Becoming Native

A year ago this week I finalized the purchase of my home in the North Carolina mountains. Though I didn’t actually move until June, I’ve been thinking this week about that memorable event of a year ago. Committing myself to a new place after forty-five years in one community is significant, and I didn’t do it gradually. I couldn’t afford nor did I want to have a vacation home and an apartment in Macon. Wherever I was living, I wanted to be all in, fully committed to a place.

As if to commemorate the purchase of my home, I discovered a Catesby’s Trillium blooming near the porch! First, I love trillium (who doesn’t) and second, the place it was blooming did not seem a hospitable place for it, so near to recent construction and all the debris that the builders left lying on the ground. I was so excited to discover it, and another one, not yet blooming, nearby. Along with the serviceberry, dogwood, and flame azaleas that have been blooming this spring, I am reveling in the colors and discoveries offered by the land here.

A few years ago my word for the year was “native.” When I shared that at work in our weekly staff meeting (we were all sharing our words for the year) I got a few chuckles. Someone said something about deodorant and I had to explain why the word chose me. I won’t go into detail now about how that word shaped my year, but since moving to North Carolina and committing to plant only native plants on this land I am tending, I’ve thought about the long-lasting impact of that word in guiding my life, and in ways that were totally unknown to me in the year I was living into it.

Living on land that for centuries had been the home of the Indigenous Cherokee people, I have a strong sense of responsibility to honor this bit of earth by avoiding non-native plant species, with the exception of daffodils a friend in Macon gave me prior to my move here. As the wild places in our nation are increasingly at risk of being damaged or lost, I want to do what I can to promote habitat for plants and the creatures that depend on them. I know I am not native to this land, being of European ancestry, but I want to live as though I was native, with a strong degree of love and care for this place that is giving life to me.

I’ve been moved by reading Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, who is both a professor of environmental biology and an enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. While my ancestry does not connect me to the Indigenous people of this land, I appreciate Kimmerer’s words that “for the sake of the peoples and the land, the urgent work of the Second Man (non-native peoples) may be to set aside the ways of the colonist and become Indigenous to place.”

The Catesby’s Trillium and the flame azalea blooming now and the mountain laurel that is just about to bloom all urge me to become Indigenous to this land that more and more feels like it is adopting me as its own. I hope to bloom here in this soil, just as they are.

Harrowing of Hades

Easter! On Sunday the celebrations were widespread and enthusiastic. But Easter isn’t simply a day, it’s a season, fifty days beginning with Easter Sunday and stretching until Pentecost. We are in Eastertide longer than we were in Lent. We are in “feast mode” longer than we were fasting.

That says something to me about God’s abundance. It’s always more than we need, always more than we can even imagine. Yes, even in this season of Eastertide there are still wars, there is still corruption and injustice and terror and abuse. Cynics might say that Christ’s resurrection hasn’t fixed anything, but as someone who has gone through my own hard times (as we all do at some point in life) Easter says to me that I am never left alone, and that the worst thing is never the last thing.

My favorite icon captures this so well. Known as “The Harrowing of Hades”, it shows the risen Christ standing on the gates of Hell, pulling Adam and Eve up with him. Satan is bound and in the darkness beneath Jesus, along with the keys of death and hell. I once heard Elaine Heath speak to the way many churches have modified the Apostle’s Creed to eliminate the line that says “he descended into hell.” She said we need to remember that Jesus will go into Hell to save us. There is no where he will not go to be with us, to restore us to life. The Harrowing of Hades icon always reminds me of that truth. I always display it during Eastertide.

At the Easter Sunrise service at my church, Murphy First UMC, we shared in an Easter Proclamation from the Easter sermon of John Chrysostom, from around 400 AD. It included these words that, as they were proclaimed on Sunday, made me think of the image from the icon:

He destroyed Hell when He descended into it.

He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh…

Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with.

It was in an uproar because it is mocked.

It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed.

It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated.

It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive.

