ship and he saw that Captain Dan had come to be his first mate, he jumped off the boat, fully dressed to greet his friend. 

These verses remind me that call isn't just a duty we perform or  the unraveling of some master plan that God has for humanity where we have some bit part that we need to accomplish. God's call is bigger, wider and deeper. God's call is to jump off the boat and swim to him. To be so excited about what he is doing and what he wants to do together that we let go and abandon ourselves to grace.

Maybe that call together will be difficult. Maybe it will involve suffering. But the Psalmist reminds us that God is with us through the difficulties and so we will be upheld by grace.

I completely jumped off the boat when I fell in love with Ulrich and married him. Some days, when the weather is nice and I can't hold in my affection, I jump off the boat and completely waste my day hanging out with my two boys. I jumped off the boat and moved to Haiti with no where to live and no plans because I felt the call. As I get older and responsibility presses around me experience pushes me to be self-reliant. To be practical. To be rational. I am tempted to tell myself that love is for youth. That following the Spirit is too wild for responsible people... 

But, the call remains, to jump off the boat. To be in love with God and what God is doing. 

To trust and lean into the uncertainty.

The Holy Triduum

It is Monday night. I am recovering after an amazing and exhausting holy weekend. Life always gets intense during holy week and despite my best efforts, I've never been able to maintain the calm discipline that carries me through lent. I think it is fitting. Holy week is a disruption. It is jarring, intense, wild and unpredictable. I'll try to retrace my steps a bit...

Good Friday: Far

This year for Good Friday we climbed to the top of Yosemite Falls -- with Eddie and Andrew. It was a  7.6 mile hike up a steep incline taking us half a mile up a steep granite trail. Ulrich carried Andrew on his back the whole way. I watched him bear the weight and thought about how Jesus suffered under the weight of his cross and wondered how steep the road to Golgotha was. The sun shone on us and the dust curled up around our feet. I thought about how Jesus thirsted in the heat of the day. As the sun set, it grew cold. I thought of the dark sky, the ripped curtain, the chilling last words that he spoke as he let his spirit go.

Pressing the body. Struggling with nature forces us to be present. While we climbed that steep, rocky path, my mind wasn't on my to-do list. It wasn't on what we would be doing later during the weekend. It wasn't even on what I might want to eat for dinner. When it was hard, the only thing you can think to do is stare down at your feet and put one in front of the other. "40 more minutes until you reach the top" Oh, my soul groaned. That's an eternity.

I remember that feeling during the birth of each of my boys. How would I make it another minute. I was so focused on making it through that time seemed to stop. In moments like that, when we are so present, so aware of each breath, each second, time slows down and we almost touch eternity. Jesus hung on that cross in moments that touched eternity. His soul groaned. And then.... it was finished.

Holy Saturday: Roots

We gathered in Davis at the church where Ulrich and I met. Where we got married. Where Eddie was baptized. We gathered with old friends and family. With strangers and acquaintances  We gathered around a fire and the sun set. The pascal candle was lit which passed the flame to each of our candles. One to the next. Everyone's candle was lit but Andrew's. In his black Good Friday clothes, he waited for his turn.

We sat in a dark church and by candlelight listened to the stories of our faith. Creation. Abraham. Moses. Prophet Isaiah. Then, we sat in silence. In the darkness, we took Andrew to the water. We remembered God's promise in the water - to clean us, to free us, to re-create us. And Andrew laughed. His happy baby voice filled the silent church and the Spirit drew near to him. He was held by his God-parents and I watched as they brought him to the water. I looked at them and felt thankful that they will be there to guide him back to the water when I find myself on the opposite bank and cannot reach him. As he came up out of the water, his candle was lit. I prayed that the light would always burn in his life.

And as we remembered that we are baptized into the cross, so are we baptized into the resurrection. At that moment the church was filled with light and the sound of ringing. The stone was rolled away and we were the first witnesses to the empty tomb. Andrew dressed in his dazzling white christening suit brought an Easter lily to decorate the alter.

We shared the peace. Deep embraces reuniting me with old friends made me think about heaven and the joy of reuniting with all those who have passed, with our ancestors, with each child of God as one family. With God, breath, spirit, mystery. Joy. I don't understand it but in Easter there is promise and in faith there is hope and in Jesus there is grace and so I open my arms to receive the joy that washes over me.

Easter Sunday: Life

It was supposed to rain on Easter. I woke up and saw bright blue through the blinds and thought, " There was a 100% chance that Jesus was supposed to stay in the grave so I guess its not such a surprise that it is beautiful outside even when there was a 70% chance of rain." The house was silent. Everyone was still sleeping. I crept outside into the sunlight of Easter morning. I drew in a deep breath. The flowers bloomed. The grass green. My soul alive. The promise of Easter.

I got the boys dressed. We were running late but I sang in the car and as we walked in, I joined right in "Jesus Christ is Risen Today" always the first hymn sung on Easter morning. The only open seats were in the front row so we walked straight down the center aisle. The choir got up to sing. Eddie ran up on the alter to dance with them. I jumped up to get him. But, I wanted to dance with him so I took him to the back of the church and we danced.

The children were excused a few moments later for children's church. I joined them. We revisited the stations of the cross by placing a symbol of the passion story - a piece of bread, a coin, a nail, a cross -- into plastic eggs. We left the 12th egg empty.
The tomb was empty. Eddie was super into the story and wanted to learn what was in each of the eggs. I sat on the floor with Andrew and watched the kids. My Easter worship was seeing them all dressed in their Easter suits and dresses. Full of innocence and wonder. The promise of life ahead of them.

After church we gathered at my mother-in-law's house to watch basketball and eat food. It was comfortable -- like a country song. Ordinary wonderful life. We hide eggs in the backyard for Eddie. As he ran around gathering them up and putting them in his basket, I thought about egg hunts. Running around in the garden searching for new life. Face beaming with excitement with each egg that is found. He is risen indeed.

Post-Easter Reflections

Easter was beautiful. Deep and meaningful as it is every year. Full of pain and promise. Doubt and wonder. The letting go of discipline to embrace grace. Then, as always, I find myself on the other side a bit bewildered. Like the disciples in the upper room asking myself -- what now?

I don't know.

So I wait.

In due time, the Holy Spirit will come.

But for now I soak in the promise of the empty tomb.

Day 41: Rejoice

I feel light.  There is a lot going on in life right now. I should feel heavy, but I don't. Easter is coming.

