Day 36: Spring

I'm sitting at McDonalds just off the highway exit. It's one of the few places open before 6. I discovered that getting up super early and coming to work gives me time to focus and things done. Moms have to employ a level of creativity to scheduling to make life work.

Since daylight savings time, I've dreaded my early mornings. It's dark and cold and I just want to stay in bed. The up side of this is that every morning I get to watch the sun rise over the hills and see the golden light dance on the dew covered grass -- softening the vast landscape. Today is particularly striking. With the spring comes a magnificent greening of the world that reminds me of the resilience of life. The air drips of it and I breath deeply to take it in.

I feel the Spirit pushing me, calling me, guiding me on.

It's easy to get caught up in the surface of things. The list of things to do. The specifics of life's current situation. It's easy to focus on a struggle against the things that irritate, stress or hurt us in the day to day. It's easy to lose perspective and think that that's what life is.

But, there is more.

Sometimes if we breathe deeply and take in the wind of the Spirit, we can see life's circumstances as an invitation to something new or something bigger or deeper. Like the green of spring, new shoots may start to grow from the brown patches of our hearts when the warm wind of the Spirit breathes life.

 

Lent Day 35

It's one of those days that I have a lot on my heart but not a lot to write. I can't congeal my thoughts into something elegant enough to crystalize for this blog. I wish I could. Writing these posts often speaks deeply to my soul....today is a day I could use a good word.

I look out into the world and see so much darkness, pain, sadness. I read my facebook feed and my heart reaches out to people suffering with cancer or addictions. I read about couples longing for children. Children being torn from homes that love them. Loneliness. Isolation. Stress. Anxiety. Life comes with an arsenal of injustices.

And I look up and I see Jesus on a cross.

Sometimes it just doesn't make sense.

"The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words"

Brave

"Say what you wanna say, And let the words fall out. Honestly... I wanna see you be brave"

The tune echos in my mind. What does it mean to be brave?

I've been reflecting a lot on the courage it must have taken Jesus to follow through with God's work. To submit to suffering. To ride the donkey to Jerusalem. To watch his friends abandon him. To be charged by the Sanhedrin. To stand silent in front of Pilot. To carry his own cross.

Is it courageous to speak up? Is it courageous to remain silent?

We have each been given a candle. A small light to shine. The call of who we were made to be. To be brave is to carry that candle out in front of us regardless of the consequence.

I've been thinking about my own candle. Am I brave enough to let it shine?

Do I have the courage to lay down my pride, my pretense, and my self-righteousness to embrace vulnerability and authenticity? Am I brave enough to live in my own skin, to be the person God made me to be? To follow the call on my life?

Jesus was brave enough to trust that God had a plan. We too are called to be brave.

Walking with Jesus

40 Days in the wilderness.

Every Ash Wednesday, Jesus extends his hand and invites me to join him on a journey out into the wild places. We walk. We talk. We get deep. The wilderness opens my eyes again to life. To beauty. To danger. To courage.

After many days of adventuring and struggling, we climb a hill and sit and rest. Jesus turns his head and gazes out. Our time in nature is almost done. Down in the distance, the city bustles. We sit in silence taking in the view.

Then Jesus stands up. He shakes the dust off and turns to me

"Are you coming?"

He is calm. His eyes steady. His face warm with peace and love.

I well up inside. I fight. I struggle. I don't want to go. I don't want to let Jesus down. For all the courage I think I've gained out here, this single moment reveals all my fears and inadequacies.

He starts off. Dust unfurling under his sandals. He's heading to Jerusalem. He's heading to the cross.

I know he goes with love. I know Easter awaits on the other side and so does Pentecost. He's explained it to me many times. When we were way out in nature surrounded by God's creation, enveloped in God's presence, it made so much sense. It was easier to swallow.

But here, now. It's real. A terrifying pill to swallow. Can't there be some other way than this?

What will I do? Will I climb in the boat with the other disciples? Can I find the courage to follow him? His gentle words echo in my head:

"Pick up your cross and follow me. When you lose your life, you will find it"

Jesus, your way is hard. Your love is deep.

Day 25: God

And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.” So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. God called the vault “sky.”

The ocean.

