Tired on the longest night

I have reached the point in my wrapping where mismatched scraps seemed perfectly acceptable. No tag,  grab a sharpie.  Maybe just throw that gift in a grocery bag... and I refuse to be up until 2am on Christmas Eve this year. 

If I had to summarize my feelings about this day: 

done 

would be the right word. 

I'm done preparing. I have no new ideas.  No more creativity. I'm ready to sit. 

I've switched from preparation to execution.

This morning I packed 14 bibles carefully wrapped in brown paper and decorated personally for each child in my Sunday school class. I set them up like presents under the tree in my Sunday school classroom and set a tray of Christmas themed cupcakes on the table. The room was set for Jesus birthday party.

 

Then I went and sat in the front row of the church where I sit with my Sunday school kids for the first part of church. Little faces poured in.  I've carried them each in my heart and prayers all week.  

I led them into the Sunday school room and they gathered around me as I lot a candle and told the christmas story. They are still surprised by the story. It is still new to them. They had lots of questions and my heart smiled. We are cupcakes and they opened their presents and many of them found a comfy place and started reading their new Bibles together.  I sat in the mess and the chaos and beauty of that moment and allowed myself to rest.  

It was just a heartbeat and it was over.

We've reached the solstice.... the longest night.... the shortest day. 

The winter solstice conjures the image of a hibernating bear. 

Man,  wouldn't that be a great holiday... we should have a holiday where we all hibernate.  I think many of us do something like hibernating in the days between Christmas and new years.

I think we reach a point in the year where good or bad,  we're ready to hang it up and wait until next year.  Having Christmas and the frantic activity that goes with it seems to amplify this feeling.  

I have reached that point. I'm done with homeschool for the year. We will pick up our studies again in January. I taught my last Sunday school lesson.  I finished wrapping gifts.  There's a bit of baking but beyond that I'm done for now. 

Acknowledging this and receiving it created space in my heart to show up and be present at Sunday school this morning to see and feel and hear the beautiful mess of it.  

To let go of my list and my plans and my what's next I can just sit and be in this long dark night. 

There is so much that comes with being human

Joy.  Exhaustion.  Grief. 

Hunger.  Restlessness. Boredom.  

The night has a strange way of amplifying the inner space that we can stomp down in the busyness of the day. And this time at the end of the year with the winding down of the years activities can feel like way too much time to "sit and be with our own thoughts"

As we gather for our parties, there is an opportunity to see each other at this end of the year place and to show up in each other's human-ness. 

God entered into this time. This space. This feeling.  Incarnate in a tiny baby who peed on Mary and threw up on Joseph. Who got bored and irritated and had to deal with family gatherings. Who lost a close friend and went. Who rolled his eyes at politics and turned tables in the temple.  Who slept in a boat because he was exhausted from teaching and fed a 1000 people because they were hungry. 

Whether you are buzzed by all the joy of the season,  exhausted from a long year of working or grieving a loss that makes you feel like shoving all the christmas trees up someone's nose... or maybe all these things at the same time... God dwells with you in deeply human place you find yourself.

May peace be with you and may it be well with your soul.  

Week 3: Longing

 

My blogging has been interrupted by a 5' 9" shaggy teenage boy who wonders into my room predictably as the hustle of bedtime gives way to the snoring of his younger brothers. 

He comes to listen to the news or watch a clip from late night television.  He comes to taste adulthood.  He's looking for something.  

We've reached the rising crechendo of the holiday season.  Parties are starting soon.  We're wrapping and baking and getting last minute items from the store.  We're texting and scratching out to do lists. At least that's what I'm doing.  And I enjoy it.... but I'm looking forward to the quiet of the vacation to come just past Christmas.  I'm looking forward to wintering with my little brood. Allowing them a rest from school and routine,  with video games and movies,  hikes in the woods,  hot tubs, family reading,  hot chocolate and adventures.  

There is this pressure that comes with Christmas.  A striving for just the right gift. The beautiful chord of presents and decorations and fire light. Everyone gets along. It's all the hallmark movie moments to recreate in real life and then freeze them for a long as possible to stretch out a beautiful warm memory to hold and cherish for Christmases to come. 

And yet,  a friend that I traveled with started hospice this past week.  I've had long conversations with people in my life who are hurting.  Christmas is a salt on tender wounds. 

I've held all this in my heart all week and pondered what God might speak into it to me.  There is a longing. Some subconscious connection with all the brokenness in life that feels amplified by a holiday that is measured by perfection. And whether the feeling is a desire to capture and hold on to a beautiful moment in this holiday or to move past into into a new year or to go back to a time before grief happened.  The longing is there.  Loud or quiet.  Joyous or grief stricken. Longing marks this holiday in a way that I do not feel any other time of year. 

The Longing that things could be put together the way they should be and then stay that way.  The Longing for a world that doesn't suffer.  For time to stop and to breathe in moments of love for eternity. 

These days before Christmas feel so much like Peter on the mountain during the transfiguration. Seeing the glory of God and saying "Let's build tents. Let's camp out and hold on to this moment as long as we can."

This longing gets at the heart of advent.  The waiting.  The deep waiting for the time when God will turn the world upside down and shake it by the heels.  Creation reborn. Each of us whole and healed,  known and loved,  connected to creation and creator and the Longing will be replaced with wholeness. 

For now,  I am making myself become aware of the Longing. Times where I like a teenager wondering into a parents room,  start praying without a real plan, just seeking some sort of connection with God who feels too far away.  Times so precious,  I want to freeze time and hold onto a moment forever and times saddled by grief,  weariness, work and the desire to dive into a quiet wintering. 

These point me to God,  to grace and to hope. 

One day,  the Longing shall be satisfied. 

Until then,  I carry faith, hope and love.  

Week 2: A hope so strong, you decorate for it

 

We put up our Christmas tree this weekend. 

In our house,  there are a lot of feelings about Christmas.  Some years it's overwhelming and the kids need a break and they don't want to put up a tree.  Some years there are rules about when Christmas season actually begins and the tree can't go up until Christmas is close enough. Some years there is indifference. Some years there is joy and deep connection. 

This year,  there was joy.  There was gathering of boys and looking at ornaments.  Pictures of younger versions of themselves and school ornaments and memories of Christmas past. 

I thought about the christmas season. How some people are so ready for it.  They can't wait for hallmark movies,  hot chocolate and Mariah Carey. 

I thought about how the shopping season hits me and I browse and suddenly I'm thinking more deeply about all the people in my life.  Wondering which gifts will be well loved.  Wondering who I should buy gifts for and possible acts of service. I start to unfold myself to the season and I try not to over schedule myself so I can whole heartedly say yes to moments that bring joy.  

As much as Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Jesus, it is also a season of love and joy and hope that we bring by allowing ourselves to be washed in the traditions of love and joy and hope. 

What if we held the hope of the return of Christ so vividly, that we decorated for it?

What if we knew the day and hour that creation would be fully redeemed? The mystery of God.  The new heaven and earth. When tears are wiped away for good. 

How do you decorate for that?

I graduated from grad school bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to make a difference in the world. I applied to so many amazing jobs.  But it was a recession and I was one of hundreds sending in my resume.  

I bought myself interview clothes. But no interviews came. 

My hope wilted some as days,  then weeks, then months passed. But surely some day I would get a job and start my life. People do it every day.  Those clothes hung in the closet as a sure reminder that some day my life would start. 

--------

I bought a onsie from a thrift store not long after my husband and I decided the time had come to start "trying." 

Like my interview outfit,  that onsie stayed folded in my drawer for months.  

And then,  a line. A second line. Two lines!!!!

But what felt shockingly certain in one moment,  faded quickly as all the possibilities unfolded.  Statistics about miscarriage looming in my mind. The stubborn silence and relentless nothing different that I felt in my body. Maybe the test is wrong. Maybe there is no new life. 

