Day 30: Easter butterflies

 Open immediately. 

A square white and green box lay on the front porch after dinner.  My husband brought it in and set in on the dining room table as we cleared it.  Miles eyes went bright.  "What's that?!?!" He screamed.  But he already knew. Children crowded around me as I carefully pulled out the two jars on tiny caterpillars. They were so small.  Would they really be butterflies in three short weeks?

Just before dinner I had taken Zander to the park for an evening scoot. The golden light landed on everything painting it with magic of the promise of warm days to come. I've been excited all week as the forecast predicts warmer and warmer sunny days reaching up to the 70s this weekend.  

I'm so hungry for longer,  warmer days. I'm ready for Easter and our spring break vacation to the desert. I'm looking forward to summer.  Evenings in the backyard instead of in front of YouTube.  I'm excited for the end of Lent. Relaxing all my lenten practices and celebrating the joy of Easter.  

But I'm looking forward to more than that. I'm looking forward to Eddie's graduation and the start of a new chapter in his life.  I'm looking forward to the possibility of miles joining his brothers at the Lutheran school.  I'm looking forward to Zander being fully potty trained and starting preschool.

I read the headlines and I'm looking forward to a new resolution to the turmoil in Haiti and an end to the wars in Israel and Ukraine. 

I'm looking forward to the solutions that Eddie's generation will invent for the world we are giving them. 

I'm an looking forward to the day where Christ returns and ushers in a new heaven and a new earth. When all the tears will be wiped from our eyes. 

Sometimes hope is violent and desperate. 

When we hope for a cure for an incurable disease. 

When we hope for rebirth in the thrashes of addiction. 

Sometimes hope is gentle.  

Hoping for better weather or better days.  

Hoping for creation to renew itself again after a wildfire or flood.  

Hope is a spiritual practice. 

Hope is a trust in the goodness of God.  In the uncertainty that lay ahead, hope asserts that God will be present with us.  Hope asserts that the last word is one of joy.  

We are Easter butterflies. Our story doesn't end with a silent chrysalis but with wings to fly and flowers to pollinate. This world is an Easter butterfly too. God loves this little blue planet and all the creatures in it.  One day she shall be made new.  

Day 29: Burnout

 

Elijiah was on fire.  

Israel had fallen to bad leadership and as so many times before,  they began to abandon God's direction.  The worst of it was the king had married an idol worshiper name Jezabel, THE original Jezabel, and she waged open war on God's prophets killing them whenever she had a chance. 

In response,  God sent a drought through Elijiah.  After violence and years of drought,  Elijiah takes on the king and queen directly by challenging them to a duel of gods. He challenged the prophets of Baal to make an offering but not light the fire. He would do the same.  Whichever God was real would send fire from heaven and settle the matter. 

Spoiler: God of Abraham sends fire,  Elijiah kills all the 450 prophets of Baal and Jezabel loses it swearing an oath to kill him.  

At this point,  Elijiah is exhausted.  He runs into the wilderness and hides by a tree. He quietly prays to die there. 

There is a point when we want to give up. When we would do anything to get out of the work in front of us  when we are too tired and overwhelmed to see any hope or joy in the work laid before us, and sometimes,  we cannot even see a way out.  

The modern name for this complete resignation is burnout.  

I had never considered this a story of being burned out.  But today in the mom group that I'm part of, we studied this story with that lens and I am sure it will stay with me. 

The point of the Bible study was to consider how God responds to Elijah's burnout and what spiritual practices we might consider when we find ourselves getting burned out.  

Here's how the story unfolds in 1 kings:

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” 5 And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, “Arise and eat.” 6 And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank and lay down again. 7 And the angel of the Lord came again a second time and touched him and said, “Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” 

I love this. 

God just fed him a warm meal and let him sleep. 

Between 5 boys with a variety of extra needs and the demanding job of start up founder,  the past decade has been full of my fair share of burnout.  And,  at the lowest,  I was right here.  

Eat a meal and go to sleep.  Get up, eat again and go back to sleep. 