The vastness engulfs me. The rhythm entrances. The salty air breathes new life into my lungs. I got to run next to the ocean today and I found my mind in a place of rest. Swallowed by the immense vastness of God. Stretching beyond me in all directions -- in space and time. Humbly aware of how small I am. One of those poignent Lent encounters: Be still and know that I am God.

There isn't much more to say. Sometimes God is bigger than words. I will rest with that today.

Running on empty

Hitting the wall.

That moment on a long run when suddenly you run out of gas. You tell your legs to keep going, but they disobey. Mile after mile, you've run, then suddenly your body just, stops.

I wish I were running these kinds of distances. I'd love for this post to be about hitting the wall in the true sense.

The past few days sleep has alluded me. Sick baby. Clingy toddler. Night parties in mom's bed have left me lacking energy. I've been faithful to my daily run but I find it incredibly hard to make my body move. It feels like I've hit the wall before I've even started.

Interestingly, the body wants to compensate. It tries feeling hungry. Maybe it can find more energy if it eats more. Nope. Still can't move.

A few months ago, our pastor gave an interesting sermon on the bridemaids with the oil lamps. His take on the story was that it was very uncharacteristic of Jesus to tell a story with the message being -- "Be prepared or face judgement." Even stranger that the "good" bridesmaids didn't share. What is going on here? he questioned us.

An interpretation he gave us was -- if the lamp is our light, our love, our faith that we bring to the world. The oil is our relationship with God.  By fueling our faith, we are able to be a light in the darkness. There will be a moment that comes like a thief in the night when we will need that light to shine. Will our lamp be trimmed and ready?

I'm tired. I've never been so busy in my life. 3 small children constantly demanding my attention. A job that is harder than anything I've ever tried to do before. I've cut out every last bit of inefficiency from my time. Still it doesn't add up.

I savor lent because it forces me to spend time renewing and enriching my faith. It's hard to carve out the space. As I write this my two year old screams at me -- MOM! STOP WORKING!

Lord, put oil in my lamp that it may continue to burn brightly.

Running Together

Interesting juxtaposition.

The last few days I've been running with the whole family in tow. All 5 of us.

We look a little like a circus. Two strollers. We take up the whole sidewalk when we run side-by-side. 

During the weekend, we went to a park with long trails next to water. It was a borderline hot day. We ended up at a sandy lakefront and stripped the boys down to diapers and let them play in the sand and the water. Eddie went in up to his chest. He came running out and started scooping out a long trench at the water's edge. 

By the time we left the boys were filthy. Naked. Covered in sand and muck. Happy as anything. Eddie jumped back on his bike with socks, shoes and his minion underwear and we were off. As I ran behind him, my heart was warmed by the joy of his childhood. I thought about my runs alone.

I was filled with immense gratitude. 

Motherhood is a lot of work. So is marriage. It is hard and there are times when this season of wilderness is more than I can handle. But when I see my boys so full of life, my eyes are opened to how deeply blessed I am. I am right where I am meant to be.

Running alone

The past few days my mind has been scrambled. I've started out some longer runs excited that I would really have space to allow the Spirit to work on me. Prayers interrupted by thoughts of feeling like I need a shower or change the way my hair is put up or what I need to do at work. I come up short. My hopes for gaining insight and clarity or inspiration  have fallen flat. It's the hard part of Lent.

Despite that, running is the one time I get to be alone with my thoughts. No diapers to change, no messes to clean, no meetings. It is freedom. 

I remember the wilderness of last lent, and the year before. The last few days have reminded me that my time in the wilderness is not over. I ache. The loneliness that comes when you are surrounded by people it the hardest kind for me. I crave depth and connection. Motherhood is such an overwhelming amazing journey and I want to share it authentically. Growing a startup is a mountain of continually laying aside self-doubt. I plug away at it. I look ahead, the wilderness continues as far as I can see.  Life is too full. Every moment of my life is claimed by children or work or house. I don't have the bandwidth for community even if magically one showed up. I'd make an awful friend.

Last night, during my run, I stopped at the cross-walk and a group of women who were running together stopped next to me. That chattered about pace and checked their phones to compare stats. It made me smile inside. And for some reason it made me run harder. While I love my runs alone, seeing them made me think -- one day, maybe I'll be back in a space where I'll be running in a group. I just have to keep on going till I get there.

Run pray love

I decided to make running my Lenten discipline this year. With the hopes that it would allow me true space to meditate and listen to the spirit.

