The longest night

 

Winter solstice.  The longest night. 

Just before Christmas. 

Night is darkest just before dawn.

Today was emotionally heavy in tiny ways. 

I passed out teacher gifts and school party snacks on the last day of school.  But the back of my mind wondered -- should I have done more?

I wrote up the details for the message I'm going to share at Christmas eve worship. Will it be good enough? Could anything be good enough?

I had hurried to finish Christmas preparation so I could be calm and low stress in the days leading up to the holiday but I worry over and over I'm going to forget something.

A friend came up to me to say she needed to check herself into the hospital to help with mental health. 

I remembered I'm not going home this Christmas. 

I texted with a stranger, a woman from a Facebook group in part of.  Her child is lonely and wanted some kids to hang out with so we arranged a playdate.  But my mind wheeled with questions - will she judge my house? My kids? 

Zander, who had bounced back from surgery,  took a step back and started clinging to me because he didn't feel good. I expected it,  but it still added to this long dark day.  

I took my medicine. It made me tired. 

I watched home alone 6 with the kids. You guys,  there's a home alone 6. It's a little out of control. 

A friend texted that her dog,  who is her full and complete baby,  ate something poisonous and she will be on vigil this long night.

Everything in me longs for the break after Christmas.  The wintering time where we can pull back and hide in caves. Being slow and intentional this year means I'm not crazy right now and I realize that being crazy and busy fills my mind and keeps me from holding all these longest night thoughts in my head. 

But... in my intention..  I'm calmly laying next to the Christmas tree,  writing this melancholy post a few days before Christmas. I feel small against the big need of this world. I do every year at Christmas. I give all the gifts, bake al the baked goods, show up for al the things and still I feel like it's not enough.  I'm not enough and somehow I should have found a way to do more.

In nights so dark, our small lights feel like they are swallowed by the vastness of the night. But in this darkness, the light of the world is born. 

But more than that,  before there was light,  God was.  God dwelled in the darkness. And in the darkness of this night,  God dwells with us. We do not need to wait for the light. God is with us,  even now. 

Week 3 - love is messy sometimes

 Love is messy close up. 

I write this post while i wait for Zander who is in surgery to get his adeniods out.  

It is, i think, appropriate to write about love. I felt it as i signed paperwork about risks and benefits of surgery. From far away, it was no big deal. Just a quick little fix. Close up, it's a little more raw. There's a quick extra prayer as i sent him away holding that image of him going through the swinging doors to the ER and knowing it's silly to worry but that pit in my stomach hoping nothing goes wrong.  

The more I think about Christmas, the more I want to unwrap the shiny package and hold on to its raw unfiltered holiness. 

I see all our nativity scenes - silent, holy under the tree. Eternal replicas of Marys instagram reel. There may have been one moment in that holy night that looked even a little bit like our statued figures. But I'm guessing the rest wasn't anything Mary would have posted to her Facebook page. 

I remember my own post birth selfies. All the chaos of labor, delivery, and recovery. In that crazy swirl of love and pain and exhaustion, I had one moment smiling at a camera with the newborn that i shared with the world and that I can look back at to remember.   

But what I remember is not the moment when everything was all tidied up for a photo. I remember breathing silently in a dark room through waves of contractions as they rolled over me. Especially the moments where i was alone and my thoughts turned so deeply inward i was barely more than breath, living second to second in each moment as i waited and worked to birth new life. I remember slimy, squirmy, warm babies trying to latch for the first time as i cried and tried to catch my breath after labor. I remember eating a double cheeseburger and peeing the most amazing pee of my life. I remember everyone leaving and sitting up and looking at the new little person, studying them and holding the amazement that the world now has then in it. Wondering who they were and wanting to know them. 

Mary has her own birth story. Unique as the story that brought each person into the world. It was certainty messy and painful but it was also rich and joyful in ways that only she will ever know. As she stared into the tiny, wrinkled face, her eyes met the word that existed before time. I'm certain... no matter how many hymns we write or sing, or how shiny we try to make Christmas, it will pale those raw, nsfw moments where humanity met God face to face in a manger. 

Love is messy and when we try to bundle it up into a tidy package for Instagram, we lose something raw and beautiful.  

It's sitting with a child day after day, hours and hours of struggling and feeling that swell in the soul when they finally read for the first time.  

It's 19 straight days of phone calls at 3am talking that friend back from the ledge... and knowing you'll do 20 more days if you need to.

It's thankless years of cleaning up after and caring for people who seem not to even see you and wondering if you even exist at all. But choosing to get up the next day and do it again because there is an unbridled selflessness that compels you to keep all the trains running.  

It's all the prayers poured out because you feel so powerless and yet, love will not let you lose hope. 

Choosing love again and again is powerful and sacred and holy. It is wild and it carves spaces in our hearts that can hold unspeakable joy. 

In the healing...

In new beginnings...

In prayers answered...

In tight hugs or belly laughs.

Sometimes. It is love just being love. Nothing else and there is joy. 

At Christmas, we want to capture all this wild love and joy and put it in a bottle and look at it. We want to tame it, schedule it, decode it, replicate it and sell it to the world. We want to make unblemished memories to fill pages of photo albums. 

But perhaps, just as we are. Leaning into the mess we have right in front of us is exactly the way God would want us to celebrate this holiday. In fact, leaning into the mess of a broken world and coming to people just as they were is exactly what God did. Nothing else needed. Love begetting love. For its own sake. 

When I touch that. I can let go of all the tinsel to meditate on the fact that Jesus had new baby smell. That he arrived in the midst of scandalous family drama. And that random roadside truckers, farmers and hillbillies were the first lips to witness the gospel. I start to connect with what love can look like. 

The first Christmas was probably a hot mess.... because love, close up, often is. May the Spirit grant the determination to choose love - how ever hard, uncomfortable or unworthy of social media it may be.

Wait... hold on... Zander is coming out of surgery. 

I walked into the room. Two nurses holding him as he thrashes incoherently. The anesthesia wearing off. All my worries of weekday could go wrong melt away as i take over holding him. For an hour i use my strongest mothering arms to try to soothe him and keep him safe. Finally, he's calm enough to strap into his carseat and bring home. Screaming the whole way, i forgo drive through lunch and B- line to the house. We snuggle into bed and spend the next few hours watching YouTube as he wanes between sleep, agitation and coherent wakefulness. My house is not getting cleaned today. Dinner might be take out. We'll see how it goes. 

 May you find Christ with you in whatever hot messes that are in your life and know that he is at home there. It is where he chooses to be. With us, as we are, right in this moment.  

Amen. 

Week 2 - Peace in our vulnerability

 "And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus" - Philippians 4:7

I went to a Lutheran grade school for a few years and I'm not sure if I memorized this verse near to Christmas or if all the talk of "heavenly peace" during Christmas juxtaposed the two on top of each other but for whatever reason, the little girl in me has always associated this verse with Christmas. My young brain, added two and two together, decided that Christmas was the day the prince of peace was born and so it was the day that peace, that passed all understanding, entered into the world.

