Thankful Thursday - It's a life and death thing

 A couple of weekends ago, I drove up to Asheville to spend some time with my daughter. I hadn't seen her in a few weeks, so it was time for a road trip. On that gorgeous Saturday, we walked through the botanical gardens just outside the college campus. It is referred to as "the botans" by the students.

Such a beautiful, quiet, energizing, educational place. Although I was careful to take photos that didn't include other visitors, there were plenty of people there, soaking in the sun's rays, talking to one another, reading, standing in the stream, taking photos of each other and their children. In other words, we weren't the only people wise enough to spend some time in the great outdoors on that glorious day.

I am enormously grateful for the beauty of nature, of flowers in bloom, leaves bursting forth from heretofore barren branches, and also the beauty of the people who emerge cautiously from our wintry coccoons and are being transformed into spring creatures with color and energy and hope for a warm summer.

The smaller the flower, the more miraculous, as far as I'm concerned. So much beauty in such a small package.
How do those tiny seeds know when to send their new shoots upward, towards the sunshine?
Year after year. Season after season. They don't give up hope. They don't concede and allow themselves to be overwhelmed by winter's frigid temps and icy blanket. Nor should we.

For a late lunch/early supper we went to a Spanish restaurant called Curate. I'm not sure if this is the meaning they intended, but that word means, "heal yourself." And after that meal, I certainly felt healed and whole. Buzzing with activity, the kitchen sent out dish after delightful dish. It was by far the best Spanish food I've had since moving down to North Carolina.

The two empty dishes pictured here previously held grilled bread on the left and gambas al ajillo on the right - that is, shrimp cooked in garlic.

We had the most amazing pulpo a la gallega with a potato puree and sea salt. This dish caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Oh me, oh my. I wanted to order a second plate of this deliciousness, but I refrained. I will definitely order that one again sometime soon. And I won't be sharing it with ANYONE!!!

For dessert, we had crema catalana con frutas del bosque, essentially a take on creme brulee with berries under the cream. There is a layer of candied sugar laid on top of the cream, a layer that had to be broken with our spoons.

It was the best meal I had had in months.

I was full and grateful. So much bounty. So much beauty.

Great food and even better company.

I love that daughter of mine, blue hair and all.

At the other end of the spectrum from the vibrant, lively time I had with my daughter was the time I spent in Arlington, Virginia, earlier this week. I went with a dear friend to the funeral of one of her dear friends, a woman who had served as a nurse during World War II. She was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery near her husband.

On Tuesday morning, there were ten funerals planned. Apparently, it takes months from the time of death before the burial can take place. In this case, it had been about five months since this brave woman died.

The pomp and circumstance was impressive, somber and precise.

They handled her casket with reverence and honor.

Then the caisson left to go carry yet another fallen American.

Marines stood guard nearby, maintaining focus and attention before, during and even after the brief service ended.

The eight who had carried her casket to the gravesite, stood and held the flag above the casket during the entire ceremony. I kept wondering how hard it must be to remain at attention during services in the heat of the DC summer, clad in tight, heavy uniforms. But there they stood, unmoving, listening, waiting.

After the soldiers folded the flag, the chaplain approached the daughter of the deceased, handed her the flag and repeated what a chaplain said to my mother thirteen years ago at the national cemetery out at the end of Long Island after my father's passing - "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

It's difficult to listen to those words and watch that presentation without crying.

Once all the guests had left the area, the Marine who had stood guard at the head of the casket walked somberly away. It was a spectacularly beautiful morning, sad, tear-soaked, but so very memorable. Over 400,000 people are buried there at the national cemetery in Arlington. So much life and so much death.

There is so much to be grateful for. I am grateful for - 

Life and death. Part of the same story. Part of all of our lives. 

A place to be buried, to be laid to rest.

The miraculous and life-giving story of Easter, reminding us that death is not the end.

Being invited to translate a funeral at church tomorrow - I never thought I'd need my Spanish at this new church we've been attending. But here I go.

Loved ones who show up as life winds down and death approaches.

Loved ones who show up at the end of life to remember the good times with survivors.

The ones who don't wait until the end, but show up all along the journey.

The opportunity to show up in other people's lives to encourage them along their own rocky journeys.

Reconnecting with a friend I met during my first year of teaching, a friend in need of prayer and support as she faces the challenges of parenting teenagers.

Laughing through our tears as we talked. 

Honoring the fact that, "Parenting is no joke."

Eating, drinking, walking, and enjoying the beauty of life. 

Women and men who learn to cook so well and are willing to share their gifts with the world.

Sharing time with family and friends.

Celebrating health, academic success, friendship, and love.

Road trips. Safety in travel.

My courageous friends who are in Haiti right now.

Trips planned with Steve and the kids. 

Solo trips yet to be planned.

This awesome video, reminding us that every little bit we do can make a difference. 

Jen Lemen, who provided the link to that video and so many links to so much joy and courage over the years.

This simple reminder that life is not meant to be simply one chore, one obligation after the other. 

There is room for happiness, joy, grace, love, and laughter. 

There is room for food, for drinks, for movement, and for faith.

There is room for choice, for choosing life, choosing forgiveness, choosing peace.

There is also room for sorrow, crying, suffering and death.

In fact, since we will inevitably deal with this last bit, then we have more reason than ever to make room, time, and energy for all the goodness of life that comes before it. 

It is a life and death thing, a life-then-death thing - so let's live with the greatest joy and deepest gratitude that we can muster. 

Solemn Saturday

In between the darkness of Maundy Thursday, the sorrow of Good Friday, and the glory of Easter morning is this day that almost never gets talked about. Solemn Saturday. Silent Saturday. Sad Saturday. The healer, the miracle worker, the one who walked on water, the one who fed thousands, was dead and buried. Gone.

Mary Magdalene and some of her friends had prepared to go back to the tomb the following day in order to properly deal with the body of their slain leader. One question they had was, "Who is going to move the stone from the entrance of the tomb?"

Which makes me ponder all the times I've asked a very similar question.
The times we all have.
Who is going to roll away the stone of fear?
The stone of disappointment?
The stone of disillusionment?
The stone of difficult relationships?
The stone of financial hardship?
The stone of divorce?
The stone of children in crisis?
The stone of unemployment?
The stone of bankruptcy?
The stone of kanswer and other illnesses?
The stone of loneliness?
The stone of bulimia and anorexia?
The stone of addiction?
The stone of perfectionism?
The stone of expecting that all those stones will be rolled away once and for all?