There is no spiritual growth until your body is in a place to be receptive. For some reason,  seeing God as this tender caregiver so focused on the physical warms my heart.  Every time my mom flew out to help me in my overwhelm,  God was shining through her as she let me get a hotel room to sleep in. Every Monday that my mother in law came out and cooked for me,  God was nourishing me. 

Now that I'm in a calmer season I can look back and see how tired I was,  how overwhelmed and how very deeply God ministered to me through my mother and my mother in law. Like the cakes God sent to Elijiah,  they gave me armen enough to get up and carry on through a very hard season.  

But the story doesn't end in the physical.  Not for Elijiah. Not for me.  It isn't enough just the eat and sleep and somehow think that will be enough to beat back burnout.

What does God do next?

 "And behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and he said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 10 He said, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.”

God gave Elijiah the space to name the thing. There is a power in saying it outloud. For someone to witness our reality. Sometimes,  even the act of naming the thing diminishes it.  

Harry Potter always called him Voldemort.

Sometimes we need to name our Voldemort. 

"I didn't think motherhood would be this hard. "

"Investors treated me differently in our startup because I was a woman and because I had children. "

"I can't do this anymore and...I don't want to. "

The space to speak the unspeakable truth that imprisons us is a powerful tool to break those chains. Sometimes God comes to us in a storm and we scream into the wind and the violence of the moment heals us in a way that nothing else can. 

But then what.  We eat.  We sleep.  We cry. We rage.  

And then....?  

How does God restore us?

And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 12 And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper.[a] 13 And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

God shows up.

A God moment. Indescribable to the outsider.  So perfectly designed for me to receive it in that moment that I can hardly find words to explain  how I know with such certainty that God was there in that moment.

And because I've eaten and slept and raged, I'm in a space beyond myself.  I am empty ready to be filled up and sent in a new direction. Maybe that means picking up where I left off with a new or different perspective or maybe it means 90 or 180 degree shift.  

In 2020, I had a God moment and in that moment I had peace to quit the company I built and lean fully into motherhood while my kids were home during the pandemic. But even more,  I had peace to own my call as a mother and pull my kids out of school completely and homeschool rather than zoom school them.

In that moment (and the very difficult previous months that were characterized by burnout and rage) I recieved a quiet voice of God and was turned from burnout to passion.  

This story of Elijiah is the story of all of us who find ourselves burned out and in need of God's deep healing. 

I am very grateful to Mom's group today for sharing this word as it gives a beautiful narrative to my own journey into and through burnout.  Looking back to what feels like one of the most lonely and isolated times in my life,  I see the footsteps of God my journey sometimes beside and sometimes carrying me but always there. And I see the footsteps of others who,  at the time I was too tired or too overwhelmed to properly acknowledge, carried the light of God into my dark time.  

May this story grant you new eyes to see are journey through burnout or if you are in a season of burnout may it give you tools. 

Wherever you are in your life journey may you find God in a hot meal,  a good rest,  a deep cry, a raging torrent of truth,  a quiet whisper or a beautiful sunset for in all of these thing God is with us. 

Day 28: the F word

Talking about finances.  

If there's a list of things we just don't talk about weight,  age,  money and increasingly politics are at the top. Some things are personal. 

I've been pondering money quite a bit this Lent. I've had a practice of trying to buy only what's necessary.... which has led me to think about what's necessary. 

I have a grapevine that's grown wild. It is too big for the trellis that I used when I planted it.  It's taken up a whole wall of my house and is starting to climb into the roof. I've been thinking for months about building a trellis for it.  I've looked at pre-made options online and at home depot.  Nothing sturdy enough. I resigned myself that I needed to build something out of wood.  I looked at ideas,  drew plans,  planned wood and even made it simple enough that miles could help me build it.  

I cleaned the side yard so I'd have space to work and a a sunny day approached I planned a trip to the hardware store to get materials for the project.  But as I was getting ready to leave I found kids sword fighting in the backyard with metal poles. We had a pile of spare poles from a greenhouse we had bought on Amazon.  The greenhouse itself has been destroyed by the sun that has thinned and weakened  the plastic and  by roofers who had re-roofed our little cottage and dropped old shingles through the roof as a final blow to the cheap little structure.  

