Lent day 30: the mundane and tiring in-between time

 The last year has been a whole lot of waiting around to be ready to respond to whatever. A lot of wondering when.  When will things start opening up? When will I send the kids back to school? When will the baby start sleeping through the night? When should I schedule another RV trip? When will it be my turn to get the vaccine?

There were also a lot of what and why questions too. Most of the questions didn't have answers. 

But over the course of Lent,  Philip started school. Eddie and Andrew are signed up for summer camp. Miles is going to summer school.  I got my vaccine.  I'm most likely going to take a big rv trip in July after camp to go visit friends on what I've coined as the "tour of hugs"  and when we get back life will likely be more or less normal again with everyone going back to school in the fall.  If everything goes to plan.  

But... for the first time in ages... there is something like a plan.  However. It's not here yet.  It's still Lent.  I'm still homeschooling everyone and trying to finish out the school year.  I'm fully embedded in in-between. Not new beginning, not yet ending.  Just somewhere drawing near to a tired end,  but not close enough to let go. 

How do I find energy to be faithful to this call and this time? It's a total case of senioritus. My mind wondering on to bigger and better plans while I still have duty to the present. 1 week of Lent. 9 more weeks of school.  What difference can I make? What is the best use of this time?

Life is lived in the in between time.  While we celebrated the beginnings and endings of things,  the in between is where we live out our calls, where grace meets us on the road, where lessons are learned and where we get too tired to keep up appearances. 

I am reminded of Passover.  We celebrate leaving Egypt, but all those in between years manna fell from the sky.  

God journeys with us during the mundane and tiring in began time, providing bread for the journey, grace and forgiveness.  

God is with me during these last 9 weeks of school. Guiding and leading me....

And that is enough.  

Lent day 29: Take me to the water, mama.

 I knew it would be chaotic. The plan was to drop Philip at school and run to kohl's and buy some new Easter outfits as all the boys had grown out of the now dusty church clothes that I had pulled out of the closet Sunday night.  I'd then run home,  get everyone dressed, pick up Philip and head to the church where we would quickly record Zanders baptism and my Good Friday sermon and get home in time for miles therapy. 

It was hectic.  Boys running around the sanctuary as the pastor set up the camera and audio equipment.  But there was something holy in the chaos. Everyone got dressed without a fight. Eager to participate in the baptism and share something with their little brother. 

It wasn't poetic like an Easter vigil. Nor triumphant like the trumpet on Easter morning.  It was a small group, mostly kids, fumbling through hymnals reciting a liturgy with mispronounced words here and there.  The pastor, wearing formal robes over Tuesday morning work jeans, was patient and gentle.  Teaching my boys about the symbols of baptism and the Greek letters on the Christ candle.   My inlaws helped keep the boys on track. A godmother witnessed and participated over zoom. 

But God was in the water. 

I felt heavy bringing Zander to the water.  Heavy with the weight of my Good Friday sermon.  Bringing my chubby, happy, toothless grinning boy to the dangerous waters to faith where one day he'll find a cross of his own to pick up and carry. Why does faith ask so much?

But as I handed him over and watched the water spill over his head my heart lightened.  Joy settled in. 

God was in the water. 

Joy was in the water. 

There is more to faith than the cross.  More than a demand to follow Jesus to a dark hill. There is light beyond that. There is love that has no bounds. There is freedom, peace, grace and life in the water. 

I didn't need any extra pomp or ceremony to embellish the moment.  There were that brief moment where everything melted away and God wrapped his arms around mine as I cradled the baby he gave me and I knew that God would hold that baby forever.  

I'm so glad I brought him to the water. 

Lent day 28: Eddie's sermon

 I got off the phone with the pastor.  With everything up in the air because of covid, I wasn't sure if we'd be able to get baby Zander baptized. But, yes... in a few short days I'll get to bring him to the water and surrender him to that amazing grace. 

But, that's another post.  

Back to today. 

While we were chatting pastor wondered if I'd be able to help with the message for Good Friday. Good Friday is a tough day to preach.  Jesus is hanging on a tree.  We all stood in the crowd choosing our own agenda over the kingdom of God,  shouting "crucify him" at the top of our lungs. What do you say?

I turned to Eddie.  

Eddie,  if you were asked to preach the sermon on Good Friday, what would you say. 

He was quiet a minute. 

Then he stuttered...

"God....God....God...

God can choose to die for us

But... but... but

We can't even lift a finger to help each other. 

That's what I would preach. "

That will preach, Eddie. 

Sometimes we over complicate things.  Maybe we should try to remember the world from the vantage point we had as children. Adding all our layers and rational to everything can just obscure what we should be focused on.

I'm going to hold on to Eddie's sermon. 

God can choose to die for us,  so we should choose to help each other. 

Amen. 

Lent day 27: what does spring look like?