Today is the start of Passover. A feast celebrating freedom. God's promise. The parting of the ocean and the dry land that God makes for us to walk through. I may find myself backed up against the ocean, but God can part it. Today is the day I remember that and remember the heritage of my faith.

My family is coming tomorrow. We are going to Yosemite for Good Friday. Andrew is getting baptized on Saturday. And Easter comes on Sunday.

Today's word is Rejoice and so I do. With all of creation, I rejoice in what God has done, is doing and will do. For, it is good.

Day 40: Blessed

Today I had the amazing opportunity to view the passion from the eyes of a toddler. In place of Sunday school this morning we had a worship service, where all the kids walked the final steps of Jesus into and through Jerusalem. In order to tell the story at in an age appropriate way, we divided the kids into groups.  I had the honor and the challenge of leading the 5 and under group.

How could I tell them this story? How could they connect with it?

We began the service by waving our palm branches for king Jesus. We pet a newborn lamb. We remembered the good shepherd. We took water bottles and sprayed each other's stinky feet. We got clean for dinner. We shared a special meal, like Jesus did with his disciples. Each of the foods had a special meaning. Jesus tells us that he is always with us when we eat the bread and drink the special grape juice. He shared it with his best friends and he shares it with us.

We went to the garden to pray with our friends. Like Jesus did.
But something was wrong. Bad men came and took Jesus away. They beat him up. Then, they made him carry this heavy cross. They hung him on it. It was hot out. He was thirsty. They left him there. We left him there too.

We are blessed by this story at each retelling. We are blessed by a God that doesn't give up by any measure to reach us. We are blessed to live in a place where we can retell the story freely to our children and not fear the consequences for us or for them. We are blessed by the week that is unfolding. A week of passion, of pain and of suffering. A week of promise, light and Resurrection. Blessed by the cross.

Day 39: It's worth the effort

I spent much of the day cleaning the concrete pad behind our house where our garage should be. Since the moment we moved in here, I have been at constant battle to make this space at least semi-presentable and usable. But, it is the only convenient place on our property to "temporarily" store stuff that we need to get rid of, and hence the battle.

Restoration takes monumental effort. It seems like falling apart is the natural way of things. The house gets messy, buildings and cars get old, gardens get full of weeds or overgrown and so, we roll up our sleeves and get to work. After those hours of working on a project - shining the silver, touching up the wall with new paint, polishing our shoes -- I find deep exhilaration admiring the object of my labor. It somehow reaches a potential I knew it had and makes the world just a little brighter.

Relationships too take effort to restore. I remember my teenage years left me and my mother on far sides of a monumental chasm. We were such different people with such different views on the the world. But I loved her. She loved me. And so, we began the work of restoring, rebuilding and renewing the relationship. It took effort on both sides. Forgiveness. Humility. Acceptance. Effort that was not wasted. I can't even begin to describe how incredible it is to be best friends and the share openly and honestly all the ups and downs of life. The joys and hardships of raising my own two boys with the woman who raised me.

Faith too requires the work of restoration. Finding faith is an amazing experience. Connecting with God for the first time. Taking that leap to reach out and find greater purpose in the universe. But, inevitably, like a garden, weeds start growing. Doubt. Pride. Lack of attention. If we work on these things day in and day out, we can keep them under control. But I find, more often, time goes by and the weeds take over everything. Digging out faith becomes a project. Daunting and dirty. But, diving in. Taking the challenge and forcing myself to wrestle with God, with faith, helps me to loosen the weeds and create space for light, life and love.

Day 38: Alone

Andrew loves to sit on the floor of the living room and play with his pile of toys ... for about 30 minutes. Then, he looks up and gets concerned if no one is around. He begins to make little noises indicating that he doesn't want to be alone. If these aren't responded to, they escalate until they are. If for some reason I can't get to him and he's cried for a bit, he'll absolutely panic.  He gets this deep fear that maybe he's been abandoned and it takes a long time nursing to convince him that he hasn't indeed been forgotten.

I think all of humanity is much like this to some extent. We can do things on our own to occupy ourselves, fill out time. But we begin to notice our aloneness and we decide we'd rather have company. If left too long we get upset about it. And in extreme cases, we panic.

Humans were made in God's image. Born to be in relationship and we know this instinctively. Even before we have the ability to communicate or even our own coherent rational thoughts, we have a need to connect with and bond that is as primal as our need for food, water and air.

But, as much problem as we have with being alone, we seem to have being in relationship. We struggle to know how to connect with each other. We have difficulty fulfilling each other's need for love and affection. We hurt each other deeply and leave scars on the walls of each other's hearts. And yet, for all the imperfection in our relationships, we find that they are a vast improvement over loneliness. That we find meaning in together that we can't find in solitary.

Jesus focused much of his teaching around how to live in unity with each other. With stories about mercy and forgiveness. With acts of openness and compassion. With his silence and his scars. As we come upon holy week, we see his greatest teachings unfold. And if we let them penetrate us we can carry his teachings to a world that is starving of loneliness. We can forgive. We can love. We can be loved and we can reach out to be a source of healing to those who journey alongside us.

Day 37: Home

No matter how far away I've lived, I've never missed Christmas with my family. One year it involved a 30-hour trip through 5 countries on 3 continents and nearly not making it, but I've always been able to get home. We have the best time. My first night in town, I usually arrive late (sometime after 10) but it doesn't seem to stop us from sitting and laughing with each other for 3 hours at a minimum until our faces ache and our bodies hurt from tiredness.

At Christmas, we have a tradition of playing risk together. Which, if you've ever played the game you know what a commitment this can be. It seems  that with all this time playing and knowing each other's strengths and weaknesses and general approach to the game, it would get old. But it doesn't. It gets better. Its like my old jeans -- frayed at the bottom, a few holes here and there, a random stain on the left side but who cares. They are the greatest jeans ever and I will wear them as long as I can.

Home is familiar. It is comfortable. It is a place to retreat to and know that you are loved. A place to laugh. A place to cry. To be yourself. It is the unique geography of family. There are traditions and rules -- spoken and unspoken. There is history, stories and relationships. There is mess. Hurt, tempers, brokenness and forgiveness. And it is the thing we all need most in the world. Having a home to return to gives us the strength to go out. To explore. To work. To fight for change in the world. To be who we are called to be knowing that in taking those risks we have somewhere to retreat to if things get too scary.

In faith, we have a home too. The church is that spiritual family complete with rituals, relationships, healing and mess. We gather on Sundays and holidays to share stories and to laugh and cry with each other. To life each other up and hold each other on this journey. It gives us strength to take risks, to reach out and to be light.

