Monday, March 31, 2025

Day 26: The Desert

 Growing up, I was not a fan of the desert. 

I couldn't understand why people would go there voluntarily. It felt uncomfortable and dangerous. It was the place people went to suffer in the Bible. 

I preferred green places. Abundant in water and life. 

My first trip to the desert was to take my kids to Palm Springs for a long weekend in the winter. They had cabin fever from weeks of rain and a place with warm weather and a swimming pool seemed like the perfect antidote. 

I grew to love the desert. As a mom of 5 very busy boys, I found an ability to rest in the desert that I haven't found in too many other places. There are no people there to judge my parenting or my kids. No one to worry about inconveniencing. There is a long visibilty and interesting rocks and things to climb. I don't have to worry about them breaking things. I can let them be them. It is a freedom I don't find other places. 

Other people that you run into in the desert tend to be very chill. Often they are also looking for freedom and peace. There's also very few other people so there am unwritten code of helping. Sharing tools. Helping with vehicle issues. Out in the desert, you have to rely on strangers ... there's no cell service. There's no AAA. 


In my ongoing reading of the early church, I've been learning about the very first Christian monasteries. Christians fled into the desert in Egypt. At first, they were completely alone. Single men and women who went into the most remote places they could find to dedicate their life to faith.  

Something was missing. One essential tenant of Christian faith is love. And these early monks could not fully live out their faith alone. And so they began to live in communities where devotion to God was accompanied with love and service to each other. 

What surprised me in the history is what drove them into the desert. If you had asked, I would have guessed it was persecution. But it was the rise of a "Christian state" under Constantine that pushed many to leave the empire and find a way to live more authentically. There was a fear that power and money would corrupt the church. That is was impossible to follow Jesus in a world with ornate churches. 

Listening to this history, I understand the impulse. There are moments when the world, the society and culture that i live in make me feel that the only way to live my faith fully and authentically is to withdraw. To move to a remote place and to develop rhythms of living that are congruent with my beliefs. And the other half of me says, my faith demands that I both love and serve others and that I bear witness to the work of God in my life.

This week, I am enjoying my freedom in the desert. But next week, I go back to work, finding ways to to live my faith in Livermore, California. 


Saturday, March 29, 2025

Day 25: leaving on vacation is stressful

 My battery is blinking red. I need a vacation.  A full stop break from all the things. The problem with vacation is that you have to get yourself to vacation - pack,  clean,  prep,  etc and for me that is 7x. 

And so the stress of getting ready.  Cleaning.  Packing.  Feeding chickens.  And the list was endless.  

And the closer I got to finishing,  somehow the more stressful it felt. I think because I felt the anticipation of letting go and being done and leaving early enough to get a ways down the road and the weight of everything undone.  

But them I was done. I stood at the door sure I had forgotten something. Not wanting to let my future self down. Finally,  I had scoured my brain enough.  I locked the door and got into the car.

A million pounds melted off my shoulders in an instant and I noticed and wondered about that.  



Why does the moment before make it hard to think clearly. And the moment after make it hard to care about anything.  

The moment before I started vacation I was so stressed about forgetting to do something. And the moment after I was like "oh well,  I got a credit card and that's all I need. "

 I have yet to find the spiritual epiphany in this and yet it feels like a spiritual experience.  Something about the limitedness of time that pushes me to do the best i can. 

I worry about doing the best I can. Getting the most out of my kids early years before they grow up,  getting the most out of my body before I age and it starts to fail me, making the most of a beautiful day or a time when someone is babysitting my kids and I need to "enjoy" the time off. 

And then I discover that memories a lovely with big kids and whatever i do with a day off is lovely. 

But the question follows me - am I living this one and precious life well? What does it mean to live well? Am I living my faith? Is that the same thing? 

Today more questions than answers but I have a whole week in the desert to spend with them. It will be good.  

Friday, March 28, 2025

Day 24: Bedtime liturgy

Zander recently gave up his nap and his sleep was out of control. He was tired starting around noon but couldn't sleep and by 5 he was past tired and I couldn't settle him down until close to 9. The spiral worsened and I decided we needed a drastic overhaul of our night routine.

I was surprised by his reaction to my firmness. I had expected problems. I found an over tired preschooler who embraced the structure as respite for his tired little body. 

But he is rigid about the routine. Jammies, teeth, floss, 3 minutes in the rocking chair with a cup of water and 3 board books in bed, in the same order. Some nights he's so tired that he starts falling asleep in the rocking chair but he wakes himself and powers through.  

He doesn't even look at the books when I read them. Often he turns on his side, eyes closed and listens. Sometimes he recites them but lately, he just wants me to read them. Tonight, I didn't even open the books, I just recited the words. 

The last book is his bedtime prayer:

Bless the moon, bless the stars

Bless my nightlight, bless my cars 

Bless my trucks, bless my chairs

Bless my table, bless my bears

Bless my bunny, bless my mouse

Bless the family in its house

Bless my pillow, bless my bed

And bless me too from toes to head

Bless the water, earth and air 

And bless the children everywhere. 

As I turned out the light and curled up in the beanbag next to his bed to write this post, I began to ponder liturgy as a kind of bedtime routine.  

I had this image in my mind of church as an intellectual and emotional act of worship. Connecting with the words, hearing them, meditating on them and allowing them to change me. And worship is that... but sometimes, it's like Zanders bedtime routine.  

It's words to a cadence that animates a routine which catalyzes a way of being. 

The lord be with you

And also with you

Life up your hands

We lift them up to the lord 

There are things to ponder in this exchange. But even writing it, I feel the feeling of gathering around a table. Waiting for Communion.  

.... let us pray to the Lord

Lord, hear our prayer or Lord have mercy

I feel the ever expanding concern of the church reaching out in prayer for the world. 

Go in faith and serve the lord

Thanks be to God

I am ready to be done with church. 

I think of myself like Zander.  With a routine in place to repeat week after week.  Reminding me of the main parts of Christian faith. I don't need the bulletin,  the words are the same our close enough to the same that I know what to say.  

It never occurred to me,  that the motions themselves without thought or even heart into it could be meaningful. Some days,  he loves his books.  Or he is into getting his jammies on by himself or connecting with me while we snuggle in the rocking chair.  Some days he doesn't want to go to bed and he goes through the process in protest and yet,  by the end,  without participating at all,  finds himself worked on by the routine and is ready to relinquish himself to bed and drifts off in minutes.  Some days he's so tired,  I have to do the routine to him and plop him in bed.  

I think about liturgical church this way. I, as the toddler, am acted on by the routine whether or not I'm into it.  I come out different than I came in,  at least a little.   

Faith routines - spiritual practices - are a way of allowing God to parent us. Even when we come to them sad,  tired,  angry or apathetic.  God carries us through and feeds us even when we have a fit and throw it on the floor because we wanted ice cream instead.  

Before I even wrote three words of this post,  Zander was asleep.  Blessed are the routines that help little ones regulate their bodies and blessed are the routines that bring us back to God on a regular rhythm. 

Thursday, March 27, 2025

Day 23: Seen


 She stands at the doorway of my next season in life.  Her youngest is a senior in highschool and she is transistioning into a time when motherhood looks more like a faith journey than a job. She has embraced this season with a grace that is lovely to ponder and learn from. 

We've only just started getting to know each other.  But her way of being and moving in the world makes my heart joyful.  She is curious and thoughtful.  Slow to judge.  Quick to listen. She listens deeply and I can see her mind spinning and making connections whenever we talk.  

