Day 6: slinkys are a pain to deal with

 

I was cleaning the house and picked up this slinky for the millionth time.  As I held it in my hand,  I pondered whether I should put it away or throw it away.  It is bent and twisted as slinkys inevitably become.  I have faithfully untangled and straightened this particular slinky for months.  

I continued to clean and found a string of mardi gras beads.  I picked them up along with a plastic cup,  a couple of legos and a banana peel. I threw the cup in the sink,  the legos in the drawer and then had to decide what to do with the slinky and the beads. 

In the few moments I had held them in my hand and walked around the house, they had knotted themselves in an inexplicable jumble.  

"How in the world?... "

I plopped on the couch and methodically,  patiently,  slowly untangled them.  It was completely unfathomable how much they had gotten tangled up.  I smiled.  Sometimes,  it's  ridiculous how much I get tangled up on myself. 

There is a marvelous,  satisfying beauty to a slinky propelling itself down a set of stairs.  But honestly,  how often do kids play with slinky this way.  In my house, they are wrapped around chairs and used to pull wagons or worn as some sort of magical amulet around the bicep.  And they tangle within seconds.  

I start my day full of possibly.  A perfectly stacked slinky as I climb out of bed. But mere moments into the morning I find myself knotted up over myself and I have to sit down and patiently sit and sit sort myself out..

I wonder if God tires of my endless piles of tangle?

I'm a master of untangling slinkys. Slowly,  curve by curve,  I trace the edge until it is a smooth even pile. 

The same way God methodically untangles my heart,  tracing my edges with gentle hands. Reordering all my thoughts and jumbled emotions into a smooth pile.  I feel better and the moment I head out is only a matter of minutes that I begin to tangle myself up again.

I think that is human nature,  like slinkys,  we tangle easily. And spiritual practices, prayer,  scripture,  worship,  meditation, silence and the like are tools that God has given us to help untangle ourselves.  Sometimes,  we set up right in the morning and we can make it through a day without too much problem,  but other days,  we tangle and we tangle and we tangle and we have to turn again and again to these practices to undo those knots. And sometimes,  we get so tangled up,  it feels like there is no way we'll ever get smoothed out again. And yet,  with enough time and patience and openness,  God can work through all the wild knots of our hearts and set us down in one smooth satisfying pile.  

Day 5: Jesus gives the disciples a night off

This is the view from my rocking chair.  It means i made it to the end of the day and I'm rocking while the kids are listening to Audiobooks. I'm trying to figure out what to write about.  I've been exhausted all day,  so I searched verses on tiredness for this blog post.  To my amusement, one of the first verses that popped up was this section from the story of the feeding of the 5,000

30 The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. 31 Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”

32 So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place. 33 But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. 34 When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things.

I never paid attention to the beginning before.  Picture it.  A long day.  Out with Jesus.  Everyone had split up and were managing different things. They gather up to debrief and Jesus notices how tired they are.  So he sneaks them away into a boat to get a quiet moment. The disciples sink into their seats and sigh out that deep breath.  Finally,  off duty.

But as they are drifting and talking,  Jesus looks out of the corner of his eye and sees people on the edge of the lake running ahead. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes and also I see his heart.  There's no choice but to minister to the crowd.  But the logistics aren't great.  Disciples are exhausted.  There's a huge crowd gathered far from town.  Kids are going to start getting hungry and crying.  

Then, in the midst of teaching,  Jesus does a miracle.  I had always thought that he feed the 5,000 because of his concern for the crowd.  But now seeing the setup... he did it maybe even more out of his concern for his disciples. In the midst of their work,  he sees they need down time and so he gives them a gift and takes care of dinner for everyone.  

In my tiredness,  this speaks to me.  Even in the mundane duty of working out my call,  there may be moments where God meets me in my tiredness and pulls up a little boat and takes me away to a quiet place. ... and takes care of dinner so I can take the night off.

How might I allow Jesus to multiply the fish and bread so that we can all just sit and enjoy the evening breeze? I think I'll sleep on it. 

  

Day 4: A Bible study for autistics

Andrew groaned at the table. It was homework time. He got up for a snack. He got up for a drink.  Finally,  he could procrastinate no more.  

I peeked over at what he was doing... religion.  

....aaaaaah now I get it. 

