Happy Ash Wednesday! Happy 40 days of Lent to you all!
When I was trying to decide upon a good practice this Lent, I had wonderful intentions. I will feed the hungry and clothe the naked. I made lists and lists of great ideas. I will give up everything but rice, and pray constantly, and wear sackcloth, and ashes.
Well, I will be wearing ashes, but I realized I might be getting carried away. I started to make a list of 40 things I would do this Lent to get closer to God. This opened up the question, "40 things per day, or over the whole time?" So I started on lists of 40 things for each week. Whew. I got so busy thinking of things, that I was exhausted before I even started to DO any of the items on the lists. I came up with this list of 40 possibilities if you are looking for a list of "40 things" you can do to get closer to God this year. I made the list, you fill in YOUR 40.
1. Do 40 kind things for strangers.
2. Do 40 prayerful things.
3. Do 40 hard things.
4. Do 40 physical exercises.
5. Do 40 Spiritual exercises.
6. Pray for 40 specific people.
7. Forgive 40 things.
8. Be purposely thankful for 40 things.
9. Give 40 things away.
10. Let 40 things die. (Preferably not pets.)
11. Find 40 miraculous things around you.
12. Write 40 letters.
13. Write 40 prayers.
14. Rejoice over 40 things.
15. Learn about 40 saints.
16. Pray 40 Our Fathers.
17. Pray with 40 seperate people.
18. Call 40 people to say hello.
19. Pray for 40 special intentions.
20. Give up 40 meals.
21. Limit your spending to $40 per week. Track every dollar.
22. Confess 40 sins. (Dig deep.)
23. Encourage 40 friends in their Lenten practices.
24. Pray for 40 priests. (Lists can be found on diocesan websites.)
25. Pray for 40 religious sisters and/or brothers.
26. Pray for 40 orphans.
27. Donate to 40 causes you care about.
28. Help 40 kids learn to read.
29. Pray for 40 families who have a loved one in the obituaries.
30. Thank God 40 times that you are not in the obituaries.
31. Give up 40 TV episodes.
32. Limit yourself to 40 texts a day.
33. Limit yourself to 40 "selfies" for the entire season of Lent!
34. Give up 40 beverages, and donate the money to charity.
35. Do 40 chores for someone else.
36. Share 40 scripture verses.
37. Listen to 40 stories told by older people. (Even if it's the same story over and over.)
38. Spend 40 minutes per day in prayer.
39. Spend 40 minutes per day in silence, listening to God do the talking.
40. Love 40 people better.
I heard some guy on a radio show saying that your lenten sacrifice should be a foreshadowing of death. The more I looked over my substantial list of stuff I needed to do, I was quite certain I didn't have time for death, since I was WAY too busy getting closer to God, which is exactly the purpose of Lent. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
I AM SO BUSY GETTING CLOSER TO GOD THAT I DON'T HAVE TIME TO BE WITH GOD.
I remembered how I felt when I was on the floor without a pulse. There was nothing there but me and God, and our love. I wasn't DOING anything. I wasn't planning, or donating, or writing. I just...was. And what I was is LOVED.
THAT's what I hope to get to this Lent. My list is a barrier that I have created between myself and God. I will remove this barrier piece by piece, number by number until once again there is only me and God and our Love.
Easter will rock!
Good luck removing your barriers, whatever they may be.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Dying is not enough!
TAFKAP (The Artist Formerly Known as Prince) sang it. So have lots of other artists. "I would DIE for you!" And really, that's great. As a matter of fact, it's the greatest. "There is no greater love," says the Lord, "than to lay down your life for a friend." It's true, but is it enough?
Jesus died for us, we've established that. We've spent the last week celebrating and pondering, and contemplating and reliving it in our imaginations. He died a horrible, cruel, bloody, barbaric death. It was brutal before he even got to the cross part. He laid down his precious life VOLUNTARILY for us, his friends...
Then came the really awesome part!
HE CAME BACK!!! He didn't stay dead. That wasn't it! It wasn't the end, it was just the beginning! He loved us enough to die for us, then he loved us enough to conquer that which threatens to warp and dement and damn our souls, and came back to let us know the job was truly finished! HE CAME BACK!!!
That's what I'm celebrating now! He loved me enough to die for me and come back with the gift of eternal life! Now it's my turn to do the loving! Now it's my turn to die for him (to my crappy, selfish, sinful life) and come back for him! It's time for me to live for Him and let everyone around me know that Jesus finished the job, and what's left to do now is to spread the love God surrounds us with.
Happy Easter! I gotta go Live for Him!
Jesus died for us, we've established that. We've spent the last week celebrating and pondering, and contemplating and reliving it in our imaginations. He died a horrible, cruel, bloody, barbaric death. It was brutal before he even got to the cross part. He laid down his precious life VOLUNTARILY for us, his friends...
Then came the really awesome part!
HE CAME BACK!!! He didn't stay dead. That wasn't it! It wasn't the end, it was just the beginning! He loved us enough to die for us, then he loved us enough to conquer that which threatens to warp and dement and damn our souls, and came back to let us know the job was truly finished! HE CAME BACK!!!
That's what I'm celebrating now! He loved me enough to die for me and come back with the gift of eternal life! Now it's my turn to do the loving! Now it's my turn to die for him (to my crappy, selfish, sinful life) and come back for him! It's time for me to live for Him and let everyone around me know that Jesus finished the job, and what's left to do now is to spread the love God surrounds us with.
Happy Easter! I gotta go Live for Him!
Friday, March 29, 2013
Seeing the blood...
"But the blood will mark the houses where you are.
Seeing the blood, I will pass over you;
thus, when I strike the land of Egypt,
no destructive blow will come upon you."