She saw one of my posts on Facebook about the women's retreat churning up questions of discernment and she reached out just to walk with me and help me process my own thoughts. 

It was a gift that was so precious. Time and space to just walk and talk and think and be... myself.  

We met after preschool pickup for a walk along the creek where Zander could play and we could linger in conversation. It was a funny day.  It rained and then it was sunny.  I had a ton of random motherhood moments and things to take care of and she just walked along side of me in the awkward weather and moments.  We laughed at Zander's crazy scooter stunts and she followed him off the trail into the wild spaces as mothers do.  

We talked about the deep things. The things I crave talking about and the conversation meandered across different seasons of life,  ideas and thoughts. 

As I came away I sat in my car for a moment feeling seen. 

And i thought about how she responded to thoughts that I had.  She has once said, " well that's just the kind of thing you do. " She had been listening. She had taken pieces of my puzzle and fitting them together. It was listening to me and watching how i move and easily seeing what kinds of things I might do in a way that is harder to do for myself.

And as I thought about big questions about what lie ahead on my path in the season after this,  that phrase stuck with me. She saw the kinds of things i do without all the narrative of self doubt and over- thinking that happens on the inside.  She reminded me that I just plunge in and do the thing.

I'm long been a strong believer of both call and a process of discernment. Call, to me,  is complicated.  It can be a call to anything - to a vocation,  to a spiritual journey or practice,  to care for a person or community,  to fight a certain injustice. I have deeply resonated with this notion that God gives us calls for our own growth or because we have gifts to offer or because God is working in a way in us that is just unexplainable. 

But call is tricky.  How to know when God is calling us? Or if? And many people have claimed to be doing the work of God in ways that are clearly against the nature of the God they claim.  Because of this I'm very thoughtful about discernment.  To me,  call is affirmed by others who are strong in the faith,  it is affirmed in scripture and in the long tradition of faith.  

"That's the kind of thing you do."

Was a sign post in my discernment.  God has made me to do the kinds of things i do. And it's OK if I keep doing things like that. This feels obvious in stating it,  but it is a gospel lesson with Sunday school words - God made me to be me. And I should keep doing that.  

I would like to pass this beautiful word on to you my friend. 

God made you to be you. And you should keep doing that. Keep doing the kinds of things you do in the ways that you do them. And if there are a lot of voices in your head saying "..but what about..." find a friend who can see you and listen to you and put the pieces together and say to you honestly ... "But that's just the kind of thing you do" and affirm that which God made in you as a beautiful gift to this world that may be hard to see yourself.

Keep doing that thing. 

It's a great thing that you do. 

Wednesday, March 26, 2025

Day 22: The ones we're given

 


Jesus says we should forgive our brother seven times seventy times. Basically infinitely.  

But how many times do we have to patiently answer the phone to have the same conversation with the same person?

It's halfway between dealing with a teenager and an aging relative with dementia. Years of alcohol abuse have taken a toll on her memory and when she has something important or unusual going on she calls me about it.  

After 7 calls, my hands deep in soil while I patiently try to help Zander plant the garden, I tell her my patience is wearing thin. I told her this was the last call I'd take from her today and then, she called from another number while I was in the middle of putting kids to bed. 


It's ironic really that she should choose today to keep calling over and over. Maybe God has something to teach me. 

I had my spiritual direction call in the morning. I had talked about a lot of topics but one of them was how faith compels us to care for those in need. We think about the wide world out there. All the people out there that we don't know who are suffering. It is very difficult to find them and help them.

But we can start with the ones we are given. 

By ones I am given, I don't mean my kids or my family. I mean, I kind of do. But that not exclusively who I mean. There are "God moments" every day where our lives cross with a stranger in a meaningful way and sometimes we become given to each other.  

My friend with her endless calling was given to me. To change and transform me. To teach and open my eyes. To challenge my faith.... days just like today... how many times do I answer the phone before I draw the line and attend to other matters? She pushes me to wrestle with God. And she sees me in ways others can't or don't. She knows my heart and speaks to me with a tenderness that is a gift. She challenges me to live my faith in a 1,000 different difficult way and that has transformed me as much as anything else. 

The world is hurting and so my prayer is, are there others to whom I am called to serve? The random Haitian kid that messaged me out of the blue because he remembered me visiting his orphanage when he was 5? A teenager from my church? The cashier at the grocery store that I visit every day? 

And what if I JUST prayed for them. 

I have been wrestling with God on the subject of intercessory prayer. How do i know what to pray for? When do we pray for miracles? What if God doesn't show up to answer those prayers? I've gone round and round with God over the past few months. And at the same time, I've had it on my heart to pray deeply and regularly for people that I don't know that well but who are going through some things. 

I've come to the same answer. Some people are given to us to pray for and some prayers are given to us to pray. Sometimes I understand it. Sometimes I don't. 

Honestly, for me, doing something is easier than prayer. Prayer requires vulnerability and trust. Prayer requires faith, hope and love. Prayer is the advanced course of caring for the world. And prayer has made a difference in big and small ways. Prayer unleashes miracles and catalyzes social movements. And so this Lent, I've added a practice of listening for a call to pray deeply for people and situations. And so far i have found that prayer, like service, is most natural for the "ones I've been given. "

How much of the great need of the world could we lift up if we opened our ears to hear the ones to whom we are given. 

Could I be the good neighbor and stop for someone who has fallen on my path, even if it makes me late? Could I have courage to break the ice and go deeper with someone who needs it? Do I have the stomach to open a can of worms when I know it will make my life more complicated? Do I have the courage to be vulnerable in my faith and pray with boldness and belief when my mind struggles with dissonance?

With the growth of violence and reversal in poverty trends, it is easy to see the news and feel so small. This small step of opening my eyes to those who cross my path is a way of engaging the dark world and holding my small light up. If we all did this, the light would be blinding, overwhelming.  

May the light blaze. And me we each have eyes to see those who need it.  

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

Day 21: Lay my burden down

 It's been a few days since I cut my hair.  I'm still getting used to it. Surprised by how easily my fingers comb through it.  How easy it is to quickly throw it up in a pony tail. 

I feel lighter.  

My head and neck feel the lightness. Like pushing around a wheelbarrow full of bricks,  then dumping it out to see how easy it is to steer without a load weighing it down.  

 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

- Matthew 11:28 - 30

What is the yoke of Jesus? 

Why is the burden light?

Many early Christians were martyred for their faith.  

How is this a light yoke?

In my ongoing reading of the early church,  most early Christians believed that martyrdom was a joyous occasion. One woman asked to stop the happenings in the arena because her hair fell down and loose hair was a sign of mourning. She wanted to die in joy.  

During my retreat last weekend we talked about stages of faith.

Chaos - a place before trust. A place before seeking.  The place where fists are tight and God is not an option. A place where we have to be in control. 

Faith - the loosening of the grip.  The openness to something bigger. The seeking and finding. Joining a faith community. Developing spiritual habits. 

Wilderness - the wrestling with God. The dark place where we feel abandoned by God. Where spiritual practices don't seem to work anymore. We are alone. And in the wilderness,  we are transformed.  Our faith takes on new dimension as we find God in places where we previously could not. 

Mystery - the mature faith that holds contradictions in two hands. Where we trust past our ability to explain. Where the cross of Jesus starts to make sense.  Where God is bigger than our theology and we begin to let go even of our idea of who God is because we start to recognize how limited our own understanding is. 