Religion homework is hard for Andrew. It's not a lot of writing.  It's a simple worksheet.  Very much what one might expect. A familiar story and the common reflective questions that show up in Bible studies.  

"How did God use so and so to do his plan despite their shortcomings?"

"What did so and so feel about God?"

The questions don't often pull directly from the text but rather ask the reader to pull between the lines.

Andrew flat refuses to do this. He has learned how to look for patterns and identify things like intent in stories and in people he meets. But the Bible has higher stakes.  

He looks at me blankly - like - how am I supposed to know God's plan or how God feels.  I'm obviously a limited human being. 

His teacher tells him to take it seriously.  So he does. But he takes it too seriously to complete the assignment.  And I wonder... 

what does a Bible study designed for autistics look like? 

And... 

if one exists,  I would probably enjoy it.  

Day 3: empty space

 Motherhood is full of small moments in between.  Waiting to drop off, waiting to pick up,  waiting for kids to finish eating,  waiting for kids to finish playing,  waiting... waiting but available. This is the rub. You are not needed,  but you might be.  So you sit,  like a doctor on call,  waiting to mother. 

Phones are such a blessing. In these small moments you can write a grocery list,  send a quick email,  schedule a dr appointment or scroll  social media and escape the small world of small children for something more intellectually simulating. 

Pulling back from my phone has reminded me how many of these small moments exist in my life.  I thought about what I might write in this blog. I looked for images for today's rethinkchurch word of the day "sign." 

Here are some pictures I took:

Some signs are in really unexpected places. 

In Genesis,  God set the sun and moon in the sky as a sign to mark the passing of days, months and years.  

The signs by Moses were a warning to Pharoah.

As a kid I didn't know that these flags marked underground pipes. Signs revealing the unseen.  Nearly every miracle in the Bible would be defined the same way. 

Sometimes signs a messages that you need to take with you...

Besides looking for signs (I was hoping God would send me a billboard) I reflected on the book I'm reading.  I thought about Alexei Navalny and how we still live in a world where speaking truth to power can cost you your life and... perhaps more importantly, there are still people willing to do it anyway. 

Then I passed a roadside memorial on the way to get Miles from school and the image connected al my thoughts ... the cross was a sign.  It was a sign that something terrible had happened in the side of the road but it was also a sign that even the most terrible thing that can happen doesn't get the last word. I wish I could have stopped to take the picture because that was the best sign I had seen. But I was heading to pickup a kid from school and couldn't stop. 😔

Empty space feels unproductive. All day I had an urge to pull out my phone and do something with the time I spent waiting on kids. I resisted and reflected.  It felt so very futile. Wouldn't it be better to make "good use" of my time?

Perhaps there is something better than making good use of time.  

Day 2: Morning liturgy

Back when I was working full time, I usually started my day at 4am to begin a ritual that allowed me to "fit" everything in.  I would dress in the dark and often nurse a baby. If the baby was tiny,  I would dress the baby (sometimes in adorable khakis and sweater vest) load them into the car and drive in the dark across town to a warmly lit truck stop that was just across from our company's little office. The office was cold and dark and lonely at that early hour,  so I preferred to set up shop at McDonald's where I could get breakfast,  caffiene and something that felt like community. I settled into the same booth and pulled out my planner and started planning the day.  I would have one big focus work task that I would target to finish during those precious quiet early morning hours.  It was a ritual that served me well in that season. It was a tool for productivity but there was also a liturgy in my conversation with everyone who worked there, spiritual intentions and prayers in my journal on days I could remember to do it and the precious little baby who held vigil over my work sleeping in his carrier that somehow tethered that time to the sacred.  

In 2020, life changed.  The baby who had joined my early morning work sessions had grown into a preschooler and I found myself pregnant once again.  The pandemic replaced my early morning work sessions with zoom calls that quickly made me rethink my morning ritual.  I left my job and built a new routine to give our family structure in a time when everything felt uncertain.  I traded early mornings for longer sleep that my pregnant body needed and cuddles with kids who found their way into my room. I then started every day with a 3 mile walk.  Getting everyone dressed and out into the natural light and air did wonders for setting the kids up for a good day.  We walked all the morning errands.  Picked up groceries,  breakfast and stopped to play at the park before we got home and started our day sometime after 10. By the time we got back,  the kids were ready to sit and study and I was clear headed with a plan for the day.  

