Day 2: Friction

It has been a long week and I am exhausted. I invited Ulrich to join me as I picked up the kids from pre-school so we could treat ourselves to some In-and-Out Drive-Through. As I dropped him back off at work I could see that tired, "I can't do another day of this" look on his face and I asked him if he was ok. All he wanted was an evening off.

I decided to focus my efforts of the afternoon towards making the evening frictionless. The kids were not cooperating about taking a nap so we took a long walk to the grocery store and stopped at McDonald's on the way back for an ice-cream cone and some play time. The afternoon was beautiful. The weather nice and I had bought a delicious tri-tip and asperagus for dinner. We came home and I set to work to get the evening ready. Eddie helped cook dinner and Andrew, who had fallen asleep in the stroller woke up hungry so I fed him yogurt on the kitchen floor. Things seemed hitchless. 

My evening plans involved a nice dinner together, baking cookies, watching a family movie and getting the kids to bed a bit on the early side. It was a plan that both kids and parents could get behind and usually nights like that feel fairly effortless.

But, for whatever reason, the boys decided to insert friction. Eddie pulled Ulrich's work laptop down from the shelf and broke the screen. He then continued a streak of abnormal bad behavior pushing against me. Testing my authority. Andrew keyed in and joined the movement, refusing to eat and throwing tantrums before and after bath.

I can only think that there are times that God has in store such beautiful plans for us but we thrash them with our own insistence to be in control. Unable to see the plan that I had laid out for the night, Eddie could only see me working to get dinner ready. He didn't know about the cookies or the movie or the night time snuggles that I had planned out. Lent is my best effort at setting aside my tantrums, my insistence on doing things on my schedule, according to my will and listen for the plan that God has laid out. I wish I could say that I never acted like a toddler before God but I am fairly certain that I do. Luckily, like a loving mother -- God takes my tantrums and disciplines me, puts me to bed and wakes up with hugs and smiles the next day. I delay the plans the Spirit has set out for me but I don't abandon them. 

In these days, I will try to listen and obey allowing my spirit to be molded that I may wear a yoke that is light.

Day 1: Broken

Last night we took the kids to ash Wednesday service. I'm always nervous -- a serious, solemn, reflective service right at bedtime most typically spells stress and disaster. We arrived to find a darkened room, stations with symbols, candles. The pastor greeted us and handed us a booklet explaining that the first half of service was a self-guided tour through reflective stations.

Water
Oil
Clay
Ashes
The Cross

These are fairly heavy symbols to explain to a 4 year old but for whatever reason, I decided to take on the challenge. Here is the summary of my conversations with Eddie throughout the service:

Water: We dipped our hands in the baptismal font and talked about baby Dylan's recent baptism - a special bath where God marks you and seals you, names you and makes a claim on your life. When we touch water, we get clean.

Oil: A long time ago, they used to put oil on the heads of the new kings to show that they were special. Now we put oil on the head of each person to show that they are special to God.

Clay: "What happens when we squish the clay?" It changes. That's right and with clay we can make any shape we want. If we are open to listen to God, he can make us into any kind of person he wants us to be.

Ashes: This one was tough. I looked at that innocent face who is so full of questions about the world. I just couldn't tell him that we would all become dust. So pondering it a moment, I said -- These are ashes. Eventually everything breaks. Toys break. Cars break. People break. We put ashes on our forehead to remember that everything can get broken.

The Cross: The cross station had little pieces of fabric that were to be ripped during confession and placed on the cross. "Eddie, why do we have a cross here?" "Because God was on the cross" "Do you know why?" "Tell me." "Because he loves us and doesn't want us to stay broken."

We took fabric and went to our seats. Eddie was engaged and asked what they fabric meant. And, in explaining this to Eddie, he put the pieces together:

Once, a long time ago there was a big curtain. God was on one side of the curtain and people were on the other side of the curtain. But God didn't want to be separated from the people so he ripped the curtain. Sometimes we do things that aren't very nice and that makes God sad, but when we say sorry to God it makes him happy and we rip the curtain between us and God so that we can be together.

Eddie was quiet.

Mom, was Jesus broken on the cross?

Yep, Jesus was in the world and the world is broken. When Jesus went on the cross, he got broken too. But do you know what? Jesus was made out of God and God can't be broken so Jesus didn't stay broken, he got fixed.

Eddie's wheels turned.... Then if God comes through the curtain to be with people, then they can get fixed too.