I stood there,  keys in hand,  watching the kids swordplay and eyeing the broken greenhouse and with an eye roll of aggravation stomped into the house. 

Only buy necessary things. I'll build the trellis out of the remains of the greenhouse. It won't look as nice as my plan,  nor would it likely last a long. But it worth attempting. Stupid Lent.  

My Lent has been filled with many moments like this.  I already have a tendency to reuse things but this lenten practice has taken that further.... or just going without.  I'm using up food from the freezer and the pantry.  And... I've been surprised by how much extra time I spend dealing with things - buying,  organizing,  throwing away packaging.  My recycle bin is less full. There is space in my life that was taken by unnecessary stuff. 

But also... I'm saving money. Of course.  I didn't think of that as a part of my practice.  I decided to donate the "extra stuff" money I would have spent.  And that made me think even more about my priorities and responsibilities when it comes to resources. 

Money is a spiritual practice. 

No matter how much of it we have,  we have a relationship with money, stuff and our means for making a living.  

When we don't make enough to make ends meet,  there is a practice of trusting God to provide.  There is asking for support.  There is shrinking life to fit within the meager means available.  

When we are rich,  we have an obligation to provide for others and to use our resources to make the world better somehow.  

Most of us are somewhere in between struggling to define what's "enough" to live on.  What's a reasonable amount of selfish consumption? How much saving and safety net building  is reasonable? Emergency fund,  retirement,  health fund, college funds for our children,  estate planning.... Jesus tells a parable about building bigger barns that warns us not to spend too much energy on stock piling resources.  But isn't it foolish to not save? Where is the line?

That... is the spiritual practice of money. Wrestling with the question and being open to the idea that even as I build safety nets for myself and my kids,  we still rely on God or at least realize that I do not have ultimate control over our lives. And so in one hand I hold the promises of God to be with us no matter what and in the other I hold the safety net of regular income,  insurance and savings. 

But there is more to the wrestling with money than just basic safety nets. There is a deeper and harder question.  How much of this am I entitled to? I earned it so it is mine.  I can use it to make myself and my kids happy.  Do I have an obligation to use my hard earned money for others? Is there some imaginary line - after I have the basics... or maybe once I've reached average material comfort.... small splurges should be permissible,  maybe big ones. 

It is easy to look a billionaires and say they have a moral obligation because the sheer amount of resources at their disposal in unfathomable.  But how many zeros do we have to have before there is a moral obligation to use our resources to make the world better?

I don't have answers but I am surprised by how difficult really wrestling with these questions is now that I'm not a broke college student for whom the discussion is purely theoretical. Now that I have some resources and children to care for, the question is complicated and very inconvenient. 

Day 27: Distracted

We have a little in-law unit behind our house. It's the cutest little cottage. When the kids were little we rented it out or exchanged rent for nanny hours.  Since the kids have grown,  it has become a pantry, a homework nook, a craft closet and a guest bedroom when my mother comes to town. 

Yesterday, I sent Philip out there to get some lunch supplies.  Hours later and he never came back.  I went out to find hundreds of Pokémon cards scattered across the floor and Philip buried in a pile of pillows on a crumbled bed flipping through cars.  

Today,  he and Andrew headed straight back there after school.  I popped my head in.  

"I need all these cards cleaned up and we're going to start homework in a bit. "

They got the cards cleaned up and had made decks.  They were planning to play a round after homework.  They both got straight to it. Philip had a single worksheet and finished quickly.  Andrew had some paragraphs for history and math.  Philip looked for ways to kill time while he waited for Andrew. But he kept talking to Andrew and distracting him.  Reminders and redirection aside,  it ended up taking Andrew the whole night to finish his homework.  

He was bummed that they didn't have time to play.  We decided to wake up early for a game before school.  

As I thought about what I might write about today, I thought about that desire to play,  but being too distracted to get to it. 

