The Wellspring

When It Feels Like Your Work Doesn't Matter

2012-02-29T22:48:00.000-05:00

The day after I return from a conference on integrating workand faith…I call off.

It’s true, I have an early morning appointment; and it’strue, one of my boys has to see the orthodontist that afternoon. Squeezing in afew hours of work around those engagements would take some major gymnastics. Butthe truth is—I just don’t want to. I just can’t face it.

After three days of listening to how this thing should bedone—hearing example after example of people who are doing big things for theKingdom through their work—I am feeling claustrophobic of my little office,uncertain about where I am.

One of the speakers at this conference—addressing astanding-room-only crowd of mostly college students…and me…and, well, Sam wasthere too—urged her listeners to not just settle for any old job. Seek jobs that offer the best opportunitiesfor directing your creative talents toward the end of advancing foretastes ofthe Kingdom of God, she said. Anyaccountant can do taxes, she said. AsChristians we should be joining in Kingdom work through our chosen professions.

I felt the truth in her words and as I looked around at allthose fresh faces, I believed that they could change the world. They could goout there and fight for justice and mercy and create beauty for the world and investendless amounts of energy into making the world a better place. I feltexcitement for these young people.

But it felt too late for me.

So I call and say that I can’t come in and those hours thatI could squeeze in a bit of work? I spend them curled up on the couch under afuzzy blanket with Lucy Mae. I am home for the day but I don’t even do one loadof laundry.

But what I do do is a lot of talking to God.

I pick up an old conversation-prayer that’s been beat todeath about my family of origin and how I’ve gotten such a late start on thisChristianity thing and when will I ever catch up and why in the world didn’tsomeone show up to tell me all these things when I was younger and makingimportant life decisions and now I’m stuck and the decisions I make affect morethan just me and I can’t just go off to Uganda or something…

We’ve been through all this before and the Maker of theHeavens must get tired of having this same old talk with a pip-squeak like me,but do you want to know what was impressed upon me in those sweet hours withthe fuzzy blanket? Here are a few things that were whispered to my heart:

You are exactly where I want you to be. But don’t stop asking. You never knowwhen that might change. And when you ask, you are opening your heart to theSpirit…and I am always making things new.
Your work matters. You carrymy image into the lives of the people you touch and when you do that with allyour heart, you bring me glory.
Sometimes, it’s about planting seeds. Have youplanted any lately? I—only I—will make them grow.
Don’t get too comfortable. Keepstretching. Keep growing. Be the best person you can be.
Stick close to me. You are never alone. And pray for those world-changers.

The next day that I work I do my job with all my heart.Some people notice. Some don’t.

But there is One-who-looks-upon-the-heart who always sees.

With my sweet friend Jennifer today:

And with kd:

The Haggadah: Burning Words

2012-02-28T19:50:00.000-05:00

The first time I go to synagogue, I am swept away. I go tohear a speaker, invited by a friend. The speaker is the former ambassador toMorocco and—my friend tells me, in hushed tones—“He’s the first Jewish American ambassador.”

I don’t know if this is true but I want to hear what he hasto say about the Middle East. He was born in New York, but grew up in Israel,Egypt, Jordan, and Lebanon. He has held various appointments on Middle EastPolicy. Perhaps he has some words of wisdom for us—for this world.

But his flight is canceled so my friend takes my hand andleads me through those large wooden doors into the temple area. He shows me theHoly Ark, where they keep the torah scrolls. There is all this gold leaf and apanel of lights to honor the dead. My eyes are big but I feel small and he saysit’s ok to take some pictures. He answers all my questions patiently, at timesgrappling for the right words. There is a sort of sweet sadness in his tellingand I know he is gathering up all the lost years in his heart—scooping theminto mine and trusting me to receive them tenderly. He tells me stories abouthis mother that kindle my heart and I see how much he misses her.

We take our time, walking through and then outside andaround and he tells me about the stained glass, about the property. We meet afellow who has driven a long way to see the speaker and my friend delivers thenews: No speaker tonight. And they banter until they find a mutual acquaintanceto settle on and each one smiles wide with new-found fondness for the other.

I kiss him on the cheek goodbye—not really wanting to go becauseI feel his longing to linger. But we are a practical lot and there’s no speakertonight.

The first time I drive home from synagogue, I stumble uponan NPR interview with a Jewish man named Nathan Englander. He has written abook of short stories called What We Talk About When We Talk About Ann Frank. And he tells how the title story isbased on a game his family used to play. A game called Who Will Hide Me or RighteousGentile.

…it’s so deeplypersonal, he says. It’s not a game…Icall it a game—it makes it easier to talk about…It’s something we play withdead seriousness in my family and that is…we would wonder who would hide us inthe Holocaust…

I can’t even spell “Holocaust” without spell-check and I amhorrified and heartbroken for a people all over again. Yet, Nathan Englandertalks about how easily he gave up his faith…how easily…and yet, every word hespeaks echoes the struggle.

…I spend my childhoodin America feeling Jewish and not American. And it's only in Israel — it wasthose years there — where I got to be an American because everyone's a Jew…

When he was a young man he moved to Israel for a few yearsand it is in the first week of living there, he says, that he gave up organizedreligion. The irony is that he has spent the last three years translating a new version of the Haggadah—the story of the Exodus that is read aloud every yearat the Passover to commemorate the Jews delivery from slavery.

When asked why he would do such a thing, Englander talksabout his love of the text, saying that when one reads the Haggadah you should literally read it and weep.It’s just that beautiful, he says, and he is thankful for being given theopportunity to be faithful to the original Hebrew and Aramaic that he loves. Hetalks about wrestling with the translation of certain words and how, in theend, it’s the poetry and beauty and intention of the text he tried to befaithful to.