Yes Eddie, if God comes through the curtain to be with people then we all get fixed too. That is the promise of Easter. God will fix us.

Blessings on your 40 days.

Ash Wednesday: Lent begins again

I pondered what do I need to let go of. What spiritual discipline is God inviting me into to deepen my walk and trust. Looking around in my life, the answer seems to point to time. I have always been busy but with two small children and a start-up, the demands on my time have increased every day and I go to bed at the end of the day wondering if I did it right. Did I give the kids enough? Did I spend enough effort on the business? I look at my growing belly and worry about how will I ever carve out enough time to care for and love yet another new precious life.

Ash Wednesday, the imposition of ashes on our foreheads. The reminder that we are dust and will return to the earth as nothing humbles me to think as important as it is for me to present in my life, that my life will end and the world will go on without me. God is eternal acting and weaving in the human story across time. Existing without the constraints that I have. Inviting each of us into a deeper purpose.

And so for Lent, my discipline is to lean in to that deeper story. To let go of my fears of being enough and having enough time to fulfill all my duties. Rather, I trust that God has a deeper purpose for each of my children, for my husband, for our business, for me. I will take time to respond to God - to listen, to read, to pray, to write, to reflect and to see God in the world around me.

Looking at my life, I don't see time to do this. My to-do list at the start-up is packed. The momentum is building around our product and the business is really starting to take off. I've received so much validation that this is a call that God has placed on my life, giving me an opportunity to be light in places that really needs it. Motherhood is a also a call and a tall one. Sleepless nights and busy days. Eddie is 4, exploding with the need to learn and grow. Andrew is 20 months and in the height of the terrible 2's, demanding schedule and attention -- exerting will. My belly large with the promise of an Easter baby.

In the past year, trying to respond to these calls. I've cut out every bit of wasted time. I don't watch TV. I don't socialize. I don't garden like I used to. I cook efficiently. I've minimized and optimized everything I possibly can. So, I don't really know where this time will come from. Most certainly - something important. But none the less, I will lean in and carve out space to be still and know that God is God. And God, the eternal, not bound by time will make the time that I have enough for his purpose in my life.

Vine and Branches

Wanted to share a thought provoking sermon our youth pastor shared this morning. The verse was "I am the vine, you are the branches" from John 15. He started out by drawing our attention to what we think of when we think vine and branches. Many of us think of modern vineyards - posts with wires for the grape vine to cling to. But in fact, in Jesus time, that's not how it was done. Grape vines were planted next to trees and the vine wrapped around the branches.

As he continued reading the verse -

"apart from me you can bear no fruit"

The trees were not fruit bearing trees. The only fruit bearing branches were those wrapped in the grape vine.

 "He cuts off every branch that does not bear fruit.."

I imagine a grower shaping a tree to optimally support the the vine and making fruit easiest to harvest. I picture God shaping us. Cutting off parts that are inaccessible to God and to others. Allowing us to grow in the ways and places where we are wrapped in the spirit and where that presence of God in our lives produces fruit that feeds other people.

I'm kind of hoping he can eventually shape me into one fine bottle of Pinot Noir. Cheers!

Peter's vision

So, I'm a few weeks behind, but I wanted to share thoughts on the lectionary verse from a few weeks ago: Peter's vision of the sheet coming down from heaven.

Rough summary of the scripture is that Peter was dealing with an inner (and outer) conflict about whether gentiles should be included in the early church. He was walking and thinking when he saw a large sheet come down from heaven filled with every type of animal known. God said, "Peter, go eat." Peter rebuttaled that the animals weren't clean. God assured him that it was ok. They went back and forth until Peter yielded and agreed. Just then, some Gentiles came and asked Peter to join them for dinner. Peter got God's point. He ate with them. He realized that the church was for everyone.

Over the past 5 months, I've been leading a worship service at our church once a month. The service is designed to open and accessible to kids, babies, parents, teenagers. It is an attempt to worship together. A dream I have had in my heart since I gave birth to Eddie. We go to a wonderfully open and accepting church that allows people to act on dreams and visions like this and so, after chatting with some of the staff we decided to give it a go.