This mystery,  I think,  is the yoke of Jesus. It is tethering to things so monumental as the cross and the resurrection. Things I cannot fully explain or pin down but that hold me when I cannot hold myself. 

Letting go of my very self into the vastness of God is light,  like my haircut. Weights of things I would otherwise carry as part of who I am are laid down before Jesus that I may hold onto mystery instead. 

Monday, March 24, 2025

Day 20: life giving spaces

 My front yard is out of control. Once beautiful gardens are filled to the brim with weeds. It's starting to look derelict and it's time to do something about it.  

I had promised myself that after women's retreat, I would get after the garden. Spring break is next week for the little ones and I made a deal with my teenagers that they can have less school work in exchange for a bit of spring cleaning.  They sweetened the deal.  Two projects a week until it's all done. 

I think this is a homeschool win. 

So after breakfast,  some planning and a bit of math we headed out to the front yard with a variety of garden tools and headphones for the latest audiobook to tackle the weeds. 

I worked systematically from the south end of the garden bed and worked my way north.  After I had cleared a good couple square feet,  I was contemplating what I will plant this year when I noticed a whole colony of roly poly bugs milling around. Roly polys are considered beneficial garden helpers. They are detritivores that feed on dead leaves -- although I swear they pillage my strawberries every year. 

I had taken their home. 

I watched them wondering around bewildered at the massive change in the environment and I realized:

Presentable is not the same a hospitable.

I started thinking about Airbnb or staged homes that look amazing but feel hard to live in.  Clothes and shoes that look nice but start to hurt after a few hours.  Instagram lives that highlight aesthetics over hastily captured memories that live in old photo albums.  

I return to my garden and the little homeless roly polys. I add a pile of pulled weeds to cover the bare earth. "Here's something of a home back little guys. " 

I continue on with my weeding. I start thinking of the garden to be. The new plants that will shade and house the now homeless creatures. This is just a stage.

So i think about creating space for new life and growth.  I think about pruning. I think about weeds and pests. I think how sometimes things aren't what they seem.  

And I and on sometimes life giving things aren't always beautiful or even pleasant. 

He grew up before Him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground.

He had no stately form or majesty to attract us, no beauty that we should desire Him.

He was despised and rejected by men,a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.

Like one from whom men hide their faces, He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.

Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows; yet we considered Him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted.

Sonetimes I have to look past the fact that something isn't presentable to see that it is still life-giving. Sometimes I have to stop worrying about what people might think or how they might judge me to create space for life-giving things - even if they aren't Instagram worthy.  

Sunday, March 23, 2025

Day 19: what does it feel like to become a butterfly

 The caterpillars on the counter have created their chrysalis and I wonder what does it feel like to become a butterfly.  

Biologically,  the process is something of a miracle.  The caterpillar molts. The skin under is the chrysalis and as the old skin comes off the caterpillar loses legs. Loses freedom.  Trapped in the chrysalis,  they melt into goo. Parts re-arrange and new structures form. They literally become completely new creatures. 

Yet. 

Scientists who have studied the process have found that butterflies remember things from caterpillar days. They are still the same creature and yet,  they are a biologically completely new creature.  

As I watch the chrysalis hanging from the lid of the caterpillar jar,  one starts wiggling,  violently.  I watch it for a while.  Eventually,  it slows down and stops. 

I remember babies moving in my swollen belly. Sometimes violently and I wonder - what does it feel like to become a butterfly. 

What does it feel like to slowly shed the skin of freedom to stiffen up into a silent straight jacket?

What does it feel like to dissolve into protein stands and be rearranged?

Does it feel like a medical procedure? A coma? Childbirth? Is it painful? Exhausting? 



I came home from the women's retreat exhausted. 

I had a house to clean and a week to prepare for.  

I expected to be rested and ready to take on life. 

But this was the kind of vacation that needed recovering from.  

I think it's a good thing. Sometimes we have to be re-arranged. Sometimes the process of being re-created is exhausting. 

No one expects a chrysalis to do very much. 

It is enough just to be. 

Saturday, March 22, 2025

Day 18: Finding God in my own story

I spent the weekend at a women's retreat that focused on the different periods in our spiritual journey. 




This theme made me reflect on when and how I came to faith,  moments that I felt separated from God,  how I was transformed by difficult moments of faith and what practices help me choose hope or faith when finding God isn't easy.  

As I thought back on a life of faith marked with peaks and valleys,  and shared my story, I was a little surprised by how rich my faith journey was. I could see a story written by God in my life.

There is a richness in the narrative that when I read the story back to myself I start to see things that God has been building across the length of time.  Through the highs and lows. 

And while I feel like the same person and I still struggle with the same stuff, I've grown.  I've been transformed in ways I haven't noticed because they were small and incremental. 

Friday, March 21, 2025

Day 17: A day to myself

The last time I cut my hair was just before my cousins wedding in June of 2022. She now has a kid who might be walking. I'm really over due for a haircut.  

Last night as we were going to bed,  my husband made a last minute decision that he would take the kids and give me the whole day to prepare for the women's retreat that I am helping to lead this weekend.

I found myself with an unexpected day to myself.  

A million ideas flooded my brain with how to make the best use of a day.  I needed to go on a run. I needed time to think and plan our life.  I really needed a haircut.  So as I packed them up and got them on their way I went to work planning a day for me to spend with myself. 

When I was younger I didn't really understand why Jesus often retreated to a quiet place to pray.  I'm an extravert and thrive and gain energy from conversation and connection.  And during that period of my life,  I had vast amount of time alone.  When I first moved to California,  i didn't know anyone and weekends were so long. I spent every Saturday alone with myself settling into my new apartment and wondering where my life would go.  

But now,  I understand. 

Caretaking invades my brain. Even when no one needs me immediately,  my brain is anticipating who might need me and how to structure moments to become teachable moments and of course I'm cleaning up after everyone. My thoughts never fully settle until I am away. When I'm finally able to fully shut off the voice that attends to all the people who need me.

Perhaps Jesus felt that way to.  Looking at each person in it crowd,  considering their need,  thinking of what to say, managing all the requests. 

A day with myself, just allowing silence in my brain.  Allowing myself to be without having to think or anticipate who to care for next creates so much space for me to hear God. For me to allow my mind to process life and connect the dots and see what God is doing and where God is calling me next. 

We all need days to our selves. Even extroverts. 

And yes.  I got a haircut.  



Thursday, March 20, 2025

Day 16: Clicking into place

 It felt like a 1,000 piece puzzle.  Everything put together except.... the last piece clearly doesn't fit. Not only does it not fit,  but it clearly doesn't belong.  

Life is that way sometimes. 

In fact,  life is that way now.

For the past several months I've been between tearing the whole thing apart and starting over and just finding a way to move on and ignore that something is out of place somewhere.  

Moms are the chief operating officers of the family.  They live in the future creating annual and quarterly goals. They figure out summer camps in February and enroll in school for the following year in January or sometimes a year or even two in advance. 

The thing with kids is, that while you're making plans for kindergarten, you are dealing with a 4 year old who is a flipping disaster because they recently gave up napping and can't function at the end of the day and you pray and trust that somehow they will make it to 5 and be ready for a full day of school.  

Special needs kids make this process even more tricky.  Their development isn't quite as linear or predictable. So the range of where my kids might be in September is almost impossible to predict in January. 

