Day 2: the slow shaping work of time

I was standing at the stove, stirring mac and cheese for dinner and thinking about the day.  Ulrich had to work late and I had been on my own with kids since 7am. The baby didn't sleep and so I was tired.  Ok, exhausted.  Kids were watching documentaries on YouTube and I was making a game plan for bedtime. 

I realized in that moment how much I had grown over the last year.  I remembered the first lock down almost a year ago.  Alone in the house with all the kids. Tired from pregnancy. Wondering how long I'd be able to manage all these kids on my own. 

At that point, I was completely overwhelmed.  My patience with the kids and myself was significantly less. I had a hard time not snapping at them.  

 I realised a night like this would have been much more miserable a year ago. It would have been harder not because I was more tired or because the kids were worse . It would have been worse, because I would have made it worse. I would have snapped over something stupid and yelled at them and we all would have gone to bed in a giant pile of yelling and frustration.

The year has worn on me like a river over stones, slowly grinding out, shaping and smoothing me. Now, nights like this are not as hard. I expect them. I prepare myself to dive into grace. Over time,  God has given me a deeper well of resilience.

--

Lately,  the kids have been having a hard time with electronics.  Usually, increased behavior problems surrounding electronics time means that we need to take a break and reset.  

It's a painful process.  I take the devices away for a month. The first week is nothing but grumpy boys,  random tantrums and difficult behavior.  But slowly, they let go and find other interests.  Electronics become less important and life becomes more balanced.  It seems to be something I need to do about once a year,  but it is hard to pull the trigger on.  

I could tell the time was coming for a reset. 

So in January,  I casually mentioned that maybe Lent would be a good time to give up electronics.  I was surprised that there wasn't a ton of push back. I brought it up again at the beginning of February.  To my surprise, they were into it.  They were in the middle of a "read-a- thon" when the prize was a day off of school to have video games and a pizza party. They voted to end the read-a- thon on fat Tuesday. We had an awesome party with homemade pizza, Cinnamon rolls and video games. 

The next day,  I was fully prepared for that regretful hangover. Everyone deciding it was actually a bad idea to give up electronics.  I had carefully excluded pokemon go from the definition of "electronics" so we could still do our normal walk. I got everyone's shoes,  turned on pokemon and started out down the street.  A few blocks into the walk, Andrew handed me the phone.  

"Mom,  this feels like electronics.  I think we should include it in our Lent. "

I was floored. 

During the rest of the walk, I pondered what led them to willingly give up more. 

The years of observing Lent disciplines have carved into the fiber our family.  They've watched us year after year. And now,  as they grow up it has become natural for them to have a season of letting go.  

---

When I look in the mirror or try on an old pair of jeans,  I wish I could just draw a line around the fat I want to trim off And then magically make it disappear.  But weight loss is a long game.  The accumulation of many days of reducing calories. It never happens quickly. Every time I've lost weight it's taken at least a month to get anywhere and usually 6 months or more until my old clothes started fitting again. Honestly,  weight gain is the same way. 

Most major changes both good and bad are the slow accumulation life over days, weeks, months and years. 

Even Zander who seems to be growing at that unbelievable pace that babies do is mostly the same from one day to the next.  But flailing arms of the newborn become eventually steady. They begin to bat at things,  then grasp, then hold.... eventually they can feed themselves and scribble and by sometime around 4 or 5 write their name. Cries become coos. Coos become babble and babble become words.  And even though it feels like it happens overnight. It is literally the journey of 1,000 sleepless nights. 

We live in a world of montages and time lapse videos.  All those cooking videos where people snap their fingers and boom garlic is peeled and diced. Recipes take 20 seconds on Instagram. We have to be intentional to invest in long term growth and changes.  And while we believe in a God that can move mountains,  he rarely does.  Instead, he holds our hand to journey together through them.  And in the journey,  we become.  

Day 1: What should I give up for Lent this year?

 I usually start thinking about what I'm going to give up for Lent at New Years. 

I set up New Year's Resolutions knowing Lent will provide a booster shot. I spend those early days and weeks of the new year pondering...

Who does God want me to be this year?

 Where am I called to change? to grow? to let go? to become?

And in that process, I find something that I'm holding onto that I don't feel ready to give up permanently but am challenged to let go of during Lent -- 

To-Do lists,

caffeine, 

yelling  

Each has given me a unique journey of faith and grace as I journey through the gospel during this holy season.

This year, I had so many ideas -- intermittant fasting, no spending, no plastic,  no processed foods -- there was something in common amongst them all. 