I wanted people to bethinking about what they are saying, he says…people are going to be praying from this…

And then he reads an excerpt from the New American Haggadahand I feel the burning bush—the fire that transforms but does not consume—thefire of holy ground. And I think about what he is reading. I think aboutthe words, just as he intended. And I think about my friend and his synagogueand how a place can become a sacred text…how you can listen to the way yourheart reads each nook and cranny…each memory.

And I go right home and order a copy of the New American Haggadah.

Because I need more burning bush in my life.

This week's memory verses:

To download the memory card for James 1:17-18.

James 1:15-16 scripture memory card here.

James 1:13-14 scripture memory card is here.

For memory cards of the whole book of James visit this post.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Playdates with God: The Bright Sadness

2012-02-27T09:16:00.000-05:00

Unclenching the fists is a soul-baring release and thisfirst week of Lent has been about the open hand. Last night our small groupstarted a new Easter journey together and we talked about footwashing and howto be a servant and what that really means. Each person shared what this seasonhas meant to them and as I listened to their stories of family and church andtraditions, my heart swelled within the walls of me. I knew it meant there wasOne more with us, and I had to restrain these hands from groping the air aroundme—reaching out for a touch from the Footwasher.

A week of little deaths, that’s what it’s been and I think Iunderstand why the Orthodox Church calls the season of Lent the Bright Sadness. Celebration and mourninghave taken it in turns to stir my deep places and my eyes are opened to thetruth that we cannot follow Christ and remain unchanged.

We had another class on preaching this weekend and our teacher kept dropping crumbs—saying things that seemed like common sense—littlethings—but really…they are everything. Things like, “It’s important for us to live the best lives we can; it’s important forus to live godly lives” and “It’simportant to be a regular reader of the Bible—the more familiar with scriptureyou are, the easier it will be” and “Thesermon should always point back to God” and “We have to take time to listen for God.”

We met in the basement of our church, a space used forpreschool. As I listened to her wise words I kept getting distracted by blocksof paper with crayola drawings taped together on the wall. “Friendship Quilt” it said at the top,and each block was an individual child’s interpretation of what that meant. Ilooked around at my classmates—these who have walked this journey with me forgoing on three years now—and realized I love them. They are my friends. What abeautiful quilt we make.

During Lent I want to burrow away—hide in books and wordsand prayer. But I know I need these people. It was John Wesley who said,

“Holy solitaries' is aphrase no more consistent with the Gospel than holy adulterers. The Gospel ofChrist knows no religion but social; no holiness, but social holiness.”

It can’t be done alone, this transformation. It requires arubbing up against each other, a shared realization that these are more than words…theyare resurrection. Wesley also said that he liked to set himself on fire soothers would come to watch him burn.

A flame spreads. Stand close to the fire. Let’s kindletogether through this bright sadness.

How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Lent: The Sky Speaks Scripture

2012-02-25T07:33:00.000-05:00

I watch theclouds

give birthto sky

and thisswirling,

shiftingmass of mist

and lightthat grows

from within

becomes life;

beomes prayer:

make mesmall—

enough toenter,

a secondtime, my

mother’swomb. let

Spirit givebirth to

spirit. and then stretch

me out, growme wider;

give mebreath and

eyes.

shared with nancy and the gang.

Listen to it:

Red Sky in the Morning...

2012-02-22T21:41:00.001-05:00

The dawn blooms red on Fat Tuesday—the sky unfolding likepetals and light spills slow over our world. I stand by the window wringing myhands.

Could it really be time already? Didn’t I just find thosereindeer last week—the ones I missed when packing up the Christmas decorations?How can it be Lent already? I sit down on the steps, try to gather up time.

Teddy slips past me and stops by the window—studies the redgiving way to pinks and blues.

“Oh, wow,” he says. “Look at that.”

His words make me stare. He never notices these things. Butthere he is, face pressed to the window.

“Look, mom,” he says, not taking his eyes off the sky.

I riseand stand beside him—shoulder to shoulder. But it’s not the sky that holds myeyes and this new side of my son only serves to confirm how the time slipsthrough my fingers.

These liturgical seasons have a way of naming my lack. Thisis when I long for rich family traditions or a strong youth pastor to invest inmy boys. This is when I long to have the tools to open up their heads—open uptheir hearts—and pour it all in. And I can’t help but to ask, am Idoing enough?

And I wonder if they are really getting it—do they reallyknow what it means to be loved by Christ and to follow him? Do I?

A mamma wants so much for her children—she wants to give themeverything. But perhaps one of the best gifts she can give is space for their faithto become their own.

I shift my eyes to the horizon and it takes my breath away.And I remember what Amy Sherman said in her workshop at Jubilee this pastweekend. She had a slide that was a jumble of words: Joy, Peace, Hope,Wholeness, Reconciliation, Shalom, Justice, Charity, and…and Beauty and so on.Ms. Sherman called these things foretastesof the Kingdom of God. Jesus is in this tired world, she said. And He ispressing these things into our lives. Joining Him in Kingdom work means to makethese things a greater reality. Right now.

I think of these things as I look at that slow moving redacross the morning sky. And I know this moment is enough. I lean into my boywho is now taller than I.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just look at that.”

With my sweet friend Jennifer today:

And with kd:

Live Radical...Pick the Flowers

2012-02-21T20:42:00.000-05:00

“It’s really a radical thing in today’s world,” he says.“Every day we are inundated with tons of information and we can becomedesensitized in our relationship with Jesus.”

We are in a classroom just off the rotunda in this hotel inPittsburgh—a rag-tag bunch—coffee cups cradled just under our chins. His hairis all standing up in the back but something in his voice…in his eyes…speakscalm.