I've spent far too many days and nights sitting outside of the tombs of dead things and dead relationships in my life. Shed many tears. Pleaded for mercy and healing and grace and strength. And hoped and prayed for someone to come along and move the stone. I am fully aware that I can't move the big ones. I can't even budge them. Solemn days. Solemn nights.

But I am grateful that I can sit outside of those tombs with family and friends and other co-travelers on this life journey of mine and wait together for the One who was laid behind the stone 2000+ years ago to show up again and move the stones that are separating me from all that I am meant to have and be, all that I am meant to experience and rejoice in, all that He is and all that He has in store for me, for you, and for all people everywhere.

Somebody said, "Sometimes all you have to do is show up at the tomb with burial spices in hand in order to see a miracle."

Good, terrible, holy Friday has come and gone.
Solemn, silent, sorrowful Saturday is upon us.
But, hallelujah, Sunday is coming!
Hope is coming.
Love is coming.
Peace is coming.
New life is coming.
Just a few more hours until the celebration will begin again.

Thankful Thursday - the saddest Thursday of all

Just got home from church, the Maundy Thursday service. It is a somber remembrance of the night when Jesus shared the Passover Feast with his disciples, washed their feet, prayed to be delivered from the horror of the cross, but ultimately laid down his life for those he loved. Which is all of us.

As the service progressed, as readings were done and songs were sung, the lights in the sanctuary and the candles on the communion table were extinguished. By the end of the service, we were sitting in utter darkness and complete silence. Somber indeed.

And yet, even in the darkness, even in the silence, even in the loneliness of abandonment and the shame of betrayal, even when hope seems to be extinguished along with the candles, I am thankful.

I am thankful for the community of faith of which I am a part.
I am thankful for the gift of communion, and the relationships that exist around the table.
I am thankful for the bread and the cup, the simple and profound reminders of that terrible night.

I am thankful for the silence of the tomb on Saturday, the day on which I will spend time in silence, remembering, praying, reading the stations of the cross, and preparing for the happiest day of all.
I am thankful for the promise of new life, of eternal life, and I am grateful that it has already begun.

I am grateful for the fact that a year ago tomorrow (Friday, April 19, 2013), I went in for surgery and came out boobless, wombless, and kaswer-free.
I am grateful for how great I feel right now.
I am grateful for the ways in which kanswer has awakened me to the glory of life and love, the gift of friendship and family, and the luxury of laughter and good health.
I am grateful for every day that I have ever lived and every day I am yet to live.

I am thankful for tears and sorrow because they cause the joy and celebration to be that much more profound.

I am thankful for pain and illness because they cause me to take my health more seriously.

I am thankful for darkness and silence because they draw my attention to the Living Word and the Light of the World, in whom there is no darkness at all.

Years ago, I heard a sermon given by Tony Campolo in which I heard for the first time:
"It's Friday, but Sunday's coming."
In this case, it's almost Friday, but thanks be to God - Sunday is coming!!!

Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.

The End of the Journey

Earlier today, I read on facebook about a beautiful woman named Gwyn who recently left the hospital to go spend her last days on earth surrounded by family and friends in the comfort of her own bed. I hope and pray that she isn't in pain or afraid.

I hate reading stuff like that. We all do.

I don't even know Gwyn or Steve, her husband, but I know someone who does. The someone I know asked us to keep Gwyn in our thoughts and prayers - and of course I will. Even without knowing her, I am sad that she is coming to the end of her life journey.

Whenever any of us hear that someone is near the end, we are stunned a little and saddened a lot. We all know we're gonna die sometime and we know everyone else is gonna die too. But the younger the person affected or the closer the person is to our age, the more "real" it feels, the more devastating, the more sobering.

I can't decide if I think it is a good thing or a bad thing to know the end is so near, to go through a series of "lasts" - this is the last time I will go to the supermarket, to ride in the car, to see this friend, to eat this meal. This is the last time we will make love or celebrate our birthdays, our anniversary, and go to church. This is it - and I know it.

I hope that knowledge would make me embrace and enjoy every day with greater attention and alertness. I hope it would make me more grateful for all the days I have lived, all the love I have known, and all the joys I have experienced.


This week is the most important week of the year for me on my faith journey. This is the week that I will focus on the end of the journey of Jesus of Nazareth.

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, the day of the parade given in Jesus' honor. The pastor at church described that parade in a way I'd never heard before: the formerly lame people that Jesus had healed were probably dancing in the crowd. The formerly blind people were making eye contact with the one who had restored their sight. The former lepers mingled freely in the crowds. The girl who had been raised from the dead was probably there, celebrating and welcoming the one who given her new life. To that list, I would add Lazarus, also recently raised from the dead. And some of the people he had recently fed were feasting on his presence and the praise that he so richly deserved. I bet those people were thinking about all the days they had spent with their Teacher, the meals they had shared with their Rabbi, the miracles their Healer had performed in their lives and in the lives of those they loved.

And all the while, he knew what was coming. He knew he was less than a week from the end of his life. That he was soon going to be taking his last walk through the garden of Gethesemane. His last time in the temple teaching. His last conversation with his mother. His last supper with his disciples. His last moments - carrying the cross, being nailed to that cross, bleeding and dying. The end of his journey was not going to be surrounded by friends, sipping cool water, numbed to the pain by morphine and sleeping pills in the comfort of his own home and bed.

I shudder with every reading of the story of what happened to Jesus during his last week. The betrayal. The denial. The arrest. The mockery. I hated watching The Passion of the Christ and seeing such a graphic depiction of what happened this upcoming weekend. So much pain, so much suffering, so much disdain, so much sorrow. Even though I know that "the end of the journey" was not the end of the story, I still weep when I ponder the horror of that final day.

Sometimes I still cry when I think about the dark and painful moments I endured during kanswer treatment. Sometimes I cry when I ponder the possibility of kanswer returning and having to go through another round with that dreadful disease. I know that I too will someday be in my final week. It may be due to kanswer or some other illness. I may be an accident or a fire. I do not have any idea. But the time will come when I will take my final walk up the street, my final trip to Spain, my final time with friends, and my last supper.

But I also rejoice, truly I can smile through my tears, when I think of the countless blessings I have had in my life, when I list the many things I am grateful for, when I think of all the people I have loved and have loved me, and when I think of all that is yet to come, between now and my own walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Most of all, I rejoice when I remember that, if God is true to God's Word (as I have come to understand it), then the end of my journey will not be the end of the story.

But still...