 For bedtime reading,  I'm reading the kids a story called "Toaffs way. " It's about a baby squirrel born in winter experiencing life and the seasons for the first time. The chapter I just finished ended with "I wonder what spring looks like. Will it come suddenly like a storm in the night or slowly like a sneaky fox. "

I turned out the light and sat in my rocker as the kids slowly faded to sleep. I wondered, "What will the season after Covid look like? Will it come all at once? How soon will it get here?"

I watch my Facebook feed for signs of a collective spring. A rebirth after a year of winter.  I see the first glimpses.... vaccine selfies, kids going back to school,  first vacations. My heart is warmed.  Lent is almost over.  Easter is almost here.  

Today is Passover. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday. The hardest week is still left ahead.  There's all the agony of the passion and then, the world is quiet.  Easter is like spring.  It starts small, confusing... something strange... an empty tomb...a stolen body? Where is my Jesus? 

Easter is too big to grasp so we hide in familiar rooms and lock the doors. What does it all mean? Resurrection from the dead? A lifeless body among us. We see him but we don't recognize him.  He eats with us and burns our hearts. 

There is so much ahead that I do not know, do not recognize.  My life after covid completely changed my a year in my caccoon. Easter. Resurrection. Life after death. None of it familiar.  The path completely unknown and uncertain ahead and I feel like the squirrel in the story -- will I know spring when it comes?

All I can do is continue down my path,  one day at a time, one foot in front of another and trust that a stranger will join me on my own road to Emmaus. His words will make all things clear,  his warmth make all things right. 

I head into the unknown and my savior walks beside me.

Lent day 26: that day my glasses snapped in two and i couldn't see a thing

I knew it was going to be a rough day when I got out of the shower to find my glasses split in two right at the bridge. A perfect split. Perfectly unrepairable.

As I get dressed and think through what I'm going to do, I  glanced out the back window in my room,  I notice boys misbehaving in the backyard. I knock on the window to get their attention and it shatters around my hand.  Our house is old and the glass in the windows in not tempered.  I've been meaning to replace them... I guess,  no time like the present. 

At this point,  I mentally cancel all expectations for the day.  If I can see by the end of the day or the next day, I will call it a win.  

Noticing my hand hurts, I go to the sink to rinse it off. Minor scratches, no big deal... but I notice a small scratch across my wrist.  I feel gratitude suddenly that it's a run of the mill bad day and not a call 911 type of bad day.  

My hunt for vision begins.  I check my old glasses.  All of them held together with glue and completely unusable. I call the optometrist,  they could order frames which will come in a day or two.  Due to insurance issues,  I have to get my eye exams done in one place and purchase glasses in another.  This makes it more complicated and of course,  my prescription is out of date.  I call the eye doctor to schedule an appointment.  Maybe they can fit me with contacts and give me a sample.  

I grab Andrew's old glasses to see if they would help make things clearer in the meantime.  They helped somewhat. I could see more details but the world was still blurry and I was getting a headache from working so hard to see. 

I thought about a time I volunteered in an eye clinic in Africa and fitted an old man with his first pair of glasses. The prescription -18. To give you a sense of how intense this is, my vision as a comparison is between -4 and -5. I can hardly see traffic lights without my glasses.  I can't read any signs at any distance.  With Andrew's glasses,  which are -3.5, I can see more things but still not read signs from a distance.  This man had never worn glasses. I put those -18 on his face and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at leaves in trees.  Anyone who wears glasses can tell you the wonder of seeing individual leaves in trees.  This man probably never even saw the trees. 

I thought of him as I drove to the eye doctor. I couldn't go a single day without glasses.  He had gone nearly his whole life. 

While I pondered this,  the verse popped into my mind:

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known."

I think about my spiritual vision as I try to drive with imperfect vision afforded by my son's old glasses.  How does God see the world.  Is my spiritual vision -2 or -4 or is it -18. When the veil is pulled back,  I know I'll have that moment to taking in the completeness of all the things I don't understand now.  I shall fully know and be fully known.  I will cry tears of joy seeing perfectly how God works.... all the things that currently obscured by my poor, imperfect vision.

But as the verse that follows reminds me...

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

I will wait for my new glasses and the day when the spiritual veil is rolled back.  I will wait to see. In absence of sight.  I am left with ...

Faith 

Hope 

Love

These are the things to hold on to when you can't see. And if you can only hold on to one of them,  choose love. 

Day 25: Pastors with bling on Instagram

 I recently found the Instagram accounts preachersNsneakers and prophetsNwatches which basically call out well known evangelical pastors and prophets who dress in expensive clothing by showing the price of watches, belts, shoes and other accessories they are wearing while leading worship. Praising God in $1,000 shoes.  Something about this really has stuck in my head the last few days. 

Did it bother me? 

Does it bother God?

I don't know. 

 I've been really wrestling with the concepts of gift vs purchasing.  Both regarding grace and faith and in regards to the economy, the earth and material wealth. It made me wonder about our role as Christians to stewardship resources in our care.  Where is the line between "a few nice things" and "ostentatious consumerism?" 