We’ve come to read scripture together. It’s a workshop onLectio Divina and it’s the only one held at 8:00 A.M. While most of theconference attendees sleep in or laugh over coffee in the hotel café, we pullinward…quiet our thoughts.

“Lectio Divina,” he says. “It means sacred reading. We arenot deconstructing or analyzing. We are enjoying the beauty of the words forthemselves…”

He gives us a handout and we take it in turns to readthrough the description he has put together from this book. When we get to thelast step, he says it again.

“This is a deeply counter cultural activity we are engagingin today,” he says.

He tells us a story about a friend who is in medical school.

“As an exercise to deepen compassion, one of his professorsmade the students go to an art museum and stand in front of a painting for anhour. They had to study it…notice all the details they could. For an hour.”

He smiles at me. I smile back—thinking how it would be tostand in front of this painting…let its colors and story and light draw me in,become part of the compassion in my soul. Let its beauty become part of theframework that I live my life through.

We come to the last step on the handout—Contemplatio—and beside the word he has simply typed “Be”.

“Think of having a great meal with a great friend and thensitting in silence after wards…”

I silently re-read the last lines of the description hegives of Contemplatio.

Facilitate yourre-entry to your day by using a florilegium,a notebook used by monks to record what God said to them through that day’spassages. In Latin, it means “picking flowers”—preserving the beauty of whatGod gave you that day.

So that’s what I’ve been doing in my old yellow notebook. Ifeel a bit of awe inside as I think of words as flowers—as I think of mybouquet.

And when we go through the exercise…I pick a couple more. Andas I turn them around and around in the light of my mind, I feel it:

Radical.

And here are a few more flowers I've picked...this week's memory verses. You can download this James scripture memory card here. Last week's scripture memory card is here. You will find a link on this post for a complete set of scripture memory cards of the book of James.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Playdates with God: Hunger

2012-02-20T08:00:00.000-05:00

I left hungry.

I was up early to finish the book club article, butbetween checking out of the hotel and Lectio Divina…there isn’t time forbreakfast. In Marcus’ workshop, Nancy tries to give me a trail mix bar, but I am thinking about yogurt so I decline. But then there is morning worship andthe last two speakers and time to say goodbye comes too soon. I drive out ofPittsburgh at 12:45 p.m. with a hunger that food will not fill.

It’s always this way after the mountain top, this I know,but at Jubilee I worship and learn with over 2000 college students and theenergy along those corridors and in those rooms is a living thing. I amreminded what it is to be young and have your entire life before you. It doesn’tmake me feel old—it makes me want to live deeper and when I feel a pang ofregret—only once—I remember what my spiritual director said just last week aboutGod’s timing always being perfect. After all, I have more life before me too.

So I drive down I-79 with this aching hunger keeping mecompany and my Lord and I—we feast. All of the little pieces of heaven thatwere sprinkled down over the weekend flood the space of my minivan and it’s notuntil four hours later when I pull in my driveway that I remember I am hungry.

And then the fullness of family grips me and wraps me in itswarm embrace. And going away is all the sweeter for the coming home.

How this fills. How this fills…

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Permission [not] to Waste Time

2012-02-15T16:31:00.000-05:00

I have become a master of time.

Over the months and years of mothering and working andsearching for beauty, I’ve developed little tricks to accomplish the thingsthat must be done. For instance, I can unload the dryer, re-load it with freshsoggies AND put a new load of dirty clothes in the washer all in the twominutes it takes my oatmeal to cook in the microwave (folding is another story).I usually scrub down the shower while I’m taking mine. I have all manner ofdisinfectant wipes and cleaners tucked away in the nearest drawers…everyavailable surface is always an arm’s length away from a quick scrub down.

When a girl has dreams, for Pete’s sake, she finds a way tofit it all in. She gets up at 5 a.m. to write a blog post; she skips lunch togo for a run; she stays up way too late leaving traces of her DNA all about thehouse and into the never-realm of cyberspace.

The problem? These past couple weeks I haven’t felt likemastering time. These past couple weeks I have wanted to savor it instead.

In church on Sunday, my pastor preached about Naaman. Naamanwas a master of many things—one of which, I suspect, was time. I’m guessingNaaman did not like to waste time. But after hearing about the prophet Elisha’smiracles, Naaman rode a long way to ask if the man of God would cure him of hisleprosy. When Elisha told Naaman—the great commander of armies—to wash in theriver Jordan seven times and he would be cured…well, Naaman was angry. Hethought it would be a waste of time.

When I read Naaman’s story, I started thinking about all thethings I have seen as a waste of time. How, these past couple weeks, thesetime-wasters are the only things that seem to make sense. It’s the long walksunder the moon, the whispers under the covers at night, the looking him in theeye when we say goodbye in the morning. It’s the sitting with, and the slowtouch, and the taste of chocolate. And it’s how I’ve been thinking about what makes people happy and knowing it’s not sterile countertops and two-minutelaundry marathons. And I think about the boy who left us and I look at mine andit’s the way they still let me rub their backs, pull them close when we sit inthe pew at church.

And I think about Naaman dipping seven times in the river Jordanand I know. It’s the dipping into these things, seven times, seventy times, amillion times…this dipping into the things that feels like a waste of time—if weare willing—that usher us into the presence of God.

It’s all these things that seem like a waste of timethat make us clean.

For who, when these things are taken away, wouldn’t tradeall that she has to have them back again? To fold the socks, to wash the bowl,to tuck the covers in tight around the sleepyhead?