I thought about my life.  The important things I want to do with life and yet how much of my life is spent dealing with distractions.  

I am a list person.  Sometimes I list out all the little projects I need to do in the house - Fix the handle on a drawer,  clean out the hallway closet,  donate clothes that kids have grown out of. It's a never ending list. And there is other minutia - return Amazon package,  schedule dentist appointments,  buy Mac and cheese. In fact,  my whole day was spent checking off this kind of tasks and errands. I have to admit,  it was quite satisfying.  

But at lunch,  I pulled out my notebook and tried to set distractions aside and think about life as call.  What am I called to do? In my call as a mother,  what are the big things I need to think about for each child to raise them well into who God intended them to be? Beyond my call as mother,  what else am I called to do or be? Do I make space for it? Or... am I distracted by all my lists?

One year for Lent,  I gave up lists for this reason.  I wanted to explore a world where I responded to the immediate, present call in front of me rather than the pre-planned minutia. 

It's easy to get distracted.  A dirty house that needs cleaning.  Things to be purchased.  Work projects.  Sports schedules.  Homework.  

In fact,  it takes almost herculean effort to carve out enough space to reflect on the life I intend to live,  rather than the one I'm living by default.  School emails and projects.  Invitations.  Seasonal vacations.  Birthdays.  It's a year stuffed with exceptions.  And as much as I try to carve out regular times to think about deeper things in life sometimes lunch isn't enough time to unfold the question - AM I living life worthy of my humanity? Is this a worthy life?

Lent is a longer time. Retreats are longer times.  Sometimes vacations are moments for unfolding. 

Jesús went away to be with God. He spent 40 empty days fasting in the desert.  Even Jesus took himself away to clear his mind from distractions. 

To wrestle with deep questions, I think there is a need to step away from ordinary life. Step away from spaces that remind me of tasks undone and the never ending hamster wheel of living,  cleaning,  cooking,  and responding to emails. Deep work requires space to unfold and sit and ponder the questions. 

The week after Easter we're heading on a RV trip to Texas.  Long hours on the road.  Nights in the desert.  Perhaps I will have space to unfold and wrestle with these questions there. Or... maybe I'll still be distracted by snacks and dirty clothes and an RV that needs sweeping. 

May God grant you a space or time free from distraction to connect with who you are and who God made you to be.  

Day 26: Jesus in a nutshell

 In Sunday School today I summarized Jesus life and ministry in a simple 5-10 minute story. It was the place where I found God today,  so I will share it here: 

Jesus grew up and when it was time to start his work, he went out to the desert where he found his cousin John.  John baptized him in the river and God smiled down saying,  "This is my son with whom I am pleased. " 

Jesus came up out of the river and headed further out into the desert where he didn't eat or do anything for 40 days.  He just listened for God in a long boring, hungry time.  Them,  he left the desert and began the work that God gave him to do. 

He found people - men and women- to follow him and help him in his work. Then he traveled around and taught people about God and how to live by telling stories. 

As he traveled he came across a blind man.  He spit on the ground,  rubbed mud in his eyes and told the man to wash his face.  The man was healed.  He found a group of guys with a terrible disease.  He healed them all. He held the children and blessed them. A woman who was bleeding snuck up close to him and touched his clothes.  She was healed too. 

People followed Jesus everywhere.  To take a rest,  Jesus and his followers got in a boat and traveled across a large lake.  Jesus was sleeping when a huge storm came and shook the boat.  Jesus woke up and calmed the storm. 

On the other side of the lake,  Jesus met the crowds and they followed him out into the hills where he taught them many things about God. It was getting late and the people didn't have any food. Instead of sending them away,  Jesus sat them down and asked if anyone had any food. A little boy had a small lunch. Jesus blessed it and shared it with the whole crowd.

Jesus taught and told stories about God. Jesus healed people and fed people.  Jesus looked at each person and saw them as they were and had compassion for them. 

We are Jesus disciples.  We help do Jesus work now. 

And so my Sunday school class made cards with Bible verses and little pink hearts drawn with markers and colored pencils.  They broke bread and shared it with each other.  And then,  we went back into the church and passed out our cards to the grown ups.