Jesus spoke often of wealth and material possessions. It seemed to him a stumbling block of faith 

" You cannot serve God and money."

But I also don't believe that God intends for us to live in poverty. But where's the line? Where do $1,000 shoes fall on that line? 

 Once a year, usually in the fall, church will hold a stewardship campaign to remind you to give to support the church.  Well done ones get you to think broader... a consideration of how to best use our resources... finances,  time, possessions, land... in service of our faith.  

If Jesus gave one command, it was to love each other. 

I consider my life.  How do I make decisions about finances and stuff?

My house, my clothes, my car, my dishes... every single item I own, beyond that, how I spend my time,  how I organize my finances consider deeply the people I love.  To be perfectly honest, almost all my deceives about time and money center on my role as a mother.  I mean, I love Legos as much as the next person and my well loved Honda oddesy, but my choices about how to use my resources were entire different when I was single or when Ulrich and I were just the two of us. This year,  I, like many women gave up my job to stay home with my kids.  A decision I would make again and again.  I was fortunate to have the option.  

Yesterday,  I was sorting books.  We checked out 100 books from the library this past week.  I was going through them reviewing what we've read and can return and what we still needed to read.  I began to wonder what life would look life if we got everything from the library.  Using it when we needed, returning it when we were done. Maybe the earth IS a library... 

 Food, water, air.  Natural things freely given by the earth to all creatures.  Energy comes from the sun which feeds life which dies and over millions of years has become most of the energy we use.  Plastic... from the same process.  Glass, metal, wood... those come from the earth. We add the sweat of our brow and fantastic creativity to change all these things into a fantastically comfortable world. When we are done,  we return everything back to the earth. Though, not usually in condition to be "re-checked out."

When I use these two concepts...

Love as a guide for how to prioritize resources under my control

And

The abundance of the earth as a free library with a responsibility to "return things in good condition"

As a lens for helping to inform my relationship with things,  I become inspired to do better.  I can look at things differently. I can maybe do more with less. I can maybe use my possessions to better the lives of people around me.  

Lent day 24: expensive grace

 Ironically, while I was writing a post on the free gift of grace, my pastor was writing a sermon on what Dietrich Bonhoffer called "expensive grace."

How can grace be a free gift and yet expensive?  

Jesus said,  "Pick up your cross and follow me."

This sounds expensive. 

"For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it."

Hmmm.... it's a free gift,  but we have to give up our life for it. 

Living in a time and place where my faith isn't persecuted is on the perpetual list of things I'm grateful for. I can't place myself in the shoes of the martyrs. I fear I would not have the courage.  So these verses condemn me. 

But then there's this:

For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. 

I've taken this paradox up in prayer many times trying to reconcile this idea of gifted grace and the call of Christ to give up my life. 

God went first. 

I think about that point in my relationship with Ulrich when I was ready to say "I love you" for the first time.  That first time to say those words is a surrender.  It is vulnerability.  Heart laid open to be accepted or rejected. "I love you too" comes back. And safety, warmth, joy follows. Trust follows. Action follows. Marriage follows. 

Love is a free gift. 

But you give up your life for it. 

Willingly. Again and again.  

Whatever happens to Ulrich, I'll go with him.  I'll be there for him. I'll take care of him. 

Whatever happens to my children,  I'll be there.  Sleepless night.  Loss of career opportunity. Endless work. 

I've given my life not just once, but over and over again every new day.  

When I picked up my faith, it is a call... like marriage, like motherhood. It is love calling me to lay down my life again and again. God went first.  God sought me.  Jesus laid down his life.  Grace on offer. To accept is to join in relationship expectant as all relationships are. 

Sometimes there will be sacrifices on my end. But as I read the accounts of the saints before me, it seems for them as natural as the sleepless nights with a baby or the caregiving of a sick partner. 

So, the question isn't,  I think,  am I ready to die for my faith.  But rather am I leaning into my relationship with God? Making small sacrifices that deepen and strengthen both my faith and the brighten the light of God in earth? So many times,  Jesus repeated..." if you love me,  you love my father.  If you love me,  then love your neighbor. "

The rich gift of grace in my life calls me to love. Make tiny sacrifices. Slowly give up my life... in love. 

My job is to look for ways to love more, 

sacrifice more, 

give more....

 full of deep gratitude for that... 

amazing grace. 

Lent day 23: A gift

 A book that I'm listening to had a chapter comparing gift economies with capitalism.  If something is expensive, we restrain ourselves.  If it is cheap,  we splurge.  But what do we do when an item is a gift? When the giver says - "Order what you want,  I'll pay. " "Choose some fabric,  I'll sew you a shirt. " Then,  we again, seeing the effort of the giver, often hold back. Some of us shy away completely.  

I've been chewing on this for a few days.  There is something uncomfortable in receiving. A vulnerability because we can no longer be fully independent. We become interdependent.  We've lost much of this art in our modern world. 

I wonder if this is really at the heart of the decline of the church.  Christ calls us to be interdependent.  Giving and receiving as a community.  More deeply,  giving and receiving grace from God.  Not bought with money or good deeds.  Simply given.  But in the receiving,  we die to ourselves.  We are not independent. We are not in control. We cannot claim that we did it on our own. 

I think these days this is hard for us.  Everything in our modern lives pushed us to be ever more independent.  Even as we age and our bodies and minds begin to fail us, we move into "independent living" centers... defeated by the idea of "assisted" living. 

We if we consider all of life as assisted living.  Recognizing the grace of God,  the support of friends and family,  the very life - oxygen and water - from the earth. We are each cradled in a beautiful interdependence.  Breathing in the richness of so many gifts, breathing out gratitude and life marked by service and love.

Lent day 22: Earth

 I've been very thoughtful this Lent about our spiritual role in caring for the earth.  It's seems Christianity is mixed in its relationship with the environment. 

On the one hand, there is a deep history of living humbly with few possessions and making best use of each thing.  

On the other, a culture of "the earth is ours to subdue" as it says in Genesis. 

Live in harmony. 

This earth is not our home. 

I was listening to an audiobook written by a native American botanist who was comparing the Christian creation story with the native one she grew up with. Hers told of a woman who planted a garden. Ours told of a woman banished from one. 

I wanted to defend our story. We are co- creators with God. We are to continue the work of creation.  That's how I've always understood it.  But maybe we don't emphasize that part in our retelling. 

The challenge of our age is finding ways for humanity to return to a more harmonious relationship with nature. In some ways,  I feel like finding our way back to nature will help us find our way back to God. 

At heart, I believe God to be relational in nature.  To be love loving love.  Father, Son, spirit.  God intertwined with God.  God created us in their image... fully relational, interdependent on each other and on creation. Modern life has pushed us away from creation away from God, away from interdependence and towards independence and self-reliance. We must find our way back.  We must open ourselves to both a vulnerable state of needing each other and the selflessness that comes from a common duty. 

In this Lent, finding small ways to waste less has been a trade for life giving practices.  There have been small mutually beneficial changes in my life for me and for the earth. Obviously,  not putting any dents in the grand scale needs of the earth. But, rather, first steps in trying to imagine how God had intended us to live in this amazing, beautiful world.  The garden, perfectly designed to provide for our every need.  If I lived there,  how would I relate to all the life therein?

Cradling baby chickens is just the first glimpse. Gardens where those chickens forage to keep the vegetables free from bugs.  

My little piece of earth is small, in the middle of suburbia,  but that is an OK place to start wondering.  What is my relationship with this little piece of land? With all the life that lives here? How do I use resources?

Lent day 21: Easter is coming

As I rode in the passenger side of our well loved Honda oddesy, I glanced out the window to see people eating in a restaurant.  I fell onto a sort of people watching a we drove through the downtown. Then, it hit me... wait.. people are eating... INSIDE!

Lent has been long this year. Mandatory giving up date nights, vacations, swimming pools, sports. More time thinking about family and faith and mortality. Collectively we've gone through something. We're still there and we're tired. 

I was listening to an audiobook about Lincoln and the Civil War. I didn't realize he died on Good Friday. That last day of his life was a true ending of a long terrible Lent. Event after event signaled that the war was coming to a close and the work of reconstruction was to begin. He went to the theater that night with a sense that he had completed his most important life's work. 

Data point after data point is lining up that soon this Lent of ours will be over.  Vaccines are increasing. Cases are dropping.  The eldest and most vulnerable are much more protected. Schools are opening.  I signed the kids up for summer camp.  There is light at the end of the tunnel. 

Easter is coming.  A new light. A new day.  And Easter work is coming.  We will be crawling out of these Lenten caccoons to rebuild life together.  May this final push of this season be an opportunity to reflect on how we have been changed by our time apart.  May we allow the Spirit to guide us to breathe love into a recovering world.  

I'm so excited. Easter is coming. 

Jesus didn't stay in the ground.  

Amen.... there's a resurrection coming.

Lent day 20: Space to grow

 One of the hardest thing about being a parent is anticipating the season just ahead.  

With babies, it's evident in the constant struggle with a nap schedule that seems to be ever changing as baby grows. 

Then, with toddlers,  one day the stairs are dangerous. The next they are an important place to practice motor skills. 

We have to know our children right where they are.  But we also have to anticipate who they will become and create space for them to grow. 

It's hard to get it right. 

Is this a phase? 

Is this who they are?

Do I need to push them or accept where they are? 

Do I need to hold them or give them independence?

As they grow,  I think we start to develop stereotypes or some sort of permanent image of who they are.  Who they will always be.  We start to think of them as we think of adults.  After all,  some things never change.  Some people never change. 

I remember wanting to move as a teenager.  I wanted to start over.  I felt typecasted. First impressions I had made among kids at school defined who I was and I felt trapped.  I couldn't find a way to reinvent myself. 

As an adult,  I find myself in similar situations.  Needing to "rebrand" myself.  Needing to undo things I've done or said or needing the shot to do things over.... wishing I could bring cupcakes to the school event so I wouldn't be "that mom" or wishing I had more time to stay late and talk to employees at the end of the day so I wouldn't be "that boss."

I think about how often I unfairly imprison people I know to my predefined expectations of them. If they were making small steps toward overcoming big hurdles in their lives would my attitude be a help or hindrance. 

That person who NEVER speaks up.

Of the one who never shuts up. 

Our the one who has to make everything political. 

the poor communicator

The always shows up late crew

Too loud,  too rude,  never serious, too serious...

What if... they knew these things about themselves. What if if was a lifelong struggle. What if they were making a dedicated effort to try.... would my attitude dismiss those efforts and send them back to  "that's just me. " 

As my kids get older,  am I willing to set aside years of behavior patterns to embrace growth? Maybe,  just maybe,  they will pick up their towel and hang it up... or will I condemn them to a life of leaving towels on the floor. 

God is perfect.  

Knowing always when to push us and when to give us slack. Starting every day optimistic that we can and will grow.  Forgiving us perfectly every time we don't.

I'm never going to be perfect, but a call to love each other as God has first loved us is a call to create space to support people as they grow.  I've been trying, the last few weeks,  to be more mindful of my own subconscious bias.  My preconceived notions. To let those go and to support people in my life as they grow... my kids, my husband,  friends, colleagues... what if I added to the space to allow them to become their best selves. 

As with most of my efforts,  I'm sure I suck at this more than I'll ever really know... but I can try.  A tiny bit of grace goes a long way.

Lent day 19: fierce gentleness

 All this time holding the little chicks,  I've really started paying attention to my grasp.  I make a firm cup with my hand.  Closed enough to cradle the tiny things,  firm enough to protect them if some random boy ran into me.  Delicate but fierce.  Using none of my strength but all of it. 

As I focused my thoughts on keeping this physical shape, I realized it was a great physical depiction of motherhood.  Soft and gentle. Cradling with tenderness,  while blocking out dangers from the outside world with a fierceness that seems almost effortless. 

Fierce gentleness.

It takes my mind back a few months to holding Zander the first time.  He was a tiny thing.  So fragile.  The sky outside was red from smoke and fire.  I remember wanting to protect him with a fierceness from a world filled with pandemic and unrest. Holding him so lightly that he'd hardly feel the pressure.  All my force creating a protective cage that would absorb any shocks the world would throw at him. 

Love is fiercely gentle. 

I close my eyes and picture myself cradled in fiercely gentle hands.  Recognizing my life, my soul as fragile as a newborn baby or a newly hatched chick against the violent forces of an immense universe. I let peace sweep over me. 

Life is unpredictable, but I'm in good hands. 

Lent day 18: death is so hard

I've always had a hard time with death.  Growing up in a Christian family, there seemed to be a lot of talk about death and heaven and hell and salvation at church and Sunday school. I couldn't ever quite get my head around it. I thought it just be something that grownups understand and I just wasn't big enough yet. 

In my twenties, I had the terrible realization that I had grownup and I still didn't really have answers.... certainty about this terrible eventuality.  

Worse,  I probably never would.  

It was a matter of faith.  

Something we can't understand. 

Something we have to believe but cannot know. 

I had panic attacks in the middle of the night.  Every year, I felt myself growing older felt like a helpless march towards inevitable suffering.  I was so frustrated that even as a person of faith I couldn't get my head around something that seemed like everyone else had some sort of peace about. I wanted something more concrete than they taught in Sunday school.  But there were just lots of ideas.  This wasn't a place we can study.  It was beyond reach. 

I finally surrendered.  Faith, I realized, was not fully knowing something that you believed but trusting fully into the unknown. God was ever present in life.  Would God not be present in death? It was like marriage. Unspoken leaning into love. God promised to be there.  My job was to believe. 

I decided to lean into faith. To admit,  I wasn't ready to face death right now, but that I would trust that God would journey with me and prepare me to let go into the unknown when my time came. I don't need to know exactly what or how.  I just need to have the grace to surrender.   Doubt and questions and struggling are all a part of the journey.  But I choose faith. I trust. 

With that, I had words to speak back into my panic attacks when they came:

"I choose faith. "

 I looked for God to show up in moments that put me in touch with my mortality:  

The passing of my grandparents, church members, friends, colleagues, strangers.

Explaining death to my children.  

 Comforting them after nightmares.  

 The inevitable pain of labor.  

 A diagnosis. 

 Covid. 

 Lent.  

Staring down moments that bring me face to face with a deep fear.   I allow God to whisper.  I don't need answers.  I just listen.  I trust.  I remind myself of the heart of faith. 

Last night, one of our little chicks was struggling to keep up with the others.  I scooped it out of the box and held it to my chest.  I looked up how to care for a struggling chick.  Feed it some sugar water to boost its energy, then give it some egg yolk for nutrition.  

Gently I held it near my heart.  Keeping it warm. Feeding it drops of sugar water.  Slowly,  I felt it slip further and further behind.  At some point I knew I wasn't going to save it.  I stopped trying.  But I couldn't put it down.  I held it.  I rocked in my rocker tenderly.  The same way I rock my babies to sleep.

It labored for breath. It closed its eyes.  I held vigil.  I allowed moments of death return to me.  I allowed feelings about death return. I allowed God to teach me. 

Matthew 10:29: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care.

God was there.  Present with each labored breath of that tiny bird. I was nearly crying.  

Don't we kill and eat chickens every day? 

Why does this one matter? 

Why do I care so much to give it this vigil?

Because God shows up in death.

Stupid chicken. Precious chicken.

One more small lesson. 

One more moment to remember. 

One more time God taught me. 

Still, I choose faith. 

Lent Day 17: Just a bunch of baby chicks freaking out

 We got two new baby chicks today.  Our plan was to have 4. One for each of the bigger boys.  We got the first 2 last week and added the second 2 today. 

We brought the new little darlings home and added them to the cozy little brooder. A funny thing happened.  The big chicks started freaking out.  

Peep 

Peep

Peep

Who are these new chicks?

They are a different size than us?

Are they part of our flock?

They are sleeping in my favorite spot.

They are eating my food. 

Something is wrong here. 

Peep

Peep

Peep

Top volume, into the night.  The boys had a hard time going to sleep. I listened to all the peeping thinking about how much a tiny change rocked their world. Do I do that?

My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar chant:

Hold me

Hold me

Hold me

Ever since Zander was born,  Miles has become a little clingy.  Whenever I pick up Zander to nurse him, like clockwork he chimes:

Hold me

Hold me

Hold me

Peep

Peep

Peep 

Miles' world was turned upside down a year ago. He had a neat little schedule riding the bus to school, then to therapy, then home.  He was independent in many ways.  But then, the world closed. Some big scary thing closed all the playgrounds and school and even mcdonalds. And I think he decided he didn't understand what was happening so he better make sure he sticks by mom. But then,  even mom began to change.  And this baby came and changed his house. 

Like the baby chickens, miles freaked out because his world was different in ways he couldn't quite grasp and all he could do was come up with this chant:

Hold me

Hold me

Hold me

I turned on the some white noise for the chicks and refreshed their food and water.  I scoop up miles and rock him while I read bedtime stories. I can be strong for them in the face of enormous upheaval. I can be gentle and make space to help them ease into a normal.  I can be grace. 

I know I've had seasons of feeling like those baby chicks or miles.  Something changes at work or with the kids routine and it feels off and all day I feel a little alarm sounding in my soul....peep, peep, peep... something here is not OK. I'm not ok with this. I didn't authorize life to change.  

And God meets me there, 

strong in my upheaval, 

gentle in my overwhelm, 

grace that quiets my soul 

And gives me peace. 

Lent day 16: Making time for sacred

 This year has been one of the hardest years to keep up my practice of blogging every day during Lent. It's not that I'm more busy than usual.  My work load over all is lighter. My stress levels are lower.  But... my current work is constant.   Even at night,  when I'm putting kids to bed, the baby is nursing while I read books to the kids in the dark.

Part of my Lenten practice is to intentionally set time aside to ponder the sacred. To connect with faith. To pray.  Writing this blog forces the issue.  

Many nights in the dark,  I've thought about posts writing them in my mind and I've thought about the conundrum of making space for sacred.  This season in life feels sacred.  It feels like work that the world doesn't see or value.  It feels like an act of faith to daily rededicate myself to this calling. It feels like more than scattered toys and daily routine. It feels like a hymn. 

And so,  this night I'll leave myself a note to keep on making space for sacred.  To keep living the hymn of this call in this time.  With verses of grace and forgiveness, gratitude and fortitude, preserverence and holiness.  Each day, find space to sing this hymn in the rhythm of life. Fold in lessons of faith between Legos and chicken nuggets.  

And... if I  can eek out the time... write them down to remind myself. 

Lent day 15: something better than scrolling social media

 It's been almost a year since I quit working at the company I helped build.  Ulrich is still there slugging through a difficult pandemic year. 

This morning he made a comment about feeling extra distractable. He pushed forward with determination.  Working from home with the circus that is our life.  A baby... and now chickens.  It's basically a reality TV show.  Of course it is hard to do your best work. 

But it's not that... it's something deeper that makes it hard to focus right now. 

It is season of responding. It is hard to be intentional on a time of responding. 

You wake up. Open to the world. Knowing that the world will throw a change or a crisis at you that will make you throw all your plans away.  Over time, the constant change wears down the will to make plans at all and just wake up and do whatever life asks. 

But then... what to do when life doesn't present something to respond to? There is empty space. Somehow the empty space gets filled with news or social media or distraction instead of the 100 things that we would do when there is time. Me.. I scroll. Not looking for something in particular but also I feel like I am looking.  I'm searching my feed for some hint of something I can't name out loud, can't quite put a finger on.  Something that helps me make sense of now and signals what tomorrow might bring. 

I think this is a form of waiting.  Being ready.  Expecting life to throw something,  so why get busy with something important when any second we are bound to be interrupted again.  

The Bible talks a lot about waiting. Being expectant.  Jesus could show up any time.  Maybe we've been in this responsive place for the last 2,000 years. 

It is uncomfortable not knowing...

Not knowing what's happening at work

Or when the pandemic will end and things will get back to some kind of normal

Not knowing what school look like in the fall

Or where life moves on from here

It is clear that someday and in some way there will be resolutions to things but for now we live in an uncertain present. 

As much as I've lived through seasons of uncertainty,  I still bristle. I like control thank you very much.  I'd like a start date from which I can start planning my life back.  I'd like to know how my kids are going to readjust to going back to school and what professional options and opportunities I should be considering. What I should focus on getting done now so that later me won't slap her forehead and say.... dang,  you had all the time in the world, why didn't you. 

So... do I scroll? What's happening on tiktok, Facebook, Instagram, pinterest.... Is there some better way to work out the waiting?

What if I repeated a prayer?

Lord,  show me ways to work through the waiting today. Show me ways to live out your grace in this uncertain season. Give me one small place to sow seeds of intentionality. 

I think, in many ways,  being open to respond to what life calls from us right now is enough.  It is an act of faith to live without the security blanket of long term plans and just be present in the season we are in. It takes grace and forgiveness to be kind to ourselves in the face of distractions.  It takes intention to set the phone down and breath into the very moments of life that feel empty as we wait for news of what's coming. 

I don't do great.  I'm not sure any of us do.  But spiritual practices are just moments of practice... that we do again and again. 

Lent. 

Advent.  

Seasons of expectation. 

Waiting on God. 

Waiting on hope. 

Waiting on resurrection.

I shall add waiting to my list of practices to try during this Lent time.  How might God show up if I turn my heart during all the little moments of uncertainty, distraction and empty time? 

I'll try practicing this. Just a little and see.  

Lent day 14: I suck at this

I was grumbling while cleaning the house the other day.  Remember a few days ago when my house was my monastery... well, today, despite my best efforts,  it was not a spiritual practice to clean... 

but it was...

When Ulrich and I were first married, we started a 3 year workout designed to get you from beginner to advanced weight lifting.  The first set of exercises were relatively simple, but a few months in, it quickly became brutal. I remember being so sore I couldn't walk up the stairs at work. I remember getting stronger than I ever had before.

Spiritual practices are just that ... practice.

When we lift our max weight and then fail on the second lift. We don't feel defeated. We feel proud. We did it once. Next time, we'll come back and do that plus 5 more pounds.

When we miss notes doing our drills or miss a key when practicing typing. We often look at the progress rather than the error. Why? Because practice puts us past where we are right now to form us into something better. 

Lent isn't a time to be perfect at doing lent. It is a practice that forms us and re-forms into what God intends for us. It is a practice at calming, listening, becoming, preserving, hoping and trusting that leads us to the heart of faith.

For a moment, I can touch that place where my practice is deeper. But I don't live there.

Looking back, though, I can tell that I do live at a place that is richer and more mature and more seeped in my faith than the me of 5 or 10 years ago. I do not have more or less faith than I did back then, but I do have more practice at faith. It touches more of my being through years of practice.

But... I am no monk. And these freaking toys are still all over my house. I didn't achieve enlightenment as I grumpily cleaned them all up. But I did ponder what it means to live and practice faith. So... I'm one step closer.

Lent Day 13: but I want to be sad

I was listening to a podcast called "The next right thing" (which I highly recommend) about making decisions and ways to discern where God is calling you in this season. 

I was really stuck by one of the episodes about a single tiny word - "Let"

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts... Colossians 3:15

When Andrew was 2, he had terrible fits before bed. Often, they would come because he didn't touch every fire hydrant he had seen or we didn't walk quite the right way to the parking garage.  He was so tiny, but so self aware and somehow in touch with so many little truths. He used to open my eyes to so many little things about peoole and the world I had never noticed. 

So,  as he would lose his mind about not touching the 13th hydrant during our walk,  I would lay next to him in bed and say, "Andrew, it's time to calm down. " he would protest... I want to be sad. 

It was so profound.  When I'm upset,  I usually resist things that would lighten my mood.  Same when I'm angry or stressed.  Somehow those terrible feelings make me believe that I need to hold on to them because the situation calls for it and to give up my negative reaction or emotion is to accept defeat somehow. It somehow would make the whole thing worse if I wasn't upset.  

If I got fired or lost a friendship or someone said something mean to me or i failed at parenthood that day,  I needed to be sad, angry, stressed or overwhelmed.  I need to replay it over and over in my mind and grow my reaction to an appropriate size.  I want to be sad. 

