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.