If you are walking in darkness, the Easter message tells us that evil, injustice, oppression, and grief do not get the last word. We are not alone in our dark seasons. Jesus, who descended into Hell, comes to us in our own versions of Hell, and will not let go of us ever, and will bring us out with him. If you need that hope, I encourage you to get your own Harrowing of Hades icon to remind yourself of the lengths Christ goes for you.

Gathered Together--Community Contemplative Practice

 

Jesus would also die so that God’s children scattered everywhere would be gathered together as one.                                                                                       John 11:52

Reading through the gospel of John for Lent, this verse came in today’s reading. As I read it, what came to mind was the centering prayer time that Pastor Wil is leading each week during Lent. I could see our small circle, practicing centering prayer in community.

There is something special to me about gathering together in person to practice centering prayer or lectio divina or to walk a labyrinth. These are all contemplative practices that can be done alone, but there is something powerful and compelling about being contemplative with others. It’s a completely different experience!

It makes me wonder if John, the mystical gospel writer, was looking to a day when our action in the world would flow from our gathering together as one in contemplation. Practicing silence in community invites the Spirit to speak in ways we may not hear otherwise. Collective silence can draw together scattered minds.

I know I am grateful that my church is offering opportunities this Lent to do contemplative practices in community. It is shaping my Lenten journey in meaningful ways. Gathering together with others to reflect on scripture in silence or to do a twenty-minute sit is countercultural, pushing back at our society’s demand that we must always be doing something. The good news of Jesus tells us that our worth is not tied to our ability to produce. Contemplative practices invite us to live as if we believe that to be true!

A Collect for Beloved Children of God

God of tears,
who is troubled by the death
of every sparrow,
how you must be grieving now.

One hundred fifty girls dead,
your children,
our children,
killed by others who are also beloved by you,
also your children,
with mothers and fathers and families of their own.

I say I want to love as you love, but my heart is
breaking.
Yes, I do want to love as you love;
help me.

Help me.

Keep me from the callousness
that cannot grieve, and yet show me
how to bear up in a world that seems to
hunger and thirst
for hate and blood and death.

Help me
to remember that there is no one
not made in your image, no one
who does not bear
your divine light within.

Give me eyes to see,
even when I don’t want
to look.

Merciful God, abide
in this desert with us.

Small, Happy Moments

As we daily see more and more cruelty in the world around us, and especially within our own country, and add to that the stress of a major winter storm, I found myself earlier this week genuinely afraid. I’m not one who is prone to fear, but it all was feeling overwhelming.

Ironically, I got to spend time with some sixth graders yesterday, sharing ways to use breath and movements to reduce anxiety! It was just what I needed, both the experience of teaching (which I love) and the practice of things I know, but had failed to employ for my own benefit.

I could tell the effect of the practices on myself, because by the time I left the school, my whole outlook had changed. I was lighter, calmer, and more energetic than I’d been in several days.

The icing on the cake came when I received the package of things I’d ordered to help me get through the coming winter storm. Batteries, thermometers for the fridge and freezer, and a phone charger block, were good to have, but there was one thing that made me laugh out loud with delight. It was the blue enameled cast iron pot I bought so I could cook on my propane grill!

When I opened the box and saw it, I was filled with happiness! The color, the size, the weight—all of it was just right. The world hadn’t changed. Fresh cruelty came across my news feed and the winter storm is still on the way, but the combination of breathing practices to reduce stress and a cheery blue one-quart pot was just the recipe for changing my ability to cope with it all.

Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, shares wise words in her prose-poem “Don’t Hesitate”:

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything. . . whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

In the midst of much that is terrible, I hope you’ll be alert for small, happy moments. Every time we give in to joy, we fight back some of the darkness.