There are things that need doing—why not dip in with love? I’mtrying to hold on to this, friends. Before it slips through my fingers like somuch muddy water from the Jordan River.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Let them Eat Cake and a Valentine's Gift

2012-02-14T05:32:00.004-05:00

After I read this study yesterday, guess what I had for breakfastthis morning? That’s right. Go ahead. Seems that having something sweet in themorning may help suppress similar cravings throughout the day. Who knew? Seemsan appropriate way to start this sweetest of days.

And speaking of temptation, how is your memorization going?I printed up this week’s memory verse on a carrying card with the image of myValentine’s sweet on the background because there is nothing sweeter than a love letter from the Lord. You are welcome to indulge in this sweettoo, just click here to download!

For a copy of scripture memory cards for the entire book of James.

The sweetest of all days to you, my friends!

Playdates with God: When Old Love is New

2012-02-13T09:05:00.000-05:00

I curled my hair and put on that red blouse. They weren’treal pearls, but their lustrous sheen in the light of my kitchen glowedtranslucent against their ivory frame. It was more than the situation calledfor, more than expected. And to a girl who’s always felt…less than, this was anew skin.

This can be ourValentine’s dinner, I whispered in his ear.

It was a crowded affair with hardly room to pirouette. Ididn’t try. Frocked tables and men in hats bumped together in narrowpassageways. At dinner, we sat with dear friends and made new ones. The clinkof glass and murmur of steady conversation were the music of the evening. Ileaned into his song—listened, rapt, to the voice I know so well become newagain.

And when his fingers found mine under that white tableclothI felt beautiful. I felt loved.

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Moonbeam Cascade: Poem Gift

2012-02-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

Sometimes light surprises in the midst of the dark...

chatoyant moon—round

pool of light, pour your

moonbeam cascade into

the dark sea of mourning.

I am water spilling over

each golden crevice—

my heart, a spoon,

scooping great folds and

waves.

Listen to it:

And with kd who is graciously filling in for Em:

Playdates with God: Rugged Landscape

2012-02-06T09:13:00.002-05:00

This morning our valley is laced with frost, and the hillsshed into an alabaster sky. When she awakens, the sun’s touch is like Midas andthe meadow shimmers with pearly gold.

How rich we are.

The hardest of things are just a wee bit easier to bear whenthe golden touch of love breaks through white grief. So we try to be goodfriends. And we open our arms and our doors and our hearts to help in thehefting.

And on a rainy day in February we stand in the garden withhe and his family and listen to the priest proclaim a life blessed, watch as helifts his arm to heaven and commits this soul to our good God.

I study the cluster of colorful umbrellas bundled close infront of me and I wonder how we navigate this thing. How I always say the wrongthe things and despite the tangled tongue how grief is a stitch that binds ustogether in the hem of life. The thread is pulled tighter here in the garden.

How do we do this? How do we journey over the ruggedlandscape of sorrow?

I remember David Brooks and the story he gives about the gobiid fish.

These tiny fish live in shallow tidal pools and they areknown for navigating during low tide by jumping from pool to pool. Scientistshave been amazed at the accuracy with which this little fish is able totraverse its environment. Their precision is astonishing considering they haveno way of seeing where each tidal pool is. What is happening, Brooks tells us, isthat during high tide the gobiid fishwander around absorbing the landscape and storing maps in their heads. Thenwhen the tide is low, they have a mental map of the landscape, and theyunconsciously know what ridges will be dry at low tide and what hollows will befull of water.

Human beings are goodat accumulating this sort of wanderer’s knowledge as well, Brooks says.

AndI think about the landscape of grief—how the touch of a hand, a cheek pressedagainst a cheek—how these things have traversed the long road of time.

And plunging into grief can feel like this faith-jumping—takingflight with only a memory to guide.

But the Lord inhabits the prayers of His people and we landin the soft water of His love.

And as we file back into the church—me, bare-headed in therain—I notice that the pointy finger of the daffodils are breaking through the wetsoil.

* Today I'm also reflecting on The Social Animal by David Brooks as part the book club at The High Calling.

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Sunday: Dangerous

2012-02-05T07:47:00.000-05:00

Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.

--Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk

Joining Deidra in quiet worship today.

For When You Need A Smile

2012-02-02T20:26:00.003-05:00

They are having a candlelight vigil down at the high schooltonight but you don’t want to go so we hold one of our own. On the second dayof February when that old groundhog sees his shadow we go looking for oursmiles.

We’ll call it the walkuntil the sun goes down vigil, I tell my two growing boys. You leave your trig homework and Jeffrey leaves his drawing and Lucy Mae is waiting by thedoor.

I’ve seen your eyes these past couple days. I’ve felt theweight of the heavy in your breathing. And when you need a smile, why don’t yougo down and hop the creek?

Because sometimes the only cure is to step outside—step outsideof you and me and focus on stepping wide.

Why don’t you stare long into those muddy waters and startlethree ducks out of hiding? Why don’t you walk in the marsh and get your schoolshoes all muddy—hold back the greenbriers so I can follow you?

We’ll play hopscotch across, land careful on each glisteningrock that sleeps in this sandy bed. And I won’t care if you slip and the waterseeps up the leg of those pants. I won’t care if that brier rips a tiny hole inyour shirt. Lucy will need to go straight to the wash but for now…we aresmiling wide.

I’ll pick the burrs off your jacket, wipe my muddy hands onmy knees and breathe deep the smell of fallen rain running thick through thismuddy channel.

Your brother will take a short-cut because he can jump the creekbetter than us. And on the way home, as the vigil is coming to a close—as thesun begins to dip below those hills on the horizon…I'l tell you how loved youare. And you'll grin crooked and tell me I talk too much, but you know what thisis all about. And I'll tell you this: Never forget how loved you are. Let every choice you make be made knowing how loved you are.