Weeks turn to months.  And mostly silence.

I had some cartoon in my mind about what pregnancy would feel like. A belly that would stretch over night.  Throwing up everywhere. I felt like me,  but tired and a bit of an upset stomach. It felt like stress at work,  not a miracle. 

And then one day,  I felt him move.  It was undeniable.  There were two of us alone on the couch together.  I put my hands on my belly and allowed hope and joy and love to wrap around me. A small person was going to join our world and I would be his mother. 

The 20 week ultrasound was a miracle.  I held the hand of God as I looked at every bone,  every organ,  the two halves of his tiny brain,  the curve of his spine with each spiked vertebrae,  tiny fingers and toes. 

And then it hit me. 

I needed to prepare. 

He needed a place to sleep.  I needed to make space for him in my little apartment. We needed a car seat.  I had no idea what I was doing.  

I began to decorate.  Onsies and diapers.  Gifts from church and friends and family. Preparing my home,  my heart, my life,  to change..... forever. 

What does it look like to decorate for the coming redemption that we so deeply hope for?The world made right.  Turned upside down by the creative whirlwind of God,  making us new and whole. 

How many days or months or years before Jesus comes back can we start celebrating his arrival? How do we prepare our hearts and homes and lives for a change like that?

We are waiting for Christmas and yet we bring Christmas into the waiting as we get caught up in the preparation.  May we invite the re-creation of ourselves and our world as we wait for Christ to return.   May we bring redemption as we get caught up in the waiting.

"Come,  Lord Jesus,  come."

First day of Advent

And just like that Christmas was everywhere. The world went from ordinary to holiday overnight and things felt different like waking up to a world covered in freshly fallen snow. 

But it doesn't feel quiet like snow. 

It feels like an airport. 

Plans and messages.  Invitations and calendars. Sales and wish lists. The giving and the greeting and the buzz of goodwill.  

And so, today I searched for advent.  

Sunday is my usual planning day. I get a few hours to eat lunch, plan lessons for homeschool and Sunday school,  write out the week's schedule and meal plan. All the mom things. Sunday is my day to find my brain and make sure all the pieces are there.  

We're behind at Sunday school.  I had a plan to wrap up our lessons on the old testament in time to switch to the story of Jesus in place for advent.  But families were on vacation and I didn't want too many kids to miss the lesson so we will be doing the story of Queen Esther and the exile of Israel next week,  then shift to prophecies of the coming messiah on the 15th of December and I'll cram the whole beautiful story of Mary and Elizabeth and angels and Bethlehem on the 22nd. 

And as I wrote those lessons in my planner, I found advent.  

It was so long. So very long. 

Israel was ruled by one empire and then another.  And with ever generation there were new prophets who carried the light. Who spoke of a king. Who gave the people hope.  

400 years. 

Longer than America has been a country. Longer than than most things we think of as long in a historical way. Longer than anyone should hope. 

I think of the world I hope for. Could I wait 400 years? Could I live my whole life and die and my children's lives and their children's lives and their children's lives and could I pass on a hope that would live on for that many generations.  

Advent comes in our deep weariness for the world.  The pieces of the world that seem to keep going the wrong direction with little hope of ever changing.  

"For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder.

And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of His government and peace There will be no end, Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom, To order it and establish it with judgment and justice From that time forward, even forever.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.

I think there was a hope that the messiah would fulfill this in a certain kind of way.  But the baby born in Bethlehem did not overthrow Rome or reestablish Israel as a mighty nation.

I think I hope God will show up in our world in a certain kind of way. 

But advent is, for me, letting go to the wildness of God.  Wildness that redeems humanity through a vulnerable baby.  Wildness that chooses the cross and the garden. 

In advent, I grab a hold of the light and hope carried by generations before me.  A hope that leans into the wildness of God who works in ways I cannot understand and brings peace that passes understanding to a weary world in need of healing. 

Easter: surprised by the good news

The pastor said a blessing and excused us from the service. There were 11 kids, about half of them were new or rarely attend. 

I led them out back. The early morning clouds and fog broke as we walked and by the time we arrived at our destination the sun was warm in our backs.  The church has a community garden and a large grassy plot of land that butts up against the creek. I crouched near the ground and the children gathered around me. 

"This is going to be a little serious." I told them just a drop above a whisper. 

"Has anyone had a pet die?" Hands went up.

"Has anyone had a human die? Someone in your family or a friend?" Hands. 

My eyes connected with each child who has raised hands.  There was a knowing connection between us.

"It is so sad when someone dies or when a pet dies...When that happens we often will bring their body to a beautiful garden like this and we dig a hole and put them in the ground. And then,  we can come and visit that place to be near them. 

When Jesus died, his friends brought him to a place like this and they put him in a place but they couldn't finish because there was a holiday and they had to leave.  But there were some women who loved him and they wanted to come back and finish. They were so sad."

You could have heard a pin drop.  

They leaned in to listen to my quiet voice. 

"They came to the place where they had left him but he wasn't there and they became worried that someone had taken his body away.  And that made them even sadder.  

But suddenly,  angels appeared. They told the women that Jesus wasn't there because he was alive.  They were so surprised and a little afraid.  So they walked around the garden and they saw... Jesus!! They were so happy."

Smiles curled onto all the faces.  Eyes bright.  

"Here in this garden Jesus is hiding and I want you to find him. But there's not just Jesus. Do you remember our sheep from the God shepherd story? They got out of their box and got into this garden and Jesus doesn't leave one single sheep behind so we also have to find 5 sheep and we can't leave here until we have them all. "

Kids scattered far and wide frantically looking for Jesus and the sheep.  Every time one was found we cheered and danced and threw a little party.  And when all were found we brought them home to our Sunday school room and placed them safely in the box. We ate snacks and listened to hymns and painted eggs. 

And I soaked in Easter.  

I've been in church my whole life.  

I love Easter.  It is my favorite holiday. I got engaged on Easter.  I baptized my children at Easter.  

And yet.  

This humble morning, with these 11 little faces who took in the story so fully in a sun drenched garden with flowers opening and dew on the grass.  It was the gospel alone.  No bells or whistles or hymns or trumpets.  

Just children looking for Jesus in a garden. 

I will cherish it always. 

 

Holy Saturday: holding vigil

 

Pale light signaled the coming dawn.  Familiar little hands reached to be lifted into bed for our pre-dawn snuggle ritual.  But there was another sound. A larger child.  

"Do you want help with Zander?" He asked. 

Andrew,  my almost 12 year old,  was too excited to stay in bed. After 40+ days without video games,  today was the day. 

We are leaving Easter day on a big RV trip but he wanted to play video games with his friends as part of his Easter celebration.  He took Lent seriously.  This would be his personal garden good news moment. 

We had planned it.  I started my last fast with the last supper (which completed with a giant chocolate chip cookie) so we were planning to get breakfast together then pickup his friends for some epic video game action.  

The sun was creeping up and the air was crisp as we got into the cold van.  Golden arches glowed at the end of the street.  Illumined open sign glowed into the still dark morning. 

Egg mcmuffin and a diet coke. A quiet but very deep celebration of the end of a season of fasting.  

We talked about those grief stricken women. Up early to do the one thing that dominated their thoughts.  Pay respects to the Lord who was so violently taken from them.  They did not greet Easter morning with joy. It was just doing the next right thing. Not seeing the next step after that. 

Arriving in the garden to an empty tomb must have been more bad news piled on. It was despicable to murder him. But did they really have to steal and defame his body? Could they not even be left to their grief.  

I savored my meal and my early glimpse at the risen lord but those women stayed in my heart. 