Last January,  I took a huge leap and signed miles up for private school. He had a dream of attending school with his brothers. He volunteered to go to tutoring everyday for two whole summers to try to get ready.  But it was a long shot.  He had a full one on one aide at the public school,  occupational therapy,  adapted PE, speech,  the whole works and still he was only able to complete about 5% - 10% of classwork.  Private school was even heavier on the written work.  I really didn't know how he would make it.  But, in faith,  I signed him up.  

We went through a whole process. He was assessed at the private school.  We completed his IEP at the public school and I did everything in a way to leave the door open for him to come back if he needed to.  I made friends with administrators at both schools and I shared his dream and my concerns and together we all jumped off the cliff with him.  

... and ....

He did it!

He's thriving.  Talking more.  Doing more work.  Growing in all kids of ways. And when i see this,  I know I made the right choice. And I let out the breath I had been holding for months and let myself celebrate. 

It's like this .... every.... single.... year. 

One of my kids or another has some situation that requires my full attention and a year of planning and lots of prayer. And in this repeated process,  I've learned more and more to trust God with each of them. 

So this year.... there wasn't anything special.

Everyone was doing great. And the plan for next year was simple.  Do the same thing. 

So that's what I did.  Enrolled miles and Philip at the private school.  Eddie Homeschool.  And Andrew hybrid home and private school. 

But then.... Zander. 



Preschool met with me to let me know that they didn't think he was ready for TK. I agreed. But also, I wasn't sure another half day at Preschool was quite right either. 

That was my piece. My piece that didn't quite fit into next year's schedule.  And I've been holding it and praying. 

Of course,  I enrolled him in Preschool.  He needs to go somewhere. So i have a default plan... but.... 

It will be fine.  Right?


Right?

As I scratched my head and prayed.  There were other little things that started breaking my puzzle.  Miles showing signs that next grade may be too big of a step.  Philip showing signs that middle school might need more transistion support than I expected. Andrew waivering about 8th grade.  And I find myself in the same current... praying... observing... talking... planning and searching for wisdom.  

But,  in the past few weeks,  I can feel God breathing life into the process. Miles old school reached out to do a comprehensive assessment to see how well he's grown and make recommendations about next year.  Andrew had a moment of joy and clarity about how he wanted 8th grade to go and goals he wanted to set for himself. I had an epiphany about Eddie's schedule as I started laying out next year's curriculum. The principal of the private school scheduled a meeting in May to review each kid with me and pray about their placement together. 

I don't have answers. But I know they will come with time. I can feel the Spirit is with me,  helping me mother these beautiful children. And I am so grateful, there is no way I could do it on my own.  

Wednesday, March 19, 2025

Day 15: Light

 "In the beginning,  God created the heavens and the earth...  and God said let there be light and there was light." Genesis 1:1-3

"They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them." Luke 24:3-5

From the very first days of Christianity,  Christians gathered on Sunday to celebrate the resurrection.  From my reading,  it seems these first gatherings were joyful.  They did not focus on the last supper or the cross,  but rather the joy and light and hope of the resurrection.  They ate together bread and wine. Everyone contributed money to a pot and the money was divided among the poor in the group.  I gather it felt more like a weekly family holiday or gathering.  Come together,  share a meal,  affirm who were are,  make sure everyone is doing OK and take care of folks who aren't.  

As Christianity spread into gentile areas of became necessary to instruct new Christians in the teachings and traditions of Judaism. This included adding readings from the old testament scripture. They tied the resurrection to the creation.  On the first day, the day of the sun,  God made the world.  On the first day,  God renewed the world in the resurrection of Christ. 

I had never considered this before. That the resurrection occurred on the 1st day. Sunday.  The day of the sun.  The day that God created light. In the darkness of the tomb,  God created light again and there the darkness could no longer dwell. 

Easter is coming. Light and hope and unshakable peace for a world that desperately needs it. 

Come,  Lord Jesus.  

Tuesday, March 18, 2025

Day 14: A God-shaped planner

 It must have been 2016 or so when I started bullet Journaling. I was working long weeks. Miles was a newborn. Philip had just been diagnosed with autism. Andrew was a terror.  And at work we were finishing FDA clearance and preparing for product launch. Life was so full and I had zero disposable time. Zero. No community.  No hobbies. Nothing. And i found bullet journaling as a productive,  tiny outlet for my joy and creativity.  I took notes in meetings that looked like info-graphics, lettering dotted with doodles. 

Bullet journaling was something I had always kind of done but when I stumbled upon it as a practice that I could learn from and add to,  it took on a whole new level.  

I had a similar moment with prayer a year or two ago.  I had taken time during Lent to explore various prayer practices.  I tried them out.  It was interesting but not world changing. 

A few months later,  I was reading a book called "A life worth living" which I highly recommend.  It's half way between a course on world religion and philosophy and a workshop on re-orienting your life to live in step with your deepest held beliefs.  Part one - what do you believe? Part two - what does that belief compel you to do or be to live life well?

Somewhere tucked near the end I learned about a practice of St Ignatius and the Jesuits that tickled my heart.  Like bullet journaling, this ancient practice sounded a lot like a prayer practice that I had developed on my own but I didn't have fully figured out.  Like...i kind of did something that sounded sort of similar.  

I was intrigued.  The author explained that Jesuits were a monastic order that did not stay within the walls of the monastery,  rather they went out into the world and built schools and hospitals and helped the poor.  These seemed like my people.  So I read up on the prayer practice.  

It is called The Examen and is a prayer that helps you to continually discern the next right thing.  To look where God is moving in your life and to respond by drawing towards God. 

Here is a brief overview from the Jesuit website on how to pray the Examen:

How to Pray the Examen

1. Place yourself in God’s presence. Give thanks for God’s great love for you. 


2. Pray for the grace to understand how God is acting in your life. 


3. Review your day — recall specific moments and your feelings at the time. 


4. Reflect on what you did, said, or thought in those instances. Were you drawing closer to God, or further away? 


5. Look toward tomorrow — think of how you might collaborate more effectively with God’s plan. Be specific, and conclude with the “Our Father.”

When life is quiet enough to allow me space to do this well,  I have found this slow purposeful reflection,  confession,  and planning to help me find where God is at work, where I might be called to lean in further and where I need to guard myself. 

And sometimes, when I really have time to let my heart sit with God,  I can bullet journal my Examen allowing space for images to come to mind and doodle them while I look at my calendar and really consider my priorities - how do I plan my day, my week,  my month - to live out my faith and to lean in to the work God is already doing in the world around me. 

Monday, March 17, 2025

Day 13: The Early church culture wars

 I've been continuing to learn about the early church. I've made it now to the 2nd century.  It strikes me both how the broader culture viewed Christians and how Christians viewed themselves and the broader culture. 

It reminds me in some ways of the church today.  Some people embracing philosophies of broader culture, others pulling back and separating themselves from thinkers of the day.  

Worship of Roman gods and the emperor took up a significant portion of people's disposable time and so Christians generally lived very differently from those around them.  Because of this,  they received a great deal of criticism from the popular culture and from this arose the first apologists who wrote the first,  ancient version of "The case for Christ." 

Many of the themes in today's culture wars were brought up - but I had to chuckle a bit when I read that there was a conspiracy theory about Christians eating babies by hiding them in a giant loaf of bread as part of "eating the blood and flesh of Christ" during the sharing of Communion.  Perhaps the idea of eating babies is just one of those things that triggers people in just the right way to discredit a group as despicable. At any rate, that particular lie was part of 2nd century Roman culture wars. 