And love is a living thing and it curls close around us. And there is this...there is this: Your smile.

with the amazing Emily:

A Poor--Torn Heart--A Tattered Heart

2012-02-01T09:20:00.002-05:00

The last day of January drifts down like dandelion seeds—it’s63 degrees in our valley when I take Lucy Mae for her evening walk. The sunbookends my day—I drove to work at her leading this morning, and as Emily says,she flowed silver to the west as I made my toil under the harsh lights of thehospital. I watch her now, gracefully bowing low with a blush.

We cross the bridge and they are there, looming above. Thecold, unforgiving place where steel meets earth. I try not to look, but a sound echoes downfrom up the tracks and I wonder what they must still be doing up there and thethought wracks through me and I swallow the sob with a prayer. Look up at thesky.

When the boys came home from school today they told us abouta terrible accident their bus happened upon. The kind of accident that is amama’s worst nightmare. And it’s my old nightmare and past wounds start tobleed anew for the pain of another.

I take Teddy to his eye appointment and he can’t get thelens just right and his fists are clenched tight…I feel my whole body clenchtoo. He doesn’t want to do this thing, but I know it’s best for him and I amhaving a million arguments with him in my head…when I remember.

There is a mama who won’t have her boy tonight.

And the agony of that runs through me and all I can do ispray and my patience is fresh and new. This isn’t the end of the world. And theother mamas who wait with me to see the doctor want to know…had I heard…? Do I know…?

And it feels wrong to talk this way about something so hard,something so fresh…while there is blood still on the tracks. But we mamas, wecan’t help it. We need each other during these times. And Jeff meets me so he can take the boys tomusic lessons and I drive home with contact lenses in my pocket.

And now the sun. Goes down again.

I no longer ask why, I know this world is broken. Am I notstudying the book of James? And doesn’t he say right there to be patient in the face of suffering? To consider it pure joy?

I watch the dipping sun make silhouettes out of leaf andbranch and I think how beautiful this is—this place of hiding. When I only seethe shape, when I only see in shadow…how easy it is to hide. But I know thatthe true beauty is revealed in the fullness of the thing; in the touching andtasting and the scent. To understand…to know full beauty…I must experience thewhole. When the full color flashes light there is beauty—aching, pounding,pulsing, heartbreaking beauty.

There is a promise of comfort. There is the promise of healing. But my stubborn heart is a sponge and it expands as the grief of rightnow collects in the pores. I mourn with those who mourn and I hear the earthcry out long in bittersweet welcome. I feel the tremble of fear. And we are allone as we mill around this fountain of sorrow.

And isn’t this the hope we hold in our hands? This: that weare never alone…That hope is what we have to give and we give it while bowedlow and with trembling hands. And , as Henri Nouwen says, when we willingly enterinto the sorrow we deepen the pain to a levelwhere it can be shared. This is not the end.

This is not the end.

And it’s so hard, so frightening, to step out of shadow andfull into this sorrow.

with the amazing Jen:

Playdates with God: Budgeting Relationships, a Photoplay

2012-01-30T05:43:00.001-05:00

She said that too often, we are tempted to go it alone.Those words named a part of me—sometimes it’s just easier to do it myself. Whohas time to manage the schedule of others, to wait for just the right time…dealwith anybody’s stuff but my own?

But then she said that working with others makes us better.It builds trust and authenticity. We can learn from and inspire one another.

I felt my heart open up to these possibilities. And Idecided to accept the challenge.

The Photoplay prompt this month is about more than takingpictures…It is about relationships. So we met at a place in our little townthat is famous for just that—a place to be together; to sip a warm mug, perusea book, and look at art. That’s what Taylor’s Books does—gives a space forfolks in our community to connect. On many levels.

As soon as my friend Betsy and I walked in the door, we raninto a friend and mentor in the ministry. He was meeting with a friend forcoffee, and the familiar way they were with each other told us this wasn’t thefirst time.

“He has known me foryears,” our friend said. Then he whispered, “And he still talks to me.”

We took a picture of them.

Then someone came up behind me and gave me a big hug—a friendI hadn’t seen for months. She had her laptop and was working on a project, meetingsome fellow creatives to brainstorm. The chairman for the Arts Council was getting a cupa joe to go. She introduced herself and gave us some photography tips. It was pretty cool.

We looked at the art in the gallery, smelled a book or two,and talked. We talked a lot.

This installation is called Precision Pixilation by WV artist Tiera Floyd.

It’s hard to imagine how being with a friend can open eyesto wonder. It’s hard to imagine how I could forget how good that feels.

A cord of three strands, you know?

In 2012, I’m thinking about budgeting relationships better.It’s a good investment.

Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Sunday

2012-01-28T23:07:00.000-05:00

The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails--given by one Shepherd. Be warned my son, of anything in addition to them. Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the the body.

--Ecc. 12:11-12

Joining Deidra in quiet worship today.

What Happens When We Dream and a Tiny Correction

2012-01-28T18:13:00.000-05:00

Alice laughed. “There'sno use trying,” she said. “One can't believe impossible things.”

“I daresay you haven't had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was yourage, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed asmany as six impossible things before breakfast…” ― Lewis Carroll

I’ve been feeling just a wee bit sorry for Newt Gingrichlately. Just a wee bit, mind you. It seems he is being poked fun at for callinghimself a “visionary” after publiclysharing a dream to establish a colony on the moon.

“I come at space froma standpoint of a romantic belief that it really is part of our destiny,”Mr. Gingrich said in his speech last Wednesday.

While this proclamation may not have been his best politicalmove and it may have caused some raised eyebrows, I’m feeling a littleconflicted about joining in this particular criticism (aren’t there enoughother areas we could focus on?). After all, I try to encourage just this typeof dreaming in my children whenever I can.