As I left church I thought,  even simple Sunday school Jesus isn't easy to follow.  

I think I would have liked to leave Jesus in the Sunday school room after I vacuumed the bread crumbs off our navy blue carpet and put the last of the caps on the markers and stored them in the bin. Jesus could go on the shelf between the clorox wipes and the band aids. 

But no.  Jesus came with me. 

Inviting me to be patient and kind and compassionate with my kids and husband and my adopted daughter who dropped by unannounced.  

But Jesus didn't stop there.  He invited me to really see miles therapist when she showed up to work with him. He invited me to notice people walking by and the clerk at the grocery store.  There are so many strangers passing through our lives. So many tiny micro moments to shine light,  give compassion,  see someone for who they are and reflect Christ to them. 

But Jesus doesn't stop with my daily life. He invites me to get in the boat and sail out of my way to places where there are people who need the good news. To people who need healing and food. He invites me to see each human I meet a a child of God and have compassion on them. 

Sunday school Jesus is much simpler than actual Jesus but even Sunday school Jesus would be easier to follow if he just stayed at church.  

My prayer this week is simply to do what I taught children to do.  To follow Jesus and to help his work. May the Spirit help me. 

Day 25: Bound by time

I set my clock forward in the middle of the afternoon when everyone was busy playing. I didn't put Zander down for a nap so he'd be tired early. I made sure everyone spent the day outside in the sun.  I started our bedtime routine early. I darkened the house. Time change is a big deal in this house and I've learned how to make it easier...(sometimes)

Today,  I think it worked. I sit in the darkened room on my rocking chair as I do every night. Books have been read. Prayers have been said and sleep sounds are on. I hear breathing slowing around me. It's 8:45, but it says 9:45 on the clock. 

Ask any parent or teacher,  time changes are the WORST. It is like the very earth has shifted under their feet and they are in a constant dance trying to re-equilbrate sleep and mealtimes with ever lengthening or ever shortening days.  Naps get thrown off. Sleep regressions happen. Kids show up in your bed in the middle of the night. Snacks are requested more frequently than usual as tiny bodies try to adjust to catch up to the hour that disappeared or slow down for the one that was added. 

We are so bound to time and jetlag is our only experience that allows us a glimpse of existence outside of time. For us time bound creatures,  the experience is uncomfortable.  

I remember a flight that was 30 hours after all the layovers but it all happened on the same day. I left December 23rd at 12:01am from Bénin in West Africa to arrive home in Detroit on December 23rd at 11:44pm. I had stopped in Togo,  Morocco, Paris and New York and.. it was still the same day.  It was somehow exhausting and transcendant to see so much of the earth in so little time and still make it home for Christmas.  

God is outside time. 

I can't even get my head around this.  My joy.  My pain.  My hunger. My breath.  My life. Only exist in the present moment.  Only in step with time.  Yet,  when I climb into my memories I can visit childhood,  my wedding day and yesterday's PTO meeting almost instantaneously.  And in this,  sometimes, I find patterns, insight or wisdom.  

God is outside of time. 

I'm a little frustrated with God.

When Eddie started 6th Grade,  I began to brace myself for a change in season.  As he led my crew into middle school and on to high school, I knew the others wouldn't be far behind. My season of having small children was slowly wilting into a time of middle grade children.  

I got a notebook and began to think and pray about what this new season might be like for our family. I wanted to prepare.  What would my kids need from me? What would my daily schedule look like? Where and how should we do highschool? I wrote lists of things I wanted Eddie (and everyone else) to learn before they leave home.  I began to look at our space and try to imagine how our little house could adapt to 4 large teenage boys plopping on the furniture. 

I could sense we would come into the chapter with some major changes.  Maybe we would move.  Maybe we would homeschool.  Maybe I'd start a new career.  I haven't been sure what God was calling us too but I have been deeply sure that this chapter would be different. 

