Thanks, God, I needed that

On the way to church, Eddie asked me -- Can we dance at church today?

"Maybe, if they play music for dancing."

We arrived and Andrew had a melt down. "This is only going to get worse." I thought to myself.

We found our pew and settled in.

"Today we are going to do a little something different during the opening hymn." The pastor started. "You may see something that could be contrued as dancing. Don't worry, we're still Lutherans. You're still in the right place. But if the spirit moves you, Feel free to join in."

The music started slow but I told the boys they could dance. So we got up in were doing a ring-a-round-the-rosie circle in the back of the church. We were joined by a couple of girls who were sitting near us. Then, some other girls from the front joined in and we ran out of room in the back so we moved to the front and danced around the alter.

I remembered back to church as a kid. Some of my favorite moments were when people started dancing and we would make long chains and weave in and out and around, It was like dancing at a wedding. All of us holding hand made me feel like we were all connected as some larger family. When I looked at Eddie's and Andrew's faces, I could see that same sense of belonging and my heart was happy.

Thanks God, I needed that.

Running Meditation: Breath

 It is almost cliche to meditate on breath.  But as I started this evening's prayer run, that what what my mind was drawn to reflect on.

At first my breath was light. Normal. My lungs had not yet realized that I was running. Then, quickly, I began to breath deeply. Breathing harder and harder to I compensate for those light breaths early on. 

As the run continues I notice my breath slowly equalizes into a steady rhythm setting the pace for my whole body. I step up my speed to see what happens to my breath. It remains steady. I find a new rhythm. 

The farther I run, the slower, easier breathing gets.

I remember when I first started running. I had asthma. After about a block my whole body would convulse and I would cough until I threw up. I didn't think I would ever be a runner, but I had promised Ulrich that I would try to run the Turkey Trot with him and I wanted to push myself to run a full 5k without stopping.

Something magic happened. As I trained. Slowly running longer and longer distances, my breath found control. Soon, I was only having my coughing fits at the very end of the run. And after several months, they disappeared all together. I ran further and further -- reaching up to 10 miles. I had never breathed so well in my life. Running gave me breath I never knew I could have.

While I ran through the dark streets of my neighborhood, I pondered my breath. The rhythm. And the irony of how it seems to smooth itself out the further down the road we get. 

I started to think about faith. 

It seems to be a good analogy. Starting out it seems nice and easy. We don't realize what we've gotten ourselves into. Then suddenly, it gets super hard. The temptation to quit it strong. How much simpler it would be to go back to a life without faith? It would have been easier in those early days to give up on running. I had a bonafide excuse. Plus, it made me miserable for weeks on end. 

Faith for me has always been super inconvenient. Showing up when I'm settling in for a good round of "me" time. Like running, so much of the time, faith has been miserable -- uncertainty, personal sacrifice, flat out foolishness. 

Yet, like running, if you go far and long enough it seems to find a rhythm. A freeing, amazing, life-giving rhythm. If you find yourself in the midst of difficulty in faith, I urge you to press on. "For my yoke is easy and my burden light"  

Charlie Brown, This is what lent is all about

The end of a hard week.My brain is defragmented from being pulled in too many directions. I'm a little rough around the edges because Andrew got us up every night. He has an ear infection, the medicine he was prescribed didn't take care of it. Naturally, I've ended up with a bit of a cold. So, when I get to the end of the rigamaroll around bed time, I am ready **really** ready to curl up and just drift peacefully to sleep.

Ulrich walks in. Did you post your lent post yet? No. Did you go for your lenten run? ....no.... silence.... You said, even if it's a quick run around the block.

Yep. I did say that.

I got out of bed and ran out the front door -- in my pajamas, bare feet -- and started a jog around the block.

It was black. Quiet. I heard only the slap of my bare feet against the sidewalk and the slight wheeze in my breath. Joy melted over me. It was a moment of communion that I would have missed had I stayed snuggled up in bed. It was the exact reason why I thought a daily prayer run would make for a good lenten devotion.

Even if it is only for 10 minutes...I am quieting my soul and listening.... God always shows up.

Ash Wednesday service for little people

I have been feeling a little defeated lately that our church situation isn't quite what I had hoped for. When Eddie was a baby, I envisioned a loving community where everyone knew him, a service that was accessible with music and activities that would draw him in. To be fair, when he was born, that's what he had. Maybe 15 people from the church were crowded into our tiny apartment for bible study just after he was born and they helped give him his first bath. 

The church we go to now is a nice church. There are other little kids that run around. There is fun music from time to time and the people there do know the kids. It's just not the home I had hoped for. And now that Eddie is older, he squirrels around in his seat. I play police man like every other mother. I long to provide a more meaningful connection to faith. I was planning to take the kids to ash Wednesday service, but Andrew was tired and I knew it would be a disaster.

So, we had our own service. I asked the kids to draw pictures. Make them extra nice.

I explained that in life, all things get broken, even people. And we put the pictures in a bowl and set them on fire. Andrew was very concerned. A little sad. It very much had an Ash Wednesday tone as we watched the fire slowly consume the paper. But then the fire alarm went off and that lightened things a little. 

I added oil and mixed the ash. I told them. That an amazing thing is that even though things get broken, they can be made new. And even when people get broken, God can make them new.

Using the ash, they made cards to send to their grandparents and godparents.They both learned how to make the sign of the cross. Then, I went on instagram and showed them pictures of people with the ashes on their head and told them that all around the world people are remembering that things get broken, that they are broken and that God can make them better.

Then I put ashes on each of the boys heads. Eddie put ashed on my head. And of course, we had to take a #selfie and post it on instagram.