My homes -- the one I grew up in, the one I'm building now and all the churches that have been a part of my journey on the way -- provide the foundation that enable me to do what I can to bring light to the world. They are surely the greatest blessing that God has granted me.

Day 36: Beloved

In 2006, when I flew from West Africa to Davis, California on my way to start a new job and new life, I wrote a letter to my future children. I dreamed of who they might be, when I might have them, with whom. Little did I know that only 2 days later would I run into the man who I would later marry and have these two beautiful boys with.

I had never much pictured myself "settled down." I was driven. Passionate about solving big problems in the world. Alleviating poverty and human suffering or something like that. It was my call and I felt ordained in the ministry of global service.

But that year in Davis, God gave me a great gift. A soul mate. And my course was changed.

I began a new journey, or maybe better said, a new leg of the same journey. A continually unfolding journey into the way of love. I knew love before. I knew compassion. I knew sacrifice. But this call, loving these boys was a call to know a deeper love. A relentless, lift cars and jump over high building kind of love that comes from years of inter-dwelling. I've come to understand God better: Why he calls us his children, his beloved. Why the song of solomon is scripture. Why even God, themselves, are portrayed to us as a perfect relation in the trinity. God is love and not just "isn't that nice" love but the move mountains and split universes to uphold us kind of love. My kids don't always know or understand my love for them,  but that doesn't change anything. They won't understand that some of their pains, I have to let them go through. But it doesn't lessen my love. They won't know how much it hurts me to see them suffer. That love is an ache in the heart unknowable to anyone but me. And so it is with God.
 

Day 35: dream

It is starkly silent. Midnight. The house is dark. Everyone has been asleep for hours. I am up with an odd combination of strange sensations in my body still recovering from a run in with a very unpleasant virus and distorted, half-awake ideas about how Ulrich and I can make a halfway decent go at this business. God is present. At this time of day there are few other noses to distract. The darkness obscures my sight. My mind to sleepy to be coherent. It wanders. God speaks. Will I recognize God's voice? Will I remember it in the morning if I do? Is any of this real? Am I dreaming?

I find God often in times like this. Sometimes I recognize it, sometimes not. Sometimes I imagine it, sometimes not. But a seed gets planned in my heart. I wait to see if it will grow in the morning or fade with the passing of the night.  I hear faint echos of the clear message that I am so certain I felt God impress upon me. Or sometimes, it feels strangely dry and empty, then I doubt and wonder if God is there at all.

I say yes. Like Nicodemus, my best conversations with God are cryptic and under cover of the deep night, only understood long afterwards once the story has played out.

Day 34: rise

Kind of ironic that today's word is rise. I spent the whole day in bed and am posting this from my phone while curled up in a mass of blankets. I'm not getting up anytime soon. Yet I keep hoping I'll just feel better and get up and attend to all the chaos that lies waiting for me beyond my bedroom door. But still, I lay here feeling sick.

Lent isn't over yet. There are still days of darkness ahead. It is not yet time for rising or for the hallelujahs that joyfully greet Easter morning. We must go with Jesus on his final journey through Jerusalem. His bittersweet goodbye to his best friends, his tormented prayers in the garden, the dark sky, the ripped curtain. We wait expectantly for promises of what lies ahead, even if our moments are dark and isolating. We too will rise again, into new selves reformed by the hand of God. And this present suffering and darkness will melt away. Even if we can't grasp it. Even if we can't describe it or understand it. Faith is trust. So we hold his hand and walk into the Passion.

Day 33: Rebirth

Gardening in the spring is one of my favorite sources of renewal. The warm sun. The breath of new life in the air. Watching day by day add new shoots appear on plants as they emerge from winter's sleep.

This year, I transplanted my poor hydrangea plant, hoping to find it a better home. The hydrangea was one of the first plants I planted when we bought our house. When Ulrich and I were first dating, I painted him a picture of some hydrangea blossoms. According to Chinese tradition, hydrangeas are a symbol of something a kin to soul mates. you get lost in each other as you do in the multitude of petals that hydrangea blossoms produce. I had wanted one in our garden as a reminder of love and making space to "get lost in each other" from time to time.

Unfortunately my precious hydrangea had a tough time in our Livermore yard. The intense sun, the dry summer and the rocky soil lead to scorched leaves and wilting limbs. I've transplanted it twice, hoping it would find a place where it could thrive. But at the end of last year, there was nothing left by dry, dead stalks. I was nearly ready to give up, but as I dug it up, I noticed one bud that looked like there might be some life. One last transplant, then I'll give up. I moved it to some of the most fertile, well watered, shady soil on our property. Year after year a bunch of Calla lilies flourish eachs spring. So, carefully, I planted the hydrangea in it's new home. And, after a few weeks, buds are starting to open and new life is sprouting from the dry stalks.

As we grow close to Easter, I grow eager for the appearance of new life. It seems that creating space for new life involves a degree of discomfort, loss and suffering. Those hard months of the 3rd trimester and pain of labor lead to the joy on receiving that precious, amazing new baby. To give birth to our company, we had to go out on a limb and give up a comfortable job and steady income at Sandia. To welcome the new pope, the old one first had to resign. To get to Easter, we must first encounter the cross of Good Friday.

Day 32: A big mess

Andrew is sitting on an obnoxiously huge pile of laundry. My house, more often than not, looks like a tornado has just hit, literally. Eddie likes to use chairs to get up on things so they are often in random places. Clothes stay where they come up -- and for kids that includes living rooms, hallways, where ever I can make it happen.

When it comes to the house, I have a stress meter that raises my blood pressure for each thing out of place. I might seem very laid back, but underneath it I am incredibly type A and even stress about things being out of place that are well out of site in drawers or closets. For me, there is a true peace that comes when my environment is organized.

Our surroundings do a lot to define our state of mind. If you don't believe me go to Michigan in late April, when it's snowing, and see how quickly people snap. Then go back again, two days later when the weather decides to suddenly change and it's 65 degrees out. People are hanging out in tank tops, a stranger will buy you a beer. You would think that the entire state had just won the lottery.

Finding God and the deep sense of peace that comes with faith starts with putting yourself into the right environment. Removing things that deaden your spiritual senses and replacing them with reminders of a life filled with love and light. Lent for me is always a time to refill my space and my calendar with God, and funny, God always seems to show up.