I wish Gwyn traveling mercies on this final leg of her life pilgrimage. I will pray for her and her family, for peace, for comfort, for love, for everything she needs and wants from now until the end of the journey. I will pray the same for you and for me too.

Do you see what I see?

As I look around me these days, I see signs of new life. The sun is rising earlier and staying up later, warming both the earth and its inhabitants. Flowers are in bloom. Trees are sprouting leaves of all colors and sizes. I've been able to get outside to take long walks, to listen to the birds, to stare into the bright Carolina skies, and to take deep breaths of pollen laden air.

Speaking of pollen, until about four hours ago, my car was covered with it. Last Wednesday night, as I stood and talked to a dear friend, she nervously tapped her fingertips on the hood of my car. A couple of days later, her fingerprints were eerily visible, highlighted by the pollen that seemed to fill every ridge. Today, I finally washed her fingerprints and that film of flower sperm from my car. And then I had a serious sneezing fit.

As I sneezed and blew my nose, I also gave thanks for the fact that all that pollen and all that sneezing are signs of transformation, of resurrection, of new life. Winter is behind us. The dried, cracked earth has softened and baby buds are breaking through. Worms are making their appearance after rainy days. Trees that were barren and brown for the past four months are now pink and white and red and green. Shadows fall over previously uncovered sidewalks and streets. Tiny yellow-green inch warms are bungee-jumping from branches down onto passing vehicles and pedestrians. My little doggie doesn't run for the garage door as soon as she's done "doing her business" anymore. Nor do I.

What else is in bloom around here? Hope. Hope for a strong finish to the school year for my two children. Hope for longer days and quieter nights. Hope for healing for a woman I know who was recently diagnosed with kanswer and will begin chemo afte Easter. Hope for a dear friend who is dealing with her step-father's death and her mother's grief. Hope for a rekindled friendship. Hope for answers to the questions my soul keeps asking. Hope for an inspiring and encouraging visit with my daughter this weekend. Hope for good health and a long life. Hope for strength and grace and the ability to forgive. Hope for new and deepening friendships. Hope for laughter, love, joy, and peace for all people everywhere.

Joy is also in bloom. Joy at the news of one baby's safe arrival and another one on the way. Joy at the news of a friend's daughter who is overcoming her anxiety. Joy at the birth of a book now available in paperback. Joy because of a married couple's reconnection after years of marital malaise. Joy at the frequency of academic breakthroughs and the growing confidence in his study skills. Joy at being discovered by distant and long-lost friends on Facebook. Joy at making new connections through this blog. Joy at setting up dinner, lunch, and coffee dates with friends. Joy at a lively communion service on Sunday night. Joy because Easter is only eleven days away.

Newborn hope.
Newfound joy.
Newness of life.

In the yard, in the trees, in the flowers,
in life, in love, in friendships,
in conversation, in connection,
in prayer, in silence, and in gratitude,
there is so much beauty.

Do you see what I see?

This Little Life of Mine - My Messy Beautiful

So there's a huge thing happening over at Momastery these days. She has invited bloggers to share stories of their "Messy, Beautiful." Their messy, beautiful lives, that is. And a lot of women have posted links to their blogs and to their stories. I've peeked at her wall of writers a few times today - a lot of messiness and even more beauty. Cuz like I've said for years, "Everybody's got something."

There's something wrong with my daughter's car, something I don't want to pay $400 to fix, but I realize that that's a far cheaper price than buying a new car.

There's a crack in our kitchen counter - and water is running down into the wood of the cabinets beneath.

The umbrella on our deck table broke in the last snow storm, and the broken pieces are still out there.

The wood of the deck is rotting... again.

We need to paint and replace and repair and renovate many baseboards and walls and window sills and the kitchen back splash and the tiles in our shower.

The carpets need to be replaced, but I may have to settle for just getting them professionally cleaned. I'm a little bit afraid to rip it up... only heaven knows what the floorboards look like underneath.

I dealt with kanswer a little over a year ago.

My daughter had a serious health challenge of her own a few years back.

My father died of lung kanswer, and my mother still mourns for him, thirteen years later.

One brother is dealing with the devastation left in the wake of chronic illness.

My other two brothers still live with the fallout of divorce.

Their children wonder what the heck happened and why???

Broken bones. Fractured bones.

Broken promises. Broken hearts.

The list goes on and on and on. I've seen a lot of pain and suffering wash through my own life - and everybody else's as well.


But here's the thing - this little life of mine still shines.
There's lentil soup simmering on the stove on this rainy Monday afternoon.
There are bananas, lemons, limes, clementines, mangoes, and a cantaloupe on the counter.

My husband is talking to his colleagues on the telephone.
My son is upstairs watching English premier league soccer on television.
My daughter is working her way through her university studies with determination - most of the time -  and tears - some of the time. (But isn't that the way we are all making out way through our messy, beautiful lives?)
My kids still like to talk to me and hang out with me - even though they are 20 and 17 years of age.

My double mastectomy scars are smooth and straight.
The lump that my chemo port used to create under my skin has disappeared.
My hair won't stop growing - now that I want to keep it short.
I'm getting more flexible with yoga and stronger with jogging.
My bifocals are helping me see a world I didn't know was out there.
The folks at my church welcome me with open arms every time I darken the door.
The seniors at Plantation Estates keep inviting me to come back and tell them more about what I understand about the Bible and to cry in front of them.
Some lovely latina ladies also seem to like watching this Americana use her Spanish-from-Spain lisp to share stories of this life journey of mine and how I've been turned upside down and inside out by the craziest story of virgin birth, miracles, love, life, death, and resurrection the world has ever heard.

Cuz if Jesus really was God and came to earth to live and die for us, if Jesus really did restore sight to the blind, talk to that lonely woman at the well, reach out and touch lepers and dead bodies and cast out demons from one of my favorite Bible characters, Mary Magdalene, then there is a really good chance that Jesus loves me too. That Jesus isn't afraid to reach out and touch me through the hands and words of doctors, nurses, friends, neighbors, as well as my husband and children. That my story isn't yet over, that joy and hope and peace and healing and wholeness and love will eventually win. Love always wins.