Something about being content with less. Stepping back from being a consumer and connecting with creation.  Being content with where I am, who I am, what I am and offering something back rather than taking more to meet my "needs". Something about being ok when I'm not fully satisfied. 

A good dinner without desert.  

A groggy morning without caffeine.

A stressed out carful of kids without running to mcdonalds.

Less plastic. Less sugar. Less consumption. Less waste. Just less.

And leaning into more of what God might shape me into --

More patient

More present. 

More creative.

More grace.

The more I thought of this, the more I liked the idea of a Lent where I don't "give something up" but rather do "less of" and do "more of." I rarely give myself this kind of wiggle room.  Usually I  do something unambiguous. "I'm giving up X for Lent" It is clear. It is a discipline. With every temptation, I am reminded of my humanity,  my faith,  my brokenness and most of all, Gods ever present grace. 

There is definitely a time to struggle with a hard line --  It unearths a type of struggle between the flesh and the spiritual and makes it tangible for a defined period of time, heightening our need for God, for grace.

But this year, in this season, a gentler and also more extreme journey of reshaping feels more appropriate. It will not be about did I "break" Lent by messing up one time -- but more -- in sum, am I walking in the direction I feel called to walk? Can I follow God in this reshaping without the bumper lanes of a clear "discipline"? Can I do less and more and live in the spirit of Lent without a hard rule on how to do so? Can I be more gospel and less "law"? Am I being shaped in a way that reflects my faith into this world? Am I holding up a light?

For a year now, I've been wrapped in the cocoon of quarantine. Locked away with my little tribe. Mothering them. Working on myself.  Growing in the richness of faith.  Taking this lengthy time of isolation to do some of the deeper work that is difficult to do with busyness of a full social schedule. Honestly,  it's been a year of Lent. So many things given up.... school, library, pools, playgrounds,  friends,  restaurants, church gatherings.  And in the quiet, God has been silently whispering, growing me in new ways that I can't fully grasp.  And soon, we will be creeping out of our caves back into a world of "together" 

But I  know,  God isn't quite done with me. We got one more good cycle of reshaping to do before the world "gets back to normal." And so, this Lent, I want to open myself up to allow the Spirit to chip away at things that may more permanently shape who I become.

And here we are. Ash Wednesday. Again,  I dare to dive wildly into a season that I almost always hate and and deeply cherish. A season that painfully prunes so many areas and makes me wrestle with the hard, deep questions of life but leaves me ready for a new season of growth. 

Passover: Celebrating freedom

Last night was the beginning of Passover.

Jews the world over would have normally gathered in homes, around tables to celebrate a meal of freedom. Instead, many stayed home, alone, for the first time. Others, pressed froward with virtual cedars. Others forged yet new and different traditions informed by requirements for social distancing and staying in place. All of this is carving into and adding to a holiday with centuries of shaping. It is another moment in history that adds to the layers of words spoken and shared in the Seder meal.

The traditional words of the meal are haunting and appropriate in this time of global isolation.
In this moment, we all have some connection to the yearning for freedom.
And so, these ancient words speak freshly into our time and into this moment we are living through.

I decided to read them and mediate and allow the words to speak to me.

Before I even pulled out a copy, the first section of the Seder that rang out in my heart was the end. The meal usually ends with a hope that next year, it will be celebrated in Jerusalem.
The longing for next year and what we will do next year is so clear and strong when you can't do what you wanted to do this year.

Next year we'll celebrate holiday's together.
Next year we'll have birthday parties, weddings, baby showers and graduations.
Next year we'll go on vacation.
Next year. An earnest hope for next year.

And with this longing in my heart, I download and open a copy of a haggadah.

The meal begins with two really important practices -- gratitude and sabbath. I have never leaned so hard on these practices as a spiritual centering than I have in this season. Resting, reflecting, remembering blessing, working, living and again finding sabbath to rest and reflect on blessing is a cycle that has given me perseverance and strength. Even in moments where I am not focused on faith, I feel faith envelop me in the cycle of living that these practices have created in my life over the past several weeks.

Next -- washing hands. 'Nough Said.
I'm really starting to appreciate the Jewish traditions around cleanliness and when you think of ancient times, there were few other defenses against diseases. I've never understood the love and respect and compassion offered in this ritual until now. It is a an of care to the community as all of our efforts to remain socially distant.

The Passover story
The telling and re-telling of our stories. The gathering. The sharing. Especially with the littlest among us, realizing that for some of them, it is the first time a story is heard. We are empowered by telling our stories, by hearing our stories and remembering our histories. And in the most important stories, there is a place for everyone. There is room for us all to participate in the telling.

And sometimes familiar stories show us new things, like light reflecting off in just the right way allows us to see something new that has always been there.