Day 31: I almost lost it

I almost, almost lost it today. My morning started with Andrew waking up in a bad mood and crying until Eddie woke up, late and ... poopy. Lame. I was late for workout class and couldn't find my iPod. So I brought my laptop, which didn't have music. So I tried Pandora, but my flash player needed updating... all while I'm apologizing for being late. I rush home to clean my house for an appointment that got canceled last minute. And I decide, I can use the extra time to get some work done (moms, always have to be prepared to enact plan B) So, I call the babysitter to see if I can drop off kids, and she really was hoping to have the day off. Sigh. Ok, plan C. I try to figure out what that is and while changing Andrew's diaper on the bathroom floor, Eddie leans on me and poops himself again. I'm ready to lose it. I realize there's no use in getting upset. I breathe deeply and try to be positive. I load up the kids and head out to pick up Papa Murphy's pizza just a few blocks away, with the plan of dropping in on the guys at work with Friday afternoon happy hour -- pizza and beer. Andrew was falling asleep, so I parked directly in front of the door and run in to quick order the pizza while leaving the kids in the car. The guy behind the counter is taking his time. I tap a little impatiently. Then a woman comes barging in "Are those your kids?" "Um, ya"

"It's against the law to leave your kids in the car like that. I should call the cops on you. What a terrible mother."

THAT'S when I almost lost it. I walked out. Got in my car and sat staring blankly into space --I let myself smile, at least I have a good story for this blog post.

We really aren't that much better than toddlers on the inside. Frustrations can add up over the course of a day like this and all we want to do it stomp around and throw stuff or scream or punch someone in the face. And then, when so close to the edge, someone -- a stranger -- decides to critique us in a vulnerable place. Like being called fat or ugly or incompetent. It was a shot at the jugular. But I didn't lose it. I bubbled up inside and then, it passed.

Ulrich reminded me this morning that tempered glass doesn't shatter. If treated well enough, it becomes bullet-proof. Every year, Lent is a tempering. A process that deepens me, thickens my skin and yet allows me to become more flexible to take on the journey that lies ahead. I think the faith is a tempering. It keeps us from shattering when life hits us with the hard stuff. Keeps us from breaking down on bad days and gives us strength to forgive and carry on.

Day 30: Sometimes you gotta go...

It was a nice day. Ulrich and I needed to blow off some steam so we left work a little early and took the boys to the park for a picnic dinner. No sooner did we get to the park, set up our blanket and start eating did I feel the sudden and immediate urge to go to the bathroom. I ignored it. Sometimes it will go away. Not this time. Eddie was so happy spending time with us. He wanted, of course, for me to run and climb with him on the playground and go down every slide. By the 5th slide, I was agonizing. "Buddy, mommy needs to go home." "Noooooooooooo! I want to go down the slides with mommy!" To Eddie's chagrin, Ulrich stayed at the park with the boys while I jumped in the car and drove home. It was that urgent.

Sometimes the need to go is urgent. We feel a growing need to go that doesn't stop and only gets louder and more consuming the longer we ignore it. It becomes an imperative and it won't be silenced. Sometimes the need is biological - the need to eat or go to the bathroom or have a baby. Sometimes it's emotional - the need to run off stress or to retreat to a safe place in the midst of self-doubt or vulnerability. And sometimes, the call is spiritual. It is the very breath of the spirit sweeping over you, filling you with a passion that is strange and foreign but none the less an unmistakable call to action as real and urgent as needing to go to the bathroom.

I've seen it in people and in myself, this spiritual call to "go" to follow a new path. People called to ministry. People called to serve. People called to fight injustice. Sometimes we go because we choose to. Sometimes we go because we must and can't choose otherwise.

Day 29: Andrew's getting wet

For the past 2,000 years, Christians have held the tradition of baptising new believers on the Saturday night before Easter. If you haven't been to an Easter vigil service, you should do it at least once.

The service starts dark. silent. by candlelight. Scriptures from the old testement are read. We emerge ourselves simply into the story of our faith. No distractions. No music. Just a silent, candlelit church and the telling of a very old story. Then, we rise. The new believers to the faith make their vows and are baptized. Baptized into the darkness of Good Friday. Baptized into the story of faith. And, baptized into the glory of Easter morning. At the moment of baptism, the service changes. The first light of dawn. The first telling of the resurrection. Like the women at the who came to annoint Jesus's body those dark early hours on after Saturday's sabbath, we are the first to find again the empty tomb.

My heart sings with joy. This year, my little Andrew, will greet his first Easter by going down into the water. He will be surrounded by the grace, the healing and the journey that the water brings. And we will be there holding him and lifting him up. Just as the faithful have done for us.

Day 28: Does life come with a mute button?

I don't get too much silence. In any given day there are countless grabs for my attention. A whining baby who wants to be held. A jealous big brother who also wants to be held. Phone calls. Emails. Text messages. Calendar reminders.

When I go into meetings I am able to silence my phone. I simply ignore the demands of the world to pay attention to the person I am meeting with. I wish I were allowed to do that with life. Just press the "silent" button and ignore everything that competes for my attention. It is not the season in life for me to do that. Those demands are real and they are my duty to respond to. However, God deserves focused attentive time and I try to carve out spaces in my week where I can silence my life. Put it on hold and try to listen to God.

But God is slow and quiet. God doesn't fit into the 15 minute structured block of God time. So in that still silence that I fight to create I don't hear God. I don't hear anything. My mind is jumbled. But just because I don't always hear God in that special moment I've created, doesn't mean that I shouldn't do it. The pause in life allows me to reflect. To try on new perspectives. To ask God questions. It creates in me a space and ability to hear God amist the chaos and noise that accompanies most of my day.

Day 27: Life lessons from a 3 year old

I think Eddie's favorite word is happy. He often asks, "Mama, are you happy? I'm soooo happy."

He's entering that awesome, innocent stage that peaks around four years old. He just recently discovered emotions and empathy. It's made parenting so much easier. I don't have to get angry anymore, I can simply say. "Mama will get angry if you do that." He instantly stops what he's doing and says, "Mama, be happy."

Today we had the most amazing weather. I stayed outside with the boys until the very latest hour. Andrew was dropping his bottle off the side of his highchair. Eddie was laughing so hard, he was nearly crying. They played that way until it was completely dark. I sat and watched. I was happy. I was grateful for the kids, the weather, the opportunities I have. Gratitude creates space for happiness.

I was thinking though, how often do I really find myself permeated with joy the way Eddie is. A few times a week? Maybe, at most, once a day? Eddie must spend at least 75% of his waking hours, filled with an intense joy to be alive. Being deeply happy comes naturally to kids. They aren't yet jaded by life. They don't have better things to do or to worry about. They just live in the moment and swallow up the life, the learning and the love around them with big cheezy grins. I think, as adults, we don't allow ourselves to be happy. We are too busy for that. We have to get stuff done and be important and worry about the future and stuff. So, we don't give ourselves permission to be happy.