The truth is that I've faced down a few demons of my own - the demon of the fear of thunderstorms (I no longer hide in closets or crawl down the hallway to check on my children as I used to), the demon of the fear of death (we're all gonna die, so who am I to think I might be the exception to that rule?), the demon of worry about my husband and children's health (we've had so many great years together in mostly excellent health, so why do I worry about the future?), the demon of wishing I could live someone else's life (I would choose Mirka Federer, Roger's wife... except for the rumor that she is currently pregnant with a second set of twins), the demon of jealousy (did I mention that SHE makes all of her own clothes and SHE makes such awesome artwork and HE gets to travel all over the world whenever he wants to), and the demon of comparison (look at all HER blog readers and all of HIS friends and all of THEIR money in the bank) to name a few. Plus if kanswer isn't a demon, then I don't know what is! Certainly, those demons still lurk in the corners of my heart. As long as I'm alive, there will be battles for my heart and mind, body and soul; it's a part of this life's journey.

Yes, this little life of mine is raw and fragile,
broken and cracked,
lovely and lonely,
faithfull and doubtfull,
hopeful and joyful,
scarred and healed,
perfectly imperfect,
evergreen and also on its way to its inevitable conclusion,
messy and beautiful.

This little life of mine, it's the only one I will ever have,
so I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it SHINE.

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

It's Saturday - how could I not be thankful?

This morning, I woke up without an alarm and lingered in bed for a while, looking at the ceiling, enjoying the prospect of several hours without any plans or any company. Steve left early this morning to drive up and visit Kristiana for the day. Daniel spent the night at a friend's house. So I was left alone with the little doggie to find ways to enjoy this glorious spring morning.

I am thankful for -

* the sandwich made of an egg, whole grain bread, pesto veganaise and spring mix that I made myself for breakfast
* the green tea latte with coconut milk
* the brief walk I took with Maya
* talking to a neighbor for a few minutes at the end of the block
* the long walk I took to the library
* the many prayers and thoughts that passed through my mind as I walked
* phone conversations with my daughter and my dear friend as I walked
* how patient the librarians were with the mentally disabled man who was talking to them as I entered the library and was still talking to them when I left fifteen minutes later
* watching these two videos of the cutest and funniest couple I think I've ever seen (one and two) (I so wish I could be their friend.)
* Mimi, the woman in those videos, and how she inspires me to sew simple and beautiful dresses and skirts
* a green smoothie with mixed greens, mango, watermelon, almonds, flax seeds, water, and orange juice
* vegan chocolate chip cookies
* final preparations for a talk I will give tonight for a women's gathering at a Spanish-speaking church
* an invitation to speak at a conference for Spanish-speaking women this August
* the fact that both my husband and my daughter (in separate conversations) laughed heartily when I told them that I've been asked to speak on being a submissive woman
* the knowledge that I will NOT be giving the talk they expect me to give cuz submission is not the same as obedience or silence or weakness or inequality - and that is what a lot of women, myself included, have heard for most of our church-going lives
* remembering the brief time I spent on my church's women's retreat last weekend (where there was absolutely NO discussion of submission!)
* having nearly four months to get ready for that talk
* the warm weather during these past few days
* fans, air conditioning, and dehumidifiers
* irises beginning to grow and daffodils already fully grown
* my son getting the green light to get back to playing tennis after having to take five weeks off due to the beginning stages of a stress fracture in his wrist
* Dr. Rainbow, the sports medicine doctor that we found on our health insurance website, who treated Daniel and the fact that she herself played college tennis so she understood the rigors of his training and how difficult but necessary it was for him to take time off
* her bubbly, humorous, and gentle spirit - how can you be anything but sunny and kind when your last name is Rainbow?
* how well she and Daniel got along during his visits
* being asked to make someone an infinity scarf and finally finding a fabric I think she will like
* the birth of a son to a friend of mine out in Arizona - YAY, Mel, Andy, Liv and Locke!!!
* the wedding invitation that arrived this week - it would appear that my nieces and nephews are full grown adults.
* how clicking on the wrong box on the template of my blog turned into a new look once I realized that I couldn't figure out how to go back to the previous look
* how many times my mistakes and bad choices have worked out in the end
* the hope that those that haven't been resolved or worked out yet eventually will
* so many opportunities to live vicariously through other people's photos and stories - friends who recently went to Rome and London, someone who is wedding planning and shopping in Atlanta this weekend, Pinterest, others who are working on their second books, someone who is about to go back to work as a flight attendant after taking time off, and also the great stuff I find on youtube
* tear-soaked conversations sealed with hugs and kisses
* the awesome quote I found this week that said something like - "the percentage of the time that I have survived terrible days is 100%."
* being able to look back at where I was a year ago right now - awaiting a date for surgery, watching and waiting for my hair to regrow, being thrilled that chemo was behind me - and having my eyes still fill with tears of gratitude for life and health, for hospitals and operating room dance parties (why didn't I think of doing that?), for celebrations of life even at the moment of facing one's mortality
* memories of this week's miracles: coffee dates, dinner dates, an invitation to the theater, going for a walk with a neighbor, walking through Target with my husband, walking through the mall with my son, fantastic sales going on at Harris Teeter (I do love going to the supermarket), much laughter, many times of prayer, hours of writing and reading, and lots of delicious food
* for Easter morning sunrise services and Easter hymns
* for the power of resurrection, new life, surprise visits, and hope in the wake of darkness, fear, silence, and death

Thankful Thursday - Things I have loved in this unfair and beautiful world

Another excellent piece of advice from the book I mentioned yesterday,
Survival Lessons, is this: Choose the Evidence. 
Write it down. Even if it's a few sentences. Because you won't remember.
You think you will never forget, but you will. Write down your life story
or a poem. Sometimes shorter is better. Make a list of what all you have 
loved in this unfair and beautiful world. Fireflies. Blue herons. Fresh coffee.
Manhattan as dusk. The man waiting in the other room. The woman
with dark eyes. 

So today, I'm gonna share a partial list of a few things and people and places I have loved in this life of mine. This list fits in with Thankful Thursday, right?