It would be enough...
As part of the Passover story there is a recounting of the plagues that struck Egypt and the blessings God gave the Israelite. I can imagine the Dayenu of next year -- it was enough that the death rate from Corona virus was so low, it was enough that our hospitals had supplies to save lives, it was enough that we flattened the curve, it was enough that we developed a vaccine, it was enough that we had enough groceries to get through this, it was enough. The magnitude of what could have been compared to what was. We look at the projections of cases and deaths and thankfully are undershooting those. We look at the disruptions in supply chains around the world, and its amazing that they are able to respond to such a monumental shift in needs and purchasing behavior. We look at scientists and biotechs and its amazing how quickly they are developing treatments and vaccines. We look at the world and it's amazing that so many are agreeing to selflessly shelter at home to fight this invisible enemy. It would be enough but God's hands are at work in the many of us.... and when I step back to see that, I can think of no better word for is than -- Dayenu.

Symbols in the meal
I am struck most by the unleavened bread.

I remember hearing about the "shelter in place" order mid-day on Monday to go into effect that night at 12am. At that moment, there wasn't anything about groceries or essential businesses. As I prepared for an indefinite amount of time in my home with limited or no ability to get supplies. I felt the haste that must have been in the hearts of the Isrealites that first Passover. Your life is changing. You have no time to prepare. Don't make bread with leaven -- skip that rising part. You have many other things to attend to right now.

 I was at work, helping to prepare employees and organize work for the time ahead. When I heard the order, I thought about my kids, homeschooling, food, supplies. I had no idea what we had and what we didn't. I thought about what I could order online and what I couldn't. What did I actually need? There wasn't time to think about bread rising.

The meal continues with handwashing, remembering, gratitude and ritual.

I think of my great-grandmother. My dad shared stories that she always made toast and spread jelly so thin that it was barely visible. Then, on the very last bite, a huge lump. She told him once that the depression made her stretch things and make them last but now, we were past the depression and there was enough to make life sweet. Her toast was a ritual of gratitude.

This time grants us opportunity to remember and to develop rituals of gratitude. Maybe in handwashing. Maybe in grocery shopping. Maybe in our words that we share with "essential workers." Passover is a meal that brings a people back to a time and incites gratitude for freedom -- even in time, like today -- that aren't fully free. God is present in the liturgy -- teaching us the rhythm of faith and spirituality. Tools like Sabbath and gratitude, ritual and remembrance, storytelling, eating and sharing.

Our own stories and faith from these times can be captured in new traditions and rituals that remind us to be grateful, connected, and present. We can pass these things onto our children so that in times ahead, if there are rough waters, they can find God, faith and spiritual strength hidden in family traditions that we've given them.

Day 36: Sweet mercies

A woman from church read my blog post and the next day dropped off some amazing cream to help relieve my itchiness. On more than one occasion, this beautiful lady has been God's grace directed straight at me.

I think about how many times a thought has occurred to me -- I've read something on facebook or seen something -- and felt compelled to act, to give, to show up. How often do I actually follow through on that thought? Has God ever directly given amazing grace through me?

Truth is, I would have been fine without the wondercream.
I would have soldiered on as I was expecting to do.
But, in this exact moment, there was nothing that spoke grace louder.

It's caused me to reconsider my impulses to help, to give, to be present.
Could I breath grace into the world today?
Even in this time,
hunkered down,
isolated from the world,
so focused on the little humans under my charge.
Could I make space to be grace to someone?

It's not so much the largeness of the act. It can be very small things.
But it stems from seeing people where they are and allowing the Spirit to move me.
Just enough space to be present in the world that I live in and not so caught up in my own plan which is likely not going to be followed in any case.
And is that not one of the deep lessons I should teach these little people -- to be present and to consider the need of the world in front of them.

This week, I will follow Jesus to the foot of the cross and beyond. The amazing journey of sacrifice that I re-imagine every year with the retelling of stories and the movement of ritual. It will be different this year. The foot washing, the meal, the stations of the cross, the bright burst of song on Easter morning. But as different as it may be in ritual and action, the invitation, the story is the same.

Even as I write this post, I feel condemned by how much of my brainspace is dedicated to me and my agenda and how little of it is dedicated to the grace I could help bring into the world. Jesus was so present with people. The woman who touched his robe in the crowd, the centurion who had a sick daughter, even the criminal who was dying with him. Even as he died. Even as he died, his mind was present with the opportunity to reflect God's love into this world.

So, I will pray in earnest this week to be turned by God to open my heart to the opportunities staring me straight in the face to offer more light. I will pray to set down my agenda in exchange for the presence to see need in front of me and to respond to it with compassion.