Here we are coming near the end of 8th grade.  For 3 years I've been thinking and praying,  hoping and dreaming..  and still I wait on God to point out the path.  I check out zillow Maybe weekly.  I listen to podcasts on reinventing yourself.  I've taken up spiritual direction.  I've had conversations with my pastors about possible call and discernment.  And after all of this I still have silence on the other end of the line. 

God is outside of time and yet comes to us in the fullness of time.  

Here I am,  time-bound and frustrated by daylight savings time, waiting on God and the fullness of time. 

Day 24: Two steps forward, one step back

 I had been looking forward to today all week.  After cold, dreary, rainy days the forecast was clear skies and 66 degrees. Miles had the day off from school,  the big kids had a half day and Zander didn't have daycare. It was a long weekend with no homework and my garden was calling me. 

During the long grey infusion day, I had made a list of all the things I wanted to do in the yard knowing that good weather was coming. The chickens had scratched in my flower beds and spread tan bark all over the sidewalk.  Miles had overturned all the stepping stones looking for bugs. In general,  my front yard looked very messy and chaotic and at a minimum I wanted to make it presentable. 

I had not counted on having side effects from the infusion.  I mean, I should have,  but everything I read seemed to indicate that it "wasn't bad" so I just assumed it would be fine. Mostly it is fine and while it "isn't bad" my body is definitely in top shape.  

I felt tired right after the infusion and woke up feeling well the next day.  I went for a 4 mile run and even upped my pace a little bit.  I was hopeful.  Maybe I'll just be "better. " I had a scratchy throat when I woke the following day but thought nothing of it. Just night air. I pushed out and into my day.  But by the time I got home with the kids I crawled to the shower and plopped on the floor trying to warm up chills and ward off exhaustion.  I found myself in sweat pants and a hoodie snuggled under my down comforter.  

OK.  Fair enough.  A little bit of side effect is reasonable. I surrendered to the slow paced evening.  

I woke up this morning praying I'd be back to my old self.  I had big plans for a full day outside.  As I got the big kids out the door and little kids going on breakfast I felt... functional.  "I can do this day. " I thought.  

I cleaned the kitchen,  the table and the main rooms of the house while Miles and Zander played in the family room.  After about an hour of household chores I plopped into the couch and watched them.  My body felt lazy. "Give it a break, " I whisper to myself "that's pretty tough medicine we're taking.  It's OK to take it slow. "

I let them play.  Occasionally cleaning.  Eventually we went for a walk and then to pick up the big kids at noon. I had packed everyone's scooters and they ended up scooting around the school for an hour. I laid on a bench in the courtyard and felt the sunshine warm on my skin.  It felt nice. I grimaced at the messy front yard that I so desperately wanted to tidy.  

The kids tired of scooting and we went to the creek and they threw rocks and broke apart dirt clods and played imaginary games while I sat on a log taking in still more sunshine. 

We came home and put on an audiobook while the kids ate in the backyard and lazed around in swings.  I grabbed a broom a swept a small corner of the backyard. Then the sidewalks. Slowly,  steadily I tidied the yard. .... at a teenager pace. I worked,  but to look at me you couldn't tell I was working.  But with enough time even at a slow pace progress happens.  We finished the book just after sunset and I was again snuggled in a hoodie under my down comforter. 

I felt God in the sunshine.  Warm and beautiful. Touching and healing me with golden deliciousness. Ever encouraging me to keep going. Not to fast.  Not to hard.  But just as I am and just as I can.  Not frustrated with the yucky feelings but accepting of them and welcoming then into my plans.  

It is not how I had planned the day but the slower pace was good for the kids.  In fact,  the day was better than I had planned. It was leisurely and lovely.  Whole and wholesome. Decompressing in a way that a busy garden project would not have been.  I am grateful to have been slowed down to just take in the golden light of an early spring day.

I won't pretend that it's not disappointing to still feel a little sick and less productive than I know I can be.  I go to bed tonight with a prayer that I'll feel better tomorrow. But feeling God in that sunshine gave me a picture of wholeness that goes beyond being healthy and a patience to **try** to take each moment as it comes.

Thank you God for sunshine and a still moment to enjoy it.