The strange thing that I’ve noticed is that kids don’t seemto have a problem with this. It’s in the grown-up world that we stumble over bigdreams. I think that, maybe, dreaming is something that—rather than “growingout of”—we have lost. We stop doing it, and so that ability grows weaker andweaker. Our brains stop reinforcing the neural pathways that promotecreativity. We don’t have time for it, it’s impractical, it’s silly…the list ofreasons why we should use our minds for other things is endless. But…

I wonder if there are lists of reasons we should beusing our imaginations more?

We sometimes thinkthat imagination is cognitively easy because children can use it better thanadults. In fact, imagination is arduous and practical. People who possessimaginative talents can say, “If I were you, I would do this…” Or they canthink, “I’m doing it this way now, but if I tried to do it that way, thingsmight go faster.” These double-scope and counterfactual abilities come in quitehandy in real life.”—David Brooks in The Social Animal

This morning, my youngest son came down the stairs tying hisrobe. With sleep still in his eyes, he plopped down on the chair andproclaimed, “You are looking at anamazingly amazing magician!”

He proceeded to tell me about a dream he had had in the night about usingmagic to make a recliner chair disappear—in front of the whole school, ofcourse. And then he went back upstairs to record the dream. He’s keeping a dreamjournal.

I can’t even remember the last time I let a dream—the sleepingkind—amaze me.

Ellen Langer, in her book Mindfulness, says that adultsoften lose creativity because we are outcomeoriented and this tends to deaden aplayful approach to life.

Our tendency to focuson outcome…narrows our self-image. When we envy other people’s assets,accomplishments, or characteristics, it is often because we are making a faulty comparison. We may be looking atthe results of their efforts ratherthan at the process they wentthrough on the way…

But, what if the outcomes we see are not the ones weshould be focusing on? What would happen if we let ourselves dream? Create? Iwonder what might happen to our faith if we exercised our imaginations everyday?

... If ourimaginations are broadened enough, something that seems unbelievable to us canseem possible; and we can come to our prayers expectantly…--Luci Shaw in Breath for the Bones.

How can we respond in faith if we do not move beyond whatcan be seen with our eyes? If we let ourselves dream, what could we do? Becausewe are human, when we dream we will make mistakes. We will fall down. We will bewounded. But, just as Jacob, if we hold on for the blessing through thestruggle, we will be touched by God.

When we dream, faith can transform.

I am not packing my bags for the moon, yet, friends. But, I wantto look deeper…see beneath what I see…grab on to the Real. Some might say thatmakes me a visionary. That’s what faith-eyes can do.

*******

Because I am human, I made a wee mistake in the original scripture cards I linked up earlier this week. Seems I originally left out four verses (James 1: 23-26). Please forgive? My eyes must have been all mixed up with words and dates and my double check somehow missed it. Thank you so much for your grace. But, if you would so like, here is the PDF to printout scripture memory cards for the book of James.

I used the Avery label 5388 to make them. This should print out index card size cards withperforated edges of Avery 5388. That way you won’t have to do any cutting.

How the Word Tranforms and Scripture Cards for the Book of James

2012-01-24T22:26:00.001-05:00

I knew what the lectionary scriptures were for Sunday. Iknew because on Saturday, the pastor who taught the course I was attending readthem aloud to the class. We were talking about the church as a body thattransforms, and he read to us from Jonah about the transformation of the peopleof Nineveh. He read to us from 1 Corinthians that this world in its present form is passing away…

And when he read those words aloud in class we all lookedwide-eyed at one another and smiled and proclaimed about the timing of God. Butwhen my pastor reads them from the pulpit on Sunday—my eyes well with tears ofrecognition.

I don’t know the way to transformation without theWord.

Every week my friends and I gather to study it—this life-giving,seed-planting, world-transforming Word. We’ve done it for years, gatheredaround the teachings of Kay and Beth and Priscilla and Jennifer…too many Wordgivers to count. We started a new one a couple weeks ago, and how my heartcelebrates the way this small group of women holds together this way—the way welove each other through the stuff of life.

And today, when Dr. Henry tells me that to correct my son’svision…to correct his vision we really should have caught it before age seven…Whenhe says this, I need the anchor of all those words we’ve studied together. Hejust turned 15, for Pete’s sake, and this means he’s spent more than half hislife with this visual deficit, and how could I have missed this? How could Inot know?

Dr. Henry sees it on my face and he looks me straight in theeye, bless his beautiful heart, and he says, you are not a bad mother. He says a lot of other things too,including no depth perception and he’ll never drive a big rig and his other eye is perfect.

And I spend all evening trying to hide tears, feeling smallas a mother, small in faith, and I flee the house…just to be alone. I can’ttake the piles of laundry and paper and dog hair and everything I should bedoing and…and…and I can’t breathe.

How could I not know?

I know it’s not the end of the world but somehow it feels abit like it. And I sit in the car at K-mart and suddenly, I remember this:

For you died, and yourlife is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears,then you also will appear with him in glory. –Colossians 3:3-4

And somehow, it calms my heart. I ponder what it means—to behidden in Christ. And just what kind of glory will we appear in? I feel thesure, slow hand of God remind me that this is not the end. This is not ourhome. And one day…one day we all will be given new eyes.

Oh, praise God for his goodness.

I would not have had that verse in my heart if it wasn’t formy sister Ann—who encouraged me to memorize the book of Colossians in 2011. Ididn’t think I could do it. But she broke it down…two verses a week. Shegenerously made scripture cards available to make it easier. And gave someideas for making the cards lovely. But I just glued them into a notebook. Well,sometimes I taped them. Mine weren’t pretty. But I stuck it out. And that oldyellow notebook has a big part of my heart in it too.