The first service was a bit of a train wreck. It was packed as people wanted to check out what we were doing. It was chaotic and disorganized. But it was a place where people could be themselves. I was disheartened to hear that attendance had been so high because parents thought that they were required to come to the service rather than send their kids to Sunday School. Some people didn't even come to church that week because they didn't want to go to this new worship thing. And they had no where else to send their kids during church. The following month, there was clarity in the bulleton. Parents didn't have to come. Based on feedback, I oriented the message towards the teenagers who had sat in the back and more or less been annoyed with my singing "If I were a butterfly" So, I had the youth pastor speak and we did music more oriented towards teens and young adults. Of course, there were a lot less people. And so it continued, numbers dropped. Participation and excitement waned. And yet, the experience got better. The services better organized.

A week and a half ago, I led service again. It was, this time, mostly older kids and teenagers. We told the story of this verse. I didn't have much of a sermon planned. But I was struck by a bit of inspiration when I got up. After the telling of the scripture lesson I played this Stevie Wonder song:



Humanity hasn't changed much over the course of the last thousands of years. Peter wrestled with who to include at the table and in the church. Rosa Parks decided that white people and black people should be able to sit together on the bus. I struggle to create a place where small people and big people can worship together. In big ways and small ways, we cling to opportunities to divide ourselves and distance ourselves from people who are in some way different. We don't want to deal with the discomfort that comes from facing the complexities that come from diversity.

But God, left us that way. The church was not built by Jesus but by Peter and Paul who wrestled with these issues of division and inclusion. By Luther and Wesley, by Marin Luther King and mother Theresa and St Francis. By every believer who has decided to follow the call to bring God's light into the world and live out a life shaped by the gospel. Do we hide in sameness? Connecting with people in similar situations as our selves? Do we eat with gentiles? Different people that we don't understand. The light has been passed to us. What shall we say?

 

Following the call

I decided that I really got a great deal out of posting during lent and want to try to continue posting regularly. So I'm going to try to post weekly thoughts on the lectionary.

Today's verses: 

Acts 9: 1-20: The conversion of Saul

Psalm 30: You have turned my mourning into dancing

Rev 5:11-14: Praising the lamb

John 21:1-19: Risen Christ eating fish with disciples, calling Peter

I hear the Spirit whisper to me in these verses -- "It's going to be ok." 

I have been a bit anxious about life. What am I doing? What is going to happen with our business? How should I be spending my days? Life is unclear and yet, somehow, I am convicted that there is a call to be who I am, where I am right now. I have had moments like Saul. Blinded on the side of the road. Invited to change course. I have had moments like Ananias. Asked to reach out into danger and trust God's plan. Reminded to cast off my own opinions about who someone is and remember that God's plans are bigger than our personalities. I've had moments like Peter. Conversing intimately with God. In fact, my favorite sentence out of all the readings today was this one...

"When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea." 

It reminds me of Forest Gump when he was on his ship and he saw that Captain Dan had come to be his first mate, he jumped off the boat, fully dressed to greet his friend. 

These verses remind me that call isn't just a duty we perform or  the unraveling of some master plan that God has for humanity where we have some bit part that we need to accomplish. God's call is bigger, wider and deeper. God's call is to jump off the boat and swim to him. To be so excited about what he is doing and what he wants to do together that we let go and abandon ourselves to grace.

Maybe that call together will be difficult. Maybe it will involve suffering. But the Psalmist reminds us that God is with us through the difficulties and so we will be upheld by grace.

I completely jumped off the boat when I fell in love with Ulrich and married him. Some days, when the weather is nice and I can't hold in my affection, I jump off the boat and completely waste my day hanging out with my two boys. I jumped off the boat and moved to Haiti with no where to live and no plans because I felt the call. As I get older and responsibility presses around me experience pushes me to be self-reliant. To be practical. To be rational. I am tempted to tell myself that love is for youth. That following the Spirit is too wild for responsible people... 

But, the call remains, to jump off the boat. To be in love with God and what God is doing. 

To trust and lean into the uncertainty.

The Holy Triduum

It is Monday night. I am recovering after an amazing and exhausting holy weekend. Life always gets intense during holy week and despite my best efforts, I've never been able to maintain the calm discipline that carries me through lent. I think it is fitting. Holy week is a disruption. It is jarring, intense, wild and unpredictable. I'll try to retrace my steps a bit...

Good Friday: Far

This year for Good Friday we climbed to the top of Yosemite Falls -- with Eddie and Andrew. It was a  7.6 mile hike up a steep incline taking us half a mile up a steep granite trail. Ulrich carried Andrew on his back the whole way. I watched him bear the weight and thought about how Jesus suffered under the weight of his cross and wondered how steep the road to Golgotha was. The sun shone on us and the dust curled up around our feet. I thought about how Jesus thirsted in the heat of the day. As the sun set, it grew cold. I thought of the dark sky, the ripped curtain, the chilling last words that he spoke as he let his spirit go.