Jesus was born into an Israel that was as heartbreaking as it is today. We read in Matthew that after Herod hears of Jesus's birth, he kills all the baby boys under age 2 and the young family flees to Egypt for safety. It is eerily familiar, revolting and heartbreaking. Even when after the Prince of Peace was born, the world was not peaceful. 

A few months ago, I saw some social media quip that if God is wholly good, all powerful and all knowing -- then why do humans suffer? Either God is not all powerful, or not all knowing, or wholly good. It is a difficult conundrum and yet, I wanted to respond with a 4th way -- what if God enters into our suffering? What if God offers us peace and wholeness in the midst of of strife and brokenness? It is such a hard concept to get my mind around, but ever so rarely, I grasp at it. There is a mystery in the peace the passes understanding. Our minds cannot understand how peace could be born in a manger in the middle of a bloody and broken world. Where is the peace in that. And yet, peace, like a blanket swallows us whole. In moments of tragedy, uncertainty, change and upheaval, there can be a peace that falls like snow silencing our inner voices and allowing us to trust into the suffering. I had a pastor once say that baptism was safe until we go way out into the water and let ourselves be taken under. In faith, there is access to peace that passes understanding and God like a blanket wraps around us and walks with us in all of our humanness.

Ok... ok... that's heavy and also... I'm busy with wrapping gifts. I could use some peace that passes understanding in all this holiday stress.

I got you.

This whole reflection started because I'm hand-making a few gifts this year. I wanted to be more intentional about my advent and so I made space for it. I made space to be present with people and to be present in all the tasks that come up in the passing of this season -- the teacher gifts, the white elephant at youth group, the classroom parties, gifts for nephews -- it goes on and on. I was surprised as stress creeped in and I wanted to blame in on lack of time. But as I reflected on it, I don't think the churning in my stomach was from lack of time.

I think it was from vulnerability.

When I rush and don't spend too much effort thinking about it, I can gloss over the vulnerability of gift giving. I can pass off rejection of a gift as "well, I didn't put much time into it." or "this is stupid capitalism" But if I'm going to be mindful. Then I don't have that excuse. My gifts don't have to be mindless capitalism if I choose for them not to be. But, I don't get to hide from "is it good enough?" "are they going to like it?" At the very core, gift giving is an exercise in vulnerability. It is an act of knowing someone and being known. And, as we prepare gifts for the people in our lives, it can become evident how little we know them. And kids... they are so honest. They don't mask it at all. If you don't know them and you don't get them something they like, they will tell you -- until their parents shut them up and teach them how to mask it properly like the rest of us.

But then, receiving gifts is a vulnerability. It is to see the reflection of how we are known by the people in our life. What they think of when they think of us. Sometimes that doesn't reflect who we are and we feel un-known. Isolated by gifts that do not speak to us. And some part of me, is disappointed when a gift doesn't fit. When I'm not known well enough to get a gift that sparks some joy in me.

This rub reveals so much about us and I think its a hidden reason why the holidays are hard even when there isn't any real "reason" why they "should" be. All our dark side and light side competing -- our selfishness and our generosity. Our  hope and our disappointment. Our vulnerability and our shame. As I've allowed myself space to slow down this year and process all this in myself, I find myself back at the beginning of this post -- peace that passes understanding.

Peace that passes understanding isn't reserved for just the "heavy" stuff. The tragedies, major changes and upheaval that comes from living in a broken world. But God is also with us in our little moments of vulnerability. God enters into our vulnerability in the same way God enters into our suffering and in this we can open ourselves up to peace that passes understanding. God a blanket that wraps around us in all our humanness -- silencing our inner dialogs and lowering our blood pressure. 

May peace that passes understand you fall like snow around you and silence all the competiting dialogs, may it wrap you like a warm blanket and may you know that God is with you in your vulnerability, in your suffering and in your humanness.

Advent - Week 1 - Hope or....morning sickness

I follow a writer / artist named Scott the Painter on Instagram. He wrote a book called Honest Advent that really grounds the incarnation in the human experience of pregnancy, labor, birth and caring for an infant. I really appreciate this raw peek into spirituality in this season that tends to be highly polished. It's like we take social media filters and apply them to a picture of the birth of baby Jesus a glow to soften and safen the incarnation of God among us. 

Advent has culturally become a time to look at lights twinkle and build memories with our families. To frantically hop from one event to another and build a list of all the things to do and to get done. When I was a girl, I was taught it was a time to prepare for baby Jesus. Like cleaning our house, we clean up to be ready and worthy of our savior who will gift us with his presence. I don't think there is anything wrong with any of this but as I've gotten older, I've realized Advent is so much more when you scrub past the shiny veneer. 

A weary world rejoices. 

Advent is a weary time. A pregnant time. A dark time. 

The longest night happens just before Christmas. 

And so... in this first week of Advent we light the candle of hope. 

In the midst of war in our world. In the midst of a creation that is groaning under the weight of our endless consumption. In the midst of the "little problems" that happen in our own lives that can make us feel trapped, alone or sorrowful. In this darkness we light a candle and name it hope. 

Hope that God will come and dwell among us.

And this is where I appreciate so deeply the mediations on pregnancy and birth that Scott the Painter writes about. Because Mary, the first to experience the incarnation of God among us, experienced it as morning sickness.

Could we not also feel spirit of God as a bought of nausea?

I have.

Letting go of who I wanted to be, to embrace the life God has given me comes with a certain amount of churning in the pit of my stomach. In fact, almost any time I've prayed for wisdom and found a conviction in my heart on a direction, that conviction has been accompanied by some feeling deep in my soul that could best be described as morning sickness. A battle between my will and Gods. A churning of fear, uncertainty, longing, joy, hope and conviction that get all mixed up inside me that feels uncannily like those early days of pregnancy. A miracle has happened and yet all I can do is lay on the floor of my shower and wait for it to grow inside me. 

May peace be with you in this season of Advent and may the holy presence of God dwell near you -- be it a serene peace in a quiet night or the churning deep in the pit of your stomach as you choose hope in a dark moment. Christ is coming. 

He is risen indeed

Easter was busy.  All the usual things... church,  hymns, egg hunts,  cinnamon rolls,  family dinner.  It was a beautiful day, but it was a blur. For me,  Easter really came Monday morning. 

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb.

Easter was quiet.  The hustle of the weekend and the holiday had passed. Women who had cleaned up and made a to do list came,  first thing in the morning,  to honor their teacher.  They came to grieve.  They came to do as women do.  Finish the unfinished work.  

Monday morning was bright.  I had a house to clean.  But I had all day to do it.  I thought about those women. Life is usually rearranged by tragedy,  by more work,  by extra. It is so unusual to show up prepared to do caregiving and find caregiving is not needed. There is an empty space where work should have been. There is an empty space that fills with joy. 

I scrolled Instagram as I lazily cleaned.  A poignant writer I follow (@scottthepainter) had started a new series. 

"Stations of the resurrection"

I let myself resonate with the oddness of it. It is easy to slow down a mediate on the suffering of the cross. But with Easter,  we jump up, receive the good news and move on to chocolate and beer. 

This holy mystery.  Holiest.  Most mysterious of all holy mysteries.  And yet it's almost too much to look at,  to ponder.  So we tie it up with happy ever after and call it good. 