I picked up Andrew's friends and we came home. My other kids were up and excited. Everyone fell instantly into their screens.  It was a big collaborative game and they were laughing and chatting and strategizing and completely unaware of my existence. 

Parenting was easy this morning.  

So I went about my cleaning and joined the women in the way to the garden.  We women do the things. We prepare meals and homes. We make sure children have everything they need for school and that everyone is packed for vacation.  We cook potlucks for funerals and baptisms. We are the backbone of community,  of church.  And Sometimes,  our deepest expressions of love and grief is work we do with our hands. Especially in moments like this too terrible for words.  Too terrible even for tears. We hold on to each other and we work,  side by side in holy silence. 

And so I worked silently preparing for the Easter day of my lord.  I prepared my Sunday school lesson. I cleaned my house.  I did laundry.  I made beds.  

In our grief sometimes the only thing to do is to do the next thing. Clear the table.  Make coffee.  Buy eggs. Vacuum the rug.  Take out the trash.  It needs doing. We need a single point to focus on. 

But the work is a declaration of the choice to continue living. It is a step forward into a new unknown. It is a silent sliver of hope that we can grab on to. It is a vigil we hold,  a space we create. And when we do it together we hold each other up.  We hold each other's grief. 

But people hadn't stolen the body. 

Angels sat in the tomb and declared.  "He is not here.  Why do you look for living among the dead. "...And their clothes gleamed like lightning. 

And the night became day.  The dark became light and the women witnessed it all. 

Good Friday: last words

At some point biology takes over. 

When you have to pee or are hungry or need to sleep or are sick.  

A strong mind can push it off and control the body for a bit,  but in the end,  biology usually wins. 

I remember when I was in the thick of labor with my first son. I had a prolonged early labor and hadn't slept for more than 24 hours. I was dehydrated and floating in the birthing pool completely overwhelmed by pain.  

My precious husband,  bless him,  had no idea what he was doing.  He leaned over the water and whispered something about how Jesus suffered on the cross. 

I had no space to process that.  

I was zoned in trying to make it to the next breath. Anguished over whether I should get an epidural,  which was still an option at that point and completely terrified by how much of a hill I still needed to climb. 

Life arrives in a fury. 

Eventually long after Eddie was born and we were snuggled in for a  late night nursing session did I even remember what Ulrich had said.  My higher brain present,  I was able to process and put the things together.  In the moment,  biology was driving and my brain was not accessible. 

I imagine,  in death,  we may find ourselves in a similar place.  

And as I read the story of the passion I think of Jesus in his humanity reaching that point where biology takes over. That is what lends such strength to his final words.  They were not a sermon or well thought out coherent statements but the deepest truth of his being coming forth in those lucid moments as consciousness begins to fail. 

"Forgive them,  they know not what they do. "

"Today, I say to you,  you will be with me in paradise. "

"Mother,  this is your son. Son this is your mother. " 

"My God, my God,  why have you forsaken me?"

"I thirst. "

"It is finished."

"Father,  into your hands I commend my spirit. "

These 7 phrases reveal the essence and mystery of Jesus. The parts of himself so deeply written that he could access them when biology was screaming it's loudest.

As one who follows Jesus, who has heard these words year after year I feel like I have some thoughts on this but I find them hard to put into words and perhaps presumptuous.  

But,  when I place them aside his command to love others as he has loved us I find the command to deepen. 

It is to carve the way of love and a trust in God's goodness so deeply into my soul that it is automatic. That it is my instinct even as I am dying.  Even when biology has taken over. 

I am not there.  I do not love well when I am tired,  sick and hungry. I do not automatically fall into rhythm and stance of love without first accessing my higher brain.  Except... with my kids.  Motherhood teaches me what automatic love might look like.  I can confort a child without waking up.  I can push myself past my normal tolerance of pain,  exhaustion,  hunger or other afflictions for the sake of my littles.  

And love in motherhood has come to me by way of practice.  I have practiced loving these little people over the span of years until it has been etched in places that are automatic, even deeper than habit. 

So my call is to build on this tiny kernel and broaden this love to my spouse,  my parents,  my siblings,  my neighbors,  people at church,  people at work,  people who cross my path, people who harm me.  

Like that beautiful Haitian pastor that I wrote about earlier,  Jesus has gone.  He has left the work of carrying his light to us. As I reflect on how loving he was even in suffering and death I hold the gravity of what it means to be a light bearer.  

Christ have mercy. 

Maundy Thursday: 8 powerful words

 

My caterpillars are changing into butterflies. They crawl to the lid, stretch out and slowly form a hard skin over their entire self. I've been watching the process closely.  It is in many ways like dying. They were voraciously hungry in the days prior. But they've lost interest in food.  They are compelled to climb and let go of everything they've done to this point. 

Easter is drawing near. 

We've entered the 3 holy days leading up to Easter where Christians everywhere follow the final days of Jesus.  A meal with his friends.  Praying in a garden.  An unjust trial.  A long walk with a heavy post.  Nails and final words.  Darkness. 

On this day we focus on the final meal and final sermon that Jesus shared with his closest followers.  

A good part of the gospel of John recounts the final teaching of Jesus before leaving his disciples and heading to the cross. But they could be summarized in the line at the end:

"Love each other as I have loved you. "

Not as we love ourselves.  

But as he has loved us. 

Christianity can be summed up in these 8 words. 

All the fine points of theology or debates between denominations stand silent before this command. None of us can dispute it. None of us can achieve it and yet,  Jesus chose these words to be the final sermon.  

And so, tonight Christians join the disciples around the table.  Listening to Jesus.  Eating the last supper. washing each others feet.  So we should let these words,  his last teaching,  send us into the world.  

Tomorrow,  Good Friday, we stand witness to the passion of the cross knowing that deep love held him there.  The type of love he calls us to carry to each other. May we be inspired in our own tiny worlds to live a bit more like Christ. 

To forgive those who wrong us. 

To have compassion on those who are hurting. 

To call out those who need to turn their lives in a new direction. 

These things take courage.  Sometimes deep courage.  It is hard to break patterns to love someone more deeply.  It takes vulnerability and the possibility that we may get hurt. It is easier to live business as usual and not step into the type of love Jesus calls us to. Even with the people we love the most. Our spouse,  parents, siblings,  children.  It is hard to love even them with the courage of Christ's love. Let alone people at work,  parents at drop off, teachers,  neighbors,  that super toxic guy with the loud truck.  Even him. How can we, this day,  love as Christ has loved us?

But perhaps a bigger question might be,  what will it take for me to live a life of loving the way Christ did? What stumbling blocks or fears lay in my heart... what desires or priorities prevent me from living a life of love?

I am going to challenge myself with this.  I'm going to pull out my bullet journal and when I consider my plans and priorities for the next few months, I am going to add "love like Jesus" to the top of the list and next to every other item I'm going to add a second to do which is how I will do that thing in a way that loves like Jesus. 

"Plan kids summer" - love like Jesus

"Eddie's graduation" - love like Jesus

"Plant the garden" - love like Jesus

"Sunday school lesson" 

"Work audit"

"Laundry"

Yes, laundry. I can promise there is a way to do laundry that is NOT loving and a way that is. 

As I soften my heart and look at these real examples I can start to see where there is a difference between just going through life and v intentionally living my faith in each of the major spheres of my life. And I think it's more than just "not yelling at the kids" It's a deeper selflessness.  Taking a harder way.  Living with greater honesty.  Having a deeper compassion. And perhaps, some things come off the list all together to make more space for those things that allow me to love well. Because, I am,  in fact,  limited in time and energy and love is expensive. It takes lots of both. Especially Christ like love. 

This post will continue as I wrestle it out in the pages of my planner.  

As you journey into these holy days,  may you encounter Christ in a new way or uncover a new insight into your faith journey that calls you deeper. 