My runs have been shorter than I wanted, mostly occurring after 10pm and usually not much further than around the block. But, they have happened everyday. Everyday I think to myself Good couldn't possibly teach me anything in this short time, but I have been surprised to find something at least a little meaty to chew on each time. Here are a few of them:

Go faster! Many times I start my run with the mindset of just getting it over. Why do we push things to go faster? Why do I need to rush? As I run, I find myself embracing the journey, reminding myself that you cannot rush the things that matter. Love. Faith. Hope. God is outside of time.

Carrying weight. Running with a weight is a burden. One day I ran to the store with my purse to pick up some medicine for the kids. It wasn't bad for the first block. Then it got obnoxious around my neck, digging into my skin. "Classic. Faith is a journey. What weights are keeping me from running freely? Why am I carrying them" Pondering this, I thought how, like my purse, I usually have a good reason for all the hindrances I lug around. I think of the days I look ridiculous going to the beach with the boys -- strollers, blankets, snacks, clothes, sandtoys. In the spiritual / emotional realm these weights might look like to-do lists, life goals, diets, self-help books. What if I just went to the beach without all the crap? What if I just came to God as I am?

Running into the wind. Another day, it was really windy. The cold wind chilled my bones and felt impossible to run into. Like swimming upstream. I thought about the difference of carrying a weight vs running into the wind. "Well. We can put down weights, but we can't do anything about the wind." I turned course and ran between buildings. I found paths that sheltered me from the wind when I could. Then I turned home and ran with the wind. We can't change the wind, but we can change our response. When life gets difficult, friends and family can serve as a block to soften the harshness of the storms in life. What if I lean into hardship rather than fight against it?

There is more there. It was late. I was super tired. I started jogging slowly. I found that there was more there. I ran a little faster. I found a continual surge pushing me to go faster and faster. Running every day is starting to work on my body. Persistence and discipline creates a reserve. I find faith to be that way. When I discipline myself to really open myself to God, I find that there is more there. I have a bigger tank to approach life with grace, love, and patience. 

Afraid to run in the dark. Dogs, shadowy figures. ... a woman running alone at night. A few times I've gotten a little nervous. I've thought about what would happen to my kids if something happened to me. Should I be running in the dark? Life is not safe. We use judgement. Faith calls us to make risks. What risks does faith call me to take? What ways am I called to protect? What is the balance?

Shoes. So this is pretty funny, but some days I've just run out the door barefeet or in my socks. I've noticed the difference of running with and without shoes. Running barefoot I have a new connection to the ground. But running with shoes I feel more confident to run faster that I won't step on something or get hurt. Made me start thinking about things we put on to build our confidence or not get hurt. What is my relationship with vulnerability?

I've been wanting to write blogs on each of these runs and the mediations  but so far life has been uncooperative.... it's lent.  Hoping I can find time. It's been a tremendous amount of insight in bite sizes. Feeling like lent has really started to creep into my bones. I'm  always excited at first.  Around this time, I start getting ready to push the fast forward button. Isn't there another way? Do I always have to wrestle brokenness, pain, fear and uncertainty?  I get a little nervous. What if Easter doesn't come? What if life just ends with darkness?

Faith. A trust in the unseen. In  the dark days of lent the promise of Easter can feel far away. I dare to trust.

Hurt feelings

As adults, it's not something we admit to very often, getting our feelings hurt.

Usually, we get angry, dismissive, proud or apathetic. Growing up, we have enough painful experiences that we find  some other way to handle feelings of hurt or betrayal.  We bury our vulnerability.

I had an experience this past week that allowed me to meditate on how I react to hurt feelings. My knee-jerk response was with pride and anger. Then...

I ran.
I prayed.
I reflected.
I stewed.
I strategized.
I let it go.
It came back.
I visualized.
I prayed.
I ran.
I meditated.

I admitted that really the whole thing had just hurt my feelings.

I thought about having hurt feelings as a child.

I imagined Jesus on a cross. His best friends abandoned him.

Hurt feelings come with being human and being open to love. Love makes us vulnerable. Forgiveness is love's answer to vulnerability.

I forgave.

I choose love.

That inevitable Lenten moment when you find yourself broken

Tuesday afternoon.