Pressing the body. Struggling with nature forces us to be present. While we climbed that steep, rocky path, my mind wasn't on my to-do list. It wasn't on what we would be doing later during the weekend. It wasn't even on what I might want to eat for dinner. When it was hard, the only thing you can think to do is stare down at your feet and put one in front of the other. "40 more minutes until you reach the top" Oh, my soul groaned. That's an eternity.

I remember that feeling during the birth of each of my boys. How would I make it another minute. I was so focused on making it through that time seemed to stop. In moments like that, when we are so present, so aware of each breath, each second, time slows down and we almost touch eternity. Jesus hung on that cross in moments that touched eternity. His soul groaned. And then.... it was finished.

Holy Saturday: Roots

We gathered in Davis at the church where Ulrich and I met. Where we got married. Where Eddie was baptized. We gathered with old friends and family. With strangers and acquaintances  We gathered around a fire and the sun set. The pascal candle was lit which passed the flame to each of our candles. One to the next. Everyone's candle was lit but Andrew's. In his black Good Friday clothes, he waited for his turn.

We sat in a dark church and by candlelight listened to the stories of our faith. Creation. Abraham. Moses. Prophet Isaiah. Then, we sat in silence. In the darkness, we took Andrew to the water. We remembered God's promise in the water - to clean us, to free us, to re-create us. And Andrew laughed. His happy baby voice filled the silent church and the Spirit drew near to him. He was held by his God-parents and I watched as they brought him to the water. I looked at them and felt thankful that they will be there to guide him back to the water when I find myself on the opposite bank and cannot reach him. As he came up out of the water, his candle was lit. I prayed that the light would always burn in his life.

And as we remembered that we are baptized into the cross, so are we baptized into the resurrection. At that moment the church was filled with light and the sound of ringing. The stone was rolled away and we were the first witnesses to the empty tomb. Andrew dressed in his dazzling white christening suit brought an Easter lily to decorate the alter.

We shared the peace. Deep embraces reuniting me with old friends made me think about heaven and the joy of reuniting with all those who have passed, with our ancestors, with each child of God as one family. With God, breath, spirit, mystery. Joy. I don't understand it but in Easter there is promise and in faith there is hope and in Jesus there is grace and so I open my arms to receive the joy that washes over me.

Easter Sunday: Life

It was supposed to rain on Easter. I woke up and saw bright blue through the blinds and thought, " There was a 100% chance that Jesus was supposed to stay in the grave so I guess its not such a surprise that it is beautiful outside even when there was a 70% chance of rain." The house was silent. Everyone was still sleeping. I crept outside into the sunlight of Easter morning. I drew in a deep breath. The flowers bloomed. The grass green. My soul alive. The promise of Easter.

I got the boys dressed. We were running late but I sang in the car and as we walked in, I joined right in "Jesus Christ is Risen Today" always the first hymn sung on Easter morning. The only open seats were in the front row so we walked straight down the center aisle. The choir got up to sing. Eddie ran up on the alter to dance with them. I jumped up to get him. But, I wanted to dance with him so I took him to the back of the church and we danced.

The children were excused a few moments later for children's church. I joined them. We revisited the stations of the cross by placing a symbol of the passion story - a piece of bread, a coin, a nail, a cross -- into plastic eggs. We left the 12th egg empty.
The tomb was empty. Eddie was super into the story and wanted to learn what was in each of the eggs. I sat on the floor with Andrew and watched the kids. My Easter worship was seeing them all dressed in their Easter suits and dresses. Full of innocence and wonder. The promise of life ahead of them.

After church we gathered at my mother-in-law's house to watch basketball and eat food. It was comfortable -- like a country song. Ordinary wonderful life. We hide eggs in the backyard for Eddie. As he ran around gathering them up and putting them in his basket, I thought about egg hunts. Running around in the garden searching for new life. Face beaming with excitement with each egg that is found. He is risen indeed.

Post-Easter Reflections

Easter was beautiful. Deep and meaningful as it is every year. Full of pain and promise. Doubt and wonder. The letting go of discipline to embrace grace. Then, as always, I find myself on the other side a bit bewildered. Like the disciples in the upper room asking myself -- what now?

I don't know.

So I wait.

In due time, the Holy Spirit will come.

But for now I soak in the promise of the empty tomb.