There were other elements that rhymed with today - educated elite vs common class,  racism,  appropriation of philosophical traditions in the way that best suited ones world view. I could almost imagine Twitter wars between these early writers, both Christian and secular. 

This period pushed people to look deeply at faith and seek God's wisdom in navigating the tide of ideas.  And I think God was with them and helped them as they began to formulate Christian theology.  As they tried to articulate who Jesus was, what Jesus did and what that means for humankind. This is a monumental task for those of us who have the new testament and many many books of theology passed down through the ages. These early theologians had letters, the Greek book of Jewish scripture, each other and the Holy Spirit.

God worked among them unexpectedly. Ideas that formed our faith have come from every type of unexpected source. Scholars and slaves. Insiders and outsiders.  Secular and Jewish.  God worked in and among them, because of and despite them. 

I think it is human nature to find confirmation of our beliefs as we read history. I want to be proven right and wise.  I want to be the protagonist.  And most importantly,  I want there to be a clear directive from the past that will help me take strong action be on the "right" side of history in the present.  

Matters of faith deal with those most important questions - right and wrong,  is there a God? What does that God expect of me? What happens when I die? Why am I here? What does it mean to live life well?

Jesus came and taught about the kingdom of heaven. He did miracles and was executed by the establishment for his dangerous teachings. He didn't stay dead.  His band of uneducated disciples carried on his work and his teachings and his story spread throughout the Roman Empire. His followers were persecuted by Jewish leaders,  then by the Roman state.  Culture wars ensued.  Christians thought hard about their faith and tried to articulate it.  They wrote books to explain it. 

But they also LIVED it.  They cared for each other and the poor and sick. The rumor about eating babies came from the fact that Christians regularly took in abandoned babies when no one else would.  They lived lives as a response to faith and if it came to it,  they laid down their lives in response to faith. 

May I also live as a response to faith. As I seek to know and experience and try to understand God,  may that shape who I am.  May it change me,  fully.  May I have courage to go wherever that may lead me and may I have the tender heart to speak in a way that shines more light into the world reflecting back the beautiful gift of grace that God has given to me. 



Sunday, March 16, 2025

Day 12: Resolve

 Some years I do great at Lent.  Some years I don't do as well. 

I've noticed I've done better with black and white over gray.  Something like "no caffiene" is easier than "reduce caffiene." Fasts are also usually easier than "adds."  Again,  no caffiene might be easier than "run every day."

But no matter what the practice there comes a point when it rubs and causes discomfort.  This year my Lent practices are a bit fuzzy and involve more thought and so I am struggling both with my resolve to do them and my ability to judge how well I am doing. This type of reflection forces me to go deeper.  To think about why I choose the things I choose and why growth I am hoping from myself as a result and even deeper - how does this draw me into faith.  Into relationship with God.  

This blog has become a consistent practice because it forces me to come back to the simple question "What does this have to do with faith?" 

It's easy to think of Lent as a season of self improvement. Or to tack on good habits during a season where the focus is self-denial and comfort with suffering.  But tearing through that layer of "becoming a better person" to a more radical Lent that starts and ends with "by grace alone." 

If by grace alone, we are able to enter into relationship with God and there is no "being good enough" where does that leave our resolve to practice self-denial?

For some folks,  I think the answer is "there is no need." Grace is a gift from God and it reaches us just as we are without any effort on our part. It's a valid answer. 

And yet,  Lent draws me. 

Not to be good enough for God but to recieve the gift of grace fully. The struggle with myself reminds me how much grace is needed. It's easy to think how well I might be able to do something before I actually try it.  I can imagine myself painting a masterpiece but when I actually start struggling with paint, I am humbled and realize how far my true self is from my ideal self.  It's pretty easy to recognize if have room for spiritual growth if I struggle to give up chocolate for a few days. 

The other call I hear in the lenten fast is one of drawing close to God. I love all my children and there's nothing that would change that.  Some of my children are emotionally warm,  close and share their thoughts and feelings with me.  Some of them are aloof and distant.  It is hard to connect with them. Does that change my love? It doesn't.  

When they were young,  I worried that it might.  But I've found over the years that I've invested in each of them as if they were each my only child. I've made decisions that would effect the whole family because it was clear that's what that child needed in that season.  I've rearranged my life for them. I've stayed awake all night when they were sick or needed comfort. I love them all fully.  As fully as I think I can love them. 

Lent is an opportunity to explore what it means to love like God. To try to wrestle with the gift of grace as one given in love.  To receive love,  to receive grace creates relationship even if I am not able to reciprocate.  

And suddenly giving up chocolate or caffiene becomes the canvas to both become aware of my limitations and my intentions.  I gave up a whole lifetime of freedom to choose to love  my husband. I gave up a whole different set of things in love of my children. And, I choose this every day. I choose to love them and sacrifice for them every day and it's become easy to do.  

I want to believe that a lifetime of choosing Lent has changed my heart too, has begun to mold me into the image of Christ that I may too become a light-bearer in a world in need of light. 

It's not about the chocolate. Or whatever I happened to have given up that year.  But man, when in in the middle of it,  it's so much about the chocolate.  Resolve is hard. Wrestling with fuzzy spiritual practices feels like shadow boxing.  

So I pray. 

God.  Use this. Use this struggle and this journey through the wilderness to draw me close to you.  Use it to change me and to conform me to creation you intended me to be.  Light a lamp within me and make me a light-bearer. 

Saturday, March 15, 2025

Day 11: After

 My notebook is colorful. I make pages for calendars and to-do lists dotted with doodles and mini sketches. My march page has a garden and rain clouds. 

My plan for March was very focused on Lent and church. The month kicked off with a Mardi Gras Party and Ash Wednesday. Originally,  my infusion was scheduled for mid-February but there was a paper issue and it was rescheduled for the 1st Thursday of March. That felt OK. Appropriate way to start Lent. 

But I had not counted on needing a recovery time and I was sweating it a little bit knowing that I had "kids night out" at church just a week later.  I fumbled through the week hope aware of how I felt, trying to assess if one day was better than the previous.  I alternated between passing myself to get back to life and resting to try to speed my recovery. 

I made it. Just in time. I felt great on Friday and had a blast playing with the kids.  It took a while to fall asleep that night,  letting the rush of excitement pass.  

I woke up this morning with no plan. The day felt markedly empty.  I lazed in bed and snuggled Zander. I thought what I might do. It wasn't supposed to rain.  It was an ordinary Saturday. 

As I eased into the day, we did normal things. Cleaned out the van from all the supplies that had been hurriedly packed the night before.  I decided to go to a carwash and vacuum it out.  We went from there to a park where I sat at watched kids until my butt went numb.


 

I started thinking about the moments after - right after you graduate or get married. After someone dies.  After a big milestone or after a vacation. In our house,  we call this a post-qual slump named after the melancholy that comes following a qualifying exam,  master's thesis or dissertation defense.  This big intellectual achievement is followed by a slump.  It is quiet and empty.  The brain recovers and processes. There's a lot of sitting and staring. Not so much articulated thought,  but just a deep pervasive silence. A heavy ordinary-ness.  

The gospel story that best summarizes this space is the story of the road to Emmaus.  As risen Jesus walked with disciples on the road. They didn't recognize him but their hearts were listening. They were in that quiet moment after the rush of events and they were trying to make sense of it all and Jesus came and walked with them and explained it to them. 