We don't figure this out all at once.  It is a process of being made and remade again and again through the seasons of life. Don't give up on God or on yourself. Keep journeying on knowing that many others are on same and different journeys. It is a journey worth taking even when it feels hard.

The caterpillars die to life as a caterpillar to gain wings.  

Day 42: Mom guilt - what I've done and left undone

 

Many years ago,  I was on fire to build a startup. My husband had invented this amazing technology and through it, I discovered a social injustice that had given me new passion to change the world.  

Infertility has long been considered a women's problem.  But science says,  it takes two to tango and in actuality it's really 50 / 50 when it comes to biological causes of infertility.  Not only that,  but infertility is a bit of a "canary in the coal mine" when it comes to health and infertility can signal systemic health problems. And yet,  infertility is treated almost exclusively by ob/gyns. Men and the health issues that cause infertility in men are usually ignored because IVF and other modern treatments can generally bypass male issues... generally. This is all over simplified for the sake of brevity. 

Our company had a mission to educate and help men improve health on the way to fatherhood. And in the process,  I became a coach,  an advocate and friend to many men who struggled with infertility.  Some of whom are still connected to me on social media all these many years later. 

I was also a mom of 3 small boys. A 4 year old,  2 year old and newborn.  I had a lot on my plate. My 4 year old was thriving in Montessori but my 2 year old struggled.  He seemed more sensative and clingy.  He was happy with mom,  but away from mom... well,  he did his best.  The newborn lived in a wrap tied to my body most of the day.  Where I went,  he went.  To meetings,  investor pitches and the like. Usually there was a baby attached to my body.  

But,  as the startup grew,  I needed to travel - to conferences and meetings. So I left my babies and boarded planes and did my thing to shine my light into the world hoping to make a change that would,  in a small way,  make life better for people.  

I would come home and be covered in children. But,  something felt wrong.  I felt bad for leaving them. I could tell that how many hours I could give them or how deeply I could attend to them,  it wasn't enough.  They needed more. The problem was,  there wasn't more.  I was already getting up at 4am to start work so I could be with them in the afternoon.  I was working as hard and as efficiently as I could carving myself into smaller and smaller pieces. 

I felt this weight of guilt.  On one hand my responsibility to my children and on the other,  my responsibility to my work.  It was crushing. 

Guilt is uncomfortable.  It is a heavy weight of not being the type of person you intend. 

I was listening to one of my lenten books,  "A life worth living" recently and came to a chapter on what to do when you mess up. The book overviews different philosophical and faith traditions approach to the big questions - what make life worth living,  why do we suffer,  what is our purpose and what should we do when we fail.  

This chapter was focused on failure and it started with an interesting question. "What does it feel like to be wrong?" My answer,  like many others,  was bad.  It feels heavy and sad and embarrassing and it kicks off an inner fight which on one hand is condemning myself and the other justifying myself. But,  the book says,  these are answers to the wrong question.  They are how we feel when we realize we are wrong. But to be wrong without realizing it feels the same as being right.   

This is why motherhood is so life changing. 

In so many other aspects of life,  I'm doing good enough. If I ignore the poor, the poor are not going to wake me up and night and yell,  "you've ignored me." But a two year old will.  Children bear the truth of who we are back to us and so especially when I was early in my motherhood journey, guilt seemed to pour into my life.  

I wasn't used to that.  Generally people told me I was a good person.  I generally felt good about things I did.  I was a rule follower and people pleaser so I did not have much experience with guilt.  

I wrestled philosophically with my dilemma. Was the good I was doing in the world worth the harm I was causing my son? The harm was probably small,  right? Moms travel all the time and kids learn and grow.  But it nagged me. So I chose the 3rd way and I decided to bring him and the baby and my mom or a babysitter with me when I traveled.  It felt better to pay money and do good by my children and by my work.  

But mom guilt wasn't solved by just creative solutions. Over the years my children have confronted who I am as a human being. And I have felt guilty for my own personality flaws.  

Children know every single one of our buttons.  

Every. 

Single. 

One.  

Reading the gospel, I find Jesus to be like this. He confronted everyone. He confronts me. His confrontations sometimes seem to contradict each other,  one time he admonishes this and the other he admonishes in the opposite direction. But in motherhood start to get it. We are supposed to be all and both in ways that are impossible. 

In life I can get by with being good enough. But in motherhood,  I am crushed by the fact that: 

1. I can't actually be a good as I intend to be

2. Even my best self is not good enough to raise my kids in the ideal way I would hope them to be raised. 

And so guilt.

But guilt is not the end of the story.  Guilt pushes me to change and apologize.  Guilt pushes me to restore things I've broken by what I've done and what I've not done. 

My kids make me a better mom and frankly a better human.  They've taught me patience and persistence. They've taught me so many ways I can put myself aside and how many ways I put myself first without realizing it. 

Jesus in his confrontation pushes me too. He's asked me to take a good long look at my relationship with money and time and what I think is mine. He's asked me to welcome the "least of these" and "love others as he has loved me. " and "pick up my cross and follow him. " I do push towards these things. But as I find in motherhood, there isn't enough of me to be the person he calls me to be. 

And every time I allow the guilt to hit my heart truly - not deflect or bury or justify - but rather just sit and own my short comings, I allow Jesus to mold me into the creation he made me to be.  

But there is still the matter of even my very best self not living up to the call Jesus places on me as a mother or a a human.  And for this,  I look beyond myself.  

God called us to do this work together. Where I am weak as a mother there is dad and  grandarents,  aunts,  uncles,  friends,  teachers and a whole community wrapped around my boys, bringing their flawed selves that are able to give and teach in ways I cannot. 

And the whole body of Christ can link arms to feed the hungry and visit the imprisoned and care for the sick and pray for the kingdom of God to come.  

This week is a time to reflect on Christ.  What he did,  who he was and how he suffered and the fact the we cannot,  no matter how hard we try,  reach the standard Christ calls us to be. May these solemn moments push us past a gratitude and into a life marked by repentance and rebirth so we can together become the people Christ calls us to be. 

Day 42: Annoyed with children

I was ambitious for holy week.  

20 hour fasts

No caffiene

No take out,  fast food or even grocery visits. 

No phone use except communication.  

I really wanted to finish Lent with a strong fast from my modern life and lean in to the questions this week demands I wrestle with. 

Monday morning. Lacing up my sneakers to run.  Trains packed to take to daycare. Zander loaded into his stroller.  I turned on my headphones with the worship jams I've been running to all through Lent.  Time to start this holy week with a good long run. 

I head down the block towards day care. Cross the street at the busy intersection and turn left. Suddenly there's shaking in the seat below.  I stop, pull off my headphones. 

"What's wrong Zander?"

"I wanted to go to Donald's before daycare. "

Going to McDonald's on Monday before daycare is a tradition we have sometimes to ease into the week.  When leaving mom is hard, sometimes we soften it with a special breakfast with just the two of us before drop off. Mcdonald's is close to our house and not very far out of the way on our run to daycare. 

So. Annoyed. 

This is not a week for McDonald's. I want to listen to my music and do my spiritual practice and do holy week.  

But to be compassionate to Zander I should have our special breakfast. That is love. That is the selfless thing to do in this moment. 

I turn right instead of left.  We head to McDonald's. I order his breakfast.  And mine. We eat together.  He says hi to all the regulars lighting up the room with his bright happiness.  

In the silence, I wrestle with my decision.  Was there a way to make Zander understand Lent?  Should I have insisted on carrying on with my run? 

Crossing lines I draw for myself, even abirtrary one like these,  brings reflection and pondering on personal failure and the definition of sin.

Was this an example of Jesus healing on sabbath? Breaking a rule (self imposed in this case), for the sake of love of someone else or was it personal failure to live up to a spiritual practice.  