* Pistachios and cashews and pumpkin seeds
* the library
* journals and pens and watercolor paper
* candles and incense
* riding the bus and the subway, especially in foreign cities
* walking through airports
* wearing a backpack
* trips that require a passport
* seeing women with babies in slings and other close carriers
* redheads
* being pregnant and nursing my own babies
* vegan chocolate chip cookies from Karen's recipe
* every single place I have ever lived
* the movie "The English Patient"
* movie - Out of Africa
* movie - The Apostle
* movie - When a Man Loves a Woman
* cardio funk classes with Andre and his cardio crazies
* automatic dishwashers
* Eileen Fisher clothing, especially when it's on sale
* yoga
* long walks on warm days
* making love
* dancing
* car rides of all lengths
* wandering through museums, especially the Prado in Madrid
* scarves and mittens
* holding hands
* singing and listening to hymns
* teaching
* eating candy and other goodies with my Dad
* watching Karen's children being born
* pineapple: cutting it open and devouring it
* oatmeal with blueberries and mango
* green smoothies
* going to the zoo
* ancient cathedrals
* taking communion
* watching baptisms
* Madrid, Sevilla, Barcelona, Roma, Firenze, Siena, Orvieto, Bologna
* those old records, The Bible in Living Sound, that I listened to as a child
* hot showers, clean hair, shaved legs
* swimming pools
* riding a bike on the beach at Hilton Head
* watching television
* Roger Federer
* Serena Williams
* Peyton Manning
* planning trips
* getting email and snail mail
* hearing good news
* caller ID on my cell phone and our house phone
* laughter, belly laughs
* babysitting
* learning new things
* being a student
* when people ask me how I'm doing and really want to know the answer
* solitude and silence and prayer
* Caravaggio's paintings
* recognizing and being able to identify paintings and their creators
* ripe bananas
* watching track and field meets and the memories of when I was a runner
* reading to my children
* bacon and sausage and pepperoni
* Reese's peanut butter cups and Snickers bars
* Cherry Coke and Pepsi and Diet Dr. Pepper
* sweet tea, Southern style
* balsamic glaze from Trader Joe's
* their Sublime ice cream sandwiches
* Menchie's frozen yogurt
* going to the movies with Steve or Kristiana or Heather or Antonio
* knowledgeable and enthusiastic tour guides who also happen to be great friends
* Hindi movies
* almond butter and peanut butter
* daffodils and irises in the spring
* screened in porches
* bungalows on tree-lined streets
* swings, in playgrounds and backyards
* blue corn chips with mango salsa
* Anne Lamott
* Sue Monk Kidd
* Henri Nouwen
* Alice Walker
* Rebecca Walker
* Barbara Brown Taylor
* bookshelves filled to overflowing
* sleeping late on Saturday mornings
* staying in my pajamas all day
* lifting weights
* being remembered
* being loved
* being invited to speak or teach
* thank you notes, sending them and receiving them
* India Arie
* Kevin Hart
* Oprah's Super Soul Sunday show
* Huey Lewis and the News
* James Taylor
* Gavin Degraw
* outdoor concerts during the summer
* hugs and kisses
* olive oil and balsamic vinegar on salads
* veggie burgers, lemon drop martinis, and key lime pie from 131 Main
* running into friends unexpectedly
* making plans to meet up with friends
* paper towels and cloth napkins
* water with lemon
* synchronicity
* the way in which my pulse and my breathing slow down when I make lists like this.

Gratitude and love and contentment and joy seem to grow together in bunches.

Sometimes when I make these lists, I include the same things and people more than once. I guess I love those things and people a lot. The things that I am grateful for and the people and places I have loved come to mind frequently and repeatedly. I have so much to be grateful for. And I'm enormously grateful for that fact.

Sometimes when I think about my favorite things, I wonder if my tastes are too simple and ordinary. Then I remember - these are my pleasures and they certainly aren't too simple for me. And by no means are they ordinary.

Here's an example of why I say that: when I think about all the stories that have to coincide, all the details that have to come together perfectly, all the people who have to be at exactly the right place at the right time in order for key lime pie to be made at my favorite restaurant and brought to my table, I am moved nearly to tears.

Buy the land. Cultivate the land. Raise chickens and harvest their eggs. Grow the key limes. Grow the sugar. Grow the wheat to make the crust. Harvest it. Process it. Ship it. Distribute it. Measure it. Bake it. Cut it. Someplace else in the world, plates are made. So are forks and knives and ovens and baking tins. Someplace else, chefs are trained, recipes are created, and restaurants are established. Then somebody creates a menu, hires cooks and bakers, trains the servers, and makes sure that there are enough of all of the above to keep the pies coming. See what I mean?

Is there really such a thing as "a simple pleasure?"
Or is every moment, every meal, every encounter, every conversation
truly a series of inconceivable and inexplicable miracles?

As I ponder that final question, I'm gonna eat a few clementines.
Isn't fresh fruit simply fabulous?

Survival Lessons

On a recent trip to the library, (Have I mentioned how much I love going to the library?) I found a book by Alice Hoffman called Survival Lessons. I liked the brief synopsis on the book flap and it was a small book so I figured I would bring it home and see what it was all about. I like small books - silly little admission, I know, but it's true.

From the book flap - Survival Lessons provides a road map of how to reclaim your life from this day forward, with ways to reenvision everything - from relationships with friends and family to the way you see yourself. As Alice Hoffman says, "In many ways I wrote Survival Lessons to remind myself of the beauty of life, something that's all too easy to overlook during the crisis of illness or loss. I forgot that our lives are made up of equal parts of sorrow and joy, and that it is impossible to have one without the other. I wrote to remind myself that despite everything that was happening to me, there were still choices I could make." Wise, gentle and wry, Alice Hoffman teaches all of us how to choose what matters most.

Of course, I was reminded of my kanswer journey - of the lessons I learned about sorrow and happiness, beauty and baldness, laughter and tears, and how to choose hope, joy, and peace in the face of surgery, chemo, and hot flashes.

We do not always have a choice about what happens to us, but we always have a choice about how we will respond to what happens to us. And every time we choose bitterness, anger, complaining, and resentment, we also get to change our minds - and choose joy, forgiveness, acceptance, and to take deep breaths until all that stuff passes.

When I found myself battling fear, wrestling with doubts about how strong I didn't think I was,
when I find myself battling fear now, wrestling with doubts about how strong I still don't feel,
when I find myself dealing with jealousy, worry, disappointment,
I knew then and I know now that I have a choice.
I have many choices.

Here's what I found on the page between the Preface and the first chapter.
"There is always a before and an after.
My advice, travel light.
Choose only what you need most to see you through."

Before and after the doubt,
before and after the apprehension,
before and after the angst,
before and after the pain,
before and after every step I take,
I can choose what I will carry into the next phase of my journey.

Alice Hoffman's book reminded me - and reminds all of us - of some of the things that we get to choose even in the face of breast kanswer - which she also battled. Here are a few of the lessons she included in her list of lively little book -

* Choose your heroes - she described a friend about who battled kanswer this way: "She, herself, remained the same beautiful person she'd always been, with or without hair. You could take one look at her face and know she understood joy. In a last card to me, she wrote: Life is beautiful, just very unfair."

May that be said of more of us - that one look at our faces will reveal that we understand joy.
May more of us accept the truth of her final statement - life is so very beautiful, and so very unfair.