Waiting for Christmas Carols

Maybe it’s because I spent many an Advent waiting for something to be different, or maybe it’s just that I’m a bit of a liturgical nerd, but Advent is such a meaningful season for me, and one of my Advent practices is to listen, not to Christmas music, but to Advent music. I have an Advent playlist that someone else curated but that I have copied into my own music service provider. The songs speak of the need for a redeemer, of waiting, of darkness, of hope, and of preparation. The songs come from a variety of sources, but the themes of Advent are woven through them.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Christmas music, but waiting for it until it is actually Christmas makes listening to it that much more special. When you consider that Christmas candy and decorations have been in the stores since before Halloween, it’s an act of resistance to not listen to Christmas music until Christmas Eve! And it’s not like I shut it out altogether. I sing it at church or when caroling, and I hear it when I’m in any store. I do love Christmas carols, and I savor the singing of them. It’s just that I appreciate the story that Advent music tells.

Advent holds powerful memories for me, memories of such deep longing for life to be different, for ridicule and loneliness to not be such a prominent part of my life. The scriptures of Advent, in speaking of hope and waiting and light shining in darkness spoke to my heart when I was waiting in my own difficult circumstances. I held them as treasure as I sat in the early morning dark with the Advent wreath lit before the house awoke for the day. I dared to hope in those hours before daylight.

I am grateful that my life is different now, but every Advent that rolls around reminds me of those years of longing in the darkness and I think of others who are in situations where they struggle to hope that things can change, that life can be different, that a savior is coming because God loves them and does not leave them alone. My Advent playlist reminds me that there is still a need for a savior, that the baby born in Bethlehem continues to matter to many who need a reason to hope.

There will be plenty of time for Christmas carols, and like the light, they will break into the season of Advent in various ways and places. But I, for one, will wait to play them, and instead, will play songs about waiting and preparation and the light that is coming. If you are interested in what I’m listening to, here’s a link to the playlist.

Food Blessing Me

Local beef and veggies--the sourdough didn't make it into the photo!

Since moving to North Carolina in June, I have had the good fortune to become acquainted with many people. I’m grateful for friends I’ve made through church, through reconnecting with Young Harris College, and several groups I’m participating in. As an introvert, I knew I would need to find points of connection and that it would require me to step out of my comfort zone to meet new people and become part of a new community.

One of the great joys and surprises has been getting to know local people who are providing much of my food. I found a local farm offering CSA shares and most of my vegetables come from Zach and Ilana, the first-generation farm couple who own Levity Farms, grow amazing food and are also just delightful people to know. While I normally pick up my weekly CSA share not far from me, it’s fun to drive the extra thirty minutes to their farm, where I’ve walked the fields to see what’s growing. They have an especially cool bamboo tunnel you walk through to get from the produce coolers to the fields!

Brasstown Beef @ Ridgefield Farm is only about fifteen minutes away. They raise cattle and sell beef. In addition to being animal welfare certified and certified pasture centered, the farm has also placed a large portion of its land into a conservation easement that protects it from being developed for housing. For a number of years, I have sought to avoid purchasing factory-farmed meat, because of the inhumane way the animals are raised. To drive by the pastures and see the cows that are able to live as they were meant to live makes me happy to purchase beef from this farm!

A young couple the next town over from me bakes the most wonderful sourdough bread! Every time I pick up a loaf from them I enjoy conversation and seeing the progress they are making on opening a storefront on the town square. I also enjoy talking with their children, who are so comfortable with all the folks dropping by to pick up bread. I’m excited to visit The Firefly Café in Hayesville, and look forward to supporting them as they build their business.

I still do make trips to the grocery store, but I relish the fact that I know where much of my food comes from, and know the people who are making it possible, and that the food and the providers are local! In addition to supporting local small businesses, I feel like every purchase I make from any of these folks is putting my own roots deeper into this community I now call home.

While many of us will be saying a blessing over our food this Thanksgiving, I can turn the table and say that my food in this new home is blessing me! To live in such close proximity with people who are providing what I eat is nourishing both to body and soul!

