Lent day 10: one step closer to you

While cleaning the house, I was listening to a long playlist of random songs from different seasons in my life. Randomly,  the song "one step closer to you" by Michael franti came on. 

https://youtu.be/dEYgG7qOhXQ

It's a love song, but it has always felt more like a faith song for me: 

Till I let go of a broken heart

I let go to an open heart

I let go of my broken dreams

I let go to the mystery

...

And take one step closer to you

I just take one step closer to you

And even when I've fallen down

My heart says follow through

I take one step closer to you

Faith for me is doing this... every day. 

Just leaning and taking one step toward God. Toward the call that whispers my name.  Toward the mystery that I can't fully grasp but trust.

Just one small step closer.  Over the course of a lifetime this small steps add up to a long journey. And so today,  too, I let go to an open heart and take one step closer.  

Day 9: Lent check point - how am I doing?

It's been about a week and I've been reflecting on how I've been doing on Lenten practices.  More of and less of in many ways feels harder than none of. When I give up something completely,  I put it out of my mind.  It is a forbidden fruit and I stubbornly ignore it. 

But... it becomes a focus.  One year,  I have up all drinks besides water.  And so...  every time I filled my cup,  I thought of Lent.  

But this year,  it's lots of things. None of them given up,  but all of them "less." Shopping,  fast food, plastic, special drinks,  sweets..  etc, etc. This year,  I'm trying to just consume less.

Going to a party when you're on a diet and just "eating a little" is tough.  Sometimes it's easier to not eat anything at all. After all, what's a little? A little and a little more and a tad bit more after that is not a little anymore. It's not as easy for me to moderate in the face of abundance.  

So... this is something to work on.  And,  I think making conscious choices through out the day has had a way of both increasing my gratitude for the small pleasures of life and thoughtful around what and who I'm trying to be. I have to be honest and ask myself.  Did I really do less? Am I cutting back from normal?

Living with intention. 

It's always so interesting to see where God leads me during this season.  I always have some sort of plan about what type of journey I'm embarking on.  But,  come Ash Wednesday, God shows up, gets in the driver's seat and hurtles off into some wilderness that I didn't even see on the map.  We're not very far in,  but I can sense that this year is no exception. 

I look out the window and see the familiar things whizzing by and frontier large and looming on the horizon. I've not been in this wilderness before.  We're going somewhere new. A new corner of my soul to poke and prod through a new set of Lenten disciplines. New ways to see God and new ways to learn grace. 

So... buckling up and letting go of expectations so that I can enjoy the ride. 

Day 8: Life as liturgy

 Miles woke up with an intense fixation. Before anything else this morning,  he must make honey bee cookies. As I began to pull out the ingredients,  I realized it was this time of year that we made honey bee cookies for the first time.... oh... of course,  Purim. 

Even though I grew up first Catholic, then Lutheran, none of the churches I went to ask a child really emphasized the church calendar. There was an attitude that following liturgy made worship an endless mindless repetition of words that made them lose their meaning and that it was more authentic to look and find your own words to  pray. 

It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned the colors of the church years, the sections of liturgy in various types of church services and masses or the holidays of the Jewish calendar. And at first,  it felt a little distant and overly ritualistic. But season after season came and went and I found my life beginning to intertwine with the liturgy of the religious calendars.  As much as labor day and back to school seasons impact my life's orientation so too does epiphany and Lent and advent. 

When faith is blazing with passion and spirit,  my kyrie elesion is soulful and deep, like the blues or jazz.  And when faith feels far away and my heart full of doub, it is a yearning, a bringing me back to center, and a practice that I commit to regardless of the weather in my soul. 

And so my appreciation of liturgy grows.  Etched into my soul. Automatic like breathe. 

"Peace be with you.  And also with you. "

But as I stirred these spring time honey bee cookies,  thinking about Ester and Purim and Lent and what I might write about this,  I realized that life can be a form of liturgy.  A prayer. A call and a response. The celebration of the seasons in their order. Gardening in the spring and pondering the work of the creator as new life unfolds from silent seeds. Harvesting in the autumn,  thankful for the abundance.  Swimming in the summer, finding moments of rest beside still waters that renew the soul.  Lighting candles in the early dark nights of winter and contemplating how light splits the darkness and shines to every corner of the room.  

God is there in the turn of the seasons,  in the dance of life, in unsuspecting moments, written on our hearts. 