Ash Wednesday: Performance Review Time

Our business has grown substantially this year. We've raised money from investors and hired a staff. There are 9 of us now. My role has increasing moved towards management - creating clarity, setting a vision and helping to professionally develop each of our employees.

Most of our employees are young and this is their first real job out of college. They are eager, incredibly hard-working and have a deep desire to learn and grow. I think they have been one of my deepest blessings this year. Ulrich and I have decided to this use the opportunity to really mentor our young staff.  So we've implemented fairly regular performance reviews.

In my past, performance reviews have been a bit scary. Usually, its the time when the boss comes and tells you everything you've done wrong, peppered with obligatory "strength statements." They have come from a detached, distant authoritative figure head who comes to pass judgement. And all I can do is hope, just hope, that I've been good enough.

These performance reviews have a very different tone. We get out of the office and go to Country Waffles.  We talk over breakfast and explore where are opportunities to grow, stretch and develop more fully.  Maybe it's because I'm sitting on the otherside of the table, but I feel the conversations to be more relational, intimate. Rather than a passing of judgement, its an invitation or challenge to grow.

My relationship with God has seemed to grow into a mentor-style relationship with cycles of intimate conversations of where and how to grow and distance where I am left to carry out the work I was given with a bit of independence. The church calendar seems to strongly facilitate this cycle. Starting in Advent, I can feel the breath of God drawing near. Inviting me to listen. Life events start to create a pattern that open a dialog and by lent, I am open and malleable, ready to listen.

God has drawn near and over the next 40 days I will pour out my hurts, inadequacies, dream and desires. In return, I will be invited to let go of control over new areas of my life. To trust. To die to myself. And Easter will come.  I will be made new.

It's not easy being green...

If you attend a liturgical church, you may have noticed the alter has a green cloth on it. In the church calendar, we have entered a season called common time. It will last until advent when the church has its new year and decorates the alter blue in preparation for Christmas.

Common time. Ordinary time. The last major holiday in the church year is Pentecost, the receiving of the Holy Spirit, then we are sent out into ordinary time until the church new year, Advent. During summer, most churches get a little quieter. Choirs and Sunday Schools have breaks, people take vacations, attendance is down. There seems to be this ebb and flow that is built into the calendar where God calls us in -- to grow, to learn, to struggle with faith and then sends us out - to serve, to live, to be present in the world.

In my own life, I see a reflection of the church year. I hiked up the mountain during advent, Christmas, epiphany and lent. Pregnant. Struggling with how my life might change. Deep in prayer that God provide strength and wisdom. During Holy Week and into Easter, I found myself on the mountaintop. Transformed and open to the grace of God's call on my life. I gave birth and enjoyed the sacred newborn moments with baby Philip. All I wanted to do was stay there. Stay in the wonder of Easter morning. But down I headed, down into ordinary life.

I am busy with the call laid on me. Loving and caring for my beautiful boys. Being attentive and supportive to my husband. Shining light and leading our company. I don't have much time to be Mary. To sit at Jesus's feet. But, I pray on the way to and from work. I sing hymns in the shower. The meditations of my heart say -- this is the season of green, it is time to be out in the fields. Trusting that the Spirit is with me, it is the season to live out my faith through the work of my hands. During this season of common time, my devotion is to find opportunities to infuse each day with light and love. And that, my friend, is why it is not that easy being green.

Can we just stay?

Moments that touch eternity...

Just before dawn I awoke to the feeling of a small balloon popping. Could it be the day?  I went to the bathroom.  Sure enough my water had broken. Still a bit dazed, I heard Andrew wake up. I went to get him.  We cuddled.  I woke Ulrich. I woke my mom.  Today's the day. Eddie somehow knew something was up and woke up two hours early.  The boys decided to take a shower.  I sat on the stool in the bathroom and told them it was baby peanut butters birthday and that I had to go to the hospital so he could be born.  They were excited.  I said my farewells and we were off.

The sun rising.  Contractions picking up momentum.  Drive through McDonald's for Ulrich. Hospital.  epidural.  10cm. Wait for mom to get there. Mom arrives.  Time to meet my little man.  Everyone tells me they see him.  Doctor asks if I want to catch him. I reach down finding his shoulders, slid my hands under his arms and pull him out and into the world.  I lift him up and draw him to my chest.  He cries. His pink body warm and messy presses into my heart and leaves an imprint that will last the rest of my life.

Moments that touch eternity.

I am standing on a high mountain.  Life stretches out in front of me. I will blink my eyes and this helpless little baby will be walking, running,  going to kindergarten.  Looking back,  I see the births of my other two boys,  my wedding and in the far past,  the moment my mother first held me.

I just want to stay.  I want to stay in this perfect moment with my newborn. With my wonderful 2 and 4 year olds. I don't want life to keep going.  I don't want to climb down the mountain.

When Jesus showed Peter the full glory of God on top of a mountain during the transfiguration, all Peter wanted to do was stay and soak up the moment. But Jesus urged him onward.  Peters call lay in the road ahead.  Surely,  memories from that mountain top experience sustained him when the path got hard.

Life is lived on the trails going up and down the mountain.  My life lived in the 9 months leading up to baby Philips birth and the year forward that he grows into a little boy.

Jesus who walked with Peter on the path up and down the mountain was the same Jesus who appeared in glory on the top.  God is with us as strongly in the path as he is on the summit,  even if his presence hard to feel and glory harder to recognize. 

I will tuck these amazing first days of life deep into my heart. And I know the path ahead is full of beauty and adventure.