Celebrating Teresa of Avila

Today, October 15, is the feast day of one of my favorite saints and Christians, Teresa of Avila. A sixteenth century Carmelite nun, she was a mystic, a reformer, an influential woman in an era when that wasn’t common, a woman of strength, beauty, deep faith, and a sharp wit. She was vivacious and daring and deeply in love with God.

The first book of hers I read, over fifteen years ago, is entitled The Interior Castle. That book describes the progression of the spiritual life, using the image of a castle to teach the steps on the journey to union with God. Images from that book stay with me even today, and while she was writing for the nuns in her order, the book has remained relevant through the centuries.

Teresa was wise and witty, strong and sure in her relationship with God. Once, when a cart in which she was riding broke down in a river, she said to God, “If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them!” I love that she was so intimate with God that she felt free to speak in this way!

A few years ago, as part of my commitment to a word of the year, which in that year was free, I chose Teresa to be my spiritual teacher for the year. I read everything I could that she wrote, and read books that others wrote about her. To immerse myself in her being for the year was a deeply meaningful practice, and, as part of the journey, I found this wonderful icon of her, created by Marcy Hall, which I purchased and hung on my wall to help me keep my focus on my word and on Teresa. It has this lovely quote: “Allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.”

Teresa was brought before the Spanish Inquisition, and faced both health challenges and challenges from leaders in the church to her reforms, yet she continued to work, drawing others to her, and I’m sure her joy and wit and energy were part of the reason people were attracted to her. So today, celebrate with me this strong woman of faith whose influence shaped the church for centuries to come!

We Are What We Love

I don’t remember when I was first introduced to the wisdom of Thomas Merton. I do know, however, that when I’ve become dissipated and have my mind pulled in too many directions, I can touch something of the still point in myself by reading his writings. So as the country seems to become more and more unhinged and full of hate, I picked up a book I love, A Book of Hours, which is a daily prayer book compiled of Merton’s writings. To read the writings of a contemplative who was also deeply concerned with the state of world affairs helps me to return to center. I find stability amid the turbulence around me.

I could focus on any number of quotes, but today, here is one that rings true in all seasons: 

We are what we love. If we love God, in whose image we were created, we discover ourselves in him and we cannot help being happy: we have already achieved something of the fullness of being for which we were destined in our creation. If we love everything else but God, we contradict the image born in our very essence, and we cannot help being unhappy, because we are living a caricature of what we are meant to be.

God, in whose image we made, is perfect love, so if we are to live into that fullness of being that Merton speaks of, we will be people of love. We won’t be people who judge others by skin color, or by where someone is from, or by gender, or by someone’s political leanings, or by someone’s religious beliefs or lack thereof.

Have you ever noticed, when you’re busy judging someone or something, you aren’t really happy? Judgment and criticism don’t ever make us feel better. We may feel superior, but that is not the same as the deep happiness that comes from loving—loving another person, loving an animal, loving the beauty of the natural world, or simply loving life. These loves are possible because we are made in God’s image, and God is love.

The “love” of everything else that Merton speaks of is not imago dei (image of God) kind of love. It’s the love that manifests in egotism, greed, fear, cynicism, pride, and self-righteousness. These are not manifestations of love at all; rather they are the result of our settling for less than God and God’s desire for us. Why do we settle for greed when we are made for love? Why do we settle for prideful self-importance when it doesn’t truly satisfy the longing in our souls, which is for love?

To discover ourselves in God is a freedom that enables us to realize that we don’t have to grasp and cling to reputation, ego, possessions, or power. We don’t have to settle for a caricature of what we are meant to be. We can rest in the delight of God’s love and love what God loves, which is the whole creation. Living for the sake of others brings more joy than living for ourselves alone. That’s the fruit of loving God.

A Sense of Place

In June, I moved from middle Georgia to western North Carolina. I went from living in a loft apartment in downtown to living in a cabin with trees around me. I was excited to put out feeders for birds, because I expected to get more variety than I did in downtown Macon. There, I had English sparrows, house finches, and doves. The hummingbird feeder seldom had much activity but still I reveled in the occasional hummingbird visitor.