But there is a whole season to ponder this mystery.  There is a whole 40 days to let the light grow brighter as we travel to Pentecost. 

I had a beautiful joyful space on my quiet Easter Monday to reflect on those faithful women who went looking for Jesus. I have 40 days to journey the stations of the resurrection and allow my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the mystery of Easter.  

Thank you for traveling again with me through Lent.  It is a hard,  sacred journey and sharing it is such a gift. May your Easter season be bright and may your heart be filled. 

Amen.  

Day 42: Preparing for Easter

 

I am soooo tired after good Friday,  I've dragged myself to "It is finished. " I want to wake up the next morning to "He is risen." But Saturday is a vigil.  It is the empty space between death and resurrection.  It is timeless,  numb. A cloudy day after the storm on Friday before the sun shines on Easter morning. 

I peel myself out of bed and my mind starts to fill with all the preparation to be done - baking,  church clothes,  house cleaning.  My vigil day is laundry and baking.  Chores. 

A friend sent me a liturgy for holy Saturday.  

God is silent. 

"The silence of God is God."

I bake cinnamon rolls thinking about silent God. Thinking about my desire to skip straight to Easter.  Thinking about this gap between death and resurrection. Something ended,  something new not yet begun.  

I listened to "unimaginable " from Hamilton. 

It's quiet uptown. 

There are moments that the words don't reach

There's a grace too powerful to name

We push away what we can never understand

I grate carrots for carrot cake. I mix spices in.  I peel over ripe bananas and mash them into a bowl. 

I think about brokenness.... situations that have traveled with me this Lent and these lines --   Moments where words don't reach and a grace to powerful to name -- the silence of God on this holy vigil.  

I fill muffin tins.  I frost the cinnamon rolls.  I put the laundry in the dryer and get ready for bed.  

I lay down tonight holding on to that grace -- too powerful to name.  

The silence of God is God.  

Day 41: My favorite Good Friday service in years

For the first time in over a week,  everyone in the house felt good enough for an outing.  I took the older boys out to lunch at habit burger followed by a trip to the movie theater to watch the Mario movie that they've been waiting for months to see. Ulrich took the little guys out on a bug expedition.  Miles with a bug mesh cage and Zander on his teal scooter headed off down the trails to look for ladybugs and spiders. 

It was around 6pm when we landed back around the table together for dinner. I wanted do something for good Friday but wasn't sure what. I raised my thoughts and several options to the group. 

I explained the services that take place during Holy Week and how we haven't often gone because they are held at 7pm and it is hard for small children to be serious at that time of day and that those services are solemn and important for people to remember Jesus. I shared some alternative traditions - stations of the cross,  a family friend who reads the death of Aslan to her grandchildren as an annual Good Friday tradition.  I am my boys what should we do today to honor this day?

They decided they would like to have a service at home. I gathered our baptismal candles from the mantel along with a small stone cross. I turned on some contemporary Christian music that was good Friday related and I started lighting the candles. I started with our wedding candle and described our wedding and how we lit the candle together when we got married. Then I got Eddie's candle,  Andrew's,  Phillips,  miles and Zanders. I described each person's baptism.  All of them baptized somewhere between good Friday and Easter morning. 

We talked about the ancient church and Lent and confirmation and baptism. We talked about Easter vigil and how early believers were baptized at the vigil and why I chose the vigil as the moment I wanted them to join God's family.  

I extinguished the candles and we sat in the dark.  

"We are baptized into the darkness and loneliness of Good Friday. Sometimes following Jesus means we go to dark and lonely places. But (lighting the 1st candle) Jesus is our light and his light could not be put out on good Friday. (Lighting the rest of the candles) we are baptized into the light of Easter morning. The love of Jesus that can't ever leave us."

The children are quiet,  laying on the floor,  wrapped around our tiny alter. 6 pillar candles wrapped around a small stone cross. 

I read the passion story from John. 

I am each child if there was something in the story that they didn't know or that surprised them or struck them. Each shared. 

I asked them to grab their candles and hold them and think about baptism and good Friday and Easter. Their faces serious in the candle light. It was a holy moment. 

We each picked our favorite hymns and played them on my phone. 

We blew out the candles and returned them to the mantel.  I told the kids we still had time for a movie or some other activity before bed. 

"It's good Friday. We should just be together. Just sit together. " 

So we did.  We spent the evening in the room. Little ones playing on the floor with tinker toys and stuffed animals. The rest of us lounging on the couch,  snacking and chatting about books and movies,  ideas and this and that. 

It was a holy moment. It was like family after a funeral just being together, holding space,  holding a moment. It was like the moment I was hanging out in the old crabapple tree with all my cousins after my grandpa's funeral.  We were just together.  Talking about things. 

This holy vigil with my small tribe felt like good Friday in a way that was deeper than the dramatic retelling of the passion with rough voices or of the sound of the pounding nails. 

And,  as I put them to bed,  I feel the heavy words. "It is finished. "

Thank you,  Jesus. 

Day 40: Jesus wept

I'm getting restless. 

We've been home all week.  Wading through homework and chores. Getting better but still a little sick.  The baby still congested.   A series of phone calls and text messages land heavy on my heart. 

Jesus wept. 

He came to his friend who had just died.  He knew he would raise him,  but still,  he cried.  

Days later in the garden, he prayed.  "Take this cup from me. " 

He didn't want to do the hard part

He didn't want to but he did. 

I don't like holy week, but there is no other way to reach Easter.  I don't like holy week,  but it's the way to end Lent.  

I cup my arms around my uneventful day,  my sick baby,  my heavy phone calls and I feel the feelings.  Disappointed about the deflated sprint break.  Concerned about the baby's health.  Frustrated about the pile homework. Sad about my friend's situation.  Sad about the trauma some people face.  Sad about conflict and pain people cause each other. Wishing Jesus would just hurry up and come back because we're not doing great. Feeling tired from lack of sleep.  

I felt all my feelings today and I thought about Christ.  I thought about what he felt and what he went through, feeling small and petty next to his great suffering. 

In his humanness,  Jesus made space for my feelings, however petty they may be in the big picture of things. Jesus made space for his own feelings and he allowed himself to feel them.  He allowed his disciples to witness them and write them down as a key part of his humanity. 

Jesus wept. Jesus prayed. Jesus asked for another path.

Day 39: good good gifts

 

Our unplanned spring break has resulted in a Harry Potter marathon.  It's our fourth time through the series.  We've been listening to the book all day and then watching the movie at night... which,  as we are getting to later books will not be possible.  

Zander is still a bit under the weather.  He has been spending long swatches of the day snuggling into me. His small body is a perfect Teddy bear.  

Tonight as we were finishing movie 3, I sent the boys off to bed while I finished cradling Zander to sleep. The only sound was his slightly wheeze little breathes.  His warm body wrapped around me,  warm and soft in his little footy pajamas.  

I thought about all the possibilities and how many life paths could have existed without him in it.  He could have never been.  

I held him tighter. My heart enfolded in gratitude.  How could my life not have him in it?

As much as I struggle with my inability to understand how to solve this world's pain,  I could never have guessed that motherhood would complete me the way it has.  I couldn't have guessed that I would love like this. And I definitely wouldn't have predicted that a 5th baby boy would make my world so complete. 

In faith,  I continue to learn to open my heart to what comes and let myself be grown and shaped by it. 

This beautiful wonderful 2 year old light is such a precious gift from God. I am so grateful for him.  

Day 38: is following Jesus a good idea?

Our spring break has not been going to plan. Everyone got sick at various points and husband had unexpected work obligations that blew up life and left us in that empty space between the end of one plan and the beginning of a new one.  

I've been living moment to moment.  Checking the weather.  Checking kids.  Figuring out who's healthy and what people need. I've been trying to piece together days not having a full plan to go from and trying to get enough ahead of the moment to be able to make good use of the coming days. 

Change.  Even small change like this.  Can feel uncomfortable.  I think,  as I've gotten older,  change feels even more scratchy against my grains. I'm better at planning and predicting,  I think,  than when I was young.  But also,  I think,  when I was young,  I was growing and changing constantly.  It was the natural state of life.  But I'm older,  I've placed stakes. I bought a house and brought all my babies home here.  I have memories too precious for words in this home and I have a hard time imagining any other place to live.

 I've been married for so long, I know how to live as two. I am starting to forget living a one.  I've been a mother so long,  I can't imagine not waking every day and caring for someone. 

But eventually,  we move,  our children grow and sadly our lives as two become a life of one if we live long enough. 

Jesus's disciples were blown apart when he died.  It wasn't the ending most of them were expecting.  They locked themselves in that room where they all had that last meal and wondered what now. There was a long empty pause between where one plan ended and another had not yet arrived. 

Every time Jesus met someone one the road,  there was the same invitation to be blown apart.  "Come,  follow me "

Can you imagine? You go out to check your mail one morning.  There's a crowd down the street.  You wander over to see what's going on.  The next thing you know,  you are on a flight to Chicago texting your spouse that you won't be home for a while. 

I might tell myself that Jesus doesn't do that kind of change anymore.  I might be able to tell myself I've already followed Jesus and made the big changes so there is no more apple cart dumping in my life. 

But holy week silences that notion. Following Jesus isn't a single upheaval that comes with the decision to leave and follow.  It is the upheaval that comes day after day following Jesus who turns the world upside down. 

Sometimes,  I have to let go of my own plan for my day,  my life,  my children,  my community,  this world. Perhaps my vision of where it should go and what I should do is is merely my own feeble attempt to make my mark.  Jesus keeps turning the world over and faith is to trust that his plan,  though it often doesn't make sense,  is better. 

This foolishness of self sacrifice,  loving enemies, taking the low spot and eating with sinners.  This foolishness of following an impoverished renegade who doesn't promise safety or stability for me or my children.  It doesn't read well as self- help literature. 

But here we are in holy week.  The cross squarely, largely looming at the end of this road.  And Jesus still says... follow me.  

Day 37: But why the cross?

I hate that the cross is part of the story.  I just want to skip from palm Sunday to Easter and miss holy week all together.  Why didn't God choose a different way?

I'm tired.  I'm ready to be done with Lent.  I'm ready to drink a diet coke and let my kids binge on video games. Why do I have to be a little sick with a sick baby and bumble through holy week.  Why can't Easter just come?

Phone calls with friends and family. Heart ache.  Hardship.  Hard choices. Why do we still live in a broken world? Why didn't Jesus just fix it all?

News stories.  Division.  War.  Tragedy.  Anger. 

We are just as broken now as we were then.  We just have more technology.

Jesus rode into Jerusalem knowing the path he was on.  Knowing the disciples wouldn't understand or even stand by him.  Knowing that the day would end looking like darkness has won.  

We use symbols like butterflies and lambs and eggs to represent life after death.  A dying of self to be torn apart and rearranged.  I think this symbols are apt.  But I think the cross is more.  It is a willingness to face hell.  The darkest of dark.  The deepest of fallen states.  To go to the most redeemed places and break them. 

God loves us in our darkness. God has visited our very darkest places just to be with us in it.  Just to redeem us from it.  

I think about the darkness crowding in around me this week.  All the sorrowful situations and I know God is present in it, deeply. 

I don't understand the mystery of the cross but I do know it's power.  There is no place we can go where God cannot,  will not go with us.

Day 36: Ugly photographs

 

It was an Ash Wednesday moment.  This body,  this face is going to deteriorate and one day decay.  It's a hard thought on a random Tuesday while trying to tidy up. 

I was cleaning up and an unused passport photo fell out of a file folder.  I don't know why passport photos are among the worst I've ever taken but this one was almost terrifying to look at.  My glasses were off as required and my face seemed to be melting off. Drooping and sagging in ways and in places that in not used to seeing in the mirror. 

I pondered my picture.  Was it bad lighting or do I really look like that? Should I look into skin creams.... I'm not that old. Our culture is obsessed with youth and beauty.  But I think human culture really always has been.  We don't see fat,  saggy marble statues from the Renaissance. We don't like to be reminded of aging and death.  

Jesus was unrecognizable after resurrection. I always wonder what that meant.  How could he look so different that he was not recognized by his best friends? 

There is only one time I can remember not being recognized by someone close to me.  I was in a wedding and I was dressed up with make up and contacts.  Eddie was just a toddler and had been babysat during the ceremony but was joining the reception.  When they brought him to me I was standing with the wedding party.  He looked bewildered at the group not really recognizing anyone. It wasn't until I spoke his name that he knew it was me.  It was the same in the story of Jesus with the disciples.  When he spoke and breathed on them,  they knew who he was. 

I always imagine that resurrection bodies are free from the fall - affliction,  disability,  disease,  aging. Are they conformed to human ideals of youth and beauty also... or are they somehow perfected in a way we cannot grasp?

Either way,  Ugly photographs are important. They jar me and get a reaction that both pushes me to acknowledge who I am in this moment and that I am mortal and I will age and my body will change in ways that I disagree with. They also give me a picture of my health and remind me when I need more sleep,  more exercise,  less stress or to eat better.  They put my vanity in check. 

And,  when I see ugly pictures of beautiful people, I realize that we are all on a journey with and in our bodies that are being broken down and built up. The face age and infection and trauma. 

Ugly pictures are part of being human.  

God loves our ugliest self. 

Day 35: Actually resting on the Sabbath

I went in to urgent care yesterday because I couldn't quite catch my breath and my cough was a whole two levels worse than usual.  Enough for me to wonder if I needed more than my standard "fight off colds" medicines. 

I was on the fence about going because frankly,  I got five kids and I don't got time for that.  But as I hemmed and hawwed I decided I would rather take time,  get meds now (if they will actually do anything) rather than spend the next two months trying to recover from whatever this was.  Plus both my mom and my mother in law said I sounded terrible and should go.  

So I went.  

As predicted,  the whole ordeal took like 4 hours and the kids ran completely wild while I was gone.  But I did find out that I had developed mild pneumonia and was sent home with a host of remedies to ameliorate the problem. 

The baby also had some sort of cold.  So instead of a litany of palm Sunday activities and a first birthday for a friend's baby.  I laid in bed watching endless vehicle themed children's programs,  occasionally getting up to pick up a round of dishes off the living room floor or rescue play dough out of the match car bin. It was strange because I wasn't acutely sick like when you have the flu.  More just easily winded.  Get up for a bit, do stuff,  plop on the couch.  My body just wanted to rest. 

Generally, laying around and doing nothing is rather unrejuvinating for me.  I get more rest from a long day in nature followed by a good night's sleep.  Laying around tends to send my mind to weird places and can make me a little anxious knowing that there are kids to be cared for,  house to clean and things to be done.  Even when I went on a girl's trip and the kids were cared for, I found I had a really hard time not moving.  My body likes exercise. So I walk the beach rather than lay on it. 

But today,  my body did not have gas in the tank.  So I thought about rest and sabbath,  productivity and the value I assign myself for getting things done.  I thought about our busy culture and over scheduled lives.  And how I would never dream of spending half of Sunday,  or any day,  in bed unless I was sick. Or how I would find meaning in life if I found myself bed ridden. 

Then. I thought about Jesus. 

Today Jesus rode into Jerusalem knowing he wouldn't leave.  All the thoughts about myself pale in comparison.  We are at the start of holy week where we witness what it looks like to die to self and be filled fully with love. 

Day 34: Let it burn

 I don't read the news often.  Especially triggering news like school shootings.  It's enough for me to know that there was one.  Much more detail than that and my empathetic heart breaks too much. But whatever the state of my heart,  I stand convicted reading another headline.  I haven't personally done enough to change the world around me. 

I spent the better part of a week engaged in debate about the world's big problems - war,  racism, poverty,   climate change. And part of me wrestled with what we as individuals could even do about these things. Even if we somehow managed to bridge the tribal partisanship that plagues our current politics,  big problems are hard to tackle.  Even good ideas can only make small incremental dents. 

But there are problems we can fix. We just let pride and blaming the other guys stand in the way of humility that we need to accept that certain parts of our culture,  our communities and our policies aren't working.  

In Genesis,  God was so fed up with people and just turned on the rain until there was just one righteous family left. Perhaps if humanity started with good people,  we would stay on track.  But it didn't work.

My heart aches that there are mothers who are burying innocent children because of senseless  violence. All around the world. 

My heart aches that there a mother who's child was so broken that she saw no other way than violence. That mother grieves double and she buries her child alone. 

My heart aches for a friend who's toddler is entering hospice. 

My heart aches for the Ukrainians and for the Africans who suffer energy shortages because of a war in Europe. 

And sometimes I just want to burn it all down. 

A flood or a fire or some aliens that could help this earth start over. 

But Genesis shows us that burning it down doesn't work.  Doesn't fix the grief.  Doesn't heal humanity. 

God shows us a new path. God came down to join us. To suffer at our hands.  To walk through hell with us. To be present in our darkest moments. 

To change the story. 

The worst thing that can happen is not the final word. The brokenness of creation is not beyond repair. We don't need to burn down this earth to build a new one. 

The Holy mystery of Easter is that somewhere being the veil of our understanding lies a new heaven and a new earth and in the depths of our brokenness,  there is no place unreachable by the love of God. 

I will never come close to understanding this gospel.  But I lean hard into this beautiful mystery and a Easter draws near I can feel it in my bones. 

We are entering holy week.  Jesus walks deep into the heart of human darkness.  He experiences hell after hell until there is no more darkness left to throw at him.  And at the foot of that terrible cross I despair at how terrible we were... how terrible we still are. 

But Christ does not let hell have the final word.  He comes back to us and greets us with peace and breathes upon us and heals us all. 

Day 33: What does faith demand of us?

How do we do anything about big hairy problems in the world - poverty,  injustice,  violence,  war,  hunger,  disease,  climate change?

Moreover, does being a person of faith require me to?

Nearly everyone I talk to cares to some degree about these issues.  Often,  I have found that those people of faith have a larger sense of obligation to help make the world better somehow. Some out of religious obligation others out of compassion and empathy for the disenfranchised. 

People often like to talk about these issues through the lens of politics.  Being informed and voting for the right leaders who will fix everything seems to be the shortest,  most direct path,  for making a difference.  Some though, are jaded by politics. Even if they believed that a given politician could make progress on issues.  Red states are red.  Blue states are blue.  Even in swing states you are most likely to live in a red or blue district and an individual vote is not likely to change the outcome. So does even voting your beliefs really contribute to change? And,  if your guy wins,  does the world really make good progress? 

Perhaps there is another way to change the world.  If you have good ideas, you could share them on social media.  Promote causes you care about. Share videos. Write heartfelt posts But then again , the internet is a giant dumpster fire filled with trolls, clickbait and algorithms that work against you. 

But what if we solved it all? Say we could all get it together and engage in civil political discourse. If we created a system that  had more parties with a broader range of views and encouraged open and honest debate.  What if we united around common human needs to feed the hungry, help the poor or fight diseases. What if we organized and collaborated and raised money and built things....

Would we get it right? 

Would we make the world better? 

Would we make the right decisions?

What if we did? What if we didn't? 

Do we bury or heads in the sand and remain ignorant to the suffering of others? 

Is that unethical?

What does faith compel us to do in the world? 

How should we orient ourselves in response to war or a pandemic or a genocide? 

What if we disagree with others who are also trying to live out their faith?

I have struggled with these questions my whole life and I do not seem to be making any progress. I feel compelled to know about suffering in the world.  I try to learn to understand the causes of problems we face as humans. Most of them are beyond my sphere of influence even if I dedicated my whole life in service to the smallest part of one of them, it would only be but a drop in the bucket.  

But even as I have matured from the optimistic youth who thought that that anyone could change the world to a middle aged woman who had a more nuanced understanding of what that means  I was so determined to make a difference. I have spent my life so far watch people try - through religious organizations, government agencies,  NGOs, startups -- and truth be told everyone helps and everyone hurts a little.  

Sometimes we all move forward,  but as history goes on,  we find ourselves falling backwards or causing new problems. Like a giant dyke, we all have our thumbs in somewhere and a new hole pops up.

Faith compels me to find my place to stick a thumb in. Why? I can't quite articulate.  Maybe simplest to say because Jesus did.  But I cannot seem to find my place.  Where is the best place to use my one and only precious thumb? 

The honest answer is probably the hole closest to me.  But i have yet to find the right right fit. I haven't given up on it. Until I do,  I feel the weight of the whole dam and all the pressure building up waiting to break through.  My heart is heavy and I feel convicted that I am not doing as much as I feel like I should. 

Day 32: Like mother, like son

My most unliked moments in parenthood  are when I see my weaknesses and flaws in my kids. It is entirely cringe when I hear them mimic things I wish I hadn't said or lose patience in the exact way I do.  I also feel that same twist in my stomach when I find myself doing things that my parents did that I swore I would never do. Sometimes,  I see my kids do something I learned from my parents and I wonder how much choice we really even have over who we become. 

There is no way to get around the fact that much of how we learn to be in a family and raise children comes from how we are raised and that most of our genetic traits are going to be just like our parents - health,  eating habits, disposition, and the like. Many of our learned behaviors,  how to handle stress,  how to cook eggs,  how to clean a room and how to brush our teeth are taught to us by our parents.  They are so inherent to how we live that I assume there is no other way to do it.  Until one day at 5, 20, 45 years old I learn there IS another way to do something or that I have been doing it a little "wrong" my whole life and my mind is blown. 

There are things that change from generation to generation - the era in which we are raised,  the general culture,  media,  the way we are taught at school,  jobs we've had, traveling,  experiences good and bad that shape our core memories and perception of the world,  books,  friends,  our spouse and the like. These things can take us far from our family of origin or not.

But even adopted children carry their birth parents DNA. Where we come from influences us.... but it doesn't define us.  We are some how completely free to choose a new life and new way of being from how we were raised and also carry in us a shaping that happened from the moment of our conception.

In my ongoing struggle with how to separate sin, character flaws and personality quirks, one of the major challenges I struggle with is what to pass on to my children intentionally,  what to intentionally try to prevent from going on in the next generation and what to leave alone and let be. While my teaching is only part of defining how they will move into the future,  it is a part that I am responsible for and I feel a responsibility to do the best I can for not only my kids but also my grandkids and for the people that they will influence in the future.

I think about struggles both I and my husband had in our teenage and college years and which were valuable lessons and which would have been better to avoid if we could go back and do it over. 

I also think about the parent's role in the moral education of children. We are all apportioned virtues such as courage,  moderation, consideration,  honesty,  charity, humility and the like differently. Some of my kids  have double portions of moderation or honesty while having half sized portions or courage or consideration.  I find the same to be true comparing myself with my siblings or parents. 

I have these first 18 years to help lay groundwork for a lifetime of growth while at the same time being stretched and grown myself. I find it daunting to know how best to use the time given the hands we were each dealt.  Some of this involves changing who I am. Wrestling with my own flaws and limitations so I can pave a way for them to follow suit.

Easiest said than done. 

Day 31: Does anyone actually have the right answer?

My family is mostly practicing Christians but our theology is all over the place. 

Because faith is so important to many of us, late night conversations sometimes, when we are brave, wander into religion.  

Listening to wide range of different points of view about God even when many of our source materials - like the Bible - are the same is a bit mind boggling. And to me, can be overwhelming. 

We have a common language that when we use it -- God, grace, sin, sanctification, heaven, satan prayer, worship, holy spirit, call, righteousness, etc - that we use, but in breaking down what we think about when we use these terms we find a tapestry of concepts and uunderstandings. 

Personally, I find this beautiful and challenging. I've long let go of the idea that faith will resolve for me. That I will figure it out and it will all make sense the way I can figure out and know how a computer works or what makes a perfect chocolate chip cookie.  

Faith is more like marriage or parenthood. Something I'm committed to but that I wrestle with. There are days I feel more confident that I'm going the right way. Other days I am sure that I am not and some days where I feel like I've lost hold of everything I thought I knew and feel like I have to start over at nearly ground zero. 

Today I'm a little overwhelmed by faith. The contradictions and opposing views. So I'm going to let it go and hold onto hope that God draws us each into the mystery, holding us close and loving us fully as we journey into the unknown. 

Day 30: Trying again

My brother and I have pretty striking differences in political and theological ideas but we are committed to and enjoy dialog.  Given how important these matters are to each of us,  there are times when feelings get hurt. But we're committed to come back and try again. Sometimes we have to try again a few times.  

In between,  there's a lot of reflecting and wrestling.  Pride and contrition. Dialogs rolling around in each of our minds. 

It is priceless to me to try to grow from these conversations and not shut them down... which would,  in fact,  be much easier for enjoying family vacations. 

The world and God are both so complex that how ever smart and educated we think we are,  there is no way to fully wrap our heads around the types of discourses.  There are always new points of views to consider,  especially ones we may consider foolish or dumb. 

Truth is one of the matters we argue over.  He stands on single knowable truth. I stand on the side of unknowable truth that has many windows into it which we can all learn from to gain a clearer picture of what it might be. 

However the case,  conversations about things like truth and values,  purpose and reason,  history and current events are a form of spiritual practice. For me they exercise a practice of humility and open my eyes to blind sources of pride. I can feel myself getting indignant as the conversation goes on and I have to search out the source of that indignation-- is it because there is a violation of my core beliefs? Is it because it want to be right and him to be wrong? Is it because those beliefs threaten things I need to be true?

In those strong feelings, I can grow. 

Especially when I need to set them all aside to reconcile with my brother. 

Day 29: The ocean

The boys jumped out of the RV and ran for the sand and straight to the waves that were barreling in.  

I think every mom has that 20 second size up. How dangerous are these waves? How close should I let them get? Are there any signs off dangerous wildlife? What is the ideal spot to set up camp so I can watch everyone?

These waves were moderately scary when we arrived but papa was ready to dive straight in with the kids while the women set camp.  

I brought my chair close enough to the waves that i could grab a kid with a dead sprint but far enough away that Zander,  who was happy to play in the sand,  would not shift his attention to water. I watched the waves roll in powerful,  thunderous.  They were little waves by ocean standards but even small ocean waves have a power that command respect.  

The sun shone. The breeze blew.  I settled into my chair and sighed deeply into a letting go. A day at the beach.  My mind empty,  watching the water and the happy children playing. I didn't even want a book.  Just to be.  Present with the water,  the smell of the salty air,  the sounds of waves lapping against the shore with the occasional bird calling in the distance,  the warmth of the sun on my skin and a cold bottle of water.  

There is something about the ocean that connects me to God. The vastness,  the power,  the beauty.  I feel small and humble next to it realizing how dangerous and life giving it is. I think about how much I know about the ocean,  but when I get up close,  I experience only a fraction of what the ocean is.  I am reminded of how much of a mystery God is.  Known but unknown.  Powerful and life giving. I am so small and as much as I can learn and practice faith, it is only a fraction of who God is or the depths of God's presence. 

But whether I understand it or not,  the ocean heals me and refills my tank in ways I cannot fully grasp.  And it is so with the spirit. Though I may not fully grasp the work,  the Spirit makes me whole and heals me in hidden ways. 

Day 28: The good side of darkness

There's something about family vacations that reminds me of Nicodemus. 

Sometimes it's a campfire. Sometimes a puzzle or a card game.  

This vacation,  it's a hot tub.  

A place to gather into the late hours of the night,  where one or two layers of the onion peels back and another level of vulnerability peeks through.  

The desire to know and to be known.  To accept and be accepted.  To understand people on a deeper level. 

I think about Nicodemus coming to Jesus at night. When the quietness unveils a window into truth inaccessible during the busyness of the day. 

So much literature and religious writing use the analogy of light and dark for good and evil.  And while that is an apt analogy,  we lose a connection to the good things that are part of the night.  

Humans are a very visual creature and we overly rely on our sense of sight.  So,  in the light,  the input is greater.  Our brains are busy processing visual information and making hundreds of micro decisions. 

At night,  it is harder to see.  We slow down and open our eyes wider.  We listen.  We feel.  We pay attention to keep ourselves safe.  With the volume turned down on our sight, we have less information to process.  We also become more present with the unfamiliar senses that connect us to the moment we are in. 

It seems also that parts of our brain become more vocal. Those connected to our mortality,  purpose,  connection,  identity.  

And when we gather around campfires and hot tubs with people who are close to us, we create space to share each other's spiritual journey.  To be the church. To hold each other up and to honor who we are were made to be.  

Day 27 : My big fat Midwestern family

 

Red eye flight. 

Lugging suitcases. 

Grocery shopping.  

Finally settled in to our airbnb with my whole big amazing noisy family. 

I have four brothers.  Between us we have 12 children. This year,  instead of Christmas,  we decided to do spring break together in Florida. No gifts to deal with.  No stress from holiday events.  More family time and more time for cousins to hang out and play. 

The kids are over the moon. Swimming every day with cousins.  Warm weather after a wet and chilly winter.  It was such a great idea and the kids are having a blast.

But there's a rub. 23 people in one place trying to organize food,  sleep,  cleaning, outings. All the different personalities and needs. Everyone belonging but everyone needing slightly different things to fill their buckets. 

We started vacation with a meeting to hammer out things logistics wise and to create space for all the voices to be heard. There were of course different ideas and different preferences but in the end we agreed upon a course of action and we're using that for now. 

Love each other as I have loved you.

Love is easy far away from people when they aren't in your space and don't annoy you. Love is harder when you are all crammed together and have to bear with each others noises and food preferences and sleep habits. Forgiveness and grace are so essential to making love work up close.  

People are messy,  relationships are messy.  And in some ways,  our culture says that we can put ourselves first. But love is about putting yourself second and coming back again and again to keep trying,  even when it is messy. 

I think there is a special difficulty in trying to mesh extended family. People are both very familiar and also not as familiar as the nuclear family. When you are raising kids,  this is next level trying to navigate kids and discipline and teaching them how to get along. 

But it is worth doing.  Coming back again and again.  Talking it out.  Trying again.  Having another meeting to hash out plans and wants and needs.  Being part of the family I come from teaches me grace and love.  Making space for everyone and making sure everyone feels like they belong. 

 

Day 26: For all the moms who do all the things

Today,  I was too busy to think about my blog post.  I jumped out of bed to get kids out the door for school.  I cleaned the house.  Honeschooled miles.  Dropped him off. Came home. Jumped on work meetings.  Ran and got pizza.  Dad and kids showed up.  We packed and got in the car to head to the airport for a red eye flight to Florida to vacation with my family. 

I sat in the passenger seat. Rain pelted the windshield as we made our way through Bay Area traffic to SFO Airport. 

My mind was completely blank.  I made it to day 26 until I got to my first head scratcher.  Not bad.... 

What pointed me to God today?

I replayed the day.  I thought about all the preparation. Getting ready for vacation.  Preparing the house to be gone.  Feeding all the creatures.  Checking on the plants... and there... it dawned on me.  

We call God father and I often forget to remember the mothering nature of God. 

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows

Knowing every hair on the head.  That...  that summarized my day. I know that Andrew needed something soft for the red eye flight. I know the Philip needs a fidget toy and miles prefers a specific swim suit. But I also know what the chickens need,  the bugs in the terrarium and the seedlings in the greenhouse.

I know what love it takes to compel me to know every detail for my children and husband and to anticipate what they need whether they tell me or not. 

There.  That. 

God is like that. 

God knows us like a mom. Who sees us as we are and knows our needs and our preferences.  Who provides and prepares the way for us. 

If I could only trust that God takes care of me far better than I take care of them. 

And maybe,  I should thank God more often.  When we have a great mom,  sometimes we take it for granted. 

Day 26: Should I have an energy drink?

So.... I gave up soda / pop for Lent,  but I explicitly decided not to give up caffiene this year.  

This left a nice alternative to drink tea on sleepy mornings or get some Starbucks when I want to sit and work for a while.  

The last week has left me more exhausted than I can remember being in a long time and I woke up one morning especially groggy on a busy day.  It didn't feel like tea was going to cut it and a I went in the pantry to get stuff for kids lunches I found some natural energy drinks that I had gotten to try out some time ago.  

Hmmm..... it's not pop. It's surely not the diet coke that I specifically had in mind when I gave up soda for Lent.  

On the other hand,  it's not tea.  It's not really the thing I intended to drink as an alternative when I need a little pick up.  

Maybe I should have just given up caffiene all together...

These kinds of conversations are an inevitable part of a lenten practice.  To struggle with the letter of the law,  the nature of the law,  human nature.  

One point of a fasting practice is to draw awareness to our human nature. There is a surface part of will power,  but Lent is deeper than will power.  We ultimately fail at will power when we are tired or stressed.... but fasting focuses me on the hunger.  Why do I want this thing? It focuses me on the gap created by a change in routine... how is my life made different by giving up this thing? Wrestling with these questions tells me new things about myself and my relationship with God.  

I've been wrestling a lot with the nature of sin. In the old testament,  sin is pretty clearly connected to following the law. The 10 commandments and other laws in deuteronomy. In the new testament,  sin is more amorphous both more and less than the law.  

Take the commandment,  thou shall not kill. Can you think of any exceptions when it is ok to kill? When it is not a sin to kill? What about things that aren't killing that are sins that break the sentiment of this command. 

For some people,  this creates a legalistic loophole where it is possible to pick and choose parts of the law that still must be followed and which rules are no longer relevant.  For others,  this creates a tighter straight jacket of the law requiring a deeper,  unobtainable holiness. For still others,  grace allows the law to be tossed completely - I'm a sinner anyway so why try?

I think fasting ... and the law... are there to ask us questions of ourselves.  Why is my nature this way? What is good in my nature,  what is dark? What do I hunger for? What do I use to block out hard questions or deep thoughts? 

And the very moment I start to get legalistic, it's the moment I can be aware of my nature rubbing up against something.  Hmmmmm......

What's the verdict,  should I be allowed an energy drink? 

Day 25: Remembering 2020 that one time we all had Lent for a year

On March 19, 2020  The world stopped. It completely stopped. No traffic. No work. No school. No playdates. No visiting anyone. It was like any other life-changing moment when the calendar is wiped and a new agenda slowly emerges from the rubble. 

It was a chance to take stock of how we live our lives. Many people made big changes. Some moved. Some quit or changed jobs. With nothing but emptiness to fill the normally busy loud hum of routine, we were left to face our lives on a deeper level. 

I remember feeling like everyone got mandatory lent that year. We all gave up something. We gave up precious things - gathering in community for worship and celebration,  visiting loved ones,  milestone celebrations.  We gave up annoying things like commutes and trivial social obligations.  We gave up routine and normal.  Pickups and drop offs, sports practices and recitals. We gave up shopping and music and amusement parks.  We gave up school and daycare. We found time.  Empty time and the people in the house that lived with us. 

I think the lenten practice of fasting is misunderstood.  It is a very meaningful practice for me and every year,  I peel back new layers to understand the spiritual practice of fasting. At first,  I thought Lent was about giving up something that was kind of bad for you.