A friend of mine has picked up some hours helping me with housework. Her car was already parked out front when I pulled in to the driveway. There was a baby pool in the front yard. Odd. I peer in and see it full of shattered glass. I look a bit more carefully and see a fuzzy purple rug....oh, man, my shower door shattered.

I walked in. "What happened?"

"Your shower door just shattered. I was closing it and it just fell off and shattered into a million little pieces."

That one, last thing that takes life from manageable to overwhelming.

I'm diligently working to stay on top of things. I get up early. I've been pouring my soul into the work at the office, pouring my heart into raising the boys and using every ounce of mid-western work ethic to stay on top of all the responsibilities that clamor for my attention every day.

I sank into bed last night completely defeated. I just can't do it.

Ulrich walked in. "Going for your Lenten run?"

My response was anger. I got mad. I refused. "No, dammit, I'm not going." 

He stood there looking at me. I dug in my heels. My heart screamed out at God. I don't have the energy. I can't do it. Why are you adding something to my list?

Eventually I yielded and grudgingly got up and ran out the door. There weren't any amazing insights. No sudden change of heart. Nothing. Just a run around the block in the dark when I was exhausted. This moment always comes. Self-reliance feels good. It is easy to pursue spiritual growth when I have my shit together.

This brokenness stuff always sucks. But God is present and usually after I'm all done throwing my self-righteous tantrum a soft, still whisper calls me to let go and find new life.

Thanks, God, I needed that

On the way to church, Eddie asked me -- Can we dance at church today?

"Maybe, if they play music for dancing."

We arrived and Andrew had a melt down. "This is only going to get worse." I thought to myself.

We found our pew and settled in.

"Today we are going to do a little something different during the opening hymn." The pastor started. "You may see something that could be contrued as dancing. Don't worry, we're still Lutherans. You're still in the right place. But if the spirit moves you, Feel free to join in."

The music started slow but I told the boys they could dance. So we got up in were doing a ring-a-round-the-rosie circle in the back of the church. We were joined by a couple of girls who were sitting near us. Then, some other girls from the front joined in and we ran out of room in the back so we moved to the front and danced around the alter.

I remembered back to church as a kid. Some of my favorite moments were when people started dancing and we would make long chains and weave in and out and around, It was like dancing at a wedding. All of us holding hand made me feel like we were all connected as some larger family. When I looked at Eddie's and Andrew's faces, I could see that same sense of belonging and my heart was happy.

Thanks God, I needed that.

Running Meditation: Breath

 It is almost cliche to meditate on breath.  But as I started this evening's prayer run, that what what my mind was drawn to reflect on.

At first my breath was light. Normal. My lungs had not yet realized that I was running. Then, quickly, I began to breath deeply. Breathing harder and harder to I compensate for those light breaths early on. 

As the run continues I notice my breath slowly equalizes into a steady rhythm setting the pace for my whole body. I step up my speed to see what happens to my breath. It remains steady. I find a new rhythm. 

The farther I run, the slower, easier breathing gets.

I remember when I first started running. I had asthma. After about a block my whole body would convulse and I would cough until I threw up. I didn't think I would ever be a runner, but I had promised Ulrich that I would try to run the Turkey Trot with him and I wanted to push myself to run a full 5k without stopping.

Something magic happened. As I trained. Slowly running longer and longer distances, my breath found control. Soon, I was only having my coughing fits at the very end of the run. And after several months, they disappeared all together. I ran further and further -- reaching up to 10 miles. I had never breathed so well in my life. Running gave me breath I never knew I could have.

While I ran through the dark streets of my neighborhood, I pondered my breath. The rhythm. And the irony of how it seems to smooth itself out the further down the road we get. 

I started to think about faith. 

It seems to be a good analogy. Starting out it seems nice and easy. We don't realize what we've gotten ourselves into. Then suddenly, it gets super hard. The temptation to quit it strong. How much simpler it would be to go back to a life without faith? It would have been easier in those early days to give up on running. I had a bonafide excuse. Plus, it made me miserable for weeks on end. 

Faith for me has always been super inconvenient. Showing up when I'm settling in for a good round of "me" time. Like running, so much of the time, faith has been miserable -- uncertainty, personal sacrifice, flat out foolishness. 