* Choose to enjoy yourself - "Start by eating chocolate," she suggests. "In fact, if you can, eat whatever you want. Any time. Any place. Cook your dream dinner."

Certainly that suggestion won't sit well with some people for very good reasons, but there is definitely a lot to be said for choosing to eat things we love and love what we eat. For choosing to enjoy our meals, our friendships, our conversations, our bodies, our relationships, the beauty of spring, and even the wildness of the weather. I choose to be grateful. I choose to be joyfull.

* About friends, she writes this - "If people aren't there for you now, when you really need them, they never will be, and it's time to move on. You'll be amazed by how many new friends you have in the after. They'll be the ones who aren't afraid of sorrow, who know we can't avoid it. The best we can do is face it together."

The first part of that description is sad, but true. Some folks that used to be good friends, that used to regularly check in with me, stopped doing so when I got sick. I am sorry to have lost contact with them. I wish them well. I wish them peace.

The good news is that I have many old friends and a few new ones that I met during the darkest time of my life who have flooded my life with light and laughter. Friends who aren't afraid of my tears or their own. Friends who are committed to facing their own battles bravely and willing to walk alongside me as I face my own with whatever bravery I can muster.

Enjoying life day by day, hour by hour,
spending time with friends, talking and looking up to my heroes,
eating chocolate every now and then, drinking tea and kombucha and fresh juices,
doing yoga, lifting weights, going for long, meditative walks
reading, journaling, sewing, painting, baking,
spending time in solitude and silence and prayer,
being honest with myself about how I'm feeling, what I need, and what I want,
asking for help, for support, for forgiveness, for a hug, and for time with my loved ones,
reclaiming every aspect of my life and also giving it over more fully to God,
these are a few of joys I have chosen and the lessons I have learned.

PS. I choose more than survival. I choose to thrive.

Not that it was any of her business...

Yesterday, I did some shopping at Trader Joe's. I love that story. It is my favorite supermarket.

I arrived at the register and discovered yet another super friendly cashier, as nearly all the employees tend to be. There was one young woman who used to work there who managed to never say "hello" to me. Now that may not be a big deal in some supermarkets, but in Trader Joe's that is a rarity. That chick used to greet everybody around me and near me, but look away and never even acknowledge my presence. I have no idea what that was about. But once I made the intentional decision to ask her for help finding something. She had to talk to me then. I haven't seen her much lately. Perhaps Trader Joe's was too friendly a place for her.

Back to yesterday's story. I got to the cash register and she started unloading and scanning my stuff. She asked if I just really liked carrots or was I going to juice them?
Not that it was any of her business.
I told her I was going to juice them.

Then she pulled the two packs of bacon out of my carriage.
With a judgmental and sarcastic tone, she inquired: "Juice with a side of bacon?"
Huh?
I said, "The bacon is for my son."
Which it is... mostly. He loves bacon. I do to.
The packs only have eight slices, so he eats five or six and I eat two or three.

She asked how old he is.
I told her, "He's 17."
She continued, "So he's old enough to eat everything."
"Yup, he sure is."
Not that it was any of her business.

I have thought a lot about that conversation since it happened.
Why did she have to use such a judgmental tone?
Why did I care what she thought?

What on earth is wrong with drinking a juice and having "a side of bacon"?
Isn't it better to have a juice if I'm gonna eat bacon?
Not that it was any of her business.
It's my story. It's my body. It's my choice.

Why am I still stewing over her comments and questions?
Why expend so much mental and emotional energy on such a small exchange?
Why do I care so much what she thought or whether or not that other employee spoke to me?

It is because I, like everyone else, want to be seen, to be heard, to be loved, to be accepted as I am. I don't want to be ignored or belittled, judged or dismissed. I want my choices to be accepted and trusted as well-thought out and, even if they are not, they are my choices to make. What I decide to eat or wear, think or believe, read or write is up to me. It's between me and God, me and my sweet Momma Jesus, me and the ones with whom I choose to share myself, my heart, my thoughts, my fears, my doubts, my inconsistencies, and my questions.

I hope that the next time someone asks me if I'm having a juice with a side of bacon,
if I'm gonna be teaching a Sunday School class about contentment to women AND men,
if I'm gonna keep my hair short even though some say that "long hair is a womans's crowning glory,"
if I'm upset with or embarrassed by the decisions and choices my children make in their lives,
if I'm afraid to die or afraid to live,
I hope I will be courageous enough to say, "Yes" or "No" with strength, courage, determination, and without apology, explanation, or any sense of embarrassment.
Not that it is anybody else's business!

Thankful Thursday

So much to give thanks for today.

* Spring has sprung around here with trees in bright bloom, daffodils bending in the breeze and warming temperatures predicted over the next three days. I plan to get out for a few long walks.
* Rain, long-lasting, earth-soaking rains.
* Two excellent college visits in the past ten days with my son.
* Confirmation that homeschooling as gone well over the years and that he is very close to be ready for college.
* Safe travel, not only to the colleges we've visited, but also back and forth to the supermarket, to church, to doctor's appointments, to pick Kristiana up for spring break, taking her back to school, and everywhere else we have gone, ever.
* An enjoyable and busy week with my daughter when she was home for spring break last week.
* How well the four-month follow up visit with my oncologist went on Monday.
* Seeing the nurses in the chemo treatment room and getting warm hugs from two of them.

* The pleasure of wearing clothes that I have made. (Have I mentioned that I have learned how to make infinity scarves, maxi skirts, and maxi dresses? What a challenge and what fun!)
* Teaching my daughter to make skirts for herself as well.
* The fact that my son still likes when I read to him - at he's 17.
* Emails that let me know that I am being thought of and that this blog is affecting the lives of other people. (Thanks so much, MM.)
* The promise of a few days alone - time to write, to read, to eat whatever I want and not have to feed anybody else, to sleep late, to go for walks, to do a solo Lenten retreat, to paint, to prepare for upcoming teaching and speaking engagements... but also to not overplan.
* Opportunities to do what I love so much - teach and lead groups in prayer and Bible study.
* Finding great uses for coconut oil and baking soda and hydrogen peroxide in my cleaning and beauty routines. Sometimes the simplest stuff is the best and most effective stuff.
* Fresh juices, cold water, clay face masks, pedicures, and sugar and salt scrubs.