A so today.  Honey bee cookies.  Remembering the courage of Ester and reminding myself to be brave as she was.  

Day 7: Math Lab

 I was cleaning my room and overheard Andrew and Philip in the shower:

Andrew: What's 1/4 times 4?

Philip: 1 whole.

Andrew: 5 Stars

They carried on like this for like 20 minutes and Andrew burst out into my room wrapped in a towel. "Mom, I think I've invented Math Lab for Philip and I'm going to start handwriting lab tomorrow so he can learn cursive."

It's amazing what happens when electronics go away. 

There's something so special that begins to occur as the boys slowly forget about their "games" and find new ways to fill the void. They are only allowed to play video games on the weekends (usually) or on road trips but they think about their games a lot. They plan what they are going to do next in each game they play. They talk to each other about progress and what might happen with different combinations of strategies. The imagine worlds to build in Minecraft. 

Every morning, Andrew wakes up promptly at 6am and drags his blanket to the couch where he finds his Dad drinking his morning tea. They launch into a ritual conversation where Andrew spews all his knowledge about all his games and Dad listens, knowingly, asking key questions and providing provocative what if statements to keep Andrew's juices flowing. I am almost certain it is Andrew's favorite time of day. For all I know, it might be Ulrich's too.

The first week of Lent, nothing changed. There was still much banter and make believe about video games. What they'll do when Lent is over and all the exciting things to do in each game once Easter comes. But slowly, slowly, there is a space growing in their minds as video games fade.

It's a mini renaissance

. They pick up all sorts of hobbies (or half thought through projects). They read more books. They start to come alive with creativity. Today, Eddie decided he was going to write a book series about clouds on a journey through the sky and Andrew started "Math Lab" with Philip. We caught a queen ant and started an ant farm and the house has been alive with new ideas, projects and creativity.

As I put the kids to bed and tip-toed over the disaster that is my front living room, I began to think that this is exactly what Lent is about in so many ways. We find so many things to fill the space. We get caught up in our "games" and not only do we play them but we think about them, we talk about them, we research them and we leave so precious little space to allow our spirits to breathe in new inspiration and breathe out co-creation with our creative God. 

Giving up something for Lent creates a void. It takes time for it to be felt be eventually, at least in my practice, the void creates in me the same sort of buzzing that giving up video games does for my kids. It puts me in touch with things that are life-giving. Things of deeper purpose and allows me to wrestle with God on big questions of who I am and where I'm going.

Today, I think I saw Lent from God's point of view --- 

Day 6: my monastery is my minivan

 A good friend gave me a book entitled "My monastery is my minivan. " to be perfectly honest,  I haven't opened it yet.  It sits on my nightstand daily reminding me of two things.  One,  I am joyfully looking forward to a season of life where I can read more and two,  there is something very holy about the rituals of daily life. 

It is easy to simply do all the things - laundry, dishes, school work, sweeping,  cooking, making beds, washing hands and faces, changing diapers and etc again and again and feel like it is a futile repetition of chores that endlessly trap me in some sort of domestic prison. Especially now, when like rapunzel, I have little contact with the outside world. 

But, if I shift my narrative and view my daily routine as a cycle of service,  a simple monastic discipline of faith, I can find purpose and call in this season that is holy and noble. 

Raising the next generation is tedious work. Motherhood is tedious.  But it is holy and noble. Wearing grace and peace and meditation in the daily chores teaches unspoken lessons to my children.  I'm not perfect at it,  but rededicating myself daily to the call of motherhood opens my heart to that rhythm of grace. Making our home a sacred space for love, acceptance, grace, peace and sanctuary. 

I recently posted a plastic playground on Facebook for free.  The boys had outgrown it and it was time for it to bless another family. Within minutes, I had a long line of mothers reaching out, hopeful to at it to their spaces for their Littles.  They would disassemble, lug, clean, prepare a space and finally set up the new playground in their sacred spaces. Nurturing their Littles. 

I was reminded of the monasteries all over. The rituals of morning cereal and snuggles, the selfless act of holding a toddler while peeing, the 800th time crawling under the table to clean up cheerios. In this, we live out our call to be the face of Christ to the smallest and meekest. 

I think about other seasons... where my call is at my profession. Living out God's purpose through meetings where I show up with a stake in making the world better, supporting colleagues, prayerful in my commute.

Our monasteries are waiting for us in the mundane rituals of our every day. They can serve as prisons of mindless motions or rich tapestries of faith living out our calls in the unequisit ordinary of life.