The next day I faced a similar situation with Miles.  Miles is my most tricky little duckling. Autism pulls on him hard and his foods are limited so is his desire to speak about his thoughts.  I had prepped him over the weekend that there would be no stopping any day this week for any type of snack on the way home from school which we sometimes do on days when ha donne really well at school or hasn't eaten anything all day due to sensory issues. 

Today when I picked him up I asked about his day. He mumbled a few things then grew silent. Then he started crying. 

"We don't have any raspberry yogurt. "

"We have eggs and noodles and strawberries. " I offer.

"But the only thing I can eat today is raspberry yogurt. " He sobs.

I roll my eyes. Why on earth do I have to have children with such ridiculous eating rules. 

I try to reason with him and guide him towards foods that we have.  But it's clear ... his mind is stuck on raspberry yogurt.  

I try to explain holy week to him.  But to his 7 year old hungry brain, my explanation makes no sense. 

Annoyed I drive to Trader Joe's hoping they have some sort of yogurt in stock. We stroll in silently together. He anxiously looking for yogurt.  Me wrestling with the moral ramifications of taking my 7 year old to trader joe's.  

I left so annoyed. I had a plan.  I wanted to focus this week on my spiritual discipline.  I wanted a monastic week.  And these children just keep getting in the way. 

"My minivan is my monastery "

A devotion book that a good friend sent me one year popped into my mind. This is my season I resigned myself. 

I'm not giving up on holy week. I still have intentions to minimize the conveniences and quick solutions that I often turn to as a tired mom and turn my focus to the hard road to the cross. 

But... I am still a little annoyed, why are kids so able to zone in on the exact button that undoes my whole day?  I guarantee I'm not done wrestling with how far I should bend to meet my children where they are and how much I should push them to bend to understand that faith asks us to seasons of discomfort. Maybe I should just let them melt down.  That would be very Lent-y feeling. 

And yet,  I'm compelled to compassion. Jesus remained compassionate even to the bitter end. 

So cheers to a long week of hard choices,  big questions and life going on normally in the midst of a holy time. 

Day 41: Not worthy of the cross

 "Why would he do that?" I demanded.

We sat side by side in our king bed with copies of the Economist open on our laps. Most nights, we collapse immediately after the last of the children are sleeping. But this particular night, we had enough energy to get caught up on the world beyond our walls.

Alexei Navalny had just returned to Russia after recovering from being poisoned and was immediately taken into prison. 

"He's just going to die. What's the point?"

It's one thing to head into danger. A completely different thing to have the target painted on your back.

It was clear to me, to my husband, probably most people -- including Alexei Navalny -- that he wasn't going to come out of this ordeal alive. And yet, he boarded that plane. He went back. His work was not finished and he would die finishing it.

----

Jesus turned his face stoutly toward Jerusalem knowing he would not leave again. He predicted his death multiple times along the way to a group of disciples who refused to hear. Still, he went.

He marched into the city, received as a king. People wanted to overthrow the current regime. They wanted Jesus to lead the uprising. But Jesus wasn't there to fight Rome. His eyes were set on higher work.

"If anyone wants to follow me, they must deny themselves and daily pick up their cross and follow me." He said it more than once. He admonished us to follow with the same resolve.

----

I can honestly say, I don't have it. 

At least not yet. I wouldn't have gone back to Russia if I were Navalny. I would have tried to find another way to advance the cause from abroad. I would have reasoned that sparing my life would keep the movement alive. 

I would have scattered and hid with the disciples. I would want no part in the cross. Not one single part.

I think about Navalny this holy week because we still live in a world that demands we give up our lives to shine a brighter light. 

I thought we lived in a world that was moving past this and moving towards non-violent means of negotiating social change and pursuing God's kingdom. But we are still human and we still seem to have people who would rather snuff out the voices and the lights of the dissenters. 

I know that are Christ light's shining out there today -- in Israel and Palestine, Ukraine and Russia, Sudan, Haiti, the Sahel and Somalia. There are people out there choosing harms way to bring aid and tend wounded. There are people going in with knowledge that they may not leave. 

I am not among them. 

This holy week I am safe with my children grateful that my cross is not literal and unsure that if my life were held in the balance that I would be able to choose the way of Jesus.  I keep wanting to edit this post to justify myself. To say, that maybe, just maybe if I were in that position I would have courage to pick up my cross. Maybe I would, it takes a lot of courage to get to the point where people are painting a target on your back to begin with. I don't live with that kind of courage. I blend in. I don't exactly avoid danger but I'm really smart about it. I definitely don't do anything stupid like confront people who have guns or large amounts of power. But that's the point. 

Jesus lived his life knowing the cross was there. He spoke truth over and over to people who didn't want to hear it. He said things that could get him killed every day. He didn't play it safe. 

Lord, give me courage.

Day 40: In defense of church

 

Sunlight illuminated the backside of the blackout curtains.  A small hand reached around under the blanket searching for something to grab so he could pull himself up into my bed.  

"Chocolate milk. " He demanded. 

I groggily tried to force myself awake.  I could have slept another 3 hours. What time was it?

8:00

Seriously?!

I leapt up and went to get his chocolate milk and plunged into the day.  

It's palm Sunday and I had a ton of things to prepare for church.  The Sunday school kids are baking Communion bread during service. I pulled up the recipe and started packing ingredients into a diaper box.  

Grabbing clothes out of the dryer, I threw a pile onto my bed where a collection of children had gathered to watch morning cartoons. 

Eddie had to be at church early so he and I and Andrew left just after 8:30.

Service was beautiful.  We started outside all holding palms.  Readers read and we processed into the church with the smallest children holding the biggest palms leading the way. 

After the procession I led the children into the fellowship hall where we quickly got to work mixing ingredients and forming pancake sized loaves of Communion bread.  I popped the bread into the oven and pulled out my Sunday school supplies. We recently discovered a cache of "godly play" materials which are just beautiful.  Among them was the passion story.  It was similar to stations of the cross but rather than just telling the passion story they tell the story of Jesus's whole life from Christmas to Easter.  

I sat the kids in a semi circle and placed card after card telling the story of baby jesus who grew up,  served the world, died and rose again. The Easter card shows Jesus serving Communion and I explained how Jesus promised to be present in the bread and wine.  Just then,  the timer went off. The bread was ready. I pulled it out of the oven and set it in front of the children. 

We talked about passover and freedom.  We talked about Jesus and Communion.  Then I placed the bread on little white napkins and gave the kids the job of bringing Jesus to the grown-ups.  They carefully carried their bread to the sanctuary and brought it to the pastor who set it on the alter.  I smiled.  Jesus was with us today. 

After church I sent the kids home with dad.  I had a church committee meeting.  If you go to church long enough,  I can promise you will find yourself in a committee meeting.  This particular committee is leading the congregation through a visioning process to plan our future.  We currently have an interim pastor and are doing work to figure out what type of person God is calling to lead us next. We've also been through a lot as a congregation .. covid for example.  We're a smaller congregation than we were a few years ago and there is both a deep passion and a weariness among the core church members. 

Today's meeting focused on the ministries of the church that serve the members of the congregation - church service,  Sunday school,  Bible studies,  women's ministry - stuff like that. The question of the day was how are we caring for us.  

I have been thinking about it all day and about church in general.  Church everywhere is shrinking.  Fewer people are going into ministry. Church seems to be an exhausting extra in a life full of every kind of responsibility and activity.  But why? 

It puzzles me.  Faith and community are two of the biggest fighters of mental illness and anxiety which also seem to be growing out of control in our modern world.  Faith and community,  the things of church,  give us a place to belong. They give us meaning that is bigger than ourselves. It is family beyond family.  

But then,  perhaps that's the rub.  