* Glowing, healthy skin.
* Bifocals - yes, I've graduated to wearing bifocals.
* Being able to afford new glasses for myself and my daughter.
* Laughing at how much I can see now. We have really high quality televisions in this house. The images on the screens aren't as fuzzy as I thought they were. I realize that I couldn't even see myself clearly in the mirror before, but now I can. I once was blurry-eyed, but now I see.
* Laughter - I love to laugh.
* The courageous people I know who are taking on big issues and dealing with all the flak related to their choices to stand up for the oppressed and stand up against bullies. Like Anthony and Toni trying to get the people of Salisbury involved in local politics. Like Glennon encouraging all parents to see the giftedness and strengths of their children. Like Kathy out in Colorado who is working with folks who are often left out on the margins of faith communities. Those who are working to free slaves and prostitutes. Those who are working with refugees and immigrants here in the States and also in war-torn parts of the world. Those who provide health care, malaria nets, and food to those in need.
* The book that has taken me to a deeper, more meaningful, potentially life-changing way of writing. More than journaling, it is called Writing Down Your Soul. I bought it in Asheville back in January and I'm slowly working through it. Truthfully, it is working through me.
* How getting new glasses and seeing my physical world more clearly has lent itself to the recognition that there are many things in my spiritual, emotional, marital, parental, and relational life that I haven't seen clearly for a long time. Having to decide that I can act on these new insights. Deciding on what changes I want and need to make. Looking forward to those changes and their impact on my life.

What I think about when I'm on the road

About an hour and a half ago, my son and I arrived back at home after going on a college visit trip. It was a two hour drive from here to one of the state universities of the great state of North Carolina. I love to travel - whether it is to Spain, New York, Italy, or a mid-sized city here in my home state.

As we made our way home, my mind pondered dozens of questions.

* Who was the person who came up with the idea of highways?
* How many millions of trees had to be cut down in order to make highways?
* How many houses had to be demolished?
* How many farms were dismantled so that we could have roads to drive on?
* Who decided where the roads would be?
* How the heck do they build exit ramps and those amazingly tall and strong pilings that hold up the roadways?
* What is it like to be a construction worker with cars flying past you at excessive speeds all day?
* Who decided to plant wildflower seeds along the highway?
* Why do people throw garbage out of their cars and trucks onto the highway?
* Why do smokers think that it's okay to throw their lit cigarette butts out onto the highway?
* Who thought it was a good idea to put fake branches on cell phone towers?
* Am I the only one who thinks that cruise control was one of the best inventions in automobiles in many years?
* How much fun must it be to lay down the lane markings and those little reflector thingies on the road? To sit on the back of the truck and guide that paint gun thing?
* What does it feel like to be involved in the production of a street, a road, a highway, and know that countless cars will make their way to countless destinations because of your hard work?
* Who came up with the idea of making runaway truck ramps? And after a truck uses one, how does it get out of that deep sand?
* What happened to bring speed limits into being?
* How fast would people drive if there weren't any posted limits?
* When the speed limit is 70 mph, why do people feel the need to drive faster than that?
* How many people drove off of roads and hills before somebody invented and installed guard rails?
* When I see skid marks go from one lane off onto the shoulder, I wonder: What happened? Was there an accident? Is that person okay?
* Twelve days ago, when Kristiana and I were on the road, we saw two four-car accidents within half a mile from each other. I definitely wondered and still wonder: how the heck did that happen, two such serious accidents so close to one another?
* When did my son grow old enough to be looking at colleges?
* How is it possible that I was a freshman in college 30 years ago right now?
* How many more road trips will I get to take in my life?
* How many more wonder-filled places will I get to explore?
* Will I continue to appreciate and be grateful for the wonder of travel and of road trips?

One year later...

Which was brighter - the sunlight or the glare off my forehead?

One year ago tonight, I was recovering from my final round of chemotherapy.
One year later, I am recovering from running errands all day with my children.

One year ago tonight, I was looking ahead to a week of aches and pains and exhaustion.
One year later, the only aches and pains I deal with are after working out.

One year ago tonight, I was figuring out how long I would have to wait until surgery.
One year later, my chest is as flat as a 12-year-old boy, the scars are healed, and I'm still glad I didn't have reconstructive surgery.

Thank you, everybody, for not telling me how puffy my face was.

One year ago tonight, I ordered my tickets to go to Spain in the fall.
One year later, that trip is behind me and I'm already dreaming about the next one.

I sure did!

I remember lying in bed three or four days after the first round of chemotherapy in November of 2012. I was in agony. Every joint ached. My mouth was sore. My head hurt. It felt like all systems were down or on their way there. I remember thinking, "If every round is worse than this, I am not going to survive six rounds." Over the next two weeks, I researched side effects and effective remedies for those side effects on the internet. I asked friends and nurses and anyone who seemed like they might know anything about chemotherapy. By the time the sixth round began, I was a pro at chemo. I knew when to take the right pain relief, when to take sleeping pills, when to eat and drink, when to give in and give over to the waves of exhaustion and just rest.

If you're gonna be bald, you may as well be fiercely bald.

I learned about taking claritin to relieve the aches and pain. The oncologist and the nurses don't know why it works, but it does. I can testify to that.

I learned about mouthwashes that relieve chemo-mouth. Who knew there was such a thing as chemo-mouth? I sure didn't.

I learned about the love, loyalty, and wonder of good friends and caring family members.

I learned that baldness is pretty awesome, that water feels amazing on a bald head, and that there are a lot of great hats in the world.

I learned that hot flashes are real!

I learned to savor and appreciate the ordinary details of life - from the comfort of a robe and slippers, to the deliciousness of my neighbor's matzo ball soup and banana bread, to the smiles of cashiers at the supermarket, to the beauty of the full moon, to the miracles that medicine, chiropractic adjustments, supplements, healthy food, kombucha tea, filtered water, Juice Plus capsules, and prayer can produce.

My most recent haircut. Yup, I'm keeping my hair short. No more locs for me.

One year ago tonight, I was celebrating the end of chemotherapy and the beginning of my (steep) uphill climb back to health and well-being.
One year later, the celebration and the uphill climb continue!
Thanks be to God!

Can I like you too much?

I like facebook. A lot. I like seeing what my friends are up to in their lives.