Yet, like running, if you go far and long enough it seems to find a rhythm. A freeing, amazing, life-giving rhythm. If you find yourself in the midst of difficulty in faith, I urge you to press on. "For my yoke is easy and my burden light"  

Charlie Brown, This is what lent is all about

The end of a hard week.My brain is defragmented from being pulled in too many directions. I'm a little rough around the edges because Andrew got us up every night. He has an ear infection, the medicine he was prescribed didn't take care of it. Naturally, I've ended up with a bit of a cold. So, when I get to the end of the rigamaroll around bed time, I am ready **really** ready to curl up and just drift peacefully to sleep.

Ulrich walks in. Did you post your lent post yet? No. Did you go for your lenten run? ....no.... silence.... You said, even if it's a quick run around the block.

Yep. I did say that.

I got out of bed and ran out the front door -- in my pajamas, bare feet -- and started a jog around the block.

It was black. Quiet. I heard only the slap of my bare feet against the sidewalk and the slight wheeze in my breath. Joy melted over me. It was a moment of communion that I would have missed had I stayed snuggled up in bed. It was the exact reason why I thought a daily prayer run would make for a good lenten devotion.

Even if it is only for 10 minutes...I am quieting my soul and listening.... God always shows up.

Ash Wednesday service for little people

I have been feeling a little defeated lately that our church situation isn't quite what I had hoped for. When Eddie was a baby, I envisioned a loving community where everyone knew him, a service that was accessible with music and activities that would draw him in. To be fair, when he was born, that's what he had. Maybe 15 people from the church were crowded into our tiny apartment for bible study just after he was born and they helped give him his first bath. 

The church we go to now is a nice church. There are other little kids that run around. There is fun music from time to time and the people there do know the kids. It's just not the home I had hoped for. And now that Eddie is older, he squirrels around in his seat. I play police man like every other mother. I long to provide a more meaningful connection to faith. I was planning to take the kids to ash Wednesday service, but Andrew was tired and I knew it would be a disaster.

So, we had our own service. I asked the kids to draw pictures. Make them extra nice.

I explained that in life, all things get broken, even people. And we put the pictures in a bowl and set them on fire. Andrew was very concerned. A little sad. It very much had an Ash Wednesday tone as we watched the fire slowly consume the paper. But then the fire alarm went off and that lightened things a little. 

I added oil and mixed the ash. I told them. That an amazing thing is that even though things get broken, they can be made new. And even when people get broken, God can make them new.

Using the ash, they made cards to send to their grandparents and godparents.They both learned how to make the sign of the cross. Then, I went on instagram and showed them pictures of people with the ashes on their head and told them that all around the world people are remembering that things get broken, that they are broken and that God can make them better.

Then I put ashes on each of the boys heads. Eddie put ashed on my head. And of course, we had to take a #selfie and post it on instagram.

Ash Wednesday: Performance Review Time

Our business has grown substantially this year. We've raised money from investors and hired a staff. There are 9 of us now. My role has increasing moved towards management - creating clarity, setting a vision and helping to professionally develop each of our employees.

Most of our employees are young and this is their first real job out of college. They are eager, incredibly hard-working and have a deep desire to learn and grow. I think they have been one of my deepest blessings this year. Ulrich and I have decided to this use the opportunity to really mentor our young staff.  So we've implemented fairly regular performance reviews.

In my past, performance reviews have been a bit scary. Usually, its the time when the boss comes and tells you everything you've done wrong, peppered with obligatory "strength statements." They have come from a detached, distant authoritative figure head who comes to pass judgement. And all I can do is hope, just hope, that I've been good enough.

These performance reviews have a very different tone. We get out of the office and go to Country Waffles.  We talk over breakfast and explore where are opportunities to grow, stretch and develop more fully.  Maybe it's because I'm sitting on the otherside of the table, but I feel the conversations to be more relational, intimate. Rather than a passing of judgement, its an invitation or challenge to grow.

My relationship with God has seemed to grow into a mentor-style relationship with cycles of intimate conversations of where and how to grow and distance where I am left to carry out the work I was given with a bit of independence. The church calendar seems to strongly facilitate this cycle. Starting in Advent, I can feel the breath of God drawing near. Inviting me to listen. Life events start to create a pattern that open a dialog and by lent, I am open and malleable, ready to listen.

God has drawn near and over the next 40 days I will pour out my hurts, inadequacies, dream and desires. In return, I will be invited to let go of control over new areas of my life. To trust. To die to myself. And Easter will come.  I will be made new.