These next few weeks my Bible study sisters and I arelearning about James with Beth Moore. Beth encourages us to memorize the bookof James. Her plan is faster, but I love Ann’s two verses a week. It keeps thewords on my heart—these tiny bites feed a great hunger. There are 108 verses in James, that puts us just a couple weeks over a year to learn it, but that's not too bad. **CORRECTION: I originally left out four verses (James 1: 23-26) but the document is corrected now. My thanks to Cindy Irby for her help with this. Please forgive? My eyes must have been all mixed up with words and dates and my double check somehow missed it. Thank you so much for your grace. But, if you would so like, here is the PDF to printout scripture memory cards for the book of James.

I used the Avery label 5388 to make them. If you buy Averylabel 5388, when you print the document select the "actual size" option on the print screen. This should print out perfect for the index card size cards withperforated edges of Avery 5388. That way you won’t have to do any cutting.

**CORRECTION

Because I don’t know how to be transformed without theWord.

Or without my sisters to come along beside.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Playdates with God: Transformed

2012-01-23T10:41:00.000-05:00

I can see the steeple of a neighboring church through thewindow and I fix my gaze on the rise of it ascending from that hill of oldstone. We are talking about church administration, only in a roundabout way.

How do we become achurch that transforms lives in the land we’ve been given? Our instructorasks.

He frames the whole class in terms of this book and I amsmitten. That Henri Nouwen has a way with words. And we talk about a communitythat transforms and what that means. And how change is necessary and healthyand how, as leaders, we must learn to not only navigate change, but, to regularlyintroduce it.

And after all this talk about change and being missional andconflict and leadership he says this…

To be a church thattransforms we must first allow ourselves to be transformed…

And I am looking at that steeple through the window…wonderingabout all the transformation that has happened under its cross. And about allthat has stayed the same. And I feel it creep through my core—the slow change;the opened eyes.

How do I miss it so often? How do I close my eyes tothis?

I felt a brief momentof kairos time the other day, I recently told my pastor. I was pouring a pitcher of water in thecoffee maker and that was it. I suddenly loved that water. I loved pouring it. Andnothing else mattered except what I was doing in that moment. And God was therewith me. It was so real, so…heartbreaking.

Her eyes teared up and I received that as gift.

We must first betransformed…

And I think it’s not something that happens all at once orthat we are even aware of happening but it is that slow movement of our heartsin time with the Divine. The giving over in each moment…

I know why the steeple reaches up. And so, this morning, Ido too. I stand in a place in the rain and lift up my hands…lift it all up.

Transform me, Iplead. Transform.

And the rain falls down, melts along my cheek and flattensmy hair and I am changed.

And there is nothing for it except to go back inside and putin another load of laundry.

How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. And come tell us about it.

*I'm reflecting on The Social Animal by David Brooks today as part the book club at The High Calling. Will you join us?

Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Stepping out of the Frame

2012-01-19T18:35:00.002-05:00

I live in a small world.

I grew up in a small town, attended a small college, work asmall job, have a small family, and I keep small boundaries. But when a smallworld collides with big dreams…somebody has to change perspective.

2011 was the year my small world came alive with wonder. God started something new. First, He invited me to start looking at the world through the lens of play...and then He invited me to do the same with exercise!

Itall started with a birthday present. My husband surprised me with an iPhone formy 42^nd birthday. And then a friend--knowing I am arunner--suggested I try the RunKeeper app. I started taking my phone with me onevery run—keeping track of my mileage and pace.

Then one evening in July I saw this:

And I had to stop and take a picture. When I returned home,I shared the photo with my Facebook friends. Soon, every time I was outrunning, a little piece of beauty caught my eye. I would quickly snap a shot ofit and share it on Facebook later. It didn’t take long until I began to actively look for beauty on my runningroute. Things I had run past every day before suddenly looked different to me.

I began to see beautyeverywhere.

It changed everything.

I used the RunKeeper GPS to explore new routes, scouring mylittle valley home for new and interesting sights. I couldn’t wait to get outand hit the road.

I was excited to getout there and run. It became a great beauty hunt. With new treasure eachday.

As I stood on the doorstep of 2012, my heart began to wonder--how can I share this wonderful treasure? I wish I had the words to describe how this simple exercising of my beauty finding muscles has revitalized the exercising of my body. I asked my friend Melanie, how can we encourage others to live healthier this year? How can we encourage each other?

I admire Melanie's commitment to healthy living. She inspires me every day. Together, we decided that we would like to invite you to join usin to this great beauty hunt. Do you have a cell phone? Would you capture a bit of thebeauty in your world and share it with us on our Facebook page? It's not about traffic, or the number of "likes" we get. It's about you. About living your best life. About seeing God's beauty in the place He has planted you. You don’t have to be a runner,but our hope is that this beauty hunt will get you out there—walking, cycling,skating…just moving!

And then visit us at [un] framed on Facebook and share what you find with us.Let’s encourage each other to be healthier this year. Let’s step out of theframe of the small world into the life of wonder. Let’s live a life [un]framed.

With my sweet friend Jennifer today:

and with the amazing Emily:

A Poem for Jeffrey on the Eve of His Thirteenth Birthday

2012-01-18T19:00:00.001-05:00

the last day of twelve

was nothing special,

you said.

you didn’t dress for gym,

didn’t play four-square with

the others. only walked,

you said.

in English, you wrote

a myth…about Gusano—

it means “worm” in Spanish

you said.

this Graco-Spanish

worm-god found freedom,

you said.

but he led his people

back into the

earth to rule the Underworld

and that’s why he will

be responsible for

the zombie apocalypse.

you said.

and math was about

interest, like money and

banks, you know?

you said.

and you have homework

so you came home in

a bad mood and didn’t

want to talk about twelve

you said.

so i hushed and got out

the eggs, cracked them one-by-

one in the bowl and mixed until

those yellow eyes are gone; i

rubbed grease on the pan that is

swathed in black enamel

from years of cradling sweet

batter…and i poured more

in. you at the table building

up interest when the room

starts to smell like a birthday.

and suddenly, you are there,

beside to lick the batter from

the bowl. what time was I

born?

you said.

Listen to it!

shared with nancy and the gang.

Visionary

2012-01-17T00:06:00.001-05:00

He was a visionary,I told them. He wasn’t a perfect man, butthe world changed because of him. We need more people like him. Visionaries.

We are driving to church and I am telling them about themarch the following day. A worship service is scheduled in the morning andfollowing it, the people are marching. They are marching to the Capitol for acelebration. Commemorating the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

At church, our pastor reads us the story of Samuel—how Godspeaks to him when he is just a boy. And she mentions Dr. King and says that ifGod puts a dream in your heart…you must be listening to hear his voice. And shetells a story that I have never heard about the fears Dr. King faced and how heheard God’s voice.

And I am stuck on this:

Then the Lord came andstood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel! Samuel!”

The Lord came. And stood there.

So I tell the boys we need to go. We need to go and march tothe Capitol.

Only, I forget that I’ve scheduled two meetings at just thewrong times and there’s no way we’ll make it. So, instead, we march down to thecreek and I climb up on the bridge, much to the horror of my children, and Iread the last part of the speech from my iPhone—that part that gives me goosebumps—I call it out over moving water, preach it to the gaping windows of myneighbor’s houses.

Ihave a dream, Isay. That one day this nation will riseup and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to beself-evident, that all men are created equal."

Ihave a dream, Isay. Thatone day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons offormer slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table ofbrotherhood.

And I’m standing high andlooking down and my boy looks up at me, alarmed. He realizes I’m going to seethis thing through. And I am not whispering.

He looks around.

Mom,come down from there,he says.

But I keep on.

Ihave a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state swelteringwith the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will betransformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

Ihave a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation wherethey will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of theircharacter.

Ihave a dream today!

And my neighbor comes outsidewith her dog. She’s still in her pajamas. It’s the same woman who saw me sittingin my van in the middle of the street at 8:00am. Because Jeffrey wanted me todrive him down to see if the creek is frozen.

But I go on.

Ihave a dream today!

Ihave a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill andmountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and thecrooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall berevealed and all flesh shall see it together."

My boy is looking up at meand I can see it. I can see when the shift happens.

Thisis our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

Withthis faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone ofhope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords ofour nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we willbe able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jailtogether, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free oneday…

He is looking up and I seehim realize. That God came. And He stood beside Martin.

Andwhen this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from everyvillage and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able tospeed up that day when all ofGod's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants andCatholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negrospiritual…

And when I finish, he helpsme down. He takes my arm and his lingers on mine for a moment.

Weread that essay in English Lit. When we were studying persuasive essays, he says.

And I know that this is hisway of saying it’s pretty cool.

Well, I say. It’s very passionate.

And, he says. Very persuasive.

Indeed.

And he’s smiling, and I’mthinking, oh yes…the world needs more visionaries.

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Playdates with God: The First Days

2012-01-16T09:37:00.000-05:00

They have been wrapped in the warm cocoon of the first days,basking in that glow of holding a piece of living, wiggling love in their arms.That we would be invited—even welcome--into such a place is a wonder, so wetook our arms and legs and world-soiled self into that sanctuary of love.

Just to hold a baby.

I’d had a long morning with my own babies—taller than I now—butI felt that pull as soon as I walked through the door: the slow of the firstdays. She welcomed us with open arms and beaming smile and I felt my heart pacewith hers; slow in time to this peace that knows these are the importantthings.

She placed him in our arms—entrusted us with this piece ofher heart beating outside of her body. And we exclaimed over petite nose,silken hair, long fingers. I had to look at his tiny feet—run my finger alongthe sole of it.

And something about his sleeping peace opened us up and weremembered. We shared the stories of our own first days, as women do, and lovewas thick as we breathed it in and out and whispered it into the air around us.

He slept the entire time, and our love made a bed thatcradled him soft—spoke a secret lullaby.

I studied each curve of his face, drank in his little dreamsounds and I remembered this:

Some scientistscalculate that humans create 1.8 million synapses per second from their secondmonth in utero to their second birthday. The brain makes synapses to storeinformation. Each thing we know is embodied in a network of neural connections.*(David Brooks in The Social Animal)

I looked at sleepy eyes and wondered what is going on inside that beautiful brain of yours? He—storing upknowledge while we sit and remember and spread thick love all over him.

We fall in love and I hear a tiny whisper as I tuck thatbaby back in his mother’s arms: I amhere. I am here in the first days. I am here…always.

*I'm reflecting on The Social Animal by David Brooks as part the book club at The High Calling.

Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Sunday

2012-01-15T08:28:00.000-05:00

And here's another reason that we keep praying and do not lose heart. We know that this kingdom business is urgent business--we've heard it from Jesus' own lips. Kingdom is not a matter that comes up for discussion from time to time. Kingdom is what is going on all the time, whether we are aware of it or not. But it is Jesus' intent to make us aware of it. Kingdom requires a total renovation of our imagination so that we are able to see what our eyes do not see; so that we are capable of participating in what will not be reported in tomorrow morning's newspaper...

--(Eugene Peterson in Tell It Slant: A Conversation on the Language of Jesus in His Stories and Prayers)

Joining Deidra in quiet worship today.