This uneventful, relatively empty pause between the events of life where I regroup and process are important. Like the disciples,  I don't see anything special, I'm just walking or doing laundry or sitting at the park watching the kids play.  But my post-busy silent vigil is an opportunity to invite Christ to walk alongside me and explain what God is doing in my life and in the lives of the people around me. In these moments,  if I am open to hear God,  I can turn and reorient myself to the work God is doing.  

Sometimes the conversation is silent.  Happening somewhere deep in my heart beyond the realm of words. I am compelled to just stare out the window and watch birds or fold laundry.  But somewhere beyond my grasp,  God is there with me.  

Sometimes I remember bits and pieces of what just happened and in replaying it in my mind I realize something I hadn't seen before. Something someone said or did.  Something I said or did and suddenly meaning appears that wasn't there before and I understand something new and I am convicted of a new call or direction. Or a phone call I should make or letter I should write. 

I am grateful for the "after" the mini Emnaus moments in my life where God can walk alongside me and teach my heart which path i might walk next. 

Today was a beautiful,  ordinary,  empty Emmaus day and I pray that I am open to hear what God may teach me in it.  

Friday, March 14, 2025

Day 10: Mayham and chaos - the kingdom of God

 Zander ran by with a giant box on his head.  Miles had a blanket with all his stuffies lined up in a row.  Eddie was in the corner listening to his audiobook and a little girl ran up to show me her pipecleaner covered in eyes. The room was an absolute mess. 

I had a loose plan.  Do crafts.  Make homemade pizza for dinner. Watch a movie with our stuffies. 

I invited the Sunday school group for a Friday night out at church. A time to play and deepen friendships.  A time to just be a kid and know that church is a place where you can be fully yourself and be loved and accepted just as you are.

I was supposed to get there early at 3:30 to set up,  but I was running behind and didn't get there until a few minutes before 4. Parents started trickling in to drop off their littles. This night wasn't just for the kids to feel what it means to be church,  but it was also a night for parents. A free Friday night date night to go out or stay home or do whatever feels great to do without kids. Hugs and kisses and excited parents scooted out the door as kids quickly lost themselves in play. 

First things first,  set up a base.  Each kid brought some favorite stuffies and a blanket to lay on top watch the movie later. Each one carefully set up their space.  Laying out stuffies,  blanket,  pillow. The carpet was dotted with favorite colors and cartoon characters. The room was large but all the little spaces were close together. Each child clearly had their own space,  that clearly showed their personality.  But zoomed out it looked almost like a single patchwork quilt. 

My plan was to let them just play freely but I had a variety of activities if they got bored or needed more direction.  I never needed to intervene. They played. Sometimes in pairs.  Sometimes as a group. Some kids laid on their blankets and read for a bit. 

I got out a box of craft supplies. A jumble of felt pieces and popsicle sticks,  pipe cleaners and googly eyes. Have at it. I didn't need to give them ideas. They just made stuff. Pipe cleaners covered in eyes. Jewelry.  Mosaics made out of felt scraps held together by popsicle sticks. 

It was effortless. It felt free. Kids free to create and play.  Free to join in or rest alone. It felt like a group of cousins at a family reunion.  It felt like what church is supposed to be. 

We made and ate pizza. We watched a movie and as parents arrived we sang happy birthday to one of the girls and passed out cupcakes. Parents jumped in to clean the room and happy chatting along them as kids finished up whatever they were doing. A mom joined me in the kitchen to help clean up the food and finish up the cupcakes. And in 10 minutes, you would have never known the room had just been covered in snack wrappers and craft supplies with blankets and stuffed animals littering the floor.  

It was a happy night. An effortless easy night. And all I could think is,  this is what church is meant to be.  A place we were come together, bringing our full creative wonderful selves. A place where we can rest and play and be known and loved. A place where we live life together. 

Teaching Sunday school feeds me. God speaks so often through those wonderful small people.  Tonight again,  I found God at Sunday school,  on a Friday. 



Thursday, March 13, 2025

Day 9: My daily bread

 Give us this day, our daily bread. 

There was a time in my life when I prayed this daily and meant it.  I live by faith,  trusting God would care for me. 

I had dedicated my life to working in Haiti.  I was in college.  I scrapped by to pay for books and tuition,  I lived with my folks when I was home and almost everything else I earned went to building a school there.  I lived and worked there on and off for over three years sometimes arranging with school to take courses remotely.  I gathered donations from my church and from Haitian communities in Montreal,  New York and Miami.  I stayed with strangers. I broke bread with them and laughed over stories.  I learned Creole. It was for me a season of the Holy Spirit. In those days, I could have walked on water.  If you ever need a good story,  ask me about that period in my life. It was full of them.  

These days,  I don't live quite in the knife edge of faith anymore. There is a blessing of abundance of financial resource that allows me not to worry about my daily bread in the same way, plus we have chickens,  and so I look for opportunities to cultivate that same practice of trust in God. 

This blog is one such place.  

Writing about God for 46 days straight is a tall order. To do it year after year deepens the practice of trust. 

I think about it all day and when nothing comes to mind,  I just pray 

Give me this day my daily bread

And I set it aside.  Still aware,  still probing.  Like Abraham climbing the mountain,  I have my eyes open all around... what Lord, could I possibly write about. 

The sun is setting.  I still have nothing.  

There is great vulnerability in this practice. 

If I was a proud or unkind that day,  the empty page will convict me - it will be a post about confession.  And I will hang it on Facebook for all to see. If I was too busy to notice God,  it will be shallow. 

But mostly I try.  I seek.  I use this practice as an active exercise in trusting God. And in the last moment,  as the words spill onto the screen,  God opens my heart to the daily bread.  The bit of wisdom to feed me that day. 

As I write this,  I chew on how deeply this practice of trusting daily on God.  If someone randomly asked me,  when in your life did or do you feel closest to God,  without a beat I would answer - while I was working in Haiti and during Lent. And as I reflect on that fact,  the core of that closeness comes from a commitment to fully trust God for my daily bread - figuratively or literally.  

I'll be to chew on this and perhaps look into ways that I can authentically create space to deeply trust God for some sort of daily bread all the time. It is not at all an easy practice,  but it has been powerful in my spiritual walk so far and perhaps worth pondering a bit more.



 

Wednesday, March 12, 2025

Day 8: Has humanity advanced at all in the last 2000 years?


Eddie has been interested in learning more about current events so every evening we listen to the news from a variety of sources.  We talk about current events.  I explain the history.  Sometimes we research the history together. 

Over the past few weeks, we've been listening to a very well done podcast from the Economist called "Scam Inc" which is a multi-part investigative report on a very sophisticated scam industry that has grown up throughout parts of Asia. The signature scams are called "pig butchering scams" where scammers invest hours a day for months building an online relationship with someone, romantic or platonic,  and eventually finds a way to gets thousands or sometimes millions of dollars or of them. Victims lose everything but also are deeply suffer violated trust after pouring their hearts into these relationships. 

But the evil is deeper.  The scammers on the other end are often themselves victims of human trafficking. People who were looking for honest work and then kidnapped and forced into industrial tech parks where they must work as scammers. 

The series highlights the complexity and simplicity of human nature. We are wired for trust and connection but also driven by a sense of adventure and greed. We can take incremental steps that lead us down rabbit holes - both a victims and as perpetrators.