One of the first things I did when I got settled into this new place was put up bird feeders. The hummingbirds came almost instantly to the feeder I hung for them. The seed feeder languished for about two months before being visited. I thought chickadees would be the first to find it, because they seem so fearless and curious. However, goldfinches actually began using the feeder a good month before I finally saw a titmouse on it. Shortly after the titmice, I had chickadees and nuthatches. From a lifetime of feeding birds, I know those three types of birds often hang together.

Now that I have four kinds of birds using the seed feeder, I sense my presence is accepted on this little hill I share with them. I am well aware that I’m the intruder, that elements of the more-than-human world were displaced for the cabin I inhabit to be built, and even long before construction began here, Cherokee peoples were displaced by my ancestors, so I sense a strong obligation to tend and honor this little piece of land, for the sake of others who were here long before I showed up.

I don’t feel comfortable saying I own this land or this cabin. At best, I’m a temporary steward of a place that God created and others have lived in. My desire is to be a good neighbor to the trees and other plants, to the birds and other creatures, as well as a good neighbor to the people that live around me.

I have delighted in learning about the native plants and the animals that depend on them. I want to only add plants that belong here, because I am learning that the web of living things depends on so many beautiful and intricate interdependencies to survive and thrive. As much as possible, I want to support and strengthen the interdependencies, not disrupt them. To have a sense of place, the ability to love and connect with the world, and to be a good steward of all creation (including each other) matters. These are small acts done with great love and they can change the world.

Trail Review

 Just for fun--a poem about an actual trail review.

There were bears.
That was it.
A three word
trail review
on All Trails.
Syllables—
only three,
fewer than
information,
ample though.
What to know
ere you go.
 
There were bears.

Wrestling with Scripture

Recently, I posted a scripture on Facebook from the devotion I was reading, and a comment about the challenge of trying to follow the example of God that was reflected in the verse I posted. Because it was about loving and caring for immigrants, I received several comments that were on the argumentative side. 

I was reminded in reading the comments how we are often made uncomfortable by scripture. It challenges us, it offends us, it invites us to wrestle with it. And there is value in that. If we aren’t finding ourselves challenged by scripture, if we’re not questioning and discussing and wrestling with it, then we aren’t growing. We’ve removed ourselves from the process of becoming stronger in our faith.

I remember hearing a story about trees that were grown under a dome, where there was no wind, no environmental challenges that could impair or otherwise affect their growth. The trees grew straight and tall, but they had no strength. Because they hadn’t been challenged by wind or storms or even changes in temperature, they were weak and spindly. Sure, a tree in the wild is subject to a lightning strike or being blown over in a storm or bent over in an ice storm, but the challenges it faces also makes it more durable, able to withstand difficulty.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that we had to be certain about everything. Maybe it’s just basic human nature to want everything to be black and white, wrong or right, good or bad. But if you’ve lived any length of time at all as a thinking person, you will find such dualities don’t hold up. There is always more than meets the eye. Certainty is a bit like living in a dome. Our unwillingness to wrestle and be challenged by scripture makes us weak and spindly Christians, Christians whose faith won’t hold up when times are difficult.

Certainty and faith are opposites. Doubt is not the enemy of faith, rather it is the wind, the storm, the season changes that enable our faith to get stronger and grow. Doubt can cause us to turn away, the spiritual equivalent of a tree being blown over in a storm, but doubt is not fatal to faith the way certainty is.

I’m glad people engaged with the Facebook post I made. It was an opportunity for me to reflect on views different than my own, and I hope the commenters did likewise. In reflecting and wrestling and pondering, there is opportunity to grow. And at the very least, we should be able to listen to one another with grace and patience.

When have you wrestled with scripture or theology in your own life? How has that affected your faith?

 

Rejoicing in Rest

 

Rest is a four-letter word to most of us, whether we admit it or not. It is such a foreign concept to those of us in western culture that we don’t really believe it’s possible. I can back that up with a couple of real-life examples.