Years have passed and I again have been feeling like my morning rituals no longer serve me.  The kids have gone back to school.  I still have a toddler who still wakes me up from time to time.  So I wake up with enough time to get them out the door,  but not much extra. Times when I do wake up a little early,  I check my email and the weather.  Sometimes I'll check in on my social media,  them I drag my tired self out of bed, get dressed and make the bed.  Then I'll saunter out and start packing lunches and cleaning the kitchen. It's not terribly inspiring. 

One of the books I'm reading,  "Rituals of the household," talks about life as liturgy. I've been pondering that.  How do the rhythms of my ordinary life act as liturgy for me or my family? Are the small intentions, rituals or habits that I can build into these rhythms that will turn me towards God or build the faith of my children?

I decided to explore this as part of Lent.  I committed to one small practice.  I will get up at 6 and drink tea with Ulrich and I won't look at my phone until kids are almost ready to head out the door - in case there are important emails from school. 

Today was my first real morning trying on this new morning routine.  It was just lovely. Zander crept into my room around 5:30. He was a little restless and I could tell he was ready to get up.  So I asked if he wanted to go play trains.  We crept out of the room and turned on a soft light.  I got the tea kettle started and he started playing trains.  I made tea and curled up on the couch, blissfully unaware of any text or email messages that would be waiting for me, and watched him play.  Ulrich joined me and we silently drank our tea.  Other boys joined and slowly I moved towards breakfast. 

I noticed a calmness in myself.  Making breakfast before the bed was made,  before I knew what tasks I needed to do that day. I can imagine this liturgy evolving.  Perhaps some call and response between me and Zander. Perhaps a prayer of gratitude to accompany the opening of the certains. A holy silence waiting for the water to boil.

Liturgy changes with the season and as life brings new seasons there comes times to reimagine the habits and rituals that govern large parts of our ordinary life.  Our waking and sleeping,  bathing and eating,  cleaning and driving. Life lived well in these small moments can add a tremendous amount of stability and resilience to our lives. Finding God with us in the ordinary keeps faith close and allows it to bleed into and color the rest of our day. 

May you find God with you in the most ordinary of places this day.  

Day 1: The Day of Ashes

 

I went to the kids school this morning because I needed to talk to the principal about some things, but I ended up staying for chapel. The pastor gave this great simple message to the kids where he juxtaposed two powerful images about ashes

First, he conjured the feeling of camping and how the black soot of ashes from the campfire seem to get on everything and how by the end of the trip everything seems to smell like smoke.

Then he described the images from the old testament of repentance or grief. Ripping of clothes and the wearing of sackcloth and ashes. He described it simply as a way to show publicly that you are going through a difficult time. 

From dust you came,  to dust you shall return.

The two images rolled around in my head all day.  Some humorous pictures popped up... my kids dressed in sackcloth running around a campfire; Job grieving with friends and kids throwing ashes and totally running the somber vibe.

But I also thought about how grief and guilt stick around like the smell of a campfire. How they are inevitable parts of life as much as kids covered in filth is an inevitable part of camping.  

We do not escape death.  One day,  the log finishes burning and the light and warmth go out.  The ashes on our forehead remind us of this. But they are in the shape of a cross to remind us that there is nowhere,  not even into death, where we can go that God will not be with us. 

Today I start practices to listen and to seek God.  But God has never left me.  Like the smell of smoke,  God is an ever present unseen presence who holds and guides and comforts me no matter what. 

Day 0: What are you doing for Lent this year?

I have a ritual to schedule a call with my best friend in early February to review our Lent game plans ahead of Ash Wednesday. This year, we had a luxuriously long call during the Super Bowl. We noticed that the past few years have been a little underwhelming and we both felt like we craved a more meaningful Lent this year and like shopping hungry -- our list of potential practices were a little ambitious and needed to be paired down a little to be more realistic. So... in this post, I decided to share what made the list and also, some things I considered but will hold off for another year. 