Church is uncomfortable at times.  It asks us to wrestle with big questions.  It asks us to reflect on our personal failings and ways that we don't live up to the ideals we hold dear. It asks us to face fears and reality of suffering, aging and death.  I think any given morning 2 extra hours of sleep is going to beat church hands down.  

Even when I can overcome the desire to sleep with a habit of going to church,  getting deeper into church and stepping up to support the church is uncomfortable.  It's a bunch of strangers from different generations and perspectives debating how to do the really important stuff - well. It's hard enough to go to Thanksgiving dinner with uncle frank but now I have to talk to a guy like him every week. Community lived well in church is messy.  People doing their absolute best to shine Christ's light but inevitably hurting each others feelings or falling into well worn routines that don't change and don't rock the boat so no one ever gets hurt feelings. 

But those things that make church hard are exactly why we need church. Church is exercise for the soul.  Little moments of courage and forgiveness.  Small reminders that we matter deeply and there are things more important than us. That we are loved and that we have a responsibility to love.

 I'm not going to lie.  There are times I'm ready to throw in the towel on church.  It feels like I could do just fine teaching faith to my kids and spiritually feeding myself with books and podcasts. I could use the extra sleep and it wouldn't feel like a big deal to let it go.  And... in the beginning,  it wouldn't be.  But with time my soul and my family would lose something precious that comes from being part of a faith community.  I wouldn't even feel it go but I think it would feel something like getting out of shape.  At some point my spiritual muscles would be tested and I would be weak or huffing and puffing at the mild exertion. 

I don't know how church can compete with entertainment and self help. It's a lot easier to get people on board with Christmas than it is with Lent. Not a ton of people are out there chatting about what they are giving up this year compared with what they are getting and giving for Christmas.  But Lent is so life-giving in a way that is different and hard to describe when compared with holiday feasts.  But both are deeply important seasons in a life deepened by faith. 

I know many of readers of this blog are not of a particular faith or not part of a faith community.  But I ask you to consider seeking out something like church. A group of people to journey with,  to fast and feast with,  to wrestle with deeper questions of meaning and suffering and happiness and forgiveness.  People you don't agree with always or who bother you sometimes and preferably people who are older and younger than you. 

Church is a loaded word, I get it. 

I have been wounded in church. Broken and terrible people go to church. But God promises us that if we seek God,  we will find God. 

If we are patient and if we seek,  God will lead us to a group of people who can be church for us.  

Don't give up on church, especially if you've never found a faith or a church that feels like home.  God is calling you somewhere.  

And if you are in a church and it makes you feel tired.  Don't give up on church. 

Bring your light.  Shine your light even if it rocks the boat a little.  God can use you to make church better.  

Day 39: Palms

 

It was raining and the garden was the vibrant new green of fresh growth.  Tiny droplets hung from the leaves. The air was fresh and cool.  

I handed Miles a pair of garden loppers and together we clipped every branch off the small palm that grows near the sidewalk in front of our house.  The branches were thick and Miles wasn't quite strong enough to do it alone so I held one side and he pushed with his whole weight.  After we clipped the branches and pulled them onto the sidewalk,  I told Eddie to load them into the back of the van while I put socks and shoes on Zander. 

Eventually,  we were dressed and loaded into the van.  

There was a large army green tarp laid out at the entrance of the sanctuary.  It was loaded with palm branches of different types and sizes.  Scissors,  garden sheers and thumb tacks littered the ground. The boys knew what to do and started right away grabbing branches and placing them around the sanctuary.  

We are entering holy week. 

After 15 minutes the sanctuary was transformed for palm Sunday service.  I was transported to a dusty road in ancient Jerusalem dropped into a story as familiar as a favorite pair of jeans. I could hear the words,  the sounds and see the sanctuary transform in my mind from bright palms to plain foot washing basins  to a stripped alter and black fabric.  

I didn't realize that decorating the sanctuary was a ritual.  But it has become one. A simple act of worship.  Preparation for holy week.  I was surprised by the demeanor of the boys. They were certainly running around the sanctuary but they were also serious with the palms.  They knew what we were doing and what was coming.  

The work was quick and we moved on and into our day. But it was a moment of worship and preparation. Holy week is here.  

Day 38: Open doors

You know it's going to be a good day when you start it out by baking a chocolate chip cookie the size of a large pizza. 

Part of Lent has been family desserts and this has been on bucket list for a few weeks.  The kids had the day off school and I decided we were going to have some fun with it. 

We voted on activities - bike riding,  searching for tadpoles at the creek,  pillow fort and playdates.  

I grabbed my phone and texted a few parents - "hey,  if you're not doing anything or need to work today,  I'm happy to take your kid." Need less to say a couple working parents were happy to take me up on the offer and I spent the day with a pack of boys - getting dirty and being silly. 

One of the books I've been reading this Lent,  Habits of the household,  had a profound reminder.  There is a big difference between the Christian practice of hospitality and the concept of entertaining guests. Entertaining is a procured experience - a lovely meal,  music.  Hospitality,  the book says,  "is just opening the door... and welcoming people to join your mess. "

We live in such a procured world where entertaining is the norm that hospitality feels a little strange.  It feels strange and yet wonderfully intimate. Anytime I can remember someone opening the door and turning quickly to attend to the stove or a diaper somehow feels like a strange honor.  Like,  you trust me to see your real self.  

My house is on the smaller side,  especially for the size of our family.  It is very practical.  There isn't a sitting room and the dining room is a constantly shifting space used for homework and making cookies, science experiments and legos.  I have no space to entertain guests. This has limited my openness to invite people for dinner especially people I don't know well.  My kids are, well, kids and there are quite a few of them.  If you come here to talk to me,  it's going to take 15 minutes to finish the first sentence. You'll have my full attention but someone will need food or pee on the floor or ask if they can go scooting.  Interruptions are just part of the rhythm here.  

Hospitality feels a little too much in this house.  The space too intimate.  The pace a little overwhelming.  

But today the house is full of laughter because I opened the door...because I took the step to teach out and invite. It was a good day.  

May we all have courage to invite people into our messes.  We are made for connection.  Invitation is the first step.  

Day 37: Toys everywhere

 

. 

My house is covered in toys. 

Long forgotten Pokémon cards have pulled out pour of the back of the closet and lively games have been happening in the living room. 

Octonaut action figures I haven't seen in years,  bey blades, craft supplies,  an old rock collection spread out across several tables with many new additions,  science experiments are sitting in shelves and trays in my freezer and random drawers. You guys,  it's every where.  I don't even know what some of it is. 

An explosion of play and making and thinking and exploring that seems to be growing with the lengthening days.  

On Ash Wednesday,  we pack up our iPads and kindles and put them on a shelf. We still watch shows and YouTube,  but we do it together and we try to minimize.  In the first few weeks the boys go through a withdraw time. Usually they turn to reading.  But with time,  they unfold into the boredom and start to play,  explore,  and create.  And with time,  they pick up momentum.  And suddenly my life is a chaotic mess.  

By this point they are a frenzy of human growth. I always smile to myself with that proud mama feel that my kids are leaning into passion and the process of "becoming".... but also it's exhausting because my house is a constant disaster and i wish this process wouldn't be so upending.  But I have to remind myself,  the mess points to the beautiful process of getting in touch with the parts of ourselves made in God's image. 

Modern life is fast paced and exhausting.  My brain seeking a break finds a pacifier.  My kids like pacifiers too. Something passive.  Shows,  social media,  shopping,  snacking,  latest trends - entertainment.  

In Lent, we set the pacifier aside, struggle with bigger questions and push back against easy answers. I question productivity and make space for reflection.  I let go of extra to live a little simpler.  I allow us to be less to create space for God to dwell with us. The practice often blossoms into children buzzing with energy.  