Years ago, I was the teacher for a young adult Sunday school class. The class was mostly young professionals, without children, and some who were in law school or medical school. We were using a book that explored different spiritual practices. There was no pushback against the ideas of prayer or fasting or service or generosity or even silence. But when we got to sabbath, you’d have thought I was suggesting sacrificing animals on the sanctuary altar! We looked at the scriptures in Leviticus about a sabbath year. I asked the class, “Could you go an entire year without working, trusting that God would provide what you needed?” The outrage was swift and loud. I heard the phrase “Protestant work ethic” and comments about God’s expectation for us to work. I could testify that among that group, there were no young adults willing to be slackers!

Yet the aversion to sabbath was just as strong among a group of retirees I later led through a book study using Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World. All was well until we hit the chapter on sabbath. When I asked this group if they could go an entire day (not a year, just one day) without working, or making anyone or anything else (even their car or phone or computer) work, the pushback was just as strong as what I’d encountered in the young adult class.

We act as if rest would kill us.

Rest is an anathema to us. A last resort. Something we often only do when our bodies break down and insist on it.

Imagineifeverythingwewrotewaswrittenwithoutspacesorpunctuationhowwouldyoubeabletoeasilyreadanydocument? We use spaces to understand the written word. We use punctuation to convey the emotion of a message. If there are no pauses, if every word is run together, how long before you actually get frustrated and give up trying to read a document?

Pauses, rests in musical notation, punctuation—all of these are needed to convey an understandable message. If our lives are a message to God, if we seek to live lives that are praising God, how will our praise be understood if our lives are simply one thing after another without any pause? Jesus rested. Even in the press of people seeking healing, he took time away to renew himself. When we refuse to rest, we are actually saying with our lives that we are better than Jesus.

I do not have this all worked out in my life. It’s a constant challenge for me to accept the gift of rest. A recent move, which has given me a more open schedule, has caused me to confront my own discomfort with rest. I am continually reminding myself that I don’t have to fill every empty moment with activity. The struggle is real, and I keep telling myself that “no” is an acceptable answer.

Rest will not kill us. On the contrary, we need to learn to rejoice in rest. To gladly do nothing, to dispel any guilt or shame at being “nonproductive.” Who knows what might change for us if we simply spent an afternoon or even fifteen minutes watching clouds or sitting by a stream? To make the time to simply enjoy being alive and part of the world—what an act of praise to God!

Easter Dinosaur

I see you there on the grocery shelf

among all the other half-price items,

which today consist entirely of Easter candy,

looking simultaneously fierce and forlorn, out of place.

What brought you to this, you who are no

chick or bunny, no fluffy traditional Easter creature?

You possess a story unknown to me;

I am left to create my own story about you,

Easter dinosaur.

Rabbit-Foot Clover

Many years I didn't notice you

growing chiefly in neglected city spots:

sidewalk cracks, patches of overgrown grass,

near derelict buildings. Common as dandelion,

equally overlooked. It took a slow, contemplative walk

for you to get my attention, fuzzy spot of cheer.

I fell in love, took you home, enjoyed you more than

the showiest bloom.

To find you each spring delights me,

your persistence, willingness to grow anywhere,

especially inhospitable places. You possess

strength and beauty of wildness.

I want to be like you.

The Vulnerability of Open Space

 And you find your soul, and greatness has a defender. . .

From “People Like Us,” by Robert Bly

I claim to want to find my soul, yet today

and tomorrow stretch before me with minimal agenda.

Instead of joy, I feel fear. The vulnerability of open space

is like being on a treeless plain exposed to enemies

who come to do battle. 

Is this more true than I realize?

Are the enemies my own fears and longings

kept at bay by my busyness?

Outward silence and solitude don’t mean

I’m alone and quiet. There is a cacophony within;

I feel like the Gerasene demoniac. Legion is my name.