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts... 

Not right now,  Jesus.  I want to be sad.  But also.... I don't want to be sad.  So fix the thing then I'll be justified and I'll happily not be sad. 

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts... 

But what if, like baby Andrew,  I found a way to allow myself to be comforted in the midst of the brokenness of life. What if I could accept God's peace right in the current moment?

Things are still out of place. I still haven't fixed everything. I'm going to bed unfinished.  But what if I could let the peace of God rule and I could lay down my need to be justified in my emotions.  What if I could let the peace of God rule and I could trust in that love the way baby Andrew trusted me. 

Day 12: Who do I suffer for?

 Ok, so guys, this vaccine kicked my butt.

Driving home from my appointment, I made a mental list of everything that I still needed to do before symptoms kicked in. Pretty much every report I had read said it would be around 12 hours so I had that long.

I was already feeling like a cold was coming on by the time I got home. I debated making dinner. I took Tylenol. Felt better. Easy Peasy. Tackled a few things on my list. 

Took more Tylenol before bed. Woke up in the morning with a headache and what felt like a bad cold, but I was upright. Almost joyful because given my auto-immune disease and my 2 week struggle with the pnemonia vaccine last December, I felt like I was getting off easy. 

I didn't. I rolled in to full on "flu" mode -- fever, chills, headache, body ache -- all the things. I fell onto the couch in a blanket and peeked at the kids while I rolled around ideas for the blog in my head. I had planned to write posts from the couch... but my body didn't cooperate. So, I just thought a lot about it.

It came to me that this was a very small faith lesson.

I knew I was going to have some amount of suffering -- but I choose it.

Jesus knew he faced large suffering -- but he choose it.

To be honest. I choose to suffer for myself. As much as I knew that the vaccine would make me get sick, I also knew that Covid would likely make me very sick. I was so careful this year. Avoiding everything. Setting up filters in our home. Everytime I got some small cold or sinus infection, I would chastize myself for not being careful enough. I thought about what my children would do if I died. I was ready to put corona behind me. I didn't care if I had to spend a week or two on the couch.

But what if my situation were different? If I knew with certainty that Covid wouldn't be symptomatic if I got it but the vaccine would. Would I still choose the vaccine? Would I choose to get sick to protect others from getting sick?

I thought about stories of people who got Covid and ended up in the hospital or had passed away. I thought about the flag at half mass for the 500,000. This pandemic has been more than inconvenience and lost school. It's been heart-wrenching loss. It's been a reminder of a world full of human suffering.  I felt like if there was a small part I could do to help, I think I would.

I think I would. I almost guarantee to myself that I would.. but I don't know for sure.

There are so few opportunities in life where we are confronted with an opportunity to meaningfully, intentionally suffer in the place of someone else. Most of our self-sacrifice is gradual and the suffering part not too great -- raising children, caregiving for a parent, choosing a career that pays less but does more to help those in need. 

While I was sick, I stumbled across the story of Irena Sendler who smuggled Jewish children out of ghettos during the holocaust and thought about all the amazing people who had the courage to stand up and put their lives on the line during that horrendous period in history. I wondered what would my story be if I had lived in that place at that time? Would I have chosen the brave path?  

I don't have a conclusion for this post that resolves anything. More like an open chord, that makes me feel like the song should continue. 

I am left with a question -- Who will I suffer for and what would I openly choose to endure?

 I don't know the answer, but in this season of Lent, I add the prayer that I will not avert my eyes should suffering happen in front of me. That I will choose to be present in suffering and have courage to do my part of it is ever asked of me.

Lent Day 11: Meeting myself halfway

 This past week, I received the second shot of the Pfizer Covid vaccine.

I suspected my immune system would flare up causing a variety of discomfort, but I was excited none-the-less to end the year long war that I've waged against Corona virus.

As I prepared to get my shot, I did extra. I wrote up extra lessons for the boys. I cleaned the house extra. I made a meal. It was like getting ready for winter. Mom might go down for a day or two, we need to be ready.

But I also prepared to meet myself halfway.

I knew that even though I tried to prepare, I was going to have to push through whatever my immune system through at me to continue parenting and generally keep things running. It's what moms do.

So -- I made a mental checklist of things that would make it easier...

Comfort food, Gatorade, caffeine, Tylenol, a "play day" for the kids, some audiobooks.

As I made my list, some of the things were a bit against the "spirit" of my lenten practice. But echoes in my mind of this year's theme "more" and "less" reminded me. There is a time for all things. And in this moment, it is not time to be hard on myself. It is time to give myself some space.

It is tricky to know when to push through, push harder and grow from the pain and when to cut myself slack and grow from grace. I know its not always take the "grace" route and do what's the least effort and it not always the time to push harder, tightening my grip around a sense of self-reliance. Somewhere in the middle of more and less we find ourselves perfectly, constantly outside our comfort zones where we are ready to able to be shaped by our maker.