Every Lent it is hard. It is hard to commit to and it can feel like a pointless exercise at times. Someone remind me why we gave up X again... Lent is stupid.....

 but

 it rebirths us again and again.  

today i am grateful for Lent. 

In the mess, I see Gods finger prints on my children's lives.  Forming them into the light-bearers that they are and will one day be.  

Thank God for this mess.

Day 36: Light-bearer

 He always had side trips. 

I would climb into his pickup truck with plans to visit a school or a church or some other project he was working on.  But people would be loading sacks of beans or tennis shoes into the back of his truck.  

"What are those for?"

"A stop on the way. " He would say.  

There was no one he didn't care for. No one he closed his doors too. 

I was lucky to live in his home and witness him at work. Even to try to join it.  There were always buildings under construction. Missionaries visiting and he would give the grand tour and raise more funds for the ministry.  We'd visit remote villages and islands. Farm land and the port to pick up supplies. There were orphans in his home and school kids playing in the yard. And man,  he would preach on Sunday.

He started his first church,  then his second. He rode his bicycle to visit them all. He was a modern Paul.  And I've never met anyone who shone the light of Christ into this world like he did. 

On this day 19 years ago, he left this world. Meningitis took him and my heart was broken. He was still so young and had so many plans.  But he was not afraid of death.  He did dangerous things all the time.  Not careless, but he lived in a way that made you know there were things more important than a long life. 

His beautiful island,  Haïti,  is suffering. He is not there to help her.  His light has passed to those he served.... including me. 

It is a great privilege and responsibility to walk with someone who's light shone so brightly and to know it has been passed to you. 

I see Haiti in the news and I think of him and the work undone.  I think of the needs and I look at my two hands and I have a hard time explaining to myself why I haven't done more to help.  

Day 35: Almost home

"It's almost home. " I told her.  "Almost home as much as any place can be. "

Spiritual direction is a practice of discernment.  

God is a mystery and a much wisdom as we gain from scripture,  prayer,  church tradition and worship in community, discernment is an ongoing struggle of faith.

Discernment is the practice of taking account of scripture and church tradition and using that and the wisdom of the community who knows you to help figure out the shape your life should take.  Discernment is a way to figure out your vocation or a big decision you have to take.  God rarely places a large billboard on your commute that says "yes,  quit your job and move to that farm. - love God"

The process of discernment is placing a decision in a larger story of God's work in the world and in your life.  God calls us to love our neighbor.  God calls us to be part of community.  But beyond that,  scripture also says there is a body with many parts,  meaning we each have our own strengths and gifts.  God also promises in scripture that God will show up to each of us differently.  Some of us will get visions. Some will have words to share our faith.  Some will preach. 

And so,  as I struggle with my call, I added a practice of spiritual direction.  This practice involves finding a wise person of faith who can serve as a spiritual director.  You meet regularly and the spiritual director listens for the voice of God in the footprints of your life. 

Today,  I met with my spiritual director and we looked together for where God is showing up in my life right now.  It is always an interesting conversation.  It wanders through life touching on ordinary and extraordinary.  Matters of faith and ethics.  Energy and passion.  Joy,  fear and sorrow. 

We talked about Lent and how God speaks to me through the liturgical calendar.  How the seasons move in turn drawing me to God and sending me to work. 

She commented that being Lutheran suits me. 

I agreed. 

Lutherans draw from the deep well of catholic tradition and liturgy. It has a theology that is full of contradictions and mystery.  It is academically rich and open to explore.  In accordance with scripture and tradition but ever pushing and puzzling.

I commented, "it is almost home. "

"Almost home?" She asked. "What would be home?"

"That verse in Corinthians. "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Faith is a mystery and I think nothing and feel quite perfectly like home on this side of the veil. Faith is a struggle  and yet God meets us where we are with what we need.

I can tell you,  my friend does not need heady theology.  She needs a God who is black and white.  A good who calls her with clear expectations and yet forgives her over and over when she fails to meet them. Another friend needs God who is present and working now.  A God who still does miracles and sends tongues of fire. A third friend who needs ethical frameworks and deep consistency in the nature of God. 

In fact,  God as I know God,  is all of these things. Different denominations use different lenses to see God and tend to emphasize the parts of faith that speak most powerfully to their communities. 

I've been reading a book called "life worth living" it explores the various philosophies around what it means to live well.  What I think is intriguing is that faith and wrestling are inherent to meaningful life.  Even if you wrestle and wrestle and can't seem to find a connection to a god or religious tradition or is important to at least wrestle with questions like - who am I responsible to? Am I only responsible for myself or do I have responsibilities to others - my family,  my children,  children in general,  elders,  ancestors,  the sick,  the oppressed,  people in my neighborhood,  living things,  the planet.  What are you required to do with your life? Make people happy,  reduce suffering,  leave no trace,  just not hurt anyone,  whatever is best for you...

As I've thought of these questions , they become very difficult to sort out without God.   And the verse "my yoke is light" strikes me.  Christianity is not an easy faith. Every time I think I can pin down Jesus, he alludes me. He will not be bound to my simple Jesus stereotypes. And so, my lutheran self will keep chasing after Jesus. Wrestling with God starting from my Lutheran theologyas a spring board to dive in from both deeply convicts me of what it means to live well while carving out vast space to wrestle with God on the mysteries of faith and questions of life. 

As I said to my spiritual advisor,  "It's almost home,  for me. And sometime,  in the fullness of time I will see in full.  I will understand the mystery of God, the mystery of faith,  the answer to the question - what am I here for?"

Follow Sojourner, I pray that you also find a place that is almost home for you.  A place where you find God and purpose,  community and meaning,  a place to wrestle with life's questions and progress on figuring out the answer.  Don't give up.  God promises to find us when we seek.  I've seen God show up in the most unpredictable ways in people's lives. Even among my atheist friends I see fingerprints of God among those who earnestly seek to find a sense of meaning in life.  And so friend,  it may be an uncomfortable journey but there is something deeper out there waiting for you. I pray that you reach and drink from deep water. It is cool and crisp,  wild and dangerous and you might get hooked.  

Blessings.

Day 34 : Mommy time

One of my lenten practices this year is spending more time with Zander. Since fall, he has been going to daycare 4 days a week and Fridays have been "mommy days. " I try to focus mommy days on Zander. We go to parks, read books, play Playdough and do all things little. For Lent, I added a second "Zander day" each week. 

 It takes a decent amount of effort to not put my to do list first on Zander days. There is of course some tidying the house while Zander plays trains. He helps me with the chickens and the garden. Sometimes we cook together or go grocery shopping. So Zander days don't mean i am not getting anything done but if you've ever done anything with a 3 year old, you know that you are making a choice either you are in their world, they are invited into yours or... you are each in separate worlds and you spend time occupying the 3 year old then retreating to your own world once you get them going in a direction until the moment they start breaking things or crying. 

 Today was Zanders day this week. It was the nicest day and the only day i didn't have anything else going on. So i gave it to Zander. 

Part of me wished he had gone to daycare so i could run, clean and garden freely. Tomorrow is my next Infusion and i have no idea how well I'm am going to feel for the rest of the week. It's for that reason that i choose this to be Zanders day. But it's also for that reason that it was difficult to let go of my to do list when i knew i could have sent him to daycare and gotten a better jump on the week. 

 Mommy time is special. Mommy time is when you, the mom, give full attention to the child. It's like date night with your spouse. It's set apart time even if you aren't doing anything special.