I grew up with this sense that humans used to be primal.  Prone to war and greed and violence.  But we,  in the modern era,  are civilized and beyond this. Our rational thinking and education, our rule of law,  democracy and freedoms of speech and religion have ushered in a new period of human history where we've set aside our proclivity to violence and greed and picked up a greater moral code than our ancestors had. But we have not. Somethings are different in modern times,  but human nature is not one of them.  

As part of Lent,  I've picked up a hefty 2 tome history of Christianity from Jesus to the modern day. I'm still very early in it reading about the earliest church.  Those founded by the apostles and Paul and of the early persecution of Christians. The author does a good job of presenting the materials from the eyes of people at the time.  The politics of the Jews in the time of Jesus.  The politics and laws and religion and structure of Rome.  The various philosophical traditions that were popular that the time. 

In reading it, I've been transported back in time and an struck by how people at the time of Christ might have felt about the era they lived in. There was a modernity ushered in by the Roman empire that felt like a break from human history. There was education and ideas circulating.  There was peace and politics.  There were factions and fighting. But in those days, as these days,  humans were in a new modern era. There was civilization and technology and intellectual advancements with each generation that may have made them feel as I grew up feeling,  unique and special in their own era. 

Reading these times of the early church,  felt like reading the news with Eddie. There are things now that rhyme with things then. In fact,  all the history that I've been studying with the boys this year - the guilded age,  the spread of Helenism, the Russian revolution,  the conquests of ghengis khan, the writings of Marx  -- all the classic things covered in US and world history - there are pieces connect to the world we live in now and there are themes and rhymes with issues we face today. 

This strengthens me in some ways. The wisdom and spiritual practices developed and honed over decades are still relevant. We are not so modern,  so far removed from our ancestors,  that the faith, the wisdom and the spiritual practices that sustained them are still essential,  still life giving if we allow ourselves to be humble enough to learn from those who went before us. 

Lent itself,  the practice of fasting. This is spiritual wisdom passed down to us. I think fasting is something that does not come intuitively.  In a world of suffering,  why choose to voluntarily reduce comfort? Why choose simplicity? Why choose to lean in the mystery of an unseen God?

In fact,  I learned from my book that Roman persecuted Christians by labeling them as atheists because they were devoted to an unseen,  unknowable God as opposed to the emperor or the pantheon or Greek or Roman gods who had temples everywhere and who permeated every aspect of public life. Christians often withdrew from mainstream culture because the invisible God they followed was so different from those who dominated cultural life. It was a movement that was very progressive in its time and yet adherents were willing to die for these beliefs. 

Early Christians were also persecuted as heretics,  a false Jewish sect that proclaimed the Messiah had come. Mainline religious leaders at the time disagreed with the apostles assessment of Jesus as the promised Messiah and were worried about mass adoption of these new ideas. Even worse,  they feared that God would punish them for being unfaithful to scripture,  following a false prophets and abandoning the law. 

And people of the time wrestled with with crisis of faith.  Did God come and die and rise again? Had Jesus ushered in the messianic age and if so,  what did that mean for Isreal,  for humanity? Were all people now included in the promises of the one true God handed to Abraham? 

But in this wrestling God was at work. God moved along the apostles and in the early church. The Spirit fell upon early theologians (and later ones) who wrestled with these questions and wrote the gospels,  the letters,  and various books that built the foundation of this new faith. 

God is still at work. Mysteriously. We are bound by time and place and cultural context. We have bias of all the things we were taught and the ways in which our parents experienced the world that they handed down to us as children. We have bias grown from the ways which we experience the world and the unfolding of history and technology and civilization in our own lifetime.  With all our limitations, it is hard to grasp that infinite,  unknowable nature of God.  

Yet,  we see traces.  

Written in history. 

Written in our practices and in our seeking.  

Written in our very own stories and in the stories around us. 

I am not enough of a theologian to put into words the mystery of God that I catch glimpses of in all my seeking. But I somehow can feel a story of man and God written across the ages. A struggle to live with human nature - both sinner and saint, a struggle to wrestle with big questions of life and death,  suffering and comfort,  good and evil.  Gentleness and violence. 

Many have set out to understand these things,  to know the nature of man,  to understand and pin down the nature of God. 

They have given us the gift of their work as we pick up the question and continue.  

I am strengthened in my conviction to live as a person of faith. 

God was with those scared disciples in the confusion following the resurrection. God has been with us across the ages as we have sought to understand and make sense of our world,  ourselves, where we came from and where we are going.   

And God is with me now in this moment. 

Tuesday, March 11, 2025

Day 7: Patience

I grew up in Michigan where there's an unwritten rule,  "if it's nice outside,  your butt better be outside. " 

I've been sitting, staring at the nice day outside feeling like I've broken the law. To be fair,  I've taken two walks today,  but had this been a normal day,  I would have gone for a run,  done some gardening and taken the kids to a park. But I still don't feel good and I'm getting impatient. I gave myself three recovery days. Now,  I should be back to the program. My body,  resolutely disagrees. 




My body is the hardest thing for me to be patient with.  Perhaps this is because my body is the one thing that is fully in my control.  I can't control my kid's meltdowns and so I learn to accept and wait through them.  I can't control traffic or the weather or a global pandemic.  And so my response is to breathe and find beauty in the moment given me.  Or at least to connect to the positive thing I can offer. I always joke that rush hour means I'm going to my own personal jazz club.  

But my body.  That's different. 

I sucked at sports as a kid. Like bad. There was the kid picked last,  then...  far far after that,  there was me. 

But my family was into sports and I was always in something - softball, track,  basketball.  I figured if I kept practicing,  kept playing, eventually I might not be the worst player on the team.  

So I worked my tail off.  I went to practice.  I practiced in the yard.  I tried. I felt terrible and I kept pushing. I never got good. I never really even got better.  

My health wasn't great in my twenties. I think grad school does that to people. 

But when I got married at 27, I had a calm life,  a decent job and a best friend so it was time to give a shot at improving my health.  

My husband challenged me to run a 5k with him.  That was father than I had ever run. Father than I had ever considered running. But I thought I would humor him.  I ran a block and my asthma flared and I threw up.  But I did it again the next day and the next day after that. I ran a little farther each day. I made it to the 5k and then I did 10. Then I did a short triathlon.  Turns out I  was a runner,  but not until I've gone at least 2 miles.  I'm a distance person. That made sense. Distance comes from not giving up and eventually you get amazing endorphins.  

Then came kids and a startup and the pressure of life. I didn't want to lose my health good health,  so I kept running. 

Life was hard then.   I got up at 4 and went to work with a baby in tow. I didn't sleep for like a decade,  but I always found a way to sneak in runs where I could.  And generally,  my body stayed healthy. 

Except there were strange things that didn't make sense. My blood oxygen levels randomly dipped. Sometimes I'd be running then not be able to breathe.  I lost my voice for weeks at a time.  I coughed like I had TB.  But I kept running and kept fighting for breath and finally in 2017 I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that connected the dots.

But all that effort did matter. All the running had really helped my lungs and body have a higher starting baseline. Gave me more wiggle room.  But,  there's this hard new world of negotiating with my body and trying to understand when pushing through discomfort is helpful and when it is harmful.  

This "maybe" makes it hard to be patient.  Because in some circumstances,  maybe it's best for me to not be patient. 

In faith,  we have many areas of maybe - where maybe we should be patient and maybe we shouldn't.  Even looking at Jesus we see tremendous patience on one hand and resolve to act, whatever the cost,  on the other.