Giving up:

• Diet coke
• Going out to work (instead of working at home)
• Parenting after 9:30pm
• Limited media and social media (no scrolling)
• Generally goofing off on my phone
• Unnecessary purchases
• Limiting fast food, snacks and "drinks" as a family
• Kids are giving up video games
• Intermittent fasting at least 14 hours a day

Adding

• Daily 15 minutes of exercise paired with prayer or spiritual music
• Permission to workout as long as my body wants to even if it means less "productive" day
• 15 minutes of reading things off my reading list - aiming to complete "A Life Worth Living" "Atomic Habits" and "Habits of the household: Practicing the story of God in everyday family rhythms"
• Daily Blog post and possibly bonus daily photo or artwork
• One additional "Zander" day - 2 full weekdays with Zander instead of 1
• Morning tea with my spouse
• Self reflection practice -- curiosity to better understand where emotions, actions and words come from 
• Initiative to connect with people in my community -- being more present in conversation, warmer greeting, texting people I haven't talked to in a while, etc

Things I considered:

• Giving up laundry or cooking (we decided the house isn't quite ready for this level of spiritual growth)
• Processed food
• Some sort of "Date your spouse" challenge
• Giving up caring what the house looks like 
• Not yelling (I've tried, and spectacularly failed this one)
• Some sort of suspending judgement (I've also done this one before -- no nagging my husband or judging him -- it was a tough one)
• Giving up productivity -- not worrying about how much I get done.

The list looks a little long and random but really, I'm adding 3 big focuses that I hope will make for interesting introspection this Lent and lead me down new paths as I search to grow closer to God.

Practice 1: Blow up my morning and night routines to make space for more meaningful things

My evening and morning routines have gotten stale and are no longer serving to inspire or grow me or my family. So, I'm using Lent to shake things up and drop a bunch of stuff that used to be life-giving but has become a bit of a rut. As a pastor friend once said, Lent is when we pull out the pacifiers and live with the empty space they used to fill. There's a whole of pacifier in my current routine and its going to feel a bit strange to pull

Practice 2: Distance myself from marketing messages and be curious about what influences me

I have a hunch that while I'm not an overly commercial / consumer kind of person the sheer amount of marketing that structures our world has deep and profound impacts on how I see myself, how I raise my kids and even on my faith. So, I am going to try to distance myself from marketing and reflect on where thoughts, impulses, behaviors and beliefs that I have come from. I'm sure this will be interesting. 

As I reflected on where I might encounter marketing -- I realized it is everywhere and it will be difficult to avoid -- packaging, stores, coffee shops, restaurants, doctors offices, social media, news, signs along the road. I won't be able to avoid it -- but if I limit my time shopping and eating out, simplify the types of things I buy and limit my use of my phone, maybe I can cut the amount of marketing I'm exposed to in half? And perhaps, I'll be more mindful of where I see it and what kinds of messages are out there. 

I'm also curious to see where my own thoughts come from -- when I'm impatient -- asking myself why? Why do I feel impatient -- am I tired of waiting or do I feel like life is supposed to be fast and convenient? I want to hold myself with a bit more grace, as I have learned to do for my children, and observe where my emotions and beliefs come from and open more space for God to guide and intervene in matters of my heart.

Practice 3: Lean towards connection

If marketing and content is curated. If social media is the version of ourselves that we want the world to see. What if I leaned in and tried to see the world around me as it really is? 

My 3rd practice is to live with a slowness and presence so as to have space to really see and connect with people around me. Change up my greeting to ask about something specific or invite to actually share life. Text people I usually just connect with on social media.  

This includes connecting with and making real space for people in my own family. Taking Zander out of daycare one more day a week to spend 2 days, rather than 1. And in doing this I will have time to just spend an hour helping him learn how to get dressed. There is a patience that comes from slowing down enough to allow a little one learn how to do things on their own. It is infuriately slow. But, it blossoms with an awareness of the world that we cannot take in when we move at the speed of grown-ups. 

Wrestling with my need to be productive

Inevitably, all this space for reflection and connection is going to come from somewhere... and so.. I am certain that as a byproduct I am, in a way, giving up productivity for Lent. I'll probably bill fewer hours in my consulting role or maybe my house will get more messy than I want it to be. And.. I'll have all kinds of opportunities to reflect on my emotions and beliefs around things like billable hours, a tidy home and getting places on time and I will have the change to wrestle with how I am shaped by marketing and the culture around me and how I am shaped by a timeless God who loves me tirelessly. 

I have a sense there is a going to be a lot of kicking and screaming this Lent. But... bring it on. I'm feeling spicy.