 "Chocolate is just a little sinful. I'll give it up for these days. "

But Lent is not some sort of punishment,  removing sinful things from life. As I got deeper,  I understood fasting to create a gap that changes life in unexpected ways. 

Fasting creates hunger. Looking at hunger with a sort of curiosity opens me to understand my heart.  If I give up music, I am hungry for beauty. If I give up lists,  I am hungry for control. This exploring of hunger is a searching of the heart.

Fasting also creates space.  There is a void. I give up music,  I have ears to hear something else,  even the silence. I give up lists,  I have time that is normally spent making lists. 

Fasting pushes me to explore my human nature,  how I rub up against the rules,  even arbitrary rules that I make for myself. It releases rebellion in me and pride and piety. I ride round and round struggling with myself until Lent is over 

2020 was global Lent. We gave up things big and small.  By choice or not by choice. We struggled with hunger for the things we missed. We struggled with the space made by the shift in our routine. We struggled with human nature,  rebellion,  pride,  piety and hypocrisy.  We came together and we fell apart. 

Each in our own small worlds wrestling with our own things. It was heavy -- many of us also experienced loss, grief, anxiety, financial difficulties and certainly a very unsettling amount of uncertainty.

Even though I didn't struggle like many people did, it was deeply uncomfortable. For me, I was used to lots of other people working with my children -- therapists, teachers, daycare providers. Suddenly, it was just me. I had to do all the things. I had to be all the things for them. I had to enter into deeper relationship with each of them -- I had to learn how much math they each knew or didn't. I had to figure out strategies to meet developmental milestones. I had to keep them busy and happy all day.

In the process, though, I developed a deeper appreciation for the call to motherhood and what a holy vocation it is. I had to re-evaluate priorities and ended up deciding to leave work because my children and my mental and physical health were a higher priority. I bent myself around the empty space and created a little world for my children within our home.  However long the world was on its head,  I was determined to have a place for them to thrive.  

I found myself permanently changed. Life has finally returned to normal. I still run into masks and other 2020 momentos cleaning out cars and closets. 

I could write volumes about how 2020 impacted me, my family,  the world around me.  I'm sure you could too. 

It is something we all share. Our stories combined to write history of this Era as the great depression shaped the lives of our parents or grandparents or maybe even great grand parents.  May we let ourselves lean into the spiritual learnings that can come from reflecting on and being changed by such a large event. 

I mentioned before that Ulrich has taken up reading the works of CS Lewis for Lent this year. Most of his work was written in the small period of time during World War 2. Other theologians and spiritual writers also produced great works during that time.   Many great spiritual works,  including sections of the old and new testament were written during periods of historical upheaval or suffering. 

Shifts and disruptions like those we experienced during the pandemic create space for us to explore life more deeply.  And while life seems to be back to normal,  I think our hearts and minds are still processing. 

Lent... that lasts a whole year.... is bound to change us. 

Day 24: What if we didn't have to adult anymore?

We ran a glow foam run as a family tonight. It was a 5k with bubbles and black lights every 1,000 meters or so.  I smiled as we waiting in the long line that wound around the parking lot to enter the race.  People of all ages,  sizes, and races were dressed up in glow sticks, tutus and silly glasses.  Groups were laughing and snapping selfies as they lined up. 

Play. We were meant to play. 

To find moments to let go and be silly.  To dress up.  To dance.  To wear pigtails and tutus.  To play is to let go of masks and embrace a form of authentic vulnerability that returns us to childhood.

Yesterday, I was at the zoo. I stood waiting near the otter exhibit while a friend went to the restroom. Everyone loved the otters. Sulky teenagers lit up and became animated talking to friends. Old ladies smiled and chatted. Toddlers danced as the otters swam close. Over and over, people were drawn to the playful nature of the otters and turned to share the emotion with someone nearby, even when that someone was a stranger. 

To play is to connect with the parts of ourselves created in God's image - creative,  relational, joyful, curious, ungaurded. 

We are drawn to the playful spirits of children and animals.  We allow ourselves to set down our adult responsibilities for a moment,  to step into worlds of joy enveloped by play.  

We've even invented a word to describe the feeling that comes with letting go of play to return to our responsibilities.  Adulting.

What if the new heaven and new earth were free from adulting?

No bills.  No work.  No health care appointments. No dishes or chores.

Play,  I think,  is a window into the resurrection life. Easter is coming and when it does,  we can set our lenten responsibilities behind and embrace play with joy. 

Days are growing longer.  Life is growing anew. The playful days of Easter are just around the corner.  

Day 23: The sinner and saint - the one about Severous Snape

Human beings are complex.

Ulrich likes to remind me that our brains can literally disagree with themselves.  One part sending one set of signals another part sending another set of signals.  And so the war we often can feel with ourselves when we struggle - Do I eat the cupcake or do I leave it - is in fact different parts of our brain fighting with each other on a biological level.  (I'm sure I got some nuance wrong about this,  I apologize scientist friends).

My point is, in our nature, we are living contradictions. But contradiction is hard to hold together.  It doesn't resolve.  It doesn't feel comfortable.  We prefer black and white,  good and evil,  true and false over all the shades of contradiction and nuance.  How can something be both true and false? It must be one or the other... or does it. 

I find great comfort in the Lutheran theology that embraces humans as both sinners and saints,  fallen and redeemed.  In this rich description we can dive deep into the heart of the human experience.  How can we be sanctified and continue to sin? How can we do righteous things and still be fallen?

My boys have decided to reread the Harry Potter series for the 3rd or 4th time. We just finished the first book and watched the first movie this evening.  I was chewing in this idea of the complex human nature and it came to me that part of what is so compelling about the Harry Potter series is that the main characters all hold this complex split good and evil. 

No one more than Snape.  I struggle to decide how to judge Snape. He has many dark places ... and deep goodness.  I try over and over to decide what side of the line to place him on.  The pros and cons could fill several posts if I let them.  I'm sure if you are a fan of these books, you have opinions. 

----

The modern term for sin is "toxic." Toxic people, toxic environments and toxic forms of communication. The word toxic or sin or evil gives us permission to disregard the light someone holds or to sum them up as nothing more than the darkness of their actions.  

I've been called toxic.  

It,  I  think,  is the most hurtful thing that anyone has ever said or to me.  More hurtful the defaming words or racial slurs. To be toxic, in today's terms,  is to be unredemmable. The word was only used once, many years ago and still it stings. 

I do think there is a place to cut relationships,  change leadership,  re-arrange organizations and church's.  We as fallen creatures can fall into unhealthy relationship dynamics and we need to take responsibility to mend,  heal and correct these broken patterns before they do significant damage.  

But too quickly we make stories about the sinners and the saints. The good guys and the bad guys....

May we recognize that we all have a bit of Snape. Pieces that are deeply admirable. Parts that are dark and self centered.  And may we carry grace for ourselves and others on days when darkness beats out the light.

God 

Create in me a clean heart.  Drive out the toxic parts of my personality and amplify those parts of me that bring light.  Help me to choose your path and help me to forgive others when they fail to do so.  

Amen.