God grant me the serenity accept the things I cannot change.  The courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. 

Monday, March 10, 2025

Day 6: Muddling through this thing called life together


I was 22 the first time I walked with someone through cancer treatment. 

I was in grad school and frequently did my homework in a local Mexican place that had killer burritos. With time I got to know the family that worked there. They were a community to local Spanish speakers and eventually, as I was constantly eager to practice my Spanish,  so was I. There weren't so many things in place back then to support non- English speakers and so I often helped folks fill out forms or read important mail.  

One day,  the matriarch of the family needed to go to the clinic. She was not feeling well and bruising easily. I rode along to help, just in case. The blood pressure cuff  caused a circular bruise around her arm and she was given a one way ticket straight to the ER. The following days and weeks I spent with her as was diagnosed with leukemia and went through treatment. 

Walking along someone and truly seeing them as life unfolds - the joy,  suffering,  sorrow,  grief, laughter and boredom that marks a chapter of life - is a gift. It carves into the soul creating space for all those beautifully human experiences. 

In the gospel of John,  Jesus repeatedly says "come, and see. " to bear witness to the lives of humans,  to the work of God, to that which binds us together.  From calling of the disciples to the grief of losing his friend Lazarus - Jesus invites us into the spiritual practice of bearing witness.  

This practice has given me strength and resilience and has made it easier to see God at work in my own life after seeing God at work in the lives of others. Birth,  motherhood,  facing health challenges,  adversity at work.  The sacred moments I've born witness in the lives of others have come to mind in times of hardship and have comforted or strengthened me. They've given me grace to bear witness to my own story with some distance and compassion.  

A few weeks ago I was locked in embrace with a friend who was headed off to the hospital unsure of what would happen to her father in law who was in critical condition. Over the following days I prayed hard for their family. Holding vigil from a distance. One evening,  I texted to see how things were going and what I could pray for.  "He's too tired to give me an update. He just got home from the hospital and went to bed. " 

"Someone needs to get that guy a beer." I thought.  So I decided I would. I stopped at the craft beer store around the corner and dropped ofI a couple beers and some snacks. 

He texted me later with heartfelt words. That beer was simple and something he could have gotten himself,  but it meant something coming from me. 

 The other side of bearing witness is being seen.

And there is something sacred about truly being seen for who we are as we live out our own story. Been seen in our grief and vulnerability,  being seen in our accomplishment and victories.  Being seen in those milestones - decade birthdays and life events.  

I was on my way to school to pick up kids when a text came through:

"At Costco,  need anything?"

I smiled.  Andrew was sitting shot-gun and I asked him to text back

"Eggs, milk and a rĂ´tisserie chicken. " 

I smiled. 

I had gotten this exact text from this exact person in the worst of the pandemic. She was working as a physician assistant and was out in the world while I was mostly cloistered at home with my little brood and my growing pregnant belly. 

At that time there wasn't any bread so I asked her for flour.  Like the rest of the world,  we had turned to bread baking and a Costco sized bag of flour would last a while even with my growing boys. 

I was almost in tears when she left that flour on the front porch and waved with her masked face through my picture window. 

In that moment someone had seen me. Someone had seen the worry in my heart.  Someone had thought of me locked away with 4 small children losing my mind and had paid me an act of deep kindness. Every time I baked with that flour,  I felt less alone. I felt seen in my story.  

Today I was sprawled on the couch trying to work up energy to clean the living room.  She showed up with the groceries and a lasagna for dinner. 

That same welling up inside. I remember that she has gone through health challenges and she knows something of what my body is feeling. And that sacred spiritual practice of bearing witness allows her to be the hands and feet of God to me. 

I had the strangest sensation of vertigo all day and had been pushing myself through.  And this unexpected gentleness,  this being seen, was a moment of grace and a moment of the softness of God. 

This, I believe,  is why faith is best practiced in community.  This breathing, living,  hands and feet of God that we become for each other is in synergy with the more private practice of prayer.  For in prayer we ask God to act in the world. In showing up for each other, we become the answer to each other's prayers. In prayer,  we ask for our hearts to be changed , softened and reformed. In bearing witness to each other's stories,  we are changed by the courage and sorrow of others. 

I have been changed by the giving and I have been changed by the receiving.  

I've gathered stories of courage and love and tenderness and those stories have strengthened and encouraged me. 

May you have eyes to see the lives unfolding around you and be invited into acts of love and kindness. And may someone see you in your moments of struggle and offer the gift of being seen. 

You can always call me. 

And Patty, thanks again for the lasagna.  You are a special human. 

Sunday, March 9, 2025

Day 5: The parable of the lost stuffy


 It was time for "stuffy movie hour." 

Everyone was there.  

Cat. Bulbasaur. Rainbow. Mouse.  Snake.  

Lined up in a perfect row at the foot of my bed. I fumbled with the remote to pull up Disney+. Today's feature film,  "James and the Giant Peach" again.  

"Wait!!!!!!!"

...

Ladybug is not here!! We cannot start the movie!

And thus began a quest to find ladybug.  The usual places were checked.  Then the unusual places. Then the very unusual places.  Panic was setting in.  Life could NOT go on without ladybug.  

I tried the usual tactics.  Redirection.  Nope. We'll find her tomorrow.  Maybe she wanted a nap.  

Nooooooooooooo..... sheeeeeees looooooost. We must find her.  

Sigh. 

The hunt continues. Silent tears streaming down miles precious face. 

I cannot begin to tell you how precious this kid has been about his stuffies lately.  He puts them each in jammies each night and has a row of toothbrushes on his windowsill to brush their teeth before bed.  He plays cards and board games with them. He takes them to the park and pushes them on swings and lines them up to go down the slide. 

Today, they enjoyed a great park playdate until Zander ran them over with his bike.  Summarily, they were loaded into the laundry basket and ushered home for emergency treatment.  Broken bones were cast. Stitches were administered.  And movie theater was suggested as a way to help them feel better.  Except.. ladybug was missing.  Hurt and missing. 

After an hour of looking and some clever thinking,  mom figured out where to look and sure enough,  she was there. 

Joy. 

Sheer joy.  

Ladybug is ok.  Ladybug is reunited with her friends and sisters. Movie theater may go on. 

When I think about Jesus's parables of the lost,  I always think about the joy of the lost toy.  The lost stuffy. 

I think because children love whatever it is that they've lost with a ferocity that is parable worthy. But also because children lose things so often. This cycle of despair and elation is so familiar,  in my bones,  after 15 years of finding lost toys. 

How often do we get lost? How often do we wander after from God? I venture to say that as many times as I've looked for and found Ladybug.  God has looked for and found me. And it doesn't matter how many times I've looked for a given toy. The elation at finding it again for the 300th time is perhaps even greater than the 1st time it was lost. 

But what makes this even more powerful of a parable for me are the toys that we are most joyful to find. It is not the brand new tag on collector items beanie baby waiting for just the right ebay auction.  No, it's a dirty crab that's missing a leg and an eye.  A matchbox car that's so beat up, you can't tell what the original paint color was.  Toys that are weird and no longer sellable. Toys that without the love of the child would be thrown away.  

I rejoice in a God that loves us like a child loves a favorite toy and who hunts us down and finds us again and again like a mother who wants to get everyone to bed on time. And who rejoices from the rooftop when we are found because life isn't whole without us.  

Amen