Lord, have mercy.

Day 35: and I will give you rest

The rain is soothing on the roof and the window panes.
The kids are on electronic devices.
I am still.


Palm Sunday has come.

Sermon painted God as a great jazz musician improvising and somehow craftfully sowing the seems of our random notes and out of tune chords into a beautiful melody with timing, rhythm and pitch that surrounds our brokenness and makes music.

I breathe in the jazz of life and of a God that works in my brokenness.

I rest and look out the window at the rain and the new seeds poking tiny green shoots up out of the black soil and a garden soaking up the water ready to spring into color.

I cuddle with boys in my big down comforter and I let my breath go.

Today is a day of rest.
I will be thankful for it.

Day 34: Breathing through it

I was so nervous as I neared labor the first time.

Months and months before hand I had contractions.
Week after week they got stronger.
Soon they were distractingly strong.
Then, they were painful.
Then, they were so painful that I couldn't think about anything else.
As they grew in rhythm, I would watch the clock.
It took about 30 seconds to reach full strength and it would stay for about 2 minutes then recede for 30 seconds. At the height, I would begin to panic. Then pain so immense I feared I wouldn't get through. I had to breathe. I had to watch the clock and remember it would pass. Sometimes it would like 3 or 4 minutes and those extra seconds pushed me to a place of despair --

was it stuck?
would it never pass?
would the pain get worse as I headed into the birthing process?

Fear overwhelmed me.

Subsequent births, I didn't succumb to fear. I had learned how to do it. I learned how to breathe through the pain. I learned that however long it lasted, however hard it was, it would pass and birth would happen. I knew I could do it.

Last night, I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night.
I felt as if I were being attached by fire ants. My body itched with an agony that neared burning.
I clenched my teeth and I remembered lessons from labor. I breathed through it.
I found my calm. I ran cold water and slowly, slowly the itch passed.

A few days ago, the kids ran off the trail and through a patch of poison oak. I am particularly sensitive to the oils and immediately packed them up, stripped them, threw clothes and shoes directly into the washing machines and put everyone in the shower to scrub. Besides Andrew, the boys were spared rashes but as I didn't wash as quickly and had handled all the dirty clothes, I bore the brunt of exposure.

Rash between my fingers.
Under my knees.
Around my ankles.
Everywhere. I itch, everywhere.

And so, I've been thinking a lot about getting through. Breathing through the discomfort and letting myself find calm, knowing it will pass.

As I meditated on this post, I was inspired by the analogy.
We are all birthing a healing for our earth.
We've never done this before.
We don't know how long it will last.
If the pain will get worse.
What happens on the otherside.

But together, we are birthing deeper relationships with our children and spouses.
We are birthing a new culture that is more connected and collective than it has been in a long time.
We are birthing a pause in our consumer habits and giving the earth a moment to breathe.
We are collectively confronting mortality.

So I'm going to breath through bouts of itchiness and morning sickness
breath through dumped legos and temper tantrums
breath through rainy days
breath through empty shelves
breath though exhaustion
knowing they will last only moments and then they will pass.

All of us are breathing through this labor.
Breathing through crying children and messy floors
Breathing through moments of anxiety, loneliness and despair.
Breathing through economic hardship and worry.
Breathing through isolation.

This labor carves into my soul. Deepening my resilience and my gratitude. Deepening my faith and reliance on grace -- learning to let go and calmly breath through the uncertainty. Deepening my joy and my commitment to make the most of each of my days.

There is a joy on the other side of this. Sometimes, that joy is too far away to connect with. For now, it is enough just to breath through the seconds, minutes, hours and days. Present in the task of laboring and knowing I can get through. I just need to keep breathing.

Day 33: Sunshine

There's rain in the forecast, so I tried as hard as I could to keep the boys outside today --

Outdoor chores
Ladybugs that arrived from Amazon
Decorating the front porch with palm branches for Palm Sunday
A walk to pick up a packet from Philip's school
Tending to garden plants

It had been a rough morning, but blue skies, bright sun and warm skin lifted everyone's spirits.

Something deep inside us connects with the earth.
with nature.
with warm weather.
with ocean.
with sky.
with mountains.

There is that unspoken feeling of something bigger.

God with us.

These days are heavy.
But moments to breathe.
Moments to feel connected to the bigger.

Remind me of God present in this time.

As the storm clouds gather
As we walk into the shrouds of Holy Week.
As we walk into the time of "Why have you forsaken me"

May we know hold the promise of the empty tomb ever in front of us.
The promise of tomorrow
The promise of this won't last.

God is present in this time.
God with us.