Playdates with God: Art Walk

Listen! The only things that matter are your footfalls and the steady beating of your heart. Stand in a patch of sun spilling through the canopy of trees. Slide your hand across the skin of a mossy rock. Close your eyes and inhale the scent of the years of decay that created the fertile soil where you stand.

In this forest, you have everything you need for resurrection. Let your soul awaken from the long sleep.

Listen? There have been messages left behind. Paw prints and hooves, scat…initials carved in a tree. Everywhere you go someone has gone before. You will never be alone in this long journey. If you try, you can feel the unseen. Have you tried? Have you offered up your reason, have you let go of the weight of understanding? Lift up the need for proof and let the wind carry it. Then you will find evidence—deep inside of you. Open your heart to possibility. Let hope bloom in your inside places.

Today, touch everything with love. The spider spins in secret but the morning dew gives him away. There is nothing in your heart that is not known.

Listen. Is there not wonder in every living thing? Is there not beauty in every blade of grass?

Close your eyes. Do you see?

The five winners of Billy Coffey’s new novel When Mockingbirds Sing are Heather, Linda Stoll, Sharon O. Susan Etole, and Amy Jones. Congratulations! I'll be in touch but if you see this first, email your snail to laraj@suddenlink.net. 

Today at The High Calling, Nancy Franson leads us in our discussion of Chip and Dan Heath’s book Decisive. Join us? You might want to join the network while you're over there.

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:

 

Playdates with God: Rain

No rain falls that I do not at once hear in the sound of the falling water an invitation to come to the wedding. It is rare that I do not answer. A walk in an evening rain in any setting is to walk in the midst of God’s loving attention to his earth, and, like a baptism, is no simple washing, but a communication of life. When you hurry in out of the rain, I hurry out into it, for it is a sign that all is well, that God loves, that good is to follow. If suffering a doubt, I find myself looking to rain as a good omen. And in rain, I always hear singing, wordless chant rising and falling.

---Matthew Kelty, Flute Solo:Reflections of a Trappist Hermit

In the early morning hours while the house still sleeps…the sky opens. I hear the steady beating of a million glossy beads falling on the roof and I smile in my half-sleep. It is our secret love language and each drop—a kiss falling from heaven. I drift and dream of bluebirds perching on the fence--those shy, welcome visitors.

When the time for waking comes, each blade of grass reflects a blue sky on its tip--our early-morning tryst only a memory. The robins scurry to-and-fro—splashing in the rain-soaked earth. I drive Jeffrey to the high school on diamond encrusted streets. It's step-up day and this morning he and the other eighth-graders will visit the freshman classrooms they will populate next year.

"I'm nervous," he tells me, as we troll down the rain-washed valley road.

"What we need is a theme song," I say. And I put in one of the cds he and his brother gave me for Mother's Day and cue up number seven. We sing the song loud together and he makes dance moves with his arms. We pray on the way down the hill like we always do and he hops out in front of the school with a spring in his step. I watch as another boy hurries up beside him and they walk into that big building together. 

"Take care of him today, Lord," I whisper as I pull back out onto the wet street.

It’s been a busy few days, with lots of meetings and gatherings and end-of-school hoopla and I am tired. I haven’t had the time to pause and look around. But now?  I do. Suddenly, the quiet surrounding me speaks beauty and possibility and I feel the reassuring hand of love.

The air settles in misty ribbons, weaving a white cloak over the hills that surround my valley—soft like the breath of God. And the streets glisten, winking in the early morning light.

Today we're starting a new book club discussion over at The High Calling. Will you join us? 

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:

Playdates with God: Wonderland

“I’m going to warn you,” he says, smiling. “That’s where all the children sit. They fill up these first two pews here. If you want to sit surrounded by children, that’s fine. But that’s where they’ll be.”

On Trinity Sunday I am sitting in the first pew waiting as my host busies himself around the church, getting ready for morning service. We make small talk and he tells me some of their story. How he’s been a member there all seventy years of his life. How the neighborhood was a blue-collar one when he was growing up—workers of the chemical plants and the other factories that thrived along the Kanawha River.

“These houses were as neat as a pin, then. The lawns were always mowed and cared for. You never saw any trash or old cars in the yards. It’s a different story now. Drugs. Abuse. The church has been broken into several times…”

He tells me how, a few years ago, their membership dwindled into the single digits. They decided that something must be done. So they reached out to the children.

Right about then, six little girls come through the door, holding hands and chattering. Their ruffled skirts are a rainbow of colors—billowing clouds of sparkles. These girls know they were welcome. They go straight up behind the pulpit area and start dancing, gliding across the chancel, twirling and giggling and clinging to each other. Their sandals clop hard on the wooden floor and Wanda J.—who is sitting four pews from the front and who just celebrated her ninetieth birthday—snaps her fingers.

“Girls! Girls! Settle down.”

And they do. They go and sit in the first pew. One by one he brings them over to meet me.

“Are you our new pastor?” One doe-eyed little girl asks.

“Well, I’m just visiting today,” I say.

I watch them settle in the first two pews. A few little boys join the girls and the first two rows of pews are full.

“Do they come alone? Without their parents?” I ask him.

He nods. “Yeah, they come down from the hill up there.”

When it is time for church, about twenty-five sit in the pews—half of which are children. Through the announcements and the Call to Worship I study their shining faces. After the sermonette—in which I tell them about Memorial Day—they sing a song. No accompaniment, just these young voices lifted up.

“Oh, how I love Jesus…” They sing.

“Oh, how I love Jesus…”

As I listen, I am in Wonderland; I grow small. And God grows bigger. No amount of preparation on the sermon I am about to give could have prepared me for the power of that—no sermon could deliver a message as powerful as the one in those front pews. And what God is doing in that tiny church sweeps me off my feet—brings me to my knees.