Day 5: Unapologetic Joy

 I'm often cautious talking about faith. Taking about the journey, God being present in the hard parts - doubt, grief, uncertainty.  This is a reflection of how many faith conversations I have with people at these points in life. 

I have seen the damage done by preachers who imply that with enough faith, God will fix things.  Cure the sick, erase the addiction,  pray the unpaid bills.  ... sometimes God does do that.  But mostly,  God heals us via the route of the cross.  A death to self and to this world that doesn't "fix" the problems with face but draws us deeper in relationship, into wholeness that comes with a peace that passes understanding and a grace that floods our utter brokenness.  That place is often where I experience an indescribable, holy God. 

I've been thinking and praying about how tired everyone is. A year of Lent. A year of giving up so many of our small joys. A year of so much grief for so many. Loss of a loved one, loss of a job, loss of sense of purpose, loss of friends, loss of personal space, loss of mental health.  There is a collective sense of loss.  My heart has been heavy for a world that is hurting. 

We need some moments of unapologetic joy. 

I remember living in Haiti when Brazil won the world cup.  People flooded the streets. They danced. They wrapped flags around themselves.  It was the first time that I really, deeply appreciated the unifying power of sports. 

Many days I sit in a cluttered house, with kids running amuck and I pick up a crying baby and he locks eyes with me and smiles.  I make a noise,  he giggles. His joy is contagious.  He is in wonder at this amazing place we call home and it is joyful to share those wonders with him. The ceiling fan, a warm bath,  the taste of applesauce, a cool breeze.  It is joyful and God is there. 

Faith has taught me not only to find God in suffering but to rewrite the script of my life to focus on love, joy and peace.  True I had to quit my job to stay home and homeschool my kids during a pandemic.  True that I've worried about my health and what I would do if I caught covid given my higher risk.  True I had complications at the end of pregnancy and gave birth to a premature baby while the world around me was literally on fire.  And while it definitely hasn't been as hard as what so many others have faced this year, it hasn't been exactly a picnic.

But it feels so much lighter. Leaning into the rhythms of grace and surrendering to a new path, my faith has pushed me to a narrative of love, hope and peace.  New opportunities to know my kids, to experience their wonder at the world, to open my life to a new call, to hold this new baby tight and laugh every time he does.

God doesn't always fix everything. 

Sometimes faith is a road laden with grief and uncertainty. God is present in that. 

But faith is also a road of unapologetic joy. Belly laughs, awe struck moments of wonder, holiness in the ordinary and grace in the rewriting of our narratives.

Day 4: God shows up via a random text

 The pastor had a pretty great sermon this morning about God meeting us in the joys of life, the sorrows and on the edge of the wilderness.... and all the places in between.

I carried the message with me as I went about cleaning the house after church. I often have a sense of meeting up with God this time of year, but where... how?

I thought of all the beautiful things...

warm days, 

newly blossoming flowers, 

sunsets over mountains, 

my kids innocent play, 

Zander's giggle.

I wanted to write a nice flowery post about God being in those things. I'm sure God is there. But that is not where I found God most this week.

God came in the form of questions and struggle.

My own questions about parenting in a way that mimics the Gospel.

A friend who called to talk through an incident that had happened to her and how she felt like responding.

Another friend who texted about same-sex marriages and questions of faith.

I found God so clearly present in these struggles with ourselves, our faith, our world. Struggles to make the Gospel real and relevant today as it was when Jesus walked the earth. Nicodemous moments, where we honestly ask -- seriously, how can you be born again or born from above -- what does that even mean?

I think those difficult conversations are a place where God has shown up. Challenging me beyond my neat square beliefs and reminding me, no matter how big I try to make my box, God will not be contained to it.

I will be praying for you all, that God shows up in this Lenten journey for each of you. Maybe it will be a beautiful moment of breathing in the creator of this amazing natural world... or maybe it will be an uncomfortable conversation that makes you grow and think differently. I'll add my two cents that you'd prefer the first, and so would I. But those uncomfortable conversations are holy, sacred and important. 

Day 3: What's less and what's more?

The ambiguity of this Lent has thrown me off a little.

Usually, I start to struggle ever so slightly about what I've given up. But, I hold the line. I gave up X, so I'm not doing X.

Last night I had a raging migraine. Should I drink some caffeine today to help prevent another headache? Or should I suffer through and suck it up to Lent?

Miles and Philip don't eat much protein beyond plain hamburger patties from McDonalds. They haven't had much the past few days, should we go so I can make sure they get at least a little protein this week? Or should I make bigger efforts at home to get them to each new sources of protein and call that part of my lenten discipline?

Are there opportunities to be less wasteful, to be more in touch with my spiritual self than I've already thought about?

I decided yes to caffeine and McDonalds but it was less caffeine and pushing new forms of protein at home is an ongoing process that I need to be patient with. So, I didn't drop them, but I did less. I also looked for ways to more -- I pulled out the cloth diapers and spent good quality time with each of the boys today.

Throughout the day, I also thought deeply about how I might revamp my parenting style to be more reflective of God's manner towards me. Part of this Lent is trying to let go of what culture teaches and embrace a Gospel-infused life. So how does the Good News inform my parenting? How does society teach us to parent and what should I do less of and more of in this sphere? 

As much as I've grown as a mother, I know there is still yet more work to do. I got a lot of cheap tricks that are really effective but there is a deeper patience, freedom, grace and nudging that I still need to learn. I've grown a ton in the 11 years I've been blessed to know my kids. Pulled from different schools of thought, incorporated a bunch of different techniques from various therapies. But, what about the Gospel? 

How does God, Jesus's father, come through as a parent?

I think the biggest contrast I can condemn myself with is that I still hold my power over my children. I am bigger. I am in charge. Because I said....and if you don't agree or listen or do what I tell you, you will lose and if you listen and do what I want, then you will win.  Of course, there is more to my parenting than this but I do not yet have the ability to set my power aside and still parent the way I see God the father reflected in the Gospels. And so today, my meditation was on this -- how do I do that? How do I become the parent that sets aside infinite power and still find ways to sculpt and shape these young lives?

Day 2: the slow shaping work of time

I was standing at the stove, stirring mac and cheese for dinner and thinking about the day.  Ulrich had to work late and I had been on my own with kids since 7am. The baby didn't sleep and so I was tired.  Ok, exhausted.  Kids were watching documentaries on YouTube and I was making a game plan for bedtime. 

I realized in that moment how much I had grown over the last year.  I remembered the first lock down almost a year ago.  Alone in the house with all the kids. Tired from pregnancy. Wondering how long I'd be able to manage all these kids on my own. 

At that point, I was completely overwhelmed.  My patience with the kids and myself was significantly less. I had a hard time not snapping at them.  

 I realised a night like this would have been much more miserable a year ago. It would have been harder not because I was more tired or because the kids were worse . It would have been worse, because I would have made it worse. I would have snapped over something stupid and yelled at them and we all would have gone to bed in a giant pile of yelling and frustration.

The year has worn on me like a river over stones, slowly grinding out, shaping and smoothing me. Now, nights like this are not as hard. I expect them. I prepare myself to dive into grace. Over time,  God has given me a deeper well of resilience.

--

Lately,  the kids have been having a hard time with electronics.  Usually, increased behavior problems surrounding electronics time means that we need to take a break and reset.  

It's a painful process.  I take the devices away for a month. The first week is nothing but grumpy boys,  random tantrums and difficult behavior.  But slowly, they let go and find other interests.  Electronics become less important and life becomes more balanced.  It seems to be something I need to do about once a year,  but it is hard to pull the trigger on.  

I could tell the time was coming for a reset. 

So in January,  I casually mentioned that maybe Lent would be a good time to give up electronics.  I was surprised that there wasn't a ton of push back. I brought it up again at the beginning of February.  To my surprise, they were into it.  They were in the middle of a "read-a- thon" when the prize was a day off of school to have video games and a pizza party. They voted to end the read-a- thon on fat Tuesday. We had an awesome party with homemade pizza, Cinnamon rolls and video games. 

The next day,  I was fully prepared for that regretful hangover. Everyone deciding it was actually a bad idea to give up electronics.  I had carefully excluded pokemon go from the definition of "electronics" so we could still do our normal walk. I got everyone's shoes,  turned on pokemon and started out down the street.  A few blocks into the walk, Andrew handed me the phone.  

"Mom,  this feels like electronics.  I think we should include it in our Lent. "

I was floored. 

During the rest of the walk, I pondered what led them to willingly give up more. 

The years of observing Lent disciplines have carved into the fiber our family.  They've watched us year after year. And now,  as they grow up it has become natural for them to have a season of letting go.  

---

When I look in the mirror or try on an old pair of jeans,  I wish I could just draw a line around the fat I want to trim off And then magically make it disappear.  But weight loss is a long game.  The accumulation of many days of reducing calories. It never happens quickly. Every time I've lost weight it's taken at least a month to get anywhere and usually 6 months or more until my old clothes started fitting again. Honestly,  weight gain is the same way. 

Most major changes both good and bad are the slow accumulation life over days, weeks, months and years. 

Even Zander who seems to be growing at that unbelievable pace that babies do is mostly the same from one day to the next.  But flailing arms of the newborn become eventually steady. They begin to bat at things,  then grasp, then hold.... eventually they can feed themselves and scribble and by sometime around 4 or 5 write their name. Cries become coos. Coos become babble and babble become words.  And even though it feels like it happens overnight. It is literally the journey of 1,000 sleepless nights. 

We live in a world of montages and time lapse videos.  All those cooking videos where people snap their fingers and boom garlic is peeled and diced. Recipes take 20 seconds on Instagram. We have to be intentional to invest in long term growth and changes.  And while we believe in a God that can move mountains,  he rarely does.  Instead, he holds our hand to journey together through them.  And in the journey,  we become.  

Day 1: What should I give up for Lent this year?

 I usually start thinking about what I'm going to give up for Lent at New Years. 

I set up New Year's Resolutions knowing Lent will provide a booster shot. I spend those early days and weeks of the new year pondering...

Who does God want me to be this year?

 Where am I called to change? to grow? to let go? to become?

And in that process, I find something that I'm holding onto that I don't feel ready to give up permanently but am challenged to let go of during Lent -- 

To-Do lists,

caffeine, 

yelling  

Each has given me a unique journey of faith and grace as I journey through the gospel during this holy season.

This year, I had so many ideas -- intermittant fasting, no spending, no plastic,  no processed foods -- there was something in common amongst them all. 

Something about being content with less. Stepping back from being a consumer and connecting with creation.  Being content with where I am, who I am, what I am and offering something back rather than taking more to meet my "needs". Something about being ok when I'm not fully satisfied. 

A good dinner without desert.  

A groggy morning without caffeine.

A stressed out carful of kids without running to mcdonalds.

Less plastic. Less sugar. Less consumption. Less waste. Just less.

And leaning into more of what God might shape me into --

More patient

More present. 

More creative.

More grace.

The more I thought of this, the more I liked the idea of a Lent where I don't "give something up" but rather do "less of" and do "more of." I rarely give myself this kind of wiggle room.  Usually I  do something unambiguous. "I'm giving up X for Lent" It is clear. It is a discipline. With every temptation, I am reminded of my humanity,  my faith,  my brokenness and most of all, Gods ever present grace. 

There is definitely a time to struggle with a hard line --  It unearths a type of struggle between the flesh and the spiritual and makes it tangible for a defined period of time, heightening our need for God, for grace.

But this year, in this season, a gentler and also more extreme journey of reshaping feels more appropriate. It will not be about did I "break" Lent by messing up one time -- but more -- in sum, am I walking in the direction I feel called to walk? Can I follow God in this reshaping without the bumper lanes of a clear "discipline"? Can I do less and more and live in the spirit of Lent without a hard rule on how to do so? Can I be more gospel and less "law"? Am I being shaped in a way that reflects my faith into this world? Am I holding up a light?

For a year now, I've been wrapped in the cocoon of quarantine. Locked away with my little tribe. Mothering them. Working on myself.  Growing in the richness of faith.  Taking this lengthy time of isolation to do some of the deeper work that is difficult to do with busyness of a full social schedule. Honestly,  it's been a year of Lent. So many things given up.... school, library, pools, playgrounds,  friends,  restaurants, church gatherings.  And in the quiet, God has been silently whispering, growing me in new ways that I can't fully grasp.  And soon, we will be creeping out of our caves back into a world of "together" 

But I  know,  God isn't quite done with me. We got one more good cycle of reshaping to do before the world "gets back to normal." And so, this Lent, I want to open myself up to allow the Spirit to chip away at things that may more permanently shape who I become.

And here we are. Ash Wednesday. Again,  I dare to dive wildly into a season that I almost always hate and and deeply cherish. A season that painfully prunes so many areas and makes me wrestle with the hard, deep questions of life but leaves me ready for a new season of growth.