These times are both a gift and a sacrifice. It is time apart to give and receive love. Sometimes in the flow of the week, it is hard to stop - full stop - and turn my attention to my husband or children or a friend who calls or my mom. It's hard because it feels like it can be done anytime and unlike hunger or fatigue, a lack of love doesn't cry out in a way that forces us to respond. And yet... There is a rhythm of love. A period of time that feels like it's "too long." When babies were little I don't think I could easily go more than an hour or two then I needed them. I needed to check in with them as much as they needed me. There is this special unspoken partnership between a newborn the their mother. They need each other....desperately.... and there is no amount of time that is enough to spend with my babies when they were tiny. Ok, maybe a shower alone now and then felt good.

As they grew, the time we can spend apart without checking in has also grown but after a few days that have been too busy, i feel the urge welling up inside... we need some mommy time around here. With my husband, it's longer, a few weeks maybe. My own mom, a few weeks. My mother in law, best friend, siblings. Everyone has a rhythm where i start feeling like - it's been too long -- i need to check in. God. God has a rhythm too. In some seasons check ins are frequent. Some seasons I orbit more distantly and i don't check in as often. But time to give and recieve love is so important. Life gets busy and sometimes i can't hear my own heart. Sometimes i go too long without a date night, a call to mom, mommy time with my kids or a retreat with God. I find myself running low and feeling alone in the world. I can't figure out quite why. I feel like a fussy toddler who's ready to be picked up from daycare. I need love and i can't even use my words. I have found building more formal rhythms to help me remember to check in before my heart starts buzzing. Nightly bedtime routine with the kids is one of those habits. My Friday with Zander and a weekly lunch date with my husband. A monthly scheduled call with my best friend is too. Summer and holiday visits with my siblings. And... church. Weekly church and the liturgical calendar with my annual Lent practices and Christmas and Easter. These habits feel small and unnecessary. It wouldn't be a big deal if i missed here or there. But if i miss too much, my heart begins to feel hungry and tired. We all need mommy time.

Day 33: Rest

 

It was a beautiful day. 

I went for an early run. Sunday school was precious. We did the lesson on the good Shephard and the kids made little sheep and played in our kinetic sand box. There was an after church meeting about the future ministries of the church. It was inspiring to hear everyone's commitment to feeding the hungry and housing the homeless and caring for people in our community. 

I came home from church to shirtless boys biking and scooting around the block. Miles had taken off his training wheels. Philip had fixed up his bike and they were both off to the races. 

My in-laws came over and my husband and i went out for a short date. 

I came home and sat on my porch swing in the afternoon sun. Suddenly my energy was gone. I felt like someone had taken my batteries out. 

Sabbath. A day of rest. 

So I sat. I let myself just rest. I didn't make dinner. I ordered pizza. I didn't make the kids to chores. I let them play. I didn't clean the living room. I sat in the swing and sat and sat. Then i got up and went inside, took a shower and laid down. We watched an hour of tv. 

I never watch tv on days with weather like this. But this afternoon, i needed rest. I turned off my phone.  

Today God is with me in my rest. In the softness of my pjs and my bed. The warmth of my shower. The ease in my mind to let go of all the things i could have, should have done. God was with me in the thought less spacing out and the sunlight on my swing and the breeze on my face. Good was with me in my rest.

Day 32: Putting it all out there

 

Writing this blog,  then posting it on social media as public is am act of deep vulnerability. To honestly write a devotion for each day that connects with how I experienced God that day inevitability requires some level of openness about deeply personal things - my health,  satisfaction at work,  my failures at motherhood, and other such things.  

What makes this so vulnerable is realizing that people i barely know occasionally read this blog. Clients from work,  moms from my kids school,  people at church,  people who went to grad school with me.  

If i knew whose eyes were reading it,  i would write for my audience.  But this blog doesn't have an "audience." Every year, i find it is a different group of people who journey these 40 days with me.  A few close friends,  my mom... i know that they read it from time to time.  But beyond that, it could be any random person that i see regularly.  

Occasionally someone will come up and comment something from the blog and catch me a little off guard.  Like,  how do you know that I'm fasting or that I  had a lot of laundry yesterday? Oh, right... i wrote about that. 

I recieved a beautiful card from a woman at church who has been reading this year. The messages in notes like these and comments people write are such treasures. They provide a glimpse into someone else's journey. Often,  a someone I hardly know.  To see how my experiences and struggles lines up with someone else is to see the beautiful serendipity that God so often uses to allow us to shine light into each other's lives.  It is a great honor to hear these stories and peek into someone else's journey. 

And that is what we are called to do.  To love each other. To share our stories. To wrestle with big questions. To wrestle God. In doing this together perhaps we will unfold one more petal in the mystery of faith.  Perhaps gain a new perspective and see life and God  and purpose in a way we would have never found on our own. 

So on I walk with my own pile of dirty laundry and broken dishes and beautiful wisdom gained from another day of living.  So very happy to know you are walking with me with your own piles of laundry and beautiful wisdom.  We are humans figuring out this life thing day by day and in this God dwells among us. 

Day 31: she treasured these things in her heart

I'm reading Luke with the kids before bed.  

In this reading,  it becomes obvious to me that Luke must have interviewed Mary for his narrative of Jesus life. 

First,  the stories are the kinds that a mom would remember all the way to the end of her days.  Jesus birth,  that time at the temple when a righteous old man said he could die happy because he met your newborn,  that time you lost your 12 yr old for a whole 3 days... those sound like mom stories to me.  

And every story concludes with "But his mother treasured all these things in her heart." Which I'm guessing Mary didn't report,  but rather Luke saw while interviewing her. That distant look in her eyes. The joy and pain and every deep emotion radiating from her face as she loses herself in the memory. 

Today was my "Zander" day.  I didn't try to do anything besides hang out with my three year old.  Sometimes this is a challenge. Three year olds can be boring and tedious to play with. Endless repeating loops and shoving random things into my mouth can give me a hard limit of 30 minutes before I start to lose my marbles. 

But some days....a mother gathers up and treasures them in her heart. 

After we dropped everyone at school, Zander asked if we could go to the creek and go scooting.  There is a paved trail along the creek and he zoomed off. I jogged behind.  The sun was bright and tiny diamonds twinkled across the surface of the creek. 

Suddenly Zander veered off the main trail onto a gravel foot trail. It was terrible for scooting but absolutely beautiful for jogging. 

We went quite far along the foot trail until Zander found a nice place along the creek to sit and throw stones into the water.  

He threw rocks.  I closed my eyes and soaked up the sunlight and the sound of the creek gurgling around me.   I stared into the water and thought about how God's grace rushes into our lives like the stream running over the rocks. An endless abundance of grace that keeps coming day after day.

Zander came and sat on my lap and we threw rocks into the steam together. Then,  he was ready to go.  

We meandered along various trails until we made it back to the van. We came home and snuggled on the couch with a giant pile of board books. I must have read 30 books to him under a super soft fuzzy blanket,  his tiny body melting into mine.  Joy on his face and excitement in his eyes as we read favorite book after favorite book. 

"... and his mother treasured up all these things in her heart. "

The whole day was like this. We played.  He napped in the car when I picked up miles from school. The three of us had a lunch date at Wendy's. Then,  I picked up the big kids. 

Eddie came out of school with a bright smile and his fresh haircut.  They took 8th grade graduation pictures today.  His teacher emailed "final countdown" list of all the big activities before graduation - DC trip,  end of year trip to six flags,  award ceremony, final chapel  graduation ceremony.  Why was I crying?

There is a timelessness to motherhood. I can look at any of my boys and see the moment I first met them tiny and wiggling,  the moment they took those drunk first steps,  silly things they said as toddlers.  I can see all those things all at once. I can hold every version of themselves in my heart and love them all. 

There is a sensitivity to motherhood.  I don't cry when I'm sad or hurt.  But seeing my kid write their name after struggling to hold a pencil or using a hand dryer after years of fear of them. I'm ugly crying.  

"... and his mother treasured all these things in her heart. "

She must certainly did.