“Oh, how I love Jesus. Because he first loved me.”

Over at The High Calling, we're finishing up our discussion of  The Life of the Body: Physical Well-being and Spiritual Formation by Valerie E. Hess and Lane M. Arnold. We're giving away two copies of the book this week.

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:

 

Playdates with God: Theater of Life

We were dressed all wrong in our best blue jeans and Sunday tops—two people clothed in love amidst crisp dinner jackets and sequined gowns that glittered in the dim light of the theater. I slunk down in my seat next to a younger woman in a blue pin-striped dress—we did not come to be seen, only to see.

But as I sunk into my seat she looked up. She saw me. And she smiled.

Just then, a little girl—maybe seven or eight—sat down in the seat on the other side of her, followed by two or three generations of women. The woman in the blue pin-stripes exclaimed over the girl’s pink-ribboned dress.

“Oh, you look so beautiful,” she said. And to the girl’s mother: “Has she seen the show before?”

“No,” the other woman smiled. “This is her first time.”

The woman next to me leaned down closer to the little girl.

“Oh, you are going to love it! This is the very first musical I saw when I was little and you know what? It’s still my favorite.”

The conversation quieted as the lights dimmed and I leaned into my husband as song soared. Soon we were caught up in story—lifted with each lilting note of music. When time for intermission came, my husband made a beeline for the restroom, but I stayed put under the twinkling lights. When I stood to stretch my legs, the woman in blue pin-stripes caught my eye.

“I can’t believe it’s only nine-thirty,” she said, smiling. “It feels like midnight!”

I smiled back and sat back down beside her.

“I know, I know. They say this is a sign of my rapidly advancing age—the way the night comes so quickly.”

She dimpled again.

“No, not at all! They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I think you’re right. There’s just something about the dimming of the lights and good story that just relaxes the soul.”

“A good story,” she mused. “Only Victor Hugo.”

“I heard you tell that little girl that this was the first musical you ever saw…that it’s still your favorite.”

She nodded.

“This is my Mother’s Day present to myself,” she said. “I’m a single mom. So on Mother’s Day I didn’t get to do anything special. So when I heard Les Mis was in town, I thought, I’m going! My favorite dress,” she gestured to the pin-stripes. “And my favorite musical. It doesn’t get much better.”

I told her that we were celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary, that Jeff wasn’t wild about coming but I was—and he wanted to be together. We talked about the different versions of the show we had seen. Jeff returned and she leaned across me to touch his arm.

“You are a good husband,” she said. Then she settled back into her seat. “My favorite song is next.”

“What’s your favorite?” I asked.

She looked at me as if I should already know the answer.

“On My Own,” she whispered. And the lights dimmed again for the second act.

The rest of the show went quickly and I was aware of the joy sitting next to me. Before we left the theater I squeezed her hand.

“Enjoy the rest of your night out,” I said.

“I will,” she replied. “And happy anniversary.”

I’m still thinking about how a song can name us; how art makes us feel not so alone in this world. How an open eye for beauty can open the hearts around you.

And it makes me want to bring more beauty into life—to spill it out all over everyone I touch. And I can’t help thinking how love does this—clothes everything in beauty.

And I promise to love better. To see better.

Because, as Jean Valjean says, “…to love another person is to see the face of God.”

 Over at the High Calling we are on week three of a book discussion on The Life of the Body: Physical Well-being and Spiritual Formation by Valerie E. Hess and Lane M. Arnold. Will you join us? Today we're giving away two copies of the book. It's a great book about how the choices we make for our bodies impact our spiritual life. 

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:

 

Playdates with God: Sunday

On Mother’s Day I get up early and drive to the outskirts of town. I find the little white church where I will worship and I pull up to that ancient dogwood. I am ushered inside by an elderly lady who hugs my neck in the parking lot. In the sanctuary, I find my helper and she puts a glass of water on the pulpit for me. There is a shimmering stained glass window behind the choir loft—Jesus in reds and golds.

I tell my helper about the Phoebe I saw earlier in the week and we move to the window. We lean into the glass and there she is—mama Phoebe—sitting on a leafed out branch to welcome me. It feels like I am home and she flits away, job well-done. But there is a mother robin feeding her spotted-breasted baby on the walkway and my helper tells me about the time they saw a bald eagle fly over their steeple. We sigh into the window and I know that this is the real worship of the day—this standing together and sharing stories. We wait for the others to arrive and the numbers are small enough to greet each person one-by-one and I am embraced by smiles and stories and I feel God’s heart beat with each hand I clasp.

“I’ve just moved back here,” one dear woman says. “I grew up in this church.”

“I have five children,” another tells me. And she ticks off each on one hand. “My phone will be busy later.”

She glows and sits alone in the front pew.

Another tells the story of the stained glass window and speaks of a time when these pews were filled and children ran its center aisle. But things are different now and though the numbers have dwindled, there are no ghosts that haunt this place. Love is still alive and well here.

After worship they want me to stay for a cup of coffee so we sit around a table and they ask about my children, invite me into their story. I cannot stay long, I have to cross over the river to give another sermon. They hug me out the door, tell me to come back soon and I sit behind the wheel for a moment and thank Jesus for the gift of the morning.

And as I back out of the parking lot I see her—mama Phoebe come to say goodbye.

Over at the High Calling we are on week two of a new book discussion today on The Life of the Body: Physical Well-being and Spiritual Formation by Valerie E. Hess and Lane M. Arnold. Will you join us? It's a great book about how the choices we make for our bodies impact our spiritual life. 

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: