A few questions for Jesus

I have spent a lot of time this Lent reading and rereading and pondering and writing about Luke 24, the final chapter of that gospel. Early in the chapter, we read, "Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened."

Today my mind has snagged on the linen cloths that had been wrapped around the body of Peter's crucified friend, rabbi, mentor, and redeemer. Like the tomb in which they were discarded, the cloths were empty.

That image prompted me to think about the One who had abandoned those linen cloths a few hours earlier. That image prompted me to pen a few questions for Jesus.

* What was that morning like for you, Lord?

* What did you see when you opened your eyes?

* Was it still dark in the tomb or had the stone already been rolled away?

* How did you remove those linen cloths if you were wrapped in them?

* Were angels with you in those early hours or were you alone?

* What were your thoughts as you exited the tomb?

* Did the soldiers outside see you as you walked away?

* Is that why they fainted?

* Where did you go first?

* Did you go see your broken-hearted mother?

* Did the world look different to you after death than before death?

* Were you thinking about how scared your disciples would be when they saw you again?

* Did you smile with the knowledge that Mary Magdalene and the other women would come to the tomb and find you gone?

* Did you shudder with the thought of their story being considered an idle tale?

* In this chapter, you appear first to those two men who are walking to Emmaus? Why them? Why not the larger group of your followers?

* What is so special about the breaking of the bread? Why were their eyes opened then and not sooner?

* Why did your stories and your presence make their hearts burn?

* Why did your disciples and friends sometimes not recognize you?

* And what about the rest of this crazy story - your virgin birth, your miracle-working life, your brutal execution, your resurrection from the dead, your amazing grace, and your death-defying love - how are we supposed to explain it or prove it or convince other people to believe it? 

* What are the dark places in my life where stones need to be rolled away so the light of your love and healing can enter?

* How often are my eyes blinded and my mind darkened so much so that I miss your presence and don't see you walking with me along the way?

* Who am I supposed to tell about the ways in which you show up and show off and show yourself faithful and true, loving and ever-present in my life?

* What will be the first thing or person I will see when I open my eyes on the other side of death? Sweet Lord Jesus, I sure hope yours is the first face I see. 

Does anybody remember how to create footnotes and bibliographies?

Back in 2006 or 2007, I taught a class on journaling as a spiritual discipline to a group of women at the church I attended at the time. One of the women in attendance was not a member or even an attender of the church, but there Bonnie was. Attentive, asking questions, taking notes, sharing her thoughts and questions. At the end of the class, she approached me and said, "You belong in the pulpit."

I was shocked, stunned, silenced. And certain she was wrong.
How could I, a woman, be in the pulpit?
That certainly wasn't an option at the church in which we stood.

Not long after that I began to attend another church on Wednesdays at noon, the church I attend now, and the woman who preached at that service every week showed me, and continues to show me, the beauty, wisdom, strength, insight, compassion, and unique perspective that women bring to the pulpit, to loving and serving the world as ministers.

Within a few months, she invited me to teach a few classes at the church.

Again, I was shocked, stunned, silenced.
How could I teach at a church where I was not a member?
Weren't there hoops I had to jump through in order to prove myself, to qualify?

I had no idea how deeply I had absorbed a mindset of inferiority and inexperience and lack of qualification. I had learned my lessons too well.

There I stood at First Presbyterian Church - and continue to stand - before groups of men and women, pouring out my heart, my questions, my failures, my doubts, my joy, my gratitude, and my love for God and God's Word. I often wondered when some angry man would stand up and tell me that I was out of line, that I needed to sit and learn in silence while the men led the way. That has never happened.

Soon after meeting Bonnie, she introduced me to Larry. In turn, Larry introduced me to a group of funny, gracious, welcoming, kind, thoughtful and prayerful senior citizens at a retirement community here in Charlotte. They meet every Wednesday morning for Bible study, with each invited speaker bringing a month-long series. I was invited to lead a series not long thereafter. I remember vividly my prejudices as I entered that room the first time: I was convinced that those rich old white Southerners would hear me speak once and be done with the crazy black woman who moved down here from Connecticut with my strange accent and foreign ways of thought. I am glad that I was completely wrong on all counts.

There are retired missionaries in that room, retired pastors in that room, retired teachers and poets and business people. There are parents, grandparents, single men, single women, widows and widowers. Every one of them decides over and over to return, to listen, to ask questions, to listen to my rambling answers, to watch me cry, to listen to me try to weave Scripture into our lives and challenge us all to be people of joy and love and gratitude. And they have made that decision over and over for the many months that they have invited me to be with them on Wednesday mornings.

Over these past five years, there has been a steady stream of invitations to speak and teach, emails, voice mails, text messages, and even snail mail - all expressing support and encouragement and gratitude for my presence at church and at the senior living center and my involvement in the larger community of faith. In addition to that, many men and women have repeated what Bonnie told me way back when: "You should be in the pulpit."

After years of hearing that same message, I decided to ponder it.
To question it. To pray about it. To investigate the possibilities.

I also pondered the reactions I assumed I would get from people I know who believe that women should not be leaders in the church, that half of God's people have nothing to say to the other half. I questioned interpretations of Scripture that I had accepted for the first 45 years of my life. I tried to imagine conversations I would have with those whose opinions used to matter so much to me, what I would say to try to convince them to see things the way I now see them. With the help of my spiritual director, pastors, teachers, friends, books, journaling, praying, and reading, I have been able to let go of the urge to convince the unconvinceable. That is not my job. That is no longer my concern. This is my story. This is my journey.

Someone once told me: "I would rather stand before God and have to explain why I preached when I was supposed to be silent, than why I stayed silent when I was called to preach." That is the risk I too have decided to take.

I applied to Union Presbyterian Seminary here in Charlotte after meeting the Dean of the school late last fall at a meeting at church. He invited me to visit the school, to sit in on classes, to join them for worship and lunch. I arrived late on the appointed Saturday, slipped into the chapel and found a seat during the sermon. When I stood with the group to sing the last hymn, I knew that I had arrived at the place where my ravenous soul could feast on the Bread of Life and gulp down mouthfuls of Living Water.

I have been accepted and will pursue a Masters degree in Divinity.

I will spend the next five years taking classes on Saturdays and the occasional Friday evening. I will read and write and learn ancient Greek and Hebrew and theology and preach practice sermons and intern at a local church and learn about baptism and communion and things I cannot even imagine now. I will learn how to submit papers online and relearn how to write papers with footnotes.

It will be a long uphill climb, but I am excited. Thrilled. Grateful. Joyful. I look forward to figuring out where God wants me to serve and love and listen and teach and walk alongside people on their spiritual journeys and how to welcome others to walk with me on mine.

Thankful Thursday - Be Careful What You Pray For

Yesterday morning, I had to get up early as two people near and dear to me were going on a trip. In the fog. On the highway. When stuff like that happens, unavoidable things that feel dangerous or uncertain, I pray. A lot. Neither of them were looking forward to the drive, so I felt prompted to pray that they be "surprised by joy." I prayed that they would have moments and experiences that would cause them to smile, to give thanks, and to reflect on the goodness and generosity of God. I prayed those prayers incessantly for about four hours. When I heard that they had reached their destination safely, I gave thanks to God and went about my day.

I walked my little doggie and chatted briefly with a neighbor. I took the tiny beast back home and set out on a much longer walk by myself. By the time I got back home, the temperature had risen at least ten degrees - a warm front approached and promised us a respite from the cold we've experienced over the last few days.*

I got into my car and began the drive to church for two Wednesday activities. As I drove up a nearby street, I saw a license plate that said the following: "EPH4UNC." Unbeknownst to most people, the nickname for Williams College students is "Ephs." That word, which rhymes with "reefs," comes from the name Ephraim Williams, who was the founder of my alma mater. There aren't too many mentions of "Ephs" here in Charlotte, so I was intrigued. By way of answering my as yet unasked question, a Williams College sticker was affixed to the back window of the car. I set out in hot pursuit of the license plate. A half mile later, we approached a red light.

I pulled up next to the car in question and signaled to the driver, an elderly gentleman, to roll down his window. While I waited for him to notice me,  I offered up a quick prayer that he wasn't an advocate of "stand your ground" laws who traveled with a loaded pistol by his side. He rolled down the driver's side window, which would have been great if I had been on the driver's side. I was not. He finally figured out how to open the passenger window.

Me: "Sir, did you go to Williams?"
An enormous smile spread slowly across his wrinkled face as he responded proudly, "Yes."
Me: "I did too."
Him: "I was there back in 1948."
Me: "I graduated nearly 40 years later, in 1987. I don't see many Williams stickers in these parts."
Him: "You sure don't." His smile never faded. Nor did mine.
The light turned green, and we both drove on.

After the noon service at church, I sat in the sanctuary thinking, prayed a few more quick prayers that my beloved ones be surprised by joy throughout their day. Then I chatted with a few friends before setting out on an errand - to find a birthday gift for someone I adore.

I ventured into a shop called The Boulevard - no luck with birthday shopping. But I did find an excellent sale corner - 60% off all winter clothing. Jeans, dresses, leggings, skirts, tops - and none of it was exorbitantly priced to begin with. Jeans that were originally $36 were marked down to $14! Even though I don't need any clothes, I picked two pieces anyway: a pair of jeans and a beautiful deep jewel-toned greenish blue top. After the owner rang up my purchases and put them into a bag, we chatted for a couple of minutes about how much she wants to get the winter clothes out of the store. She said that if I knew anybody who needed those things, she would make them a great deal, and whatever she didn't sell would be given to a local women's shelter. Then she asked what color thread (I think she used the word "piping") was in the jeans I had purchased. White or orange? I responded, "Orange, I think." I pulled them out of the bag and, sure enough, it was orange. Then she PUT A PAIR OF THE SAME JEANS WITH WHITE THREAD INTO MY BAG and said, "Just take them. I really want to get this stuff out of the store." What??? And to top it all off, she recommended a nearby shop as a better place to find a gift for my friend. Her suggestion yielded excellent results.

After a successful gift purchase, I drove to a nearby park where I sat and read for about an hour. It was a gorgeous, sunny, warm day - nearly 70 degrees. Delightful. I watched two little red headed sisters as they stared and pointed at bulldozers at work. I watched boys run and play. I watched other children defy gravity and good sense on skateboard ramps. A carload of teenaged boys pulled into the space next to my car, music blaring, heads bobbing. They got out of their car, still singing, and set out on an adventure in the park - as happy as the little to be out in the warm sunshine.

The book I was reading was delightfully insightful and encouraging. About silence and writing and learning to trust that one leads to the other in life-affirming ways. I nibbled on almonds, drank cool water, and gave God thanks for the wonder, the beauty, the warmth, and the joy of that moment.

Tears sprang into my eyes as I realized that my fervent prayers had been answered. I had prayed that two people I love be surprised by joy. But as it turned out the joyful surprises landed on me. Seeing another Eph in Charlotte. Receiving communion at church. Spending time with others on the journey of faith. A gift of a pair of jeans. Meeting a woman who would rather give her goods away than see them go unused and un-enjoyed. Time in the park on a gorgeous day. Observing adults and children, families and single people basking in the warmth of the afternoon. I was the one who had been surprised over and over by laughter and grace and joy. How could I not be thankful for the many answers to my prayers?

Later in the evening, back at church, I saw a woman I met a few weeks ago in a journaling class I taught. She came into the fellowship hall with her husband and three adorable children. After her two daughters spotted me, one ran back to her mother and excitedly pointed me out, "Mom, there's Gail!" I was honored that they remembered me and recalled my name. I look forward to getting to know them all better. Surprised again by joy.

I attended a class entitled, "Race Matters," later in the evening and was profoundly affected by the stories we shared of how race has mattered in our lives. We each told when and how we began to notice our own race and the race of the people around us. Rich, deep, sad, and painful stories. Stories of open minded family members, racist family members, and oblivious family members. Stories that must be acknowledged and told so that dialogue and change and healing and reconciliation can happen. There we all sat, listening, asking questions, opening up, and being held tenderly in community. Surprised by honesty and surprised by joy.

I drove home from church, from the entirety of yesterday, thankul, so very grateful for every moment of it, every conversation, every meal, every story, every phone call, every mile I had safely driven.

Be careful what you pray for - it just might come to pass.


++++++++++++++++
* Okay, okay - if you are in Connecticut, or anywhere north of Virginia for that matter, you can stop rolling your eyes in response to my comment about it being cold down here. I know that our definition of "cold" is far less nuanced than yours. But still, it has been cold for us. We've gotten as low as the single digits a couple of times this winter. We've also had snow - only an inch or two - but that's enough to close schools down here. And ice too. Nothing compared to what you all have endured. I bow in respect for your perseverance and in prayer for a respite from the brutal conditions you have endured up north over the past three months.

Some trust in chariots

One of my favorite verses in the Psalms is found in the 20th Psalm.

Verse 7 says this - Some trust in chariots and some in horses, 

but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.

I love a good list, and the first half of that verse is a short list of things people believe in - or things people believed in at the time the psalm was written. As I consider the psalmist's list, I am prompted to create a list of some of the things we trust in, some of the things I trust in.

Some trust in cash and some in credit cards

some trust in the stock market and some in savings bonds

some trust in Bank of America and some in Wells Fargo

some trust in Mercedes and some in Audi
some trust in brand names and some in second hand treasures
some trust in neither, some trust in DIY - do it yourself

some trust in the government and some in anarchy

some trust in Democratic ideals and some in Republican

some trust in Fox News and some in CNN

some trust in "the good old days"

some trust in the good times that are yet to come

Some trust in popularity and telling every story in a public and exaggerated way

some trust in keeping their stories and their lives to themselves

some trust in others to make decisions on their behalf

some trust in themselves and no one else

Some trust in homeschooling and some in military schools

some trust in homework and some trust in play time

some trust in exclusive "gifted and talented" programs and some in everyone's giftedness

some trust in community college and some in Ivy League institutions

some trust in GPAs and some in GPSs

some trust in degrees and some in pedigrees

some trust that men and women have equal standing in the world and in the church

some trust that women ought to be silent in church
(except for singing in the choir, teaching children, and talking to each other)

some trust that children should be seen but not heard

some trust that children are our future

some trust that children are people who deserve dignity, love, and protection

some trust in marriage and some in remaining unmarried

some trust in parenting and some in freedom from children

some trust in spanking and some in non-violent parenting 

some trust in honesty and some in deceit

some trust in sarcasm and insults

some trust in flattery

some trust in Western medicine and some in Eastern, non-traditional practices

some trust in organic food production and some in conventional practices

some trust in yoga and some in lifting weights

some trust in their physical health, beauty, and thinness

some trust in their emotional strength and stability

some trust in green tea and some in coffee

some trust in cigarettes and some in alcohol

some trust in the right to bear arms and stand one's ground

some trust in bombing "the bad guys" out of existence

some trust in capital punishment

some trust in the justice system to carry out justice

some trust in vengeance and vigilante justice
some trust in turning the other cheek

some trust in the military might of this nation

some trust in the work of diplomacy

Some trust in gratitude for a glass half full
some trust in punishment for whomever drank from their glass first
some trust in prayer and some in the strength of their own bootstraps

some trust in finding answers to every question and some in living into the questions
some trust that God answers prayer
some trust that prayer is wasted emotional energy

I still trust in some of those things. 

I no longer trust in some of those things. 

I never trusted in some of those things.

But for as long as I can remember, I have trusted in the name of the Lord our God.

I have trusted that I am loved, seen, and heard by God.

I have trusted that all would be well.

I have trusted that the name of the Lord would bring me peace, would bring all people people, profound, inexplicable peace even though world is sometimes dangerous and untrustworthy.

I have experienced the name of the Lord my God bringing me peace, calming my anxious heart, and settling my fears. Personally. Many, many, many times.

I say "many, many, many times" because many, many, many times, I forget. I doubt. I wonder. I wander. I worry. Then I remember God's faithfulness again. And the goodness of people I love again. And the presence and support of my sister-friends and brother-friends again.

This trust cycle is an exhausting one sometimes. I am grateful that as often as I forget, trust regrows, that its roots go deeper in times of emotional and spiritual and physical drought. I am grateful for the stacks and shelves of my filled journals which house the stories of my misplaced trust and my re-placed trust. I am thankful for the scars - mental, relational and physical - from the many battles I have fought in my 49 years of life and for the reminder those accounts provide of how far I have traveled on this my life's journey. 

Some trust in chariots

some trust in horses

some trust in guns

some trust in bombs

some trust in fear

some trust in intimidation

some trust in rules and regulations

some trust in making it up as you go along

We all trust in something. 

We all trust in someone.

I choose to continue to trust in the love, the grace, and the name of the Lord my God.

Who and what do you trust?

Are you the only one who didn't know?

I am not much of a music person. Unless you count the old hymns of the Baptist church, sung in four-part harmony.
I am not much of a movie person. Unless you count the ones with Meryl Streep that involve her character being unfaithful to her husband.
I am not much of a Scandal or Walking Dead or How to Get Away with Murder or Downton Abbey person either. But Law and Order, Tiny House Nation, and What Not to Wear - those I know about.
I am not much of a news junkie. Unless you count Jon Stewart, The Nightly Show, and whatever stories I catch on NPR on my way to and from church and lunch dates and visits to the chiropractor.

Because I am not much of a music person or a movie person or a news junkie or a follower of many of the most popular television series, I often find myself answering some version of this question:
"Are you the only one who...?"

Are you the only one who doesn't know what's happening on Scandal or Storage Wars or on any of Tyler Perry's seventeen primetime shows or with the zombie apocalypse?
Are you the only one who isn't on top of what is going on in Sudan, Egypt, Liberia, Afghanistan, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, Congo, Pakistan, Ukraine, England, Italy, Spain, or right here in your own home country?
Are you the only one who didn't watch the Oscars or the pre-Oscar shows or the post-Oscar shows?
Are you the only one who hasn't seen or read any of the Harry Potter books and movies?
Are you the only one who isn't well versed in Presbyterian/Baptist/Catholic/Buddhist/Hindu/Jewish/ Muslim/Lutheran/Taoist/yogic/tantric philosophies, beliefs, practices, sacred texts, prophets, leaders, and all the lingo that goes along with each of the above?
Are you the only one who hasn't marched in a Moral Monday event?
Are you the only one who doesn't know how to make a standing pot roast or fry chicken or make a pound cake from scratch or poach an egg or chop an onion properly or how to make vegan, gluten-free dishes that taste, smell, look, and have the exact same texture as their original version?
Are you the only one who hasn't committed all the relevant and reliable statistics about race, poverty, injustice, incarceration, police brutality, prejudice, and inequality to memory?
Are you the only one who isn't saving every extra dollar for your retirement?
Are you the only one who doesn't know the name and capital of every country in Africa, Asia, South America or Europe?
Are you the only one who doesn't understand how computers/cell phones/television sets/ automobiles/electricity/the sewer system/the internet works?

No, I'm sure I'm not the only one, but as I scroll down my facebook timeline,
as I listen in on conversations at Starbucks or in the supermarket checkout line,
as I engage in virtual and actual interaction with friends,
as I read blog posts and glance at the covers of books and magazines at Barnes and Noble,
sometimes it feels like I am the only one who doesn't know everything about everything.


One of my favorite stories in the Bible comes from Luke 24, the last chapter of the third gospel. Part of that chapter describes a conversation between Jesus and two of his followers on the day he rose from the dead. This is how one version of the Bible puts it -

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things of Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.

So many responses and questions have bubbled up in me over the many years of reading and pondering that story.

Like - why did those men not recognize Jesus? Some say it's because they clearly did not expect to see their friend risen from the dead. I think it's partly due to them not ever looking up at him - they were sad and dejected and probably had their eyes down rather than up.

Like - the fact that Jesus asked them such an important question - what are you discussing? What are you talking about? I like that Jesus cared what they were talking about. I love that, even though Jesus had demonstrated many times in the stories written about him that he was capable of reading people's minds and thoughts, he still asked the question and then gave them time and space to answer it. He wanted them and he wants us to tell him what's on our minds and hearts. There must be some power in speaking these things aloud - or else why would he ask?

But what has caught my attention today is their question for Jesus - Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who doesn't know the things that have taken place there in these days?

I hear myself asking God that same question on a daily basis.
Lord, are you the only one who doesn't know that those girls are still in the hands of that terrorist group in Nigeria?
Are you the only one who isn't upset about the gun violence that plagues our nation?
Are you the only one who doesn't see the suffering of the homeless, the hungry, the sick, the dying, the bankrupt, and the lonely?
Are you the only one who doesn't want kanswer and AIDS and diabetes and lupus and fibromyalgia and measles and autism and leprosy and malaria and dengue fever and hepatitis and depression and borderline personality disorder and liver disease and dementia and ALS and chronic migraines to end?
Are you the only one who refuses to step in and do something about all of that and everything else that ails our planet and its inhabitants?

I follow those questions with my personal statements of misplaced and displaced hopes.

I had hoped that you would be the one to end injustice in my lifetime.
I had hoped that you would be the one to redeem the lost.
I had hoped that you would be the one to protect the children from predators and abusers.
I had hoped that you would be the one to make it all stop, whatever it is.
I had hoped that you would be the one to fix what is broken, to heal what is wounded, and to restore all that has been lost.

I answer Jesus' question in my journal on a daily basis: this is what I'm discussing on my life's journey. This is what I had hoped. This is what I'm thinking about and praying about and hoping for. These are the ways in which my heart is broken. These are the people I know who need to be touched and healed, rescued and reconciled. This is what matters to me today, what I'm talking to my friends about.

I also ask myself the same questions that I have been asked and the ones I have asked of God:
Am I the only one who doesn't care, isn't involved, doesn't weep,
and isn't doing something about what's happening in the world?
Am I losing myself in anger and frustration and despair and fear?
Or am I working at being the answer to my own prayers and the prayers of people who suffer?
Or am I holding on to hope and gratitude and joy and light and life and faith in the face of all that is bleak and dark and frightening and broken and desperate and dying all around me?


Am I the only one who remembers and then forgets and then remembers and then forgets the miracles, the blessings, the outpourings of love, the assistance, the deep sense of community, the random acts of kindness, and the intentional ones too that have rained down into my life, into the lives of people I know and love, and into so many people's lives all over the world - even in the most dismal and daunting and dangerous places and moments in the world?
Am I the only one who prays with burial spices on hand, often expecting to find a dead and powerless cult leader rather than a living, all powerful, ever present Redeemer?
Am I the only one who has had far more encounters with the latter than the former?
Am I the only one who is profoundly grateful for God's infinite patience with my infinite impatience, for God's grace in spite of my frequent lack thereof, and for God's comforting, quiet presence in response to my sorrowful rants?

Am I the only one whose questions far outnumber my answers?


(Note on Monday, March 2, 2015 - I'm not sure what happened, but this post should have been published last week, on Wednesday, February 25. )

Operating Instructions

In 1993, Anne Lamott published the journal of her first year of motherhood and called it, Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year. In her barbed, humorous, heart-moving, impassioned way, Anne describes her journey into single motherhood. Overwhelming motherhood. Desperate motherhood. More than ten years ago, I devoured the book, laughing and groaning and nodding my head in agreement with so much of what she expressed.

I pulled it off the shelf again tonight and flipped through it, hoping that I somehow missed the section about parenting those "little ones" when they are driving, when they are away in college, when they are adults, and when they are struggling.

I hoped that there was an appendix related to dealing with children who want to be treated like adults, except when it comes to money and emotions and academics and athletics and friendships and love and faith and family and food and the future and the past and the present. Other than that - they've got it covered.

Today I had lunch with a new friend, an instant sister-friend. Sensing her spirit of deep discernment, I asked her a couple of questions about parenting, and then basked in her words of wisdom. Although her children are younger than mine, her soul is much wiser and stronger and more experienced.

She taught me about how to listen when they are speaking, how to ask them questions, and how to answer theirs. She taught me about how to pray more effectively for our children, about stepping out of the way and letting God work in and through their lives, even when it looks like they are going through a tough time. (Your will be done, Lord. Yours alone.)

She reminded me that the struggles we face, whether they are related to parenting or work, faith or fidelity, whether they are our struggles or our children's struggles, these difficult moments don't last forever. A wise uncle of mine turned a familiar phrase upside down during my daughter's illness back in 2008. He said, "This trial has not come to stay. It has come to pass." My daughter's trial did pass. It felt like it would never end, but it did.

Paul said it well at the end of 2 Corinthians chapter 4 - Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

When we are in the midst of them, our troubles do not feel light or momentary. On the contrary, they feel - they are - weighty and burdensome. I am grateful that I haven't lost heart, that I haven't given up. And that is my prayer for my children - to never give up, to never lose heart. I pray that they will know that this too, whatever this is, will pass.

My friend challenged me to ask God questions when I am facing challenges and when my children are facing theirs - "What are you saying to me in this, Lord? What am I supposed to learn through this?" On my kanswer journey, I returned to that query many, many, many times - "What am I meant to learn from this, God?"

I remember pleading with God to take the kanswer away, to keep me from having to go through the chemo and surgery - that whatever I needed to learn, I was willing to learn another way, any other way. Couldn't there be another way to learn about faith and strength and courage and pain and suffering and illness and healing and love and friendship? Eventually, I laid down my resistance and my armor and most of my anger, and I acknowledged that there was no way out but through. Whatever I needed to learn, I wanted to learn it well so that I won't have to take the course ever again. Ever.

Similarly, I have to lay down my anger and my resistance and my armor and allow my children to fight their own battles, to pray their own prayers, and to figure out what they need to learn from the deep waters they are currently treading.
I have to allow them to find their way through the dark valleys and the deep shadows.
The times of fear and loneliness, of doubt and despair, of difficulties and disappointments.
My children are wise and foolish, thoughtful and impulsive, contented and complaint-ridden. Aren't we all?
My children are determined and hesitant, strong and weak, faith-filled and doubtful. Aren't we all?
My children can and will find their way into the light, into the joy, into the strength that are theirs to receive and to claim. On their own terms. In their own time. According to the will and plan of the God who loves them most of all.

As much as I would like to keep them from suffering,
as much as I want to do their laundry and clean their rooms,
as much as I long to have them back at the homeschooling table under my watchful gaze,
as much as I would like to write their papers for them,
take their Spanish tests,
answer all the questions on every test,
intercede with their professors and coaches,
I cannot. I will not.

My friend said, "You cannot cheat a person out of their life experience."
Ouch. I cannot and I will not cheat my children out of the challenges and demands of college.
They spent most of their lives here at home with me.
They never had to deal with bullies in the classroom or on the playground.
They never had excessive amounts of homework or twenty-page papers to write or entire novels to read overnight.
There were never science fair projects that we had to do for them.
Some would argue, some have argued that we cheated them out of important school-related experiences.
If those people are correct, then it's time for that cheating to stop - my babies are no longer babies. They are grown people making their way into and through their own lives.
I will never abandon them. I will always love them and listen to them and laugh with them and cry with them. But I do need to release them into the care of keeping of the God who lent them to me for these past few years.

My friend said, "Our life experiences are what God uses" to make us who we are.
Do I wish I didn't have to go through kanswer? Absolutely.
Do I wish my daughter had never gotten sick? Absolutely.
Do I wish my father hadn't died of kanswer back in 2001? Absolutely.
Do I wish my childhood church hadn't split open back when I was 12 years old? Absolutely.
But if those things hadn't happened, I would not be the woman, the mother, the wife, the teacher, the writer, the person I am today. Absolutely.

If I hadn't gone through kanswer, there are people I would never have met, people I wouldn't be able to encourage and walk with right now.
If my daughter hadn't gotten sick, there are a lot of lives that we wouldn't have been able to touch, a lot of friends we wouldn't have made, and a faith community we would never have discovered.
If my father hadn't died, I wouldn't be able to sympathize with those who have lost dear ones.
If my childhood church hadn't imploded, I wouldn't appreciate the amazing group of people I get to worship with these days, nor would I understand the importance of healthy conflict resolution.

I wish there were operating instructions - not only for the first year of life, not only for raising teenagers, but for every stage of life. I am grateful for the strong, wise, transparent, loving, patient, hilarious, prayerful women (and men) that I have been blessed to know, that have spoken into my life, and have provided some operating instructions all their own to guide me on this, my life's journey.

Today I am especially grateful to and for you, Tish.
Girl, you rocked my world today.
All the way to the core of who I am.
I thank God for you.


PS. My children are both dealing with the usual social, academic, athletic, and emotional challenges of being college students. I am at home spending too much time thinking about them, worrying about them - and today my friend, my wise, caring, prophetic friend steered me back towards a posture and position of faith and trust that I had lost sight of.

Thankful Thursday

Several years ago, when my children were still quite young, I was droning on and on about some topic that they weren't interested in, but that didn't stop me from pontificating mindlessly and endlessly. At one point, I said, "I know I sound like a broken record, but..." and I continued with my rant.

In unintended unison, they asked, "What's a record?"
Thus ended my lecture.
Well, probably not, but it did silence me for a few seconds.


I know I sound like a broken record, but it's Thankful Thursday.
I know I sound like a purebred optimist, but it's Thankful Thursday,
the day to share some of what I'm grateful for.
As far as gratitude goes, I hope to sound like a record stuck in the same groove
every Thursday - and all the other days of the week as well.

Today, I am thankful
* for a warm and sturdy house during these days of record-shattering cold temperatures
* that we didn't lose power due to freezing rain and ice

* for a challenging Ash Wednesday service - the challenge being to hold fast to these days, to God's dream of justice for all, to hold fast for peace and prayer, and forgiveness
* for Erika's explanation that in the past, the meaning of "fast" was more about "fasting for" something than "fasting from" something
* for these days of Lent, these days to ponder and read and write and pray in preparation for Easter
* for the many books, podcasts, devotionals, blogs, and gatherings that provide encouragement, support, resources, and insights about Lent and faith and what it means to follow Christ to the cross, to the tomb, and out the other side to a transformed, recreated, renewed life
* that at the end of these days, we will celebrate the wonder and power of the resurrection, of new life, of hope, of joy unspeakable
* for the community of people all around the world that is observing this holy season
* for the millions of prayers that are being raised every day - for peace, for forgiveness, for wholeness, for healing, for reconciliation, for restoration, for a halt to wars and violence of every kind

I am thankful for a stove, a crockpot, a kettle, a juicer, a blender and a toaster
* for a pantry, for a refrigerator, for a freezer, and for a microwave oven
* for a washing machine, a dryer, an iron, and a vacuum cleaner
* for air conditioning, heat, and ceiling fans
* for closets and dressers and shelves and the abundance of food and clothing and books and cosmetics that fill them

I am thankful for yoga
I am thankful for yoga videos from the library
I am also thankful for the freedom to compose my own yoga practice
I am thankful for health and strength and the ability to exercise

I am thankful for friends who call me on my crap, who hold me accountable when necessary
* for those who answer my questions with wise words
* for the ones who answer my questions with more questions
* for those who encourage me to keep asking questions for and of myself
* for their reminders that I don't need permission or approval from anyone to be the woman I was created to be
* for Jen Lemen - whose answer to my question about why I'm having such a hard time with my writing lately, included these words: "Go take a bath. Clean. You are forbidden to write until you stop lying to yourself and are back in your body, doing simple tasks with rhythm and joy."
* for the brief break I took from writing and used it for thinking and praying and watching Super Soul Sunday episodes that I had recorded
* for the clearheadedness, the advice, the patience my friends have with and for me

I am grateful for the many opportunities I have to tell stories of my faith walk at church, here at home, on the phone, in emails, in texts, and in person
I am grateful for how the stories of the Bible are coming alive for me in new ways lately
I am thankful for that burning bush and the curiosity that drew Moses towards it
(Makes me wonder what unusual sights in my life are meant to draw me towards God)
I am thankful for Isaiah, for his prophetic boldness
(Makes me wonder what prophetic words I am called to speak and write)
I am thankful for Jonah's honesty: "God, that's why I didn't want to tell those bad people about you. I knew that if they asked for forgiveness, you would forgive them, and I wanted them to be destroyed."
(Makes me wonder who I don't want to forgive, whose demise I secretly long for)
I am thankful for David, for his love for Jonathan, for his lust for Bathsheba, for his resignation in the face of the tragic consequences of his selfishness, and for his understanding of God's grace and mercy after he messed things up so badly
(Makes me have to face my own love, lust, resignation, and the consequences of when I mess things up)
I am grateful that the Psalms include angry rants, pleas for revenge, and confession of wrongdoing
(Makes me want to write my own rants, pleas, and confessions in my journal far more honestly)
I am thankful for Mother Mary's trust, courage and willingness to invest her life and her future in the crazy story of an impossible pregnancy made possible
(Makes me wonder how many crazy stories I have dismissed - and how many miracles I've missed out because of my skepticism)
I am thankful for Mary Magdalene and her friends and their love for Jesus
(Makes me want to spend more time with my sister-friends and talk about the ones we love most of all)
I am thankful for the way that the woman at the well asked Jesus tough questions and answered his  
(Makes me wonder what I would ask and what I would say if I could spend some time alone with Jesus, literally sit with Jesus to talk. Makes me wonder if I would be smart enough to shut my mouth and just let him talk or if I would fill the air with my words and wondering)
I am thankful for the questions Jesus asked: Do you want to be well? What do you want me to do for you? What are you talking about as you walk along the way? How much bread do you have?
(Makes me wonder how I would answer those questions - what do I want Jesus to do for me? do I want to be well, to be better, to be whole or am I too comfortable with and in my illnesses? What am I talking about and thinking about and mulling over with my friends? How much do I have and how much of it am I willing to share with others?)
I am thankful that I can read the Bible with my whole heart, soul, and mind
I am grateful for a faith community that welcomes questions, that encourages questions, and that doesn't seek to answer every question
I am glad to be living into the answers and also into deeper questions

I am grateful for the gifts of life, of love, of laughter

Thanks be to God.

Lord, please forgive us

Shootings. Murder. Executions.
Kidnapping. Rape. Sexual slavery.
Genocide. Human trafficking.
National and international unrest. Civil war.
Infringement over borders.
Religious hatred and intolerance.
Racial injustice. Prejudice. Fear. Mistrust.
Immigration issues. Deportation. Extortion.
The list of horrors, the list of sorrows, the list of needs is long.
And getting longer.

In response, some advocate for more guns.
Repay violence with violence.
Hatred with more hatred.
Fear with more fear.
Higher walls. Thicker walls. More walls.
Do it to them before they do it to us.
Defend yourself. Defend your property. Defend your borders.
Stand your ground.

I go on Facebook and blogs and media sites and read people's angry and shrill responses to what is happening in our city, in our nation, and in our world.
I read diatribes against our President and politicians of all persuasions.
I read accusations about civic and community leaders, about pastors and teachers.
I read the same names over and over - followed by their ruthless and remorseless verbal attacks on "friends" that are trying to figure out what is wrong with our country and our world.
I read taunts and insults, slurs and innuendos.

I read people's desperate questions.
I read people's hopes and dreams of peace and justice.
I read about an army of love, taking back the night in their cities and towns.
I read about random acts of kindness and love.
I read about generosity and community, about dreams realized, wishes granted, and victories won.
I read challenges to stop engaging in meaningless online exchanges and get out into the community, into the world engaging with hurting people.
I read accounts of sworn enemies sitting together at the table of peace and conversation.
I read news of lives saved, families reconciled, and hope restored.
I read prayers of gratitude.

Then I get on my knees.
I speak up - as in, up towards heaven.
Then I get up.
I stand up - as in, stand in front of people and plead for peace and love and mercy to be extended to those we see and ought to love. To the "least of these" - whoever and wherever they may be. Wherever we may be.
I turn up - as in, turn up the volume on kindness and grace and attempts at understanding.
I turn down - as in, turn down the volume of my voice and the vehemence of my opinions.
After all, as sincerely as I believe what I believe, I may be sincerely wrong.

I may be wrong about not repaying evil with more evil.
I may be wrong about not caring where people are from, but instead focusing on where they are right now.
I may be wrong about praying for all people everywhere to know peace and safety and have enough to eat and access to medical care and an education.
I may be wrong to dream of living in a nation in which paying our teachers, our nurses, our nurses' assistants, our community leaders, our librarians, our preschool childcare workers, and our social workers a generous wage to promote health, peace, understanding, reading, writing, listening, creativity, and education, was a higher priority than paying our professional athletes and actors millions of dollars to play games, to pretend, and also to promote soda, fast food, diet trends, alcohol, and overpriced shoes.
I may be wrong to want to acknowledge how little I know and how wrong I'm sure I am about so many things I think and believe.
I may be wrong to pray, on behalf of myself, my family, my city, my nation, and my world, but nothing will stop me from doing so.


Lord, please forgive us.
Forgive us our fear and the many ways that fear motivates our lives and our choices.
Forgive us for turning to violence as an imperfect and ineffective response to our fear.
Forgive us for how often we accuse others of and judging others for doing the same things we do.

Forgive us our tendency to pull the trigger first and ask questions later.
Forgive us for creating the triggers in the first place.
Forgive us for relying on the triggers we have created.
The trigger of prejudice.
The trigger of defensiveness.
The trigger of violence.
The trigger of addictive behavior.
The triggers of anger, of rage, of volcanic outbursts.
The trigger of competitiveness.
The trigger of jealousy.
The trigger of comparison.
The triggers of superiority and inferiority.
The trigger of isolation.
The trigger of abandonment of others.
The trigger of abandonment of ourselves.
The trigger of sarcasm.
The trigger of ridicule.
The trigger of gossip.
The trigger of excuse-making.
The trigger of manipulation of others.
The trigger of ill-conceived humor.
The trigger of lying.
The trigger of abuse.
The trigger of retaliation.
When in doubt, when afraid, when threatened, pull the trigger. Any trigger.
React first. Process later.
Lord, please forgive us, I pray.


Lord, please forgive us because most of the time, we don't have any idea what we're doing.
Lord, please forgive us because some of the time we do know what we're doing.
We know that what we're doing will hurt others and hurt ourselves.
Please forgive us because, even knowing that, we do it anyway.

Lord, please forgive me, I pray, because I am often more interested in being safe and staying safe than in helping others, reaching out to others, acting with and for others, and speaking up for others.
Forgive me, I plead, for all the times that I too have pulled the trigger and later had to hope and pray that my words, my actions, my greed, and my self-righteousness have not caused irreparable damage.
Lord, please forgive me because I often know that I am about to hurt someone,
but I do it, I say it, I write it anyway. Whatever "it" is.

And Lord, please help us to forgive one another.
Help us to walk slowly and patiently with one another through the minefield of life.
Help us to listen closely enough to hear the terrified pounding of each other's heartbeats.
Help us to recognize that we do, in fact, all bleed and ache and shake and wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, wondering if we are going to be okay. If our children are going to be okay. If this planet is going to survive our abuse of it.
Help us to look past our clean and well-manicured facades, to look beyond the outward appearance of things and people and situations and see each other's true selves, hear each other's true stories, and bear each other's true burdens.
Help us to love one another.
Help us to love you.
Lord, please help us, forgive us, transform us, and make us new.
Otherwise, the long list of horrors, sorrows, violence, executions, shootings, attacks, kidnappings, fear, and everything else that is plaguing and killing us will only get longer.

Lord, please forgive us.
Lord, please have mercy on us.
Lord, please give us the courage, the strength, and the fortitude to have mercy on each other.

Since last I was here...

It has been a busy eight days since my last post. (If you are uncomfortable with stories related to female anatomy, then you should probably skip this post. I'm warning you now.)

Last weekend, I attending the most lavish, beautiful, fun, well-planned, no-detail-left-unattended-to wedding I've ever had the pleasure of being invited to. The daughter of a dear friend was wedded to the love of her life in the presence of dear friends and family. My husband and I were honored to be included in the festivities. We attended the rehearsal party on Friday night. And on Saturday, we stayed until the last dance of the reception, hugged and applauded the bride and groom, and then I hobbled back to the car in my high heeled shoes purchased especially for the nuptials. How do women wear such shoes every day? I'm so glad there was never a dress code for homeschooling that included such instruments of torture. But it was worth the pain. As someone said to me nearly twenty years ago, "Sometimes you have to suffer for sexy." I suffered last weekend with high heeled boots on Friday and then towering toe-crushing shoes on Saturday.

On Sunday, I attended a Sunday school class at church and listened to the principal of a local K-8 grade school talk about the challenges and the rewards of working at a school where more than 75% of the students come from economically disadvantaged families. Keeping teachers motivated, involving parents who don't have a high school diploma themselves, working in a community where churches are closing down and unable to assist - she has her hands and her heart full. But she spoke with joy and excitement and gratitude for all that is happening there. She spoke with candor about the need for more volunteers and more time with students and more money to keep the whole thing up and running. She has a tough job - and also a huge, generous spirit.

On Tuesday, I attended a writing class with my favorite writing teacher. Writing prompts. Reading aloud. Discussion. Laughter. Tears. Eleven or twelve women with writing projects under construction gather to share our stories and our work. We sit together as a group for an hour, and then we break into small groups to share pieces we have honed and receive support and suggestions from each other. My group is the best - of course! We laugh and groan and ask questions and share insights and encourage each other so seamlessly. I hope the three of us remain friends beyond the timeframe of this class.

On Wednesday at Wednesday Worship, Erika preached a great sermon about peace in life and in death and included stories about Oscar Romero, the priest who was assassinated at the altar while serving communion at a church in El Salvador. The Scripture passage for the day was the story of Jesus showing up among the disciples after the Resurrection and showing his wounds to Thomas. Even though his terrified followers were behind locked doors hiding, Jesus appears and offers them peace. Then he offers his wounds as proof of his death and of his resurrection. Rather than heaping condemnation or shame on Thomas, Jesus offers his comforting, peace-giving presence.

In her prayer after the sermon, Erika said, "Into the locked rooms of our lives, Christ comes." That statement has stuck with me ever since. How many locked rooms and secret places do I think I can hide in? Why wouldn't I want Christ there with me? Why wouldn't I want to be reminded that death has been swallowed up in victory? Don't those wounds remind me of that victory? Don't my wounds remind me of the many trials and difficulties I have overcome? I hope and pray that I will never try to lock Christ out of any dark or shadowy or dusty or dank or messy areas of my life.

On Wednesday evening, I taught a class on journaling as a spiritual practice at church. The folks in the class were great - participating, asking questions, sharing their journaling experiences, fully engaged. I hope they all come back next week and bring friends. I love to journal. I love to teach. Combining the two? Priceless!

On Thursday morning, I got up extra early and drove half an hour to babysit for two precious little people while their 30-year-old mother underwent chemotherapy. (Have I mentioned lately that KANSWER SUCKS???!!!) The three year old boy and two year old girl had me singing and jumping and dancing and reading and laughing. I fed them and changed diapers and filled cups with milk and water and cooked ravioli and baked cookies and followed them up and down the stairs to their bedrooms several times. I loved every minute of it. They were so polite - saying thank you for everything I gave them and did for them. I cuddled with the little lady in her bedroom before putting her down for her nap: she nodded slowly and sweetly when I asked her if she was ready to be in her crib. I didn't hear a peep out of her for the next three hours. I hate that their mother has kanswer, but I am glad to know them and be able to support them and encourage them through this dreadful battle.

Late that same afternoon I tutored a young man in Spanish. Such a sweet kid. Such a tough road he has had to travel to get to Spanish 3 as a junior in high school. I tutored him on Monday as well. I am glad to be able to help him gain some level of proficiency and enjoyment of the language I love so much.

This morning, I met with a new ObGyn for an annual exam. It's a strange thing to have an appointment with a gynecologist being that I don't have many "female parts" left to be examined. I had to do an online health assessment earlier in the week and the program practically screamed at me because I haven't had a mammogram in more than two years. Um - I don't have anything to be mammogrammed, people! Nothing else to press in your torturous device. Thanks be to God!

It is a strange and a wondrous thing to be able to give thanks that I no longer have breasts. There's a great tee shirt I've seen online about that very thing. It says, "Yes, they are fake, but the real ones tried to killed me." There ought to be one that says something like, "Yes, I'm completely flat chested. But I got rid of them because they tried to kill me."

Anyway, great doctor. Patient. Funny. Kind. Gentle. Exactly what you need when you lay back with your feet in stirrups.

Which reminds me of a story I heard more than twenty years ago. A woman I worked with at the time had bright red hair. I think she was the reason that I am so drawn to "gingers" nowadays. I loved her and I loved her hair. She was beautiful and funny and generous and thoughtful and, for some crazy reason, she appeared to like me as much as I like her. We talked about food and exercise a lot. At the time, I was a member of a gym but hated going. It felt like a waste of time to get ready to go to the gym, drive there, work out, drive home, shower and get on with my evening. I wished there was a way to get a good workout at home. She introduced me to workout videos - which I have been pretty much addicted to ever since. How did I not know about workout videos???

Anyway, she told me about going to the ObGyn one time. Her doctor was a man. When she laid back on the table and looked up at the ceiling, she was shocked to discover that there was a picture of George Clooney on the ceiling. What on earth would make that doctor think that a woman would want to see that handsome face staring down at her at that precise moment in her day? And then the doctor, trying to make small talk at one of life's most awkward moments, asked her, "Is your hair naturally that color?" Her answer was: "Well, doc, you should be able to tell." How funny is that???

Okay, back to my day... After the doctor's appointment, I went to the supermarket and loaded up on salad fixings, ingredients for green juices, some fruit, and kombucha. It's gonna be a healthy eating weekend for me. I sometimes miss my bags of red australian licorice washed down with cherry coke, followed by sour cream and onion potato chips, but I feel so much better now that I eat better. I am always a little shocked when people tell me they don't like salad or fruit. Then I remember that when I was pregnant with Kristiana, I used to eat a big spinach salad nearly every day to provide dark greens and healthy protein to my growing baby - and I would hold my nose while I ate. I hated salad that much back them. I've come a long way from there. Thanks be to God.

This afternoon, I had to go exchange to shirts I bought for Steve for Christmas. They were too big for him. The saleswoman who helped me find them in a smaller size informed me that the price had fallen since the holiday. So I ended up returning two shirts and leaving with four shirts - and the price difference I had to pay was less than $8. After that, I spent almost two hours with a friend whose daughter is getting married this June. Wedding preparations. Job searches. Stories. Laughter. And more to pray for. Life is full. So very full.

While I ate dinner tonight, I talked on the phone with the guy who was my boyfriend on my first trip to Spain. We've known each other since the fall of 1986. The last two times I have gone to Spain, he and his wife and daughter have taken me out to dinner. What a beautiful family. What great memories and stories we share. I am enormously grateful that we are still such good friends.

After saying "adios" to Jorge, I finished my preparation for teaching Sunday school this Sunday. And then I began preparation for teaching next Sunday. Yes, it's true - two Sunday school classes and two Wednesday night classes within two weeks. There is precious little that I like doing better than studying, planning, preparing, and then teaching from the Word of God to the people of God in the church of God.

Tomorrow morning, I head off to a day-long retreat with the elders and deacons from church, to plan and dream and think and pray about the direction we will go as a church in 2015 and beyond. Lots to ponder. Lots to discuss. Most important of all, lots to pray about. May God lead us, guide us, direct us, and woo us into the kingdom building work that is ours to accomplish in the coming months and years. And may we have fun together as well.

So, there you have it. My week in a nutshell.
My life these days as an empty nester is busier than ever.
I am grateful, so very grateful for the freedom and for the limitations.
For the free time and for the ways in which my calendar is filling up.
I am grateful that my relationship with my children is still strong - even though they have both flown the coop and are making their way in the world of university study.
I am grateful for the deep conversations and deep laughter I have shared with my husband now that we are alone together again.

Since last I was here, I have seen joy and pain, sorrow and celebration, peace and suffering.
Since last I was here, I have written and read and prayed and laughed a lot.
Since last I was here, life has been so good.
I am enormously grateful.
Thanks be to God.

Thankful Thursday

My alarm sounded at 3:50 this morning. I kissed my husband's forehead and climbed out of bed.
Feet into slippers. Arms into robe. Body into bathroom.
I dressed quickly, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen.
Turned up the heat, turned on the kettle, and reached for my Sevilla mug and matcha green tea powder and coconut milk. I poured the steaming elixir into my travel mug.

I backed out of my garage at 4:16 am. A few minutes into my trek, I was forced to make a u-turn and head back towards home, but not because I had forgotten something or changed my mind about my destination. Police cars and fire trucks blocked Providence Road, so I had to turn around and find another way to church. But not before I breathed several prayers on behalf of those that were being aided by those men and women trained to respond to what had to be a crisis situation.

Back on the right path, I pondered where I was going and why. I was on my way to church. I needed to be there before 5 am to work as the church's host to nearly 100 volunteers who were mustering in our fellowship hall before the "Point in Time Count."

Cities all over the country are charged with counting the number of their citizens who are living with homelessness - to choose a "point in time" and do the count. An organization called Housing First has laid claim to the hope and expectation that they will be able to end chronic homelessness in our fair city by the end of 2016. But in order to meet the needs of our most vulnerable neighbors, we need to know who they are and where they are.

This morning, tomorrow morning, Friday, January 30, and Saturday, January 31st, groups of volunteers will meet at the church and then fan out all over the city and county to look for, greet, and talk to those who are currently sleeping outside - in camps, in their cars, under overpasses, on benches, wherever they may be.

My job was simple - be there, be a welcoming representative of the church I love, the people I love, and the God I love. I admit to being a wimp when it comes to cold weather and having to be outside in it. I admit to being a wimp when it comes to talking to people who live outside. But I also admit to enjoying the opportunity to talk to, encourage, and serve those who aren't as wimpy as I am.

Those brave survey takers arrived in boots and hats and coats and scarves, and left with hygiene packs and towels and blankets and plates of muffins for those who might want or need them. Those brave men and women walked around the center of our city and drove to the edges of our city. They introduced themselves to those they encountered and offered services as well as the tangible goods they carried.

When they returned an hour or two later, they were chilled to the bone, but glad to have been out there on the search. I offered them hot coffee and fresh muffins. I listened to them talk about the folks they met, calling them by name as though they were friends. As it turns out, some of the volunteers have had previous conversations with those they interviewed this morning at various locations that serve and support those who are without housing.

I spoke to one volunteer whose wife died a few years ago of a chronic lung disease. When he saw me writing in my journal - cuz I write in my journal everywhere all the time, even at 5:20 in the morning in my church's fellowship hall - he told me about the journal his wife kept when she was sick. She wrote lovingly about his tender care for her during her illness, driving her to work, walking with her, loving her through her decline. As he shared that with me, his emotions flowed down his cheeks with his tears. He encouraged me to love my husband and children, to spend time with them, and to write about them in my journal. He reminded me of something kanswer taught me: life is short, so live and love well.

I spoke to a woman who attends our church regularly but isn't sure she wants to join. She's never been a member of any church and doesn't know why membership matters. We talked about homeschooling. We talked about stomach bugs. We talked about parenting. We talked about the woman who had coordinated Charlotte's Point in Time count. I listened. She listened. I talked. She talked. I hope we see each other again.

I talked to three of the men who work at the church in security and as custodians. We talked about the cold weather and football and food and the work they do at the church and the people they work with and teenagers who think they know more than their parents and people they know who have lost their homes. We talked and laughed and made predictions about the Super Bowl.

As the sun rose and those great-hearted men and women exited the church to return to their regularly scheduled Thursday morning programming, I thanked them for their work and wished them well. Most of them responded, "Thank you for being here. See you tomorrow."

What? You're gonna get up at 3:45 tomorrow morning as well? And Saturday too?

I assumed there would be a fresh batch of volunteers each morning, and there probably will be some newbies on hand. But apparently, there will be many returnees. I will not be among them.

Tonight as I fall asleep and tomorrow as I wake up, I will pray for them and for their safety in their work. I will pray that many more volunteers sign up next year. I will pray that word of this project will reach the hearts and minds and wallets of those with the means to help end homelessness all over this country - and beyond.

More than that, though, I will pray for those who did not wake up this morning in warm pajamas in a warm bed. I will pray for those sleeping at the top of concrete embankments inches below highway traffic because that narrow sliver of concrete is the only place where they are not directly in the wind. I will pray for those living in invisible tent cities in the woods and on the fringes of this city and all cities. I will pray for those who have lost hope that they will ever have a steady job and a home that is their own. And I will pray for reminders to pray for them daily.

I am thankful that Erika sent out an email asking for someone to host this morning.
I am thankful that I said "yes."
I am thankful for the men and women I met today.
I am thankful for their willingness to talk to me and share their stories.
I am thankful for the chance to serve and support those who serve and support others.
I am thankful for the men and women who made the coffee and baked the muffins and breads.
I am grateful for a church that opens its doors, not only to volunteers on these three cold Charlotte mornings, but also two nights each week to those who would otherwise have to sleep outside.
I am thankful for The National Alliance to End Homelessness and The Urban Ministry Center and the work they do.
I am thankful that I am finally acknowledging and confessing my fears about interacting with those living with homelessness.
I am thankful for the call to move through and beyond temporary discomfort for the sake of love, peace, and justice.
I am thankful for the conversation on race that I listened to last night and all that I learned from those amazing activists at TransFORM Network. (One of their mottos is "Love God. Love your neighbor. Take collective action." They talked about race. They talked about homelessness - and the ways in which we can strip the dignity of people when we do "the sandwich toss" or stand behind counters and serve food from our place of abundance into "their" empty bowls. They talked about how not only black lives matter, but also women's lives matter and gay lives matter and homeless lives matter as well. My mind was blown. My heart was expanded. My toes were trampled. Ouch. But it was a good and necessary pain.)
I am thankful for the many ways in which God is tearing back the veil over my eyes and showing me the pain and suffering of others in ways that are moving me to do something and not just pray - not that prayer doesn't matter. But prayer alone doesn't feed the hungry or provide housing for the unhoused.
I am thankful that in a couple of hours I will climb back into my warm bed in my warm pajamas and snuggle up next to my warm husband.

Thanks be to God.

I love women.

There, I said it. It's true. I love women.

I love women who laugh and women who cry.
I love women who call me on the phone and pour out their hearts, their triumphs, their sorrows, and their tears.
I love women who are willing to do that in person.
I love women who welcome my phone calls, my complaints, and my boasting.
I love women who send me notes and cards and bookmarks via snail mail.
I love women who bake me cookies and make me granola and treat me to lunch.
I love women who allow me to back them cookies and invite them out for coffee and dinner and lunch and breakfast too.
I love women who wear white socks while sitting out on their front porches.
I love women who reach out to my children and pray for them.
I love women who are trying to raise their black sons to be strong and confident men in a country that greets them with fear and disrespect.
I love women who are raising strong daughters in a world that tries desperately to deprive them of their voices, their strength and their dignity.
I love women who are preachers and teachers and leaders in their communities.
I love women who face, fight, and overcome kanswer, diabetes, depression, bipolar disorder, and arthritis.
I love women who don't have children and don't want children.
I love women who refuse to fit in, to conform, to be predictable.
I love women who speak the truth, even when it scares themselves and others.
I love women who are applying to grad school, to seminary, to college, to new jobs.
I love women who homeschool and women who have stopped homeschooling.
I love women who run, walk, swim, do yoga, and bike.
I love women who refuse to exercise at all.
I love women who live in houses, in apartments, in cities, and in small towns.
I love women who are transitioning from homelessness to homes of their own
I love women who decided that enough was enough and they said, "no more."
I love women who decided that enough was enough and they said, "yes."
I love women who love men.
I love women who love women.
Most of the women I love love both men and women - and I love that.
I love women in Spain, in India, in England, in Nicaragua, in Haiti, in Ecuador, in Australia, in South Africa, and all over these United States.
I love women.

Women are amazing, beautiful, strong, determined, creative, generous, loving, wise, resilient, long-suffering, kind, gracious, forgiving - except when we're not...


One of the women I have loved for a very long time died last Friday morning.
She had overcome kanswer. She had overcome pneumonia. She had overcome widowhood.
She was truly an overcomer.
But now she is gone from our sight, gone from our arms, gone on ahead to check out our next stop on the journey.
Until I see her and can love her in person again, I will love her daughter.
Te echaré mucho de menos, Marta.
Gracias por ser una mujer de mucho amor, de mucho gozo, y de mucha fé.

We Will Be Landing Shortly #SpeakeasyBookReview

This is what Mike Hamel chose to put on the back cover of his book entitled, We Will Be Landing Shortly. The quote is superimposed over the photograph of an airplane window.

I've tried to learn from life events beyond my control, including cancer (his spelling, not mine) and the death of a spouse. I've thought deeply and written candidly about their physical, emotional and spiritual impact. While I'm unique, I'm not special. Our experiences may be different but we're on the same flight from the past to the future and we can encourage one another on the way. 

This book caught my eye in a Speakeasy email back in November or October because of his reference to his wife's death to kanswer. Kanswer sucks. When it claims a life, when it deprives a family of someone beloved, one of the ways in which that person can be honored is through the telling of her or his story. I thought the entire book would be the telling of her story, but I was mistaken in that assumption. I'm enormously grateful that this book is more than the story of her illness and her death.

This book is Mike Hamel's story - and not only the story of losing his wife, but also the story of finding himself adrift in a sea of questions and emotions, of doubts and ambiguities, and how he is making his way along the journey. Some people write reflective books like this with the tantalizing promise of explaining how they found their way back home to a strong and unshakeable faith. Some write about the Bible verses that inspired them along the way and the sermons that answered their questions. Some write only about the joy of the Lord being their strength, refusing to be truthful about their anger.

Mercifully, this book is not like that. This book speaks of the ravages of time on the body and the ravages of false assurances of easy answers on the mind and spirit. This book challenges the believer and the doubter. This book unearths gems like these -

Early in the book, Mike explains that he made the decision to no longer be a teaching pastor in a church and dedicated his life and time to writing. Once I no longer felt responsible for leading others, I delved more deeply into what I thought I knew about God. When I started pulling on some loose threads, parts of my theology began to unravel. Through the holes I saw some troubling discrepancies between the goodness of God and a suffering world. I prayed for help but the heavens went silent. My spiritual life cooled. My relationships with God and his people changed. (p. 6)

I believe theology reveals more about its authors than its subject. I believe asking questions is not a sin, even if we sometimes come up with the wrong answers. (p.18)

Just as there's something in us that recoils from suffering, there's also something that resonates with pleasure. I don't mean the excesses of hedonism, but the small sips of life's ambrosia: a child's laugh, beautiful music, the touch of warm skin, variegated sunsets, a good night's sleep, ocean waves, fresh fruits and the ten thousand taste buds to enjoy them. (p.36)

As my faith has wavered under close scrutiny I've come to lean more heavily on hope to keep doubt from debilitating me completely. I'm not alone in this regard. Many have questioned or abandoned the faith of their youth but are reluctant to lose hope. Faith is the light and hope is the heat in a relationship with God. I see the two intermingled as in a flame. Flames cast shadows, an apt metaphor for doubt. Not everyone is troubled by the shadows, but I am. (p. 179)

Rare is the pastor, rare is the follower of Christ willing to admit to a cooled spiritual life and changed relationships with God and God's people because of the silence of heaven. Rare is the book that lays out such confessions, questions, pondering, and wondering and leaves so many of them unresolved. Rare is the author who speaks angrily of death and dying and then tenderly about fresh fruit and life's pleasures. Rare are the books that speak so candidly about doubt, loss, death, fear, atheists, agnostics, evangelicals, Catholics, widows, pastors, heaven, hell, the Bible, prayer, homeopathy, and the placebo effect - and manage to hang together coherently. This book is rare and precious for all those reasons.

Warning: do not read this book if you want easy answers to your big questions about suffering and God and evil and kanswer. Do not read this book if you want to be told what to think and believe. Do not read this book if you are safe and comfortable and have no questions or doubts about what, why or in whom you believe.

Then again, you should read this book even if you want easy answers, want to be told what to think, and are completely secure and satisfied with your faith journey. This book will raise some questions that are worthy of consideration and will prompt you to think and rethink, consider and reconsider your positions and stances. You should read this book if you have lost a loved one to kanswer and think you would find solace in reading someone else's experience of that same painful outcome. Read this book if you find yourself wondering about the practice of parsing Scripture to suit our own needs and agendas, a practice we tend to criticize in others but defend in ourselves. He calls it "weighing Scripture" - and he dedicated a chapter of that same name to this prickly topic. Read this book if ambivalence and ambiguity about the things of God have found their way into your deepest and darkest moments.

I certainly don't agree with everything he says in this book. For example, he shares the story of obtaining medical insurance even after being diagnosed with kanswer. (Yes, he has had kanswer as well - more than once.) He wonders if being able to get insurance was a miracle or merely the result of having a fortuitous connection with someone who walked him through the application process. At the end of that chapter, the author writes this: "Daily miracles" is, after all, a contradiction in terms. Well, anybody who reads this blog or knows me personally knows that I completely disagree with that statement.

He also wrote: We have vast networks of highly specialized pain cells but no nerve cells dedicated to pleasure, which appears to be a product of neurochemical processes alone. (p. 36) What about the nerve cells of a woman's clitoris? Perhaps I misunderstood him here. Perhaps I don't know enough about neurochemical processes - but I questioned and commented on that statement in the margin of that page.

There are a few other places in the book where I underlined passages or drew boxes around them and wrote, "No!" "I disagree." "Not true." Even then, I was deeply and attentively engaged with the writing. This book encouraged me to stay strong and maintain hope on my faith journey. It offered me reasons to be more grateful in and for my life. It increased my desire to write more candidly about my own uncertainties and my yearnings, my pain and my losses. I highly recommend this book.

Indeed, we will be landing shortly - landing on the other end of the journey we call life. I thoroughly enjoyed the questions and challenges, the insights and exploration this book provided regarding the remainder of the flight. Traveling mercies to Mike Hamel and to all of us.

**********

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the author and publisher through the Speakeasy blogging book review network. I was not required to write a positive review, and the review and opinions offered here are my own. I do not receive any compensation for writing this review or posting a link to purchase the book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255.

On this day...

My husband and I went to see the movie Selma today. We sat in a crowded theater surrounded by white people and black people and Indian people watching that movie about voting rights and freedom and racism and anger and fear and courage and justice and determination. When we left the theater we both used the restrooms then walked across the plaza to a pizza restaurant where we ate and drank and talked about the film we had just seen.

Together.
In a movie theater.
In a restaurant.
In Charlotte, North Carolina.
Fifty years after those brave people put their lives on the line that separated black people from white, angry people from peaceful people,
fearful people from other fearful people - because they all had to have been terrified.
But there they were.
And now here we are.

They were granted the right to sit anywhere they wanted on buses and trains.
They were granted the right to eat at public lunch counters and other eateries.
They were granted the right to stay in hotels and motels along our nation's roads.
They were granted the right to attend desegregated public schools.
They were granted the right to vote.

Sadly, the right to vote, the right to easy access to voting is being overturned in many southern states. Schools are increasingly separate and unequal yet again.
Our prisons are populated disproportionately by men and women of color even when their crimes are the same as their white counterparts.

Violence trumps peace on nearly every side.
Greed trumps generosity.
Fear trumps trust and courage.
Apathy trumps involvement.

And today I ask myself: what am I going to do?
What am I willing to do? To not do?
What am I wiling to say? To not say?
For whom will I speak? To whom?
What price am I willing to pay for my own freedom and for the freedom of others?

Today we saw a movie that I think everyone should see. Everyone. North and South, East and West.
Today we were reminded of why the third Monday in January is a national holiday.
We were reminded of why Dr King earned the Nobel Peace Prize and also the ear of so many people; some loved him and others loathed him, but they all heard him.
Today I was challenged to continue that march, because of Dr King's own words, written in a jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama: "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

Thank you, Dr King. Thank you, Coretta King.
Thank you to all the marchers and supporters and volunteers and prophets.
Thank you to the ministers, priests, nuns, rabbis, mothers, fathers, children who stood and fell, who lived and died for the sake of righteousness, justice, and peace.
Thank you to the brave women and men who continue to fight that good fight,
to speak for the oppressed, suppressed, depressed, and dispossessed.
Thank you to my parents for surviving the brutality so present in North Carolina and South Carolina where you grew up so that you could meet each other in Brooklyn, New York, get married and give me and my three brothers an easier life than the one you endured.
Thank you to The Lovings whose love for one another forced the Supreme Court to strike down the laws that prevented interracial marriage so that my husband and I could go to the movies today.
Together.
In Charlotte, North Carolina.

My Daily Bread

I woke up this morning with an odd image on my mind; I assume it came to me in one of my dreams. It is the face of a child, a boy, holding and staring at a large lollipop. He is clearly pleased with his possession, but there is something else happening as well. His gaze is both on the lollipop and beyond it. He is deciding whether to eat the sweet treat now or save it for some other time. If he eats it now, then the next few minutes will be the happiest and sweetest of the day. If he saves it for later, then he will have something to look forward to. If he eats it now, then what will he eat later? If he saves it for later, then what will he eat now?

I think it odd that the face in my dream is that of a little boy because I often struggle with that lollipop dilemma. I will buy a dark chocolate bar with almonds (one of my favorite sweet treats) and save it for weeks before beginning to eat it, small square by small square. I will buy a box of mints at the cash register at Trader Joe's and not eat it for months. I will buy clothing and not wear it for unreasonably long stretches of time. Pens and journals are safely held in my study closet stash far too long.

If I eat it now, if I use it now, if I enjoy it now,
then will there be enough later?

For a brief stretch of time a few years ago, I read about and began to plan a way to purchase and store enough food in my house to last us a year - just in case we lost our income or there was a shortage of food or an earthquake or ... Kind of like a doomsday prepper, but without the guns, ammunition, gas masks, and bomb shelter. I looked at websites and scrolled through impossibly long lists of how much and how many of each item we would need. I looked around my house for places to store the items. I tried to decide which kinds of grains and beans and condiments and hygiene products could last a year. I even thought about starting a vegetable garden in our backyard.  Yes, me - the chick who would rather be in a doctor's office drinking a radioactive drink awaiting a bone scan than digging in the dirt where I might touch a WORM or encounter a SNAKE!!!

Then I remembered: Give us this day our daily bread.
Then I remembered: Do not worry about tomorrow, what you will eat or drink or what you will wear.
Then I remembered: I could never keep a year's worth of food in my house, providing only for my family, if my neighbors were hungry, if my friends were hungry.

We started eating through the stash of canned beans and bags of rice and boxes of Quaker Oatmeal Squares that no one in my family knew I was creating. I brought some of my hidden chocolate bars into the kitchen so that my family could enjoy my hidden treasures - some of them, not all of them. I tore the tags off the unworn clothing and started wearing it - joyfully and gratefully.

But more than that, I laid my fearful heart open in my journal and in prayer. I asked for the courage to enjoy this life in this moment and not worry about the future. I have always been provided for. I asked for the willingness to share with others from the abundance that we have received. Others have shared so much with me. And even more have far deeper and more chronic needs than I have ever experienced. I asked for the ability to recognize when the inclination towards saving and planning leans over into hoarding and worrying. I asked to be able to give more away as my worry increased. I asked to regularly be reminded that --> All has always been well. All is well. All shall be well.

There may yet come a time when our cupboards are bare, our refrigerator is empty, and perhaps even our electricity is off. God knows and I know that billions of people on our planet live on far too little far too long. That may be in our future as well.

But on this cool Sunday morning, in this house, on this quiet street, I have been provided with my daily bread - and my daily tea, my daily green juice, my daily eggs, my daily cereal, my daily salad, and my daily clementines. My cup and my cupboard and my closest and my chocolate stash runneth over.

Thanks be to God.

The Mad Ones

Jack Kerouac wrote:

The only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live,
mad to talk,
mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplae thing,
but burn, burn, burn,
like fabulous yellow roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars.

********************************************************

I want to add to that list of the mad ones:

the ones who are mad to seek the truth
mad to speak the truth
mad to hear the truth

mad to tell their stories
mad to listen to the others' stories
mad to write their stories
mad to read their stories out loud

mad to ask questions
mad to live into the answers
mad to keep learning
mad to share wisdom

mad to see, notice, list and marvel at the ordinary
mad to see, notice, acknowledge and name the miraculous
mad enough to give thanks for both

mad to serve others
mad to pursue justice
mad to feed the hungry
mad to sit with the lonely
mad to weep with the sorrowful
mad to laugh with the joyful

mad to admit faults and failures
mad to not hide wounds and scars
mad to ask for help when help is needed

mad to stand up for those who have fallen
mad to help the fallen back to our feet
mad to offer help when help is requested

mad to seek deeper meaning in their lives

mad to journey with other seekers and pilgrims

mad enough to keep walking the path even when the destination is unknown

mad to share the road with others

mad to share the lessons learned along the way

mad to spend time with others
mad to enjoy separation and solitude

mad to wonder

mad to wander

mad to walk the camino, the journey with eyes, mind, and heart wide open

mad enough to believe that we will all find our way home

mad to sit for hours over coffee and talk
mad to nurse a mug of tea and talk on the telephone if face-to-face meetings aren't possible
mad to nurse themselves and others back to health and strength

mad to hope

mad to dream
mad to hope in, dream about, believe, and do what others think is impossible

mad to remember the past and all the dreams that have come true

mad to live in the present moment while nursing dreams for the future
mad enough to believe that all shall be well, present tragedies and sorrows notwithstanding

mad to move
mad to be moved
mad to rest
mad to be still

mad to pray
mad to meditate
mad to talk about, talk to, listen for, and live for God
mad to listen to, live alongside and love those who don't believe in God
mad enough to believe that Love will win in and over every heart

mad for peace

mad for joy

mad for contentment

mad for fullness of joy

mad for fullness of life

mad enough to live fully to the very last moment of the last day