I am an offender. Getting into the car. Eddie wants to run around and play tag. I hush him up and hurry him along, we have places to be. In the morning, he wants to play cars or cuddle with me on the couch. I'm thinking about the day. I'm worried about being on schedule. Going over my to-do list. I could take a few lessons from Eddie on soaking up the life, the learning and the love around me with a big cheezy grin.

Day 26: Five Guys

Today, like most Sundays I ate Five Guys (I can't take credit for the pic, BTW, google images can, but this is exactly what I ate). Ulrich and I have managed to carve out a sacred space on the Sabbath day to connect with each other and take a deep breath before the week comes rushing at us. Most of the time we eat a Five Guys. Two burgers, all the way, a bag of fries and a drink that we share. We sit at a table close to the fountain drinks and fill up on diet coke while we meander in conversation and review our calendar strategizing for the week.

I am not one of those people who have been blessed with an amazing metabolism. So I am constantly aware of what I'm taking in. So, I plan my day's intake around our afternoon date. After years of struggling with weight, I am ever conscious of what calories I'm taking in. Back when I first turned my eating habits around, I had to carefully log what I ate and manually tally up my total calorie consumption. I would be hungry at the end of the day. Do my math and say, "Sorry body. Have to wait till tomorrow." And with a frown, head to bed.

With time, healthy eating has ingrained itself into me. I have a running mental calculator that quickly estimates the calories I'm taking in and adds it to a sub-conscious daily total. I've also found myself more deeply enjoying healthy foods. I've found that fat, salt and sugar are often use as a mask for lazy cooking. They make things seem to taste good. But, the flavor quickly tires and eating becomes mechanical. Better, the complicated combinations of natural ingredients and spices that gives food real character.

Spiritually, there are parallels. Unhealthy foods for the soul are the things we digest mechanically. Like processed foods they feel and taste amazing at first bite, but a bit into it and we start to feel a little unwell, but we keep grazing. It's addictive. A diet of prayer, meditation, scripture, worship and nature feel a bit like an extreme detox. But, as the habits build, they become the complex flavors that bring deep satisfaction and peace to the soul.

Day 25: Faithful

Eddie threw up all over me today. Motherhood is messy. It is also not a short-term commitment. For the next 18 years, I will pour my heart and soul into raising these boys. And, even after they are grown, I will continue to love them, worry about them, pray for them and go to the end of the earth for them. That's what being a mom is all about.

Faithfulness is about sticking to your commitments even when it is inconvenient or messy. Getting thrown up on or answering the phone at 2am. There are days, I have to admit, when I'm ready to throw in the towel. I'm tired of crying babies or messy house. I'm tired of inconvenient phone calls from friends in need or working for free hoping to get our business off the ground. But I have to take a deep breath and remind myself to put one foot in front of the other.

It can be that way with faith too. Sometimes God feels far away. There was a 2 year period where I prayed everyday pleading for God's presence. Silence. I had to decide if I would stick it out or give up on faith.

I imagine that there are days when God would assume give up on me. When I'm that annoying phone call at 3am or that tantrum before bedtime. When I insist on living life my way, all the while ignoring the grace and path God has laid out. And somewhere, remembering what it's like to be human, he takes a deep breath and patiently shows me the way I should go.

There is a great joy that comes with faithfulness. It takes the fullness of time to realize. As I watch my boys grow. As I look back at the richness of my relationships. As I lean on my faith and realize how strong it can be, I smile deeply. I'm glad God hasn't given up on me.

Day 24: Find

I seem to be over-scheduled these days. There is more to do than a day, a week, or a month allows and I am constantly looking for minutes to squeeze in extra things. I've found ways to multi-task. To do double and triple duty and give each day my best effort.

I love Fridays. They are almost sacred. At 9am, every Friday morning, I lead an exercise class. I am always stressed about it the night before. "I don't have time.... I need to ..." But, Friday morning comes. I wake up. I drive to the class, still thinking about everything I need to do. I get to the church and turn on my music and begin stretching.

At the end of the hour, I'm happy, sweaty and rejuvenated. Not only is my body happy for being taken care of but I find that my soul is fed. I connect with the women in the group. I find the opportunity to hear about their lives and realize that there is more going on than what I experience in my little bubble of reality.

We find what we make space to find.

Day 23: Shark Tank

Yesterday, I sat nervously in my own personal shark tank. In a non-descript office in a business park across the street from google, Ulrich and I did our best to present our business to a group of investors. They fired questions. We took turns giving our best answers. As our meeting time came to a close, we asked -- so, how does an opportunity like this fit into your investment portfolio?

"Well, step into the hall and we'll discuss that."

My stomach turned. 15 minutes passed. Finally, they adjourned. The investors walked past us and out the door. "The woman will give you your answer." They said as they passed. My heart sank. Finally the woman emerged... Our answer is a definite "NOT No." She when on to give us specific feedback and next steps we need to take.

I think over the course of life, we learn to become afraid of the word "No." At 18 months or so, it's a child's favorite word. It's their first opportunity to exert their opinion into the world. To accept or reject something. At around 2 years, they start to learn that mom can reject things too. Mom can reject the possibility of eating candy for dinner or writing on the wall.

As we grow older we begin to fear the word. We are afraid to ask because we are afraid to be rejected. Especially for things that matter like our dreams or dating. We also are afraid of being asked because we don't want to reject. "Please don't ask me to volunteer. I don't know if I'll be able to say no." Don't ask me to tell you what I really think.

But saying no and rejecting things can change us and the world.  Jesus said no. Jesus said no to injustice, to status quo, and to following the rules. Jesus said no to a world defined by legalism and to the idea that any person was beyond the reach of God's grace. We too can choose to say no and reject the darkness, greed, injustice and hatred in the world. If we can find a way to cast aside our fears of rejection, we can help to fill the world with light.

Day 22: Shadows

As I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil for you are with me....

We walk through many shadowy valleys in life. Grief. Addiction. Getting fired. Illness. Nervous breakdowns. Times where it feels that the sun is gone. When its hard to see and there is a harsh chill that doesn't seem to go away.

But, the thing about shadows is there is always light behind them. When we are in the shadow, we are in the dark. But out there, beyond the shadow, the light is waiting. Getting fired leads to a new job. Nervous breakdowns to new perspective. Grief and illness open opportunity for new relationships.