I want to find my soul. I want to be well. Down deep,

beneath the inner noise, I know this is true.

You have made me for greatness, for largeness,

for fullness of joy. Free me from the noise within me.

Let me hear the song you sing to my soul.

A Meaningful Lent

“Stop collecting treasures for your own benefit on earth, where moth and rust eat them and where thieves break in and steal them. Instead, collect treasures for yourselves in heaven, where moth and rust don’t eat them and where thieves don’t break in and steal them. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21

Included in one of the readings for Ash Wednesday, these particular verses set me thinking about past Lenten disciplines that helped me focus on collecting treasure in heaven, the practices that had staying power with me and helped me know myself and God better.

One year I took on the practice of writing a poem each day. That practice helped me to pay attention, both to what was happening around me and to what was happening within me. After all, I needed something to write a poem about. I found the practice so helpful in paying attention that I adopted for this year, to help me live into the word that is guiding me in 2023.

Another year, I worked through a Lenten book called Simplifying the Soul. What made this practice significant is that some of the exercises it suggested revealed to me attachments of which I was not aware. I learned a lot about myself working through that book. 

Years when I gave up chocolate or desserts or similar things did not have the lasting effect that these practices had. However, the year I let someone talk me into giving up coffee I found myself resentful. I learned that year not to allow anyone else to determine what my Lenten discipline should be!

The year that likely was the hardest, and yet the most transformational, was the year my practice was to not defend, justify, or explain myself when my words or actions were misconstrued. My then-husband frequently accused me of motives that had never crossed my mind, and when I would try to clarify my actions to him, things would escalate. Choosing this discipline for Lent meant I absorbed the accusations and twisting of my motives. It was so hard. 

Our natural response is to want to be understood, to be seen for who we are. To keep quiet reminded me of Isaiah 53:7: He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.

As hard as the practice was, there was less conflict in our home because I chose to keep silent. Additionally, keeping silent allowed me to see more clearly that his behavior wasn’t simple misconstruing of my actions but a form of verbal abuse. Because I wasn’t allowing myself to be drawn into an argument, I came to recognize something I hadn’t previously.

Obviously, not every Lenten discipline has had the impact that these three did. But taking the time to consider how I want to grow, how I want to be made different beyond the season of Lent, is, for me, laying up treasure in heaven. So I give careful consideration each year to the Lenten practice I will adopt, knowing this season of Lent is a chance for God to create a clean heart in me.

I invite you to pray and consider carefully how your Lenten discipline can help you lay up treasure in heaven. Blessings on your Lenten journey.

At Home

Jesus answered, “Whoever loves me will keep my word. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” John 14:23

I look around my home, how it reflects me,

the books, the artwork, the colors, the plants,

the open windows that let me see out and invite light inside,

the memories and people represented in items displayed,

the love that fills this space and fills me too.

It is good to be home, to let myself be expressed here.

I wonder what God thinks as God looks around within me?

I hope that what God sees stirs such fondness as I feel,

looking around my home.

Since God created me, I believe God does look with fondness

at God’s home within me.

Hold Life Lightly

Seasons teach us to hold life lightly.

Everything dies, yet birth comes

in equal measure, if not more abundantly.

We have to wait years for apples

after planting the tree, watching

summer leaves die and fall,

winter’s bareness too, before spring’s 

buds. All the time, the tree grows.

Winter’s death no hindrance, but

necessity for strength to bear fruit.

Even the fallen apples, uneaten,

carry new life within them.

Everything dies and is born.

Hold it all tenderly, lightly.

Santa Monica Sunday Afternoon

Breeze, shade, sand, sun.

You are here in gull’s cries,

palm trees, undulating ocean,

blue cloudless sky.

But just as much present

in the scraps of music, 

sounds of conversation, people

moving in every direction.

I am here,

taking it all in, no agenda

but presence, which is prayer, is it not?

A slice of time on Santa Monica beach,

an act of worship because you are here.