One woman I know posts photos of the food she makes with her husband and I drool over every single one.
Another one posts photos of herself and her children, skiing and hiking in Vermont, and I wish I were more of an outdoorsy person.
There is the horse and goat lover who runs a farm outside of Charlotte.
The Zen priest posts her words of wisdom.
The two poets share their latest creations.
The Reiki master finds the best quotes about parenting and autism and stress.
A woman who started teaching the same year I did, back in 1989, is now the head of a school in New York State. I love looking at the photos of her beautiful headmaster's house, and the photos of the fabulous trip she and her family took to France last year.
Another former colleague who recently attended a conference on the adolescent brain posted lists of the some of the things she learned there.
A college classmate who lives in Oslo takes THE MOST AMAZING VACATIONS of anyone I know - Bali, Italy, Singapore, India, and many more of the most colorful places in the world. She is beautiful. Her husband is handsome. Their children are more of the same.
Several of my cousins and a couple of friends from church post Bible verses almost exclusively.
Then there is the former student who is now a model - gorgeous woman. Amazing abs.
My nieces and nephews and their partners in life, on trips, at home, in church.
The blogger who has begun a Lenten gratitude practice with some of her 100,000+ followers.
The friend out in Arizona whose beautiful daughter steals her food and her heart every day.
Her friend and mine, who now lives and works as an advocate for refugees in the Middle East.
Photos of weddings and newborn babies and art projects and performances...
No matter how much my family and friends post, I want to see more. I want to read more. I want to know more.

I could spend hours every day looking at their posts and their photos. I click on the links they put on their timelines and laugh or groan, alternately, at the blogs, websites, photos, videos, and articles I land on. I have clever, funny, generous, interesting, witty friends. At least, that's the side of themselves that they post on facebook...

I like almost everything my friends post.
And I want to like it all. You know, "like" it.
Hit the "like" button and add my bright blue thumb to all the other likers.

But how much is too much? Can I like their posts too much? Can I like my facebook friends too much? If I like every photo and every post, then I worry that my friends will think I'm a stalker and a creeper. Then again, isn't that why people tell their stories and post their favorite photos? Don't we all tell our stories because we want our friends and family to like us, to hit that button, to boost our ego, and let us know that we are seen and liked.

That's why I blog too. To tell my story, to share my photos, to get affirmation and confirmation that I'm okay, that I'm not crazy, and that I'm not alone on this life journey.

But that's not the only reason I'm on facebook. That's not the only reason I blog. I pour my heart out here because I want you to know that you are not alone, that you are not crazy, and that there is another person out here on the information superhighway trying to slow myself, my thoughts, and my soul down enough to notice the details and appreciate them. I want you to laugh and groan with me. I want us to find ways to connect with each other even though we can't always be together. I want to look more closely at the world around me and within me - and share some of what I see with you, my friends and readers. I want to share the good parts of my life, of course, but also the messy parts - the sickness and health, the better and the worst. I want to show you who I am, share what I believe, and offer you the opportunity to show me who you are and share what you believe.

Can I like you too much? I hope not.  Am I willing to be considered a stalker by liking you a lot? Yes, I am willing. After all, no one has ever liked my posts or my writing too much. No one has ever liked me too much. No one has ever loved me too much, too passionately, or too frequently. And I don't think that anyone has ever been told how liked and loved they are often enough.*

So here goes - I like you.**
I like you because you come here and read my ramblings.
I like you because (some of) you have come to my home and visited with me in person.
I like you because you walked with me through my kanswer journey.
I like you because you are your beautiful, funny, witty, present, loving, kind self.
I like you because you are generous and patient, messy and silly.
I like you because you are alive and attentive and affectionate.
I like you because you are my friend, my family, and my companion.
I like you because you are fully, uniquely, irreducibly you.
I like you a lot.**



* Except for people who have real stalkers. And I promise I am not one.
** Seriously, I promise. I'm NOT a stalker.

It's Ash Wednesday...

For the past fifteen years or so, on this day, I have begun a series of readings or prayers or actions or stoppage of actions "for Lent." In past years, I have given up candy, coffee, dessert, certain activities, and certain television shows. Often I have shared with others what I have given up and taken on, usually because I wanted to get their support and but partly to gain their admiration.

This morning, while listening to Rezandovoy, I was reminded of the challenging words of Jesus taken from Matther chapter 6. Jesus, the one whose life, death, and resurrection are the reason for Lent, told his disciples,

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites , for they love to pray standing in the synagoges and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are fasting. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father who is unseen; and your Father who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 

As I listened to today's prayers, I was confronted with a question about this very topic: do I do this, do I share my Lent-related decisions and activities with others in order to be applauded and adored by them? Do I want to live this Lent in order to draw closer to God and move deeper into my walk of faith? Or do I want to receive some kind of external, visible and tangible reward for all of this?

Does my desire to publish or share a list of what I'm going to do and not do for Lent come from a yearning to impress people and get their attention or from a yearning to engage the Gospel story more fully and in greater depth? Truthfully, I would probably get more blog readers if I made a promise to write a post every day or carry out some random act of kindness or give something away or serve the homeless everyday of Lent. All of those are good things to do and fine things to have done at the end of these 40 days. But if I tell everybody ahead of time, who am I doing it for? If I keep a daily and public record of all that I do during Lent, whose attention and praise am I seeking? What reward will I receive? I have to wonder - am I doing this for a reward?

If doing stuff to be seen by others is the mark of a hypocrite, then I am guilty of being a hypocrite. I cannot and will not deny that I do a lot of what I do to be seen by men and women and children. For example, every time I sit down to write a blog post, I think about some of the people that I imagine are reading it. "What will she think? What will he think? Am I being too blatantly religious? Am I not being religious enough? What does "being religious" even mean in this context? It's my blog; I can write whatever I want... but still - what if ______________ reads this post? Will she think I've lost my mind and become a fundamentalist? Will Pastor __________ think I have lost my mind and become a liberal? Will they think I'm not serious enough or dedicated enough?" I sometimes get so completely bogged down in what other people will think of me that I write nothing at all and watch the days slip by silently as I talk myself out of sharing what is on my heart.

This Lent, I plam to spend less time worrying about what people think of me and more time wondering what God thinks of me and I think of God. I plan to worry less about being the recipient of admiration, attention, rewards and readership from the outside in order to be more aware of and receptive to the voice of the Spirit of God on the inside.

What am I giving up for Lent this year? My habit of talking about what I'm giving up for Lent.


Lord, please help me to remember that all of this - Ash Wednesday, the many weeks of Lent, and the triumph that is Easter -  is about you, your love, your life, your death, and most importantly, your resurrection from the dead. Please stop me before I do or say or write anything that makes a mockery of your love or makes it more about me than about you. Thank you for the reminder that sometimes keeping things a secret is the best thing I can do. Thank you for the challenge of these words and the challenge of living a life that pleases and honors you, not only during Lent but all life long.