Beyond winter, the newness of spring.
Beyond Good Friday, Easter is waiting.

Day 21: Sleepless

When I was a little girl, there were more than a few nights when I would wake up to my dad softly whispering. "Sara. Wake up. I got an idea." My dad is a dreamer and often came up with new ideas in the middle of the night. My mom sleeps hard, so sometimes when he just couldn't get back to sleep without talking it out, he would come and find me. It is a special thing we shared that I think I'll always carry with me.

The middle of the night is raw. In spanish, it is called the madrugada. That deepest part of the night that leads to dawn. It is the time we come face to face with the things most intimate and life-changing. When lovers share deep secrets, when mothers nurse and bond with new babies, when we grieve our deepest losses, come up with great ideas, question who we are and what we are here for, decide to move across the country, wrestle with God and faith. It is when I labored with each of my boys. In the darkness of night. In the silence of those early morning hours when nothing else comes to distract and we are left curiously alone with our heightened emotions and sensations. Which seem greater often than we can bear. Bigger than our minds or hearts or bodies can handle. Often, we are alone in those moments. Seeking company means we have to face the awkwardness of seriously inconveniencing someone and drag them out of the bliss of sleep to join us in the intensity of night's emotion. Sometimes we have no choice. Often, we just ride it out alone waiting for our heart to settle enough to let us sleep.

Jesus spent a sleepless night, praying in a garden. With all the stress and anxiety that night brings. He was alone. Waking his friends. Pleading them to join him in the intensity of his emotional and spiritual battle. But, they didn't. He faced the torment alone. God came as man and experienced the rawness of a sleepless night. And in our sleepless nights we can always bring our hearts to him.

Day 20: Bless

 Lent 2010 was a tough one. We were living with my in-laws. Eddie was 4 months old. I missed my community in Davis. So what did I give up for Lent? House hunting. We were planning on buying a house in Livermore but it was really competitive because there was a credit for first time home buyers which would expire in April. I spent that Lent walking with Eddie in his stroller. Going nowhere in particular. I didn't have plans. I didn't have friends. I didn't have anything going on. It was a strange season for me.

Monday after Easter I had a date scheduled with my realtor. Show me everything in my price range. I said a prayer and looked at maybe 15 places. We made offers on a few. We got accepted for one. We bought it. The whole rest of the year I dedicated my life to repairing the house and making it livable. We had to re-do the plumbing, the electrical, the subfloor -- pretty much we had to re-build it from the ground up. I learned so much. I worked side-by-side with the contractor. Tearing apart walls, choosing materials.

With each beam, each sheet of drywall, each screw, I said a prayer. That God bless our time in this house. That God fill it with love. That it be a safe haven and source of renewal for all who come live with us.

In back of the main house is a small studio apartment. We had plans to rent it out to keep our expenses low. Nearly three years have passed since I first laid eyes on our house and I am astounded at the blessing that it has been. Not only to us, but to those who have sought haven here. Each year has brought us a different person to live in our back house and each year I've seen that person grow and take new steps in their life. I feel like that little house was exactly what each of them needed. And, God has used each of them to teach me.

In our big house, there has been warmth, love, laughter and refuge. It has fully become a home and I try best I can to keep the door open and welcome others in. I am very grateful for this house. It was the exact perfect place for us.

Day 19: Red Solo Cup

Like all babies, Andrew screams when he wants a bottle. Some days, when it's really hot outside, and I've been running or biking, I become keenly aware of thirst. I search out water on a quest. Like Andrew needing his bottle, it becomes a single focus. More often however, for me, thirst feels like something not quite right. I can't quite name what's off. Eventually, I fill one of our big red plastic cups with luke-warm water from the tap and take a sip. The water isn't that great, but I down it and refill, and down a second glass.

I think spiritual thirst looks like this. Sometimes, we become aware that we have been lacking faith or a spiritual connection and we seek it out like ice water on a hot day. But, more often, I find that something is not quite right in my life and I stumble into something, church, prayer, conversation about faith and I recognize my parched soul lapping up every last drop.

Jesus said, "I am living water. He who drinks of me shall never thirst again." I wonder what exactly he means by that. Maybe that only God satisfies spiritual thirst? That we can't quench our desire for meaning and purpose with philosophy or spiritual musings.. Or maybe he means that at some point in the future, by remaining in relationship with God, we will find permanent fulfillment and peace and no longer have these deep longings? I'm not sure. For now, I keep coming back and filling my cup. And I am sustained.

Day 18: Leave

Andrew was 5 days overdue. The month before he was born, I had many false alarms. I focused on calming my body down so that he wouldn't come too early. I knew that coming too early would impact his health. But, as the due date came and went, my focus shifted. I started to do activities to encourage the labor to come. I knew that coming too late could cause him to grow too large and make it difficult or impossible to birth him naturally.

It seems that there are moments, timed perfectly, when life transitions from one thing to another. Ulrich and I loved our time in Davis. It was for both of us an oasis -- a time of healing, growth and renewal. After we got married, we knew our time there was limited. The timing turned out perfect. We were able to stay there until Eddie was a few months old. It gave me those first few months surrounded by a really tight knit community to help me transition into motherhood and grow confident that I would be fine on my own. Leaving Davis was really hard. I loved it there. It was home for me. But now, going back, I find that it is not the place where I am supposed to be and I am not meant to go back any more than Andrew is meant to return to the womb.

But as I was getting him ready for bed this evening, I was pondering his cute little belly button. A permanent sign of a time when I breathed for him, when I nourished him directly. Leaving isn't only about moving on to new places and circumstances but being permanently changed and marked by the journey thus far. This Easter, Andrew will be baptized. Marked forever by this part of his journey.

God is before, behind and with us on this journey. We are marked as children of God. No matter where we go. How far away. Somewhere deep inside of us is a small mark, left by the divine to let us know we will always be his children and that we are always invited home.

Day 17: Prophet life

I often get bogged down reading the books of the prophets. With the exception of all the visions of social justice and beautiful descriptions of Jesus in Isaiah, my experience with the prophets are books of doom and gloom and are generally not that uplifting. The prophets had a tough job. They had to speak up and speak out against the pop culture of the time. They had to tell leaders that they were wrong and immoral. Can you imagine someone publicly laying into Steve Jobs about a particular flaw in his character? They had a special boldness and conviction that gave them the fortitude and courage to carry tough messages at tough moments in history.

I had my own tough moment this morning. It was 6:30. I was barely awake. I heard Ulrich and Andrew in the living room and Eddie calling out "Mama" in the distance. I knew it was time to roll my tired self out of bed and start another busy day. Luckily, it was Friday. Workout day. My phone rang. My homeless friend on the line. It was a wall of anxious words. I took a deep breath. She gets herself worked up like this from time to time and I usually have to spend a good hour to talk her down. Eddie was clinging to me wanting his morning time. It took me a while to even get her coherent enough to understand what the issue was.

Piecing it together, I realized its the first of the month. Her welfare check came. She's stressed about not having an apartment yet. She's tempted to drink. She wants me to come get the money so she doesn't mess up. I throw on some jeans and get in the car. I meet her in front of the liquor store where she's hanging out with some homeless dude. She hands me the money, except for one twenty dollar bill. As if I wouldn't notice. "Give me that last twenty." I said. We went back and forth. She refused. Finally, I knew I wouldn't win. "Ok. If you go in that store, don't call me this weekend, I don't want to deal with this." I said. She turned her back and walked in.

Deflated I started the drive home. Then, I got indignant. She had dragged me out of bed and away from my kids because she needed help. An binge of drinking would set her back at least a week and she needs to keep it together if she's going to get into an apartment before the end of the month. I turned around the car and stormed into the liquor store. I grabbed the bag of booze off the counter. "This is not ok." I said. She went off. It was a 30 minute tirade and she was nearly ready to fight. I held my ground. It didn't end well but I had stated my word and I had stood my ground. I spoke truth.

It is so hard to confront. Gently, lovingly, firmly, spiritually stand with truth and testify. It is part of our call. To speak up. Even if our words fall on deaf ears.

Day 16: How on earth?

When I saw the word of the day, I thought about how I was already 2 days behind on my posting and the only thought I had was -- how on earth am I going to get that done?

How on earth.... On earth we have a lot of constraints. We have physical constraints - time, space, gravity. We have biological constraints -- strength, energy, mental aptitude. But it seems that we have longings to defy these and reach beyond them. We long to fly, to teleport, to achieve more in a day than is possible, to solve impossible problems. We were created in God's image and so, I think, we have a natural desire to be more like God. To operate outside our earthly constraints.

God became man and took on our earthly existence. He became part of our story and understands our frustrations. Still, he meets us right where we are, in the midst of our limitations and invites us to join him on a spiritual journey where we can be freed from some of our constraints. When walking in step with the Spirit, our earthly constraints are blurred. Those moments when God draws near, we can find ourselves drawn up into the supernatural. Somehow a few loaves and fish feed a crowd of 5,000. The storms of life, the winds and rain, are calmed with a word.

Day 15: I wonder what God hears?

Eddie loves to play with a wooden magnetic train set. He particularly loves to connect all the trains into one big long train and pull it along a single loop. He can, in fact, do this for hours on end if left to his own devices. There's one problem. If he makes the train too long, the magnets aren't strong enough to keep it together. When he's well-rested, not hungry and generally in his best state of mind, this presents a learning opportunity to test the strength of the magnets on different trains. However, as he gets hungry or tired, or both, the frustration associated with the train breaking apart is too much to handle and he squeals. From across the house, I can tell by the frequency of the squeals how far he is from a complete meltdown. And that, triangulated with the time of day can provide me a course of action -- feed snacks, put on movie, put in bath, read books.

Other times, he comes up to me with a 2 minute run on sentence about some imaginary thing he's playing. I'm often tempted to ignore him because on the surface, the words don't make sense. But, when I listen, I can piece together a fairly deep thought. Sentence fragments show that he's remembering an event from a prior day, a conversation we had and if I really listen, I can tell that he's telling me with genuine purpose. He's often with a great number of words trying to tell me -- I love you. I want to connect with you. I want your approval. I want your attention. 

Eddie doesn't have a developed sense of self awareness nor does he have the skills to communicate coherent thoughts. But I, in love, can hear what he wants and needs in his incomprehensible squeals. I can piece together the thought that he can't fully form in his mind yet by hearing the fragments that he is able to articulate. 

This makes me wonder. What does God hear when I pray? My attempts to approach the divine like a toddler run on sentence made up of incoherent fragments. I can't articulate or fully even mentally conjure my relationship with God but I still try. I groan in my frustrations and God hears something deeper. I can't imagine what God so simply understands. The responses to my prayers are so often what I need but not at all what I expect. I wonder what God hears underneath it all... 

Day 14: Lifting spiritual weights

Several years ago my body was a mess. I was over-weight and beginning down a path towards chronic disease. My internal signals were confused. Fatigue and stress felt like hunger. A need for activity felt like exhaustion. There was a negative feedback loop that continued to spiral me away from health. The things that made me feel better actually worsened my condition.

To turn this around, I had to push myself to suffer. I had to start really dieting which felt like starvation. I had to start exercising. My first runs made me throw up. It was a hard uphill climb. But I was determined to take back my health. As my new healthy habits became ingrained in me, I found myself awakening to my physical self. I became aware of my body's needs. I felt alive. I felt like a freshly watered plant reaching towards the sun's warm rays. When I ate junk food, it made me feel bad. When I didn't exercise I felt atrophy.

Lately I've had conversations that made me realize that our spiritual health is similar. Years of poor living. Of ignoring faith or the larger questions lead to a deadening of the soul and a misinterpretation of it's yearnings. Deep cries for purpose or a connection to something deeper mistaken for a need for more stuff or to control things.

An invitation to begin wrestling with faith can be like the first workout after a long time. Opening up to the deeper questions can create anxiety, crisis or disillusion. But, as with our physical health, once we journey down the path a while our faith feeds us and builds in us a deeper awareness of life around us. We find gratitude for the simple things, sacredness in the ordinary and a deep acceptance and trust in that bigger something in the universe that allows us to let go and wonder at the beauty of life.

Day 13: Covered in Faith

Andrew was left to his own devices with an avocado. The result, he was covered in it. We get covered in whatever our hands have been into. Work, kids, hobbies, life. What we fill our time with leaves a mark on us, both inside and out. It determines how we dress, our activity level, our mental engagement, or emotional energy.

I think I like Lent so much because it is the time of year that I intentionally seek to cover myself with God. To seep my life and my heart in mediation and prayer. I reach out and try to put my hands around faith and it squishes like ripe avocado and inevitably makes my life a little messier. I'm not all put together. I forget stuff. I miss deadlines sometime. My house gets disorganized. I take forever to get my Christmas and thank you cards out. I need to cut the grass out front. I feel bad sometimes about how much of a mess, but I can't keep myself from squishing into faith. Leaning into love. Following my heart and my call. Like Andrew, I seem to like it. This messy, God-following business makes like feel more vibrant and colorful.

Day 12: Vision

I've always had poor vision. I can remember my first pair of glasses. They changed my world. From some cloudy impressionist painting of blue blended with green, I suddenly saw trees with branches and individual leaves, blades of grass and a sharpness that took my breath away.

When I was 14, I went on my first mission trip overseas to Ghana where I worked for 2 weeks in an eyeglass clinic. In that time I fitted an 80 something year old man with a pair of thick glasses. For those of you who wear glasses, his prescription was -18. He was basically blind. When I put those glasses on him, he hugged me and started to cry. He could see.

But sight doesn't only come from the eyes. We see with our minds. We dream. We imagine. We experience something that doesn't exist anywhere else but within us. Sometimes that vision is so strong that it pushes us to act. To create a change in the world, so that we can see with our eyes and share with others the thing we imagine. Today, I got to do that.

Ever since I gave birth to Eddie, I've dreamed of an opportunity to worship with my kids. A church service where they could run up and bang on the drum. Where I could be authentic and worshipful and they could be themselves and we could experience God together. I want them to grow up seeing the faith in the world that I experience in my spirit. A joyful, exuberant, abundant faith that meets us where we are and journeys with us. Today, we experimented with a family worship service at my church. It's definitely an experiment trying to create an worship experience that speaks to everyone -- toddlers, kids, teenagers, adults. It's a crazy experiment, but amidst the shakers, crayons, and candles I had moments of authentic communion with God and I saw Eddie fully present and engaged in the service. My heart was glad. Vision.

Day 11: Reaching for light

One of the few pleasures I try to carve out time for is gardening. There is something for me that is absolutely holy and refreshing about working in the dirt and growing plants. It is a way for me to meditate in the sunlight while the kids enjoy the fresh air. I have found that is one time that I can authentically be with them while only being half present. I rake. I weed. I till dirt. I plant with Eddie and the activities are so rhythmic that a whole part of my brain can disengage and I can breath deeply and find Sabbath time.

One of the best part of gardening is that even on the days and weeks where life is too busy to attend to them, the plants grow. Day by day they shoot out new buds, new flowers, new fruit. They grow. They fill an empty space with green. With life.

Plants show the tenacity of life. Though they can't move or defend themselves, they fight to live. They come back after being trampled on. If the place where they are growing doesn't have enough light, they send out shoots searching for the light. Bending and shaping themselves to be in the light.

They offer us an image of living faith. Silent tenacity to search out life. To reach for light and allow themselves to be shaped by it.

Day 10: Walking in step with the spirit

"For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God"

Yesterday was a long, tiring day, which is why I am only posting now. I was at McDonald's letting Eddie run off steam when I had an interesting interaction that has caused me to stop and ponder a minute. When we first came in, the place was empty except for a 2 year old girl and her parents (who were a little on the older side). Eddie ran into the play area and right up to the mom and said "Hi." The mom jumped back a little and I could tell she was getting her feathers raised, quickly judging Eddie to be a hellion. Arms full of Andrew and food, I reluctantly sprang into action and called Eddie to come sit down with me at the table -- a little dismayed that my time to relax was going to be spent on guard.

We sat there and Eddie ate some bites of food, then ran to the playground. He climbed up. The little girl, feeling brave, followed him. "She's never gone that high before." I told her that Eddie used to be afraid of climbing and only recently has started going to the top of the structure. Slowly, her demeanor changed. Her guard came down. She told me how it was always full of rowdy kids which made her nervous.

Then, the place started filling up with the dinner rush. The first to come was a couple of older kids - maybe 7 yr old girl and 10 yr old boy. The boy came up to Eddie and his new little playmate and said "wanna be friends" He repeated over and over. I saw mama's tail feathers ruffle. "He's wierd." she whispered to me. He reminded me of me at that age.... awkward and socially under-developed. I saw brokenness in the room. Brokenness in the fear of the mom at a world she couldn't control. Brokenness in a boy who perhaps knew a type of loneliness

We have such a hard time recognizing and communicating with each other. We are so caught up in our own stories. Our fears, our loneliness, our pride, our tiredness that we don't take the time to really see who's around us and what's going on with them. And even if we do happen to notice each other's words and actions, we can't understand the spirit behind them. I don't know what was really going on under the surface. But in each of them I sensed something deeper going on and had a flickering desire to offer compassion.

God can teach us new ways to see the world, the languages of love and compassion that allow us first to notice and then to be moved by compassion. We can learn to walk in the ways of the spirit and offer light if we just take a moment to be present.

Day 9: The nature of God

LOVE. I could go so many directions with this. Like how I have fallen in madly love with each of my two boys from that first moment they breathed, through those early months nursing them in the middle of the night. Or how love drives out fear. Pushes you to take new steps in your life. How it makes you selfless. Sleeping on the floor of the hospital when your child is sick. But as I pondered a picture to take, I saw love on my messy dining room table.

Despite our crazy hectic life... I decided that Ulrich deserved fancy seafood Italian dinner and a beer. For no reason other than -- why not. Of course, we have kids. Life is a mess. So, I didn't serve it with jazz and candlelight as I would have in years past but it didn't matter. It was still special. We are in the middle of life together.

I am so fortunate to have a great marriage. Ulrich and I are best friends. Two peas in a pod. Working together. Raising kids. Pushing each other to grow. Talking for hours. We never tire of each other. And it seems with every year that goes by I find myself growing into him more. I feel that with each passing day we can represent each other to the outside world. We can cover for each other's weaknesses and highlight each other's strengths. We can make independently decisions that fully incorporate each of our own opinions. Of course, it's not perfect. We are still selfish. We find ourselves in tussles that involve each of our own pride. Each of our own wanting to be first. We hurt each other by not being fully present for the other. We get tired and cranky. We are in a word, human.

God is love. This is more than a tagline. I think it is the essence of God's nature. The being of God, we understand to be the trinity - a relationship. Three separate entities that so perfectly love that they are in fact one. As much as God is eternal and omnipotent so is God love. For me, lent is a season to reflect on what that means. For God came and dwelt among us. Revealing to us their very nature - Love. On a cross. On Easter morning. A way to teach us deeply the nature of God and the way of love. It is a holy mystery that we can grow into. Peeling away layers as we mature in our faith. I doubt anyone truly, fully grasps in whole. But I don't think we are expected to. Rather, we are asked to open ourselves to be transformed by mimicking Christ. Allowing love and light to seep into our being that we too may walk the way of the cross.