God the Father asked Moses to mark the doorways of His Chosen People with the blood that drained out of the sacrificial lambs. Upon seeing this blood, the Angel of Death was instructed to pass that household by, as it had already offered it's sacrifice.
During the Last Supper, Jesus started to make it clear that HE was to be our sacrifice.
"Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed* for many."
During Matthew's version of the crucifixion, Pilate wanted to set Jesus free, 'And all the people said, "His blood shall be on us and on our children!"'
Seeing the blood, I will pass over you;
thus, when I strike the land of Egypt,
no destructive blow will come upon you."
God the Father asked Moses to mark the doorways of His Chosen People with the blood that drained out of the sacrificial lambs. Upon seeing this blood, the Angel of Death was instructed to pass that household by, as it had already offered it's sacrifice.
During the Last Supper, Jesus started to make it clear that HE was to be our sacrifice.
"Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed* for many."
During Matthew's version of the crucifixion, Pilate wanted to set Jesus free, 'And all the people said, "His blood shall be on us and on our children!"'
So in order to be passed over by the Angel of Death, my doorways require the blood of the sacrifice. Jesus was that sacrifice, and provided the blood of a new covenant. His blood was shed for many, and all the people begged and cried out for His blood to be upon them and their children.
I beg this same thing, Lord.
May your blood be upon the doorposts of my heart, and those of my children. As you take up your place on the Cross, covered with the sweat and pain of bearing my sinfulness and each blow that I deserve tears into your flesh, may those precious drops of blood be upon the doorposts of my soul, protecting me from harm. Let YOUR sinless, precious blood proclaim to all who see it that the sacrifice has been made. May it go before me into every place I enter. May it follow my children, and their children to untold generations, purifying their souls as they give their faith, hope and love to you.
Lord, you shed the blood. Please mark my house. Please pass over us in your wrath, but enter and stay with your love. When you see the blood, know you are welcome here.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
He's Leaving...
He's leaving...
It's true. My son is leaving and I'm afraid of what will happen to him. He's a great guy with a good head on his shoulders and he's such a huge part of my heart that I just can't help but worry about him.
I have saved up so many precious memories of him in my heart. I remember when he was born, how I lost the "urge to push" so he looked like he had been wearing a hat for a few hours after he was born. I remember being amazed by how much I could love another person when I first saw his face. I remember the funny way he used to crawl. He laid on his back and pushed his feet to scoot himself along, occasionally looking around to redirect himself.
I remember cuddling him as a baby. I remember spending time with him as a toddler and reading together as he got older. I love the cute way he mispronounced things. I love the way he's always had a quiet confidence about him, even when he was smaller than the other kids. I love the way that he never stopped trying when things were difficult.
And tomorrow he will leave our home again. He will branch out on his own, taking my heart with him. He has his own path to follow, and it's time for him to go fulfill his destiny and continue his own journey. He will stand in harm's way to make things better for others, and I fear for him. He will be lonely sometimes, but I don't want him to feel abandoned. He will be sad, and scared, and I won't be able to help him or protect him. Some of his friends will let him down. What if they betray him? What if he gets hurt? Or worse. Will he know how much I love him? Oh son, please know how much I love you!
A spear pierces this mother's heart...
But the story isn't new. Another mother. Another Son. One son goes to the Cross, one son goes to Afghanistan. Her son saved mine, and in that grace is where I take refuge and comfort and hope.
It's true. My son is leaving and I'm afraid of what will happen to him. He's a great guy with a good head on his shoulders and he's such a huge part of my heart that I just can't help but worry about him.
I have saved up so many precious memories of him in my heart. I remember when he was born, how I lost the "urge to push" so he looked like he had been wearing a hat for a few hours after he was born. I remember being amazed by how much I could love another person when I first saw his face. I remember the funny way he used to crawl. He laid on his back and pushed his feet to scoot himself along, occasionally looking around to redirect himself.
I remember cuddling him as a baby. I remember spending time with him as a toddler and reading together as he got older. I love the cute way he mispronounced things. I love the way he's always had a quiet confidence about him, even when he was smaller than the other kids. I love the way that he never stopped trying when things were difficult.
And tomorrow he will leave our home again. He will branch out on his own, taking my heart with him. He has his own path to follow, and it's time for him to go fulfill his destiny and continue his own journey. He will stand in harm's way to make things better for others, and I fear for him. He will be lonely sometimes, but I don't want him to feel abandoned. He will be sad, and scared, and I won't be able to help him or protect him. Some of his friends will let him down. What if they betray him? What if he gets hurt? Or worse. Will he know how much I love him? Oh son, please know how much I love you!
A spear pierces this mother's heart...
But the story isn't new. Another mother. Another Son. One son goes to the Cross, one son goes to Afghanistan. Her son saved mine, and in that grace is where I take refuge and comfort and hope.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I wish I could be who you think I am!
A very dear young friend of mine asked me if I would be her sponsor for the sacrament of Confirmation. This is a great honor, and one I don't take lightly. Basically, I am being asked to stand before the bishop and put my hand on this young lady's shoulder and say (by my presence) "I'll vouch for this one! She's ready to become a disciple of Christ all on her own, regardless of what decisions her parents make." To be a sponsor, you must be a baptized, practicing Catholic that is willing to be a mentor of sorts to this young person, offering suggestions (or a listening ear) when this new disciple has questions or concerns about living a life of faith. It's kind of a big deal...no, I'd say it's more than that.
It's huge.
I haven't the slightest reservation in the LEAST vouching for this young lady. If anyone were ever called to be a disciple of Christ, this one certainly is! She's an amazing young woman that I believe is called to sainthood. She lives her life guided by the principles she has been raised with, and God has uniquely prepared her to have a deep patience, love and tolerance with those who try the patience of others.
She had to write a letter to the bishop, and in it she had to explain who her sponsor is and why she chose me, and she had to request the sacrament, and explain why she wanted it. She gave me a copy of this letter, and I'm still carrying it around, and still a bit teary.
Let's just say that if I can be half of the woman this girl believes me to be, I will be more blessed than words can say. She describes in her letter a woman I wish to be, and STRIVE to be, but that I'm not yet. The fact that she sees me trying gives me hope! I don't want to let her down by telling her that I fail daily. That I try so hard to be those things, and I fall short. I'm not sure if she wants to know that, like her, I sometimes feel like the closer I try to get to God the more obstacles I find in my way. I mess up all the time, but I don't want to mess this up.
So I'll keep praying. I'll keep muddling along, and knowing God loves me, though for the life of me, I still don't understand what He sees in me. I pray he sees what she sees. I pray he makes me into the woman Dawn thinks I am.
It's huge.
I haven't the slightest reservation in the LEAST vouching for this young lady. If anyone were ever called to be a disciple of Christ, this one certainly is! She's an amazing young woman that I believe is called to sainthood. She lives her life guided by the principles she has been raised with, and God has uniquely prepared her to have a deep patience, love and tolerance with those who try the patience of others.
She had to write a letter to the bishop, and in it she had to explain who her sponsor is and why she chose me, and she had to request the sacrament, and explain why she wanted it. She gave me a copy of this letter, and I'm still carrying it around, and still a bit teary.
Let's just say that if I can be half of the woman this girl believes me to be, I will be more blessed than words can say. She describes in her letter a woman I wish to be, and STRIVE to be, but that I'm not yet. The fact that she sees me trying gives me hope! I don't want to let her down by telling her that I fail daily. That I try so hard to be those things, and I fall short. I'm not sure if she wants to know that, like her, I sometimes feel like the closer I try to get to God the more obstacles I find in my way. I mess up all the time, but I don't want to mess this up.
So I'll keep praying. I'll keep muddling along, and knowing God loves me, though for the life of me, I still don't understand what He sees in me. I pray he sees what she sees. I pray he makes me into the woman Dawn thinks I am.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Avoiding the Sorrowful
I like praying the rosary. Actually, that's only partly true. I like praying with the rosary. I have a CD of Immaculee Illibagiza (the Rwandan Genocide survivor) praying the rosary, and I love to listen to it and pray along in my car. Her soft African accent warms my heart, and makes me think of how beautiful her homeland must be in person. I'd love to go there someday, and see the lush green land with my own eyes. It could happen.
So I mentioned that I like to pray with the rosary, because for me (and probably thousands of others) praying the rosary is like taking a bus. I like buses. Some of them are quite decorative, or have clever sayings on the sides. Some are simple "cheese wagons" like the ones that drive the kids to school. Anyway, I take the bus to get somewhere. The bus is not my destination, but a pleasant transportation device to get me where I truly want to be. In this case, my rosary praying is the same way. My destination is not 10 Hail Marys. The 5 mysteries are just bus stops to let me know where I am on the journey, and to remind me where I'm heading. My destination is with God, whatever that looks like on any given day.
There are 4 sets of 5 mysteries when praying the rosary, and I usually pray only one set at a time.
The Joyful mysteries are my favorites: The Annunciation (when Gabriel told Mary what was up), The Visitation (When Mary visited Elizabeth), The Birth of Jesus, The presentation of Baby Jesus at the Temple, and Finding young Jesus in the Temple (after his folks had already traveled on for several days. I'd have been furious!) There are also 5 Luminous Mysteries, 5 Glorious Mysteries, and the ones I avoid...
The Five Sorrowful Mysteries
So I mentioned that I like to pray with the rosary, because for me (and probably thousands of others) praying the rosary is like taking a bus. I like buses. Some of them are quite decorative, or have clever sayings on the sides. Some are simple "cheese wagons" like the ones that drive the kids to school. Anyway, I take the bus to get somewhere. The bus is not my destination, but a pleasant transportation device to get me where I truly want to be. In this case, my rosary praying is the same way. My destination is not 10 Hail Marys. The 5 mysteries are just bus stops to let me know where I am on the journey, and to remind me where I'm heading. My destination is with God, whatever that looks like on any given day.
There are 4 sets of 5 mysteries when praying the rosary, and I usually pray only one set at a time.
The Joyful mysteries are my favorites: The Annunciation (when Gabriel told Mary what was up), The Visitation (When Mary visited Elizabeth), The Birth of Jesus, The presentation of Baby Jesus at the Temple, and Finding young Jesus in the Temple (after his folks had already traveled on for several days. I'd have been furious!) There are also 5 Luminous Mysteries, 5 Glorious Mysteries, and the ones I avoid...
The Five Sorrowful Mysteries
- The Agony in the Garden
- The Scourging at the Pillar
- The Crowning with Thorns
- The Carrying of the Cross
- The Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord
It's just not possible to properly celebrate Easter, or the joy of salvation without acknowledging these sorrowful events. Life is full of sorrow, and without sorrow, we would never feel joy, but right now I'm not ready. I'm afraid I'll get bogged down into my own crosses and crownings. I've woven a pretty sizable crown of thorns to wear on my own head, and every piercing thorn is a reminder of the times I've stubbornly shouted "No, thank you, I can do it myself!" to God. I earned that scourging, not Him, and the guilt of it is almost too much to bear.
The sorrowful mysteries also carry the greatest blessings, however, and I need to think of them. Each drop of blood was given, not taken. Each lash of the whip was received, not given. He GAVE his life, no one TOOK it. It was always HIS to give, and He gave it to me. He gave it FOR me.
Because He LOVES me.
And the bus--I mean, the rosary-- takes me there. To the place where I am beloved and with the one who loves me into being!
I'd encourage you to get on your bus and ride to that place.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The power went out.
It really did. We got a real wet sloppy snowstorm last night that took down some power lines and wiped out our power for awhile. Normally this isn't really much cause for alarm, but at about 30 degrees outside, with a foot of new wet heavy snow, the house was getting colder by the minute. Sylvia climbed in my bed and snuggled. Then we got up and put on layers of sweats, brewed tea in my new tea kettle, and enjoyed the adventure of life without electricity.
It came back on about 10:30 or so. Heat filled our chilly house, and life returned to normal. However, when I was thinking I'd blog about the power going out, a whole different thought came to mind.
Remember the story about when Jesus was walking down the street with his disciples, and there were people all around, pressing in on all sides, and the woman with the "bleeding problem" touched the hem of his garment? Jesus turned around and said, "Who touched me?" Why?
Because the Power went out.
The power went out from the Son of God, and he instantly knew it. It changed that lady. It healed her, and emboldened her to speak up and say "it was I, Lord." Can you imagine?
What if the Power went out like that today? The house would be aglow in the warm love of our Creator, and even if the lights came back on, we would never return to "Normal". When have you felt His power go out? Think back to a time when you spent a few minutes in the dark, quietness of His Love. Spend a few minutes there.
It came back on about 10:30 or so. Heat filled our chilly house, and life returned to normal. However, when I was thinking I'd blog about the power going out, a whole different thought came to mind.
Remember the story about when Jesus was walking down the street with his disciples, and there were people all around, pressing in on all sides, and the woman with the "bleeding problem" touched the hem of his garment? Jesus turned around and said, "Who touched me?" Why?
Because the Power went out.
The power went out from the Son of God, and he instantly knew it. It changed that lady. It healed her, and emboldened her to speak up and say "it was I, Lord." Can you imagine?
What if the Power went out like that today? The house would be aglow in the warm love of our Creator, and even if the lights came back on, we would never return to "Normal". When have you felt His power go out? Think back to a time when you spent a few minutes in the dark, quietness of His Love. Spend a few minutes there.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
LISTENING LIKE A 5 YEAR OLD!
LISTEN
That's what the Father said from the cloud when Peter was babbling on about setting up a tent for Moses and one for Elijah. He said,
This is my Chosen Son. Listen to Him.
I'm trying so hard to listen, but I'm babbling like Peter. I never thought about it like this until now, but when it comes to listening to God, I'm like the kids in my Pre-Kindergarten (Young Fives) class. I have something that I think is really important to say, and God is doing the same thing I do every day in class, curbing, redirecting, correcting, and I'm totally oblivious.
Here's a sample of a typical Young Fives interaction:
Okay, who can raise their hand and tell m..
I HAVE A CAT! MRS. SWAGER, I HAVE A CAT.
It's not your turn, who can raise their hand and te...
EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU...
I HAVE A CAT!
Please don't interrupt. Who can tell me what letter this is?
EXCUSE ME! IT'S A B! I DON'T HAVE A B IN MY NAME. I HAVE A ...
You are right, this is a B. What sound does it...
I HAVE A CAT! AND IT SCRATCHED ME!
We're talking about the letter B right now, we'll talk about cats later. What sound does...
EXCUSE ME! CAT DOES NOT HAVE A B! EXCUSE ME! MY NAME DOES NOT START WITH B! B IS NOT MY LETTER!
Please listen! This letter is B and the sound is /b/. (The catgirl is up and walking around the room now.)
Take your finger out of your nose and go wash your hands, please! (This is the 4th time Mr. "Excuse me" has been asked to remove his finger.)
Mrs. A-wogger, I know a word that starts with B! Moon! Moon starts with a B! No, wait, that's not a B.
EXCUSE ME! I DON'T HAVE A CAT.
You get the idea, right? Except When it's God and I it looks more like this:
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN...
Hi God, it's me Amy. I'm nervous about my kids again. They're all growing up so fast, and some of them are in the Army, and it makes me nervous, but I trust that you are going to take care of them and I just...
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN TO H...
I know I need to listen to Him, but I was thinking maybe I could write a letter to each of my godkids and then make a cake or some cookies. I have to get something out to thaw for dinner tomorrow, and it needs to have a lot of veggies since Lydia and Harriett gave up meat for lent...
LISTEN TO HIM!
I am really listening to what you're saying, but I'm really worried about my girlfriend whose Father-in-law just died, and I don't know what to do to help her...
LISTEN! IT'S MY TURN, PLEASE DON'T INTERRUPT, I WANT YOU TO BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD...
I have a cat, Lord. I have a cat. Excuse me, but I have no idea what's really important. What I know is that I am a bad listener, I have a cat, my name does not contain a B, I have low tolerance for nose-picking, and I really REALLY want to be the student you'd like me to be...if I was only developmentally ready.
LISTEN!
That's what I'm trying to do. I'm glad God is an infinitely better and more patient teacher than I am!
That's what the Father said from the cloud when Peter was babbling on about setting up a tent for Moses and one for Elijah. He said,
This is my Chosen Son. Listen to Him.
I'm trying so hard to listen, but I'm babbling like Peter. I never thought about it like this until now, but when it comes to listening to God, I'm like the kids in my Pre-Kindergarten (Young Fives) class. I have something that I think is really important to say, and God is doing the same thing I do every day in class, curbing, redirecting, correcting, and I'm totally oblivious.
Here's a sample of a typical Young Fives interaction:
Okay, who can raise their hand and tell m..
I HAVE A CAT! MRS. SWAGER, I HAVE A CAT.
It's not your turn, who can raise their hand and te...
EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU...
I HAVE A CAT!
Please don't interrupt. Who can tell me what letter this is?
EXCUSE ME! IT'S A B! I DON'T HAVE A B IN MY NAME. I HAVE A ...
You are right, this is a B. What sound does it...
I HAVE A CAT! AND IT SCRATCHED ME!
We're talking about the letter B right now, we'll talk about cats later. What sound does...
EXCUSE ME! CAT DOES NOT HAVE A B! EXCUSE ME! MY NAME DOES NOT START WITH B! B IS NOT MY LETTER!
Please listen! This letter is B and the sound is /b/. (The catgirl is up and walking around the room now.)
Take your finger out of your nose and go wash your hands, please! (This is the 4th time Mr. "Excuse me" has been asked to remove his finger.)
Mrs. A-wogger, I know a word that starts with B! Moon! Moon starts with a B! No, wait, that's not a B.
EXCUSE ME! I DON'T HAVE A CAT.
You get the idea, right? Except When it's God and I it looks more like this:
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN...
Hi God, it's me Amy. I'm nervous about my kids again. They're all growing up so fast, and some of them are in the Army, and it makes me nervous, but I trust that you are going to take care of them and I just...
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN TO H...
I know I need to listen to Him, but I was thinking maybe I could write a letter to each of my godkids and then make a cake or some cookies. I have to get something out to thaw for dinner tomorrow, and it needs to have a lot of veggies since Lydia and Harriett gave up meat for lent...
LISTEN TO HIM!
I am really listening to what you're saying, but I'm really worried about my girlfriend whose Father-in-law just died, and I don't know what to do to help her...
LISTEN! IT'S MY TURN, PLEASE DON'T INTERRUPT, I WANT YOU TO BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD...
I have a cat, Lord. I have a cat. Excuse me, but I have no idea what's really important. What I know is that I am a bad listener, I have a cat, my name does not contain a B, I have low tolerance for nose-picking, and I really REALLY want to be the student you'd like me to be...if I was only developmentally ready.
LISTEN!
That's what I'm trying to do. I'm glad God is an infinitely better and more patient teacher than I am!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Pots, part one.
Picture yourself as an artist who fashions clay pots.
You've spent a good deal of time making a huge assortment of unique pots.
Some are short and stout, perfect to plant one of those gorgeous mini-gardens that fancy people have at the end of their driveways. Some are tall and slender like Grecian urns, with stories etched into the sides of them. Each pot was designed in the mind of the artist to carry out a specific task. Some are very decorative while some are more pragmatic. Some will spend their entire existence being used for a common purpose, while some will be gilded with gold and reserved for only special occasions.
Now you've spent all this time and energy creating each one in the image you had in your mind. You gave some imperfections and traits that you knew would serve their purpose, others you created to be...well, shall we say you were going through your "Art Nouveau" period. But they all began as your idea.
Hidden within each pot is a secret. A treasure exists in its form or function, or within its design that makes it more than just a pot. This secret makes it dear to the one who fashioned it. It is a memory of the time they spent together as clay and potter, being made into something...else.
You would like each pot to know its value. From the least, little jar that cracked in the fire of the kiln, to the greatest fountain that holds precious water for those in the dessert, they all hold the secret, and you want them to know it. You want them to REMEMBER it, and hold it dear.
So you climb onto the wheel, and allow yourself to become surrounded with clay and spun into a pot yourself...
You've spent a good deal of time making a huge assortment of unique pots.
Some are short and stout, perfect to plant one of those gorgeous mini-gardens that fancy people have at the end of their driveways. Some are tall and slender like Grecian urns, with stories etched into the sides of them. Each pot was designed in the mind of the artist to carry out a specific task. Some are very decorative while some are more pragmatic. Some will spend their entire existence being used for a common purpose, while some will be gilded with gold and reserved for only special occasions.
Now you've spent all this time and energy creating each one in the image you had in your mind. You gave some imperfections and traits that you knew would serve their purpose, others you created to be...well, shall we say you were going through your "Art Nouveau" period. But they all began as your idea.
Hidden within each pot is a secret. A treasure exists in its form or function, or within its design that makes it more than just a pot. This secret makes it dear to the one who fashioned it. It is a memory of the time they spent together as clay and potter, being made into something...else.
You would like each pot to know its value. From the least, little jar that cracked in the fire of the kiln, to the greatest fountain that holds precious water for those in the dessert, they all hold the secret, and you want them to know it. You want them to REMEMBER it, and hold it dear.
So you climb onto the wheel, and allow yourself to become surrounded with clay and spun into a pot yourself...
Thursday, February 14, 2013
The Dirt Blessing
The 'Dirt Blessing'
Two years ago I waited in the hospital in Alabama for my granddaughter to make her entry into the world. She arrived as scheduled, and promptly made us wait to get to hold her. Her lungs didn't inflate well when she was first born, which reminded us all of a great lesson...we are not in control.
Yesterday she received ashes on her forehead for Ash Wednesday. I should say, she and a good deal of the earth's population received these ashes as a reminder of that great lesson also. We are still not in control. We get to make choices and decisions, but the truth is exactly what the priest or deacon says as he traces the cross of Christ on our foreheads "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return."
Jordan told me Evie was all excited that she got a "dirt blessing". She's right, it looks like dirt. It's actually the burnt remains of the palms from last year's Palm Sunday Mass. That was the one where we were all excited by the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the people were SO excited that he was there and laid palm fronds on the road before him as he rode in on the colt of an ass. Just before my sins nailed him to a cross. Mine, yours, all of ours, because he didn't have any of his own.
Evie's right! It is a dirt blessing. We started as dirt and we'll end that way. The important part is what we do while we are MORE than dirt.
For that brief moment of time between when our lungs inflate with the breath of God until we give back our last breath of God when our time here is over, we are more than dirt.
I have been taught that the breath of God contains within it some of His divinity, which is in each of us. So maybe our job while we're here is to give it away. Give your divinity to every person you meet by acknowledging theirs. Give away the stuff that really matters. Give time. Give Love. Give kindness and gentleness. Give forgiveness and acceptance and find the beauty that this world is searching for and can't seem to see. Share your vision while your eyes are still able to see. Share your laughter while your mind is still able to see the humor in life. Share your song as long as your voice holds out. Then just love.
Evie's a big girl now with her very own dirt blessing, and even though she's only been with us for 2 short years, it seems like she's always been.
This year, for Lent, use your days wisely. Be a blessing, even if you're a dirty one.
Yesterday she received ashes on her forehead for Ash Wednesday. I should say, she and a good deal of the earth's population received these ashes as a reminder of that great lesson also. We are still not in control. We get to make choices and decisions, but the truth is exactly what the priest or deacon says as he traces the cross of Christ on our foreheads "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return."
Jordan told me Evie was all excited that she got a "dirt blessing". She's right, it looks like dirt. It's actually the burnt remains of the palms from last year's Palm Sunday Mass. That was the one where we were all excited by the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the people were SO excited that he was there and laid palm fronds on the road before him as he rode in on the colt of an ass. Just before my sins nailed him to a cross. Mine, yours, all of ours, because he didn't have any of his own.
Evie's right! It is a dirt blessing. We started as dirt and we'll end that way. The important part is what we do while we are MORE than dirt.
For that brief moment of time between when our lungs inflate with the breath of God until we give back our last breath of God when our time here is over, we are more than dirt.
I have been taught that the breath of God contains within it some of His divinity, which is in each of us. So maybe our job while we're here is to give it away. Give your divinity to every person you meet by acknowledging theirs. Give away the stuff that really matters. Give time. Give Love. Give kindness and gentleness. Give forgiveness and acceptance and find the beauty that this world is searching for and can't seem to see. Share your vision while your eyes are still able to see. Share your laughter while your mind is still able to see the humor in life. Share your song as long as your voice holds out. Then just love.
Evie's a big girl now with her very own dirt blessing, and even though she's only been with us for 2 short years, it seems like she's always been.
This year, for Lent, use your days wisely. Be a blessing, even if you're a dirty one.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
My Selfish Sofas
I celebrated my 45th birthday recently, and Luke and the kids asked me what I'd like for a gift. This kind of surprised me, since I've always thought I was a pretty obvious hinter. I've been saving for a new laptop, and I thought I would ask for one, but somehow "a new sofa" is what came out of my mouth.
There's no question I have needed new sofas for some time now. I was born without an interior design gene, but even I know that the green slip-covered, dog-chewed, third owner sofa and love seat were finished having their turn at my house. I really didn't think my beloved husband would go for it, and I wouldn't have blamed him. Sofas are expensive. This is a large expense. It felt very selfish, and he said yes!
Harriett and I went to Art Van and chose a sectional for the living room and one for the TV room. I should mention that these are the first brand new still in the plastic sofas I've EVER purchased. First ever in 45 years! I've owned lots of sofas, davenports, and couches. In my apartment, years ago, I had one patio couch, a vinyl one from a dentist's waiting room, and an atrocious turquoise beast that folded out into a bed (at the same time). I've never unwrapped the plastic and put the feet on all by myself! What a fabulous adventure!
So I was feeling very selfish, until we were putting the couches together and the kids were exploring these new comfy spots to find their new favorite places. They thanked me for choosing a gift that we could all enjoy. They've fussed about and rearranged pillows and wrestled for the sweet spots on these new couches. Last night Simon, Sylvia and I cuddled up with a few good books and read together on these new couches. Isaac even jumped in at the end to use his "epic Viking voice" for the grandmother in the book "Thunder Cake." It was Patricia Pollacco meets Lord of the Rings. Epic!
God took my selfishness and made it into a blessing to our family. He's using my birthday couches to bring us closer together. That's what I really wish for on every day, not just my birthday. I wish (and pray) that my children grow up knowing they are loved and valued. I pray that they know this is their home and they are always welcome here. Mostly, I pray that they know how blessed I have been to be a part of their lives for as long as I get to be around. They are a gift to me.
Thank you Lord, for the gift of couches and relaxation and Love.
There's no question I have needed new sofas for some time now. I was born without an interior design gene, but even I know that the green slip-covered, dog-chewed, third owner sofa and love seat were finished having their turn at my house. I really didn't think my beloved husband would go for it, and I wouldn't have blamed him. Sofas are expensive. This is a large expense. It felt very selfish, and he said yes!
Harriett and I went to Art Van and chose a sectional for the living room and one for the TV room. I should mention that these are the first brand new still in the plastic sofas I've EVER purchased. First ever in 45 years! I've owned lots of sofas, davenports, and couches. In my apartment, years ago, I had one patio couch, a vinyl one from a dentist's waiting room, and an atrocious turquoise beast that folded out into a bed (at the same time). I've never unwrapped the plastic and put the feet on all by myself! What a fabulous adventure!
So I was feeling very selfish, until we were putting the couches together and the kids were exploring these new comfy spots to find their new favorite places. They thanked me for choosing a gift that we could all enjoy. They've fussed about and rearranged pillows and wrestled for the sweet spots on these new couches. Last night Simon, Sylvia and I cuddled up with a few good books and read together on these new couches. Isaac even jumped in at the end to use his "epic Viking voice" for the grandmother in the book "Thunder Cake." It was Patricia Pollacco meets Lord of the Rings. Epic!
God took my selfishness and made it into a blessing to our family. He's using my birthday couches to bring us closer together. That's what I really wish for on every day, not just my birthday. I wish (and pray) that my children grow up knowing they are loved and valued. I pray that they know this is their home and they are always welcome here. Mostly, I pray that they know how blessed I have been to be a part of their lives for as long as I get to be around. They are a gift to me.
Thank you Lord, for the gift of couches and relaxation and Love.
Friday, March 2, 2012
This year, for Lent....
Clearly, I'm not blogging every day this year. Just hit and miss, and I've been missing more than I've been hitting lately. But that doesn't mean I'm not celebrating Lent this year. I'm doing something different. It's just as much of a challenge as last year's sacrifice, but in a different way. When I blog, I write out the words, and I send them out into the universe, and I have very little idea who reads it or what happens next with the people who read it. I have very little face to face interaction in regards to the blog. It won't be that easy this time.
This year I have challenged myself to pray with other people. Every day. Anyone. Someone. About anything. It has been an interesting Lent so far. Like the other day at school in the teacher's lounge. Some of us were having lunch together and someone asked if we had heard about Margaret's grandson. Margaret has been a teacher at C-S since I was in the third grade. To say someone who has taught Kindergarten for over 25 years is an amazing woman is the understatement of the century. Anyway, her grandson has been diagnosed with a form of Leukemia. He's three. She's got to be terrified for him and her kids. We talked about how we'd like to do something to help the family, and one lady said,"What's his name again?"
"Jeffrey," came the reply. "I might forget by the time I pray for him tonight, so I'll probably just call him Margaret's grandson." she admitted.
Before I could stop myself, I said "You don't have to wait, you know. You could do it now." ("Shut up shut up shut up!" I'm thinking to myself! What the heck are you SAYING!!! My brain screams!) "You know for Lent I've taken on praying with other people," I half mumbled, apologetically.(Oh crap! Did I really just say that?) "Let's do it!" Tracy Mannes says. She is on the bandwagon! God love her, she gives me courage when mine is failing. "Shall we hold hands?" she asks the other women at the table. All co-workers. All educators. All women of Faith. All of us realized that although we know each other to be Christian women, we've never spoken to our Maker as one. We've never prayed together. At least if they did, I wasn't there.
So we all stand. Holding hands as one. Together in Christian love, we hold up Margaret in prayer. We ask God to be with Jeffrey and his family through this difficult time. We ask for the courage to be the friends that Margaret needs. We ask that if healing is in His will, it will come quickly, and if it's not, that the family would find their strength in the love of their Maker. I thank God for these women of faith that I work with. I thank God for the sacredness of that moment.
Amen.
I wonder what they were thinking as we went back to work.
I was thinking, "That was terrifying, and I'm so glad it happened." I know it shouldn't be a big deal to pray with other people. I'm not shy, and God and I have this running conversation all day long. (I do not require an invisible friend, I have a REAL one!) What's so frightening about inviting someone else in on the conversation? Maybe it's the fear that they won't get it. This Love is something so pure and beautiful, that I would never allow anything to threaten it, and inviting someone else in is a big risk. But I have already seen that when it pays off, and you are a part of a prayer circle, that love becomes SO MUCH GREATER than you and the others praying with you. It grows and glows and fills your soul with hope.
Will you pray with me this Lent?
This year I have challenged myself to pray with other people. Every day. Anyone. Someone. About anything. It has been an interesting Lent so far. Like the other day at school in the teacher's lounge. Some of us were having lunch together and someone asked if we had heard about Margaret's grandson. Margaret has been a teacher at C-S since I was in the third grade. To say someone who has taught Kindergarten for over 25 years is an amazing woman is the understatement of the century. Anyway, her grandson has been diagnosed with a form of Leukemia. He's three. She's got to be terrified for him and her kids. We talked about how we'd like to do something to help the family, and one lady said,"What's his name again?"
"Jeffrey," came the reply. "I might forget by the time I pray for him tonight, so I'll probably just call him Margaret's grandson." she admitted.
Before I could stop myself, I said "You don't have to wait, you know. You could do it now." ("Shut up shut up shut up!" I'm thinking to myself! What the heck are you SAYING!!! My brain screams!) "You know for Lent I've taken on praying with other people," I half mumbled, apologetically.(Oh crap! Did I really just say that?) "Let's do it!" Tracy Mannes says. She is on the bandwagon! God love her, she gives me courage when mine is failing. "Shall we hold hands?" she asks the other women at the table. All co-workers. All educators. All women of Faith. All of us realized that although we know each other to be Christian women, we've never spoken to our Maker as one. We've never prayed together. At least if they did, I wasn't there.
So we all stand. Holding hands as one. Together in Christian love, we hold up Margaret in prayer. We ask God to be with Jeffrey and his family through this difficult time. We ask for the courage to be the friends that Margaret needs. We ask that if healing is in His will, it will come quickly, and if it's not, that the family would find their strength in the love of their Maker. I thank God for these women of faith that I work with. I thank God for the sacredness of that moment.
Amen.
I wonder what they were thinking as we went back to work.
I was thinking, "That was terrifying, and I'm so glad it happened." I know it shouldn't be a big deal to pray with other people. I'm not shy, and God and I have this running conversation all day long. (I do not require an invisible friend, I have a REAL one!) What's so frightening about inviting someone else in on the conversation? Maybe it's the fear that they won't get it. This Love is something so pure and beautiful, that I would never allow anything to threaten it, and inviting someone else in is a big risk. But I have already seen that when it pays off, and you are a part of a prayer circle, that love becomes SO MUCH GREATER than you and the others praying with you. It grows and glows and fills your soul with hope.
Will you pray with me this Lent?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
A Wasted Life?
We all have those neighbors who are more like family, the Johnson's were mine. Ronnie and I ate soup together, took naps together, played together, hitched his dog to a sled together, and during the summers, were constant playmates. His sister Cindy used to roll her eyes at us foolish children. There's a good chance some of our choices did qualify as stupid. Putting the little metal keys in the outlet to pretend it was the ignition of our "tiger car" may have inspired Ronnie to become a firefighter. We grew up together.
I attended the memorial for Cindy yesterday. Her death at 48 seems much too early. She couldn't stop drinking. I heard people say "What a terrible waste of a life". And in a way, they are right. Ron said, "That girl had so much love in her heart for everyone but herself." I'm certain he's right. But was her life really wasted?
She spent her life seeking something...love? Happiness? Fulfillment? Approval? I don't know for sure, but I know she didn't find it in the bottle. But I still can't think of her life as a waste. Opportunities were wasted. Time was wasted. But Ronnie was right. She LOVED everyone...except herself. Because she was a drinker, she could go where the drinkers go...and be a ray of sunshine to those suffering with that particular addiction. She was a blessing to her friends. She made her boyfriend happy. She let him feel the gift of her love and acceptance.
It made me wonder a bit. If Cindy had been a responsible, confident, model member of society, head of the PTA, respectable mother of the year...how would Ronnie have turned out? Maybe it would have been him that succumbed to the pain and heartbreaks of life. Did her weaknesses make him stronger? How many people have a healthier prayer life because they were praying for her? How many people became better people because they knew her?
Jesus said "the poor will always be among you..." Maybe, because Cindy "loved everyone but herself" she allowed herself to take a turn being the one in need so that the rest of us could learn compassion and empathy.
Her life wasn't wasted. Her life was used to teach us all that when we look in the eyes of someone hurting, we need to see Cindy Johnson. Steve and Bonnie's daughter. Ron's sister. My neighbor. A young lady fulfilling the noble position of being broken, and vulnerable, and lovable for the very admirable purpose of teaching the rest of us how to be better, more loving people.
Thank you Cindy. I hope you have found the peace and love you were seeking.
I attended the memorial for Cindy yesterday. Her death at 48 seems much too early. She couldn't stop drinking. I heard people say "What a terrible waste of a life". And in a way, they are right. Ron said, "That girl had so much love in her heart for everyone but herself." I'm certain he's right. But was her life really wasted?
She spent her life seeking something...love? Happiness? Fulfillment? Approval? I don't know for sure, but I know she didn't find it in the bottle. But I still can't think of her life as a waste. Opportunities were wasted. Time was wasted. But Ronnie was right. She LOVED everyone...except herself. Because she was a drinker, she could go where the drinkers go...and be a ray of sunshine to those suffering with that particular addiction. She was a blessing to her friends. She made her boyfriend happy. She let him feel the gift of her love and acceptance.
It made me wonder a bit. If Cindy had been a responsible, confident, model member of society, head of the PTA, respectable mother of the year...how would Ronnie have turned out? Maybe it would have been him that succumbed to the pain and heartbreaks of life. Did her weaknesses make him stronger? How many people have a healthier prayer life because they were praying for her? How many people became better people because they knew her?
Jesus said "the poor will always be among you..." Maybe, because Cindy "loved everyone but herself" she allowed herself to take a turn being the one in need so that the rest of us could learn compassion and empathy.
Her life wasn't wasted. Her life was used to teach us all that when we look in the eyes of someone hurting, we need to see Cindy Johnson. Steve and Bonnie's daughter. Ron's sister. My neighbor. A young lady fulfilling the noble position of being broken, and vulnerable, and lovable for the very admirable purpose of teaching the rest of us how to be better, more loving people.
Thank you Cindy. I hope you have found the peace and love you were seeking.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Love this Lent with your WHOLE heart!
It's Ash Wednesday, 2012, and I'm back!
It's been a year, and a lot has changed, but Lent is supposed to be a season of change. I look around myself and see my children changing. Driver's ed? Are you kidding? First Communion for Sylvia? Isaac's Confirmation? I have 2 sons in the Army now! Yikes! I'm so thankful to be a part of it all. My life is a crazy, mixed up busy place to be, and I'm enjoying every minute. (Except the minutes cleaning up dog poo. We're working on it!)
One of the things that really struck me today was my sweet son Isaac. At 15, some guys are way too cool to be seen with their mother. He hugs the guts out of me publicly, and invites his friends to do the same. It doesn't matter whether he's sweaty from Cross Country, wrestling, or just because he's a teenage boy, he has no reason to feel embarrassed to love his good old Mom. He went to Mass this morning with Debbie (my dear friend) and his sisters. He received a large smattering of very dark ashes on his forehead. They were still very dark when I picked him up at 2:30 for an appointment. When I asked him if any of his friends noticed, he said 17 people had asked him about it, and that he told them it was a sign of repentance, and that it was a church thing.
The cool thing is that he could have washed them off, but he didn't. He could have given a wise-crack answer, but he didn't (that I know of.) He also fasted the whole day! Not the wimpy fasting that I practice, where your total food intake for the day equals less than 2 total meals. He full-on fasted. No Food! Did I mention he's 15 and has a hollow leg where he normally stores the FOOD? Not one bite. He was all in.
In the first reading in Mass today, it talked about loving God with your whole heart. This made me tear up a little, because I still don't feel like my heart is quite "whole" yet. But after praying about the whole thing, I realized that I am being asked to love like Isaac! Publicly. Fully. With my WHOLE heart! Holding nothing back! He's a great example of what love should look like. Hug that red-haired girl because you know she's beautiful! Answer your friends when they ask you about the signs of your faith! Love each other like you mean it!
Isaac, I'm so thankful for you today. You are such a beautiful soul!
Happy Lent!
It's been a year, and a lot has changed, but Lent is supposed to be a season of change. I look around myself and see my children changing. Driver's ed? Are you kidding? First Communion for Sylvia? Isaac's Confirmation? I have 2 sons in the Army now! Yikes! I'm so thankful to be a part of it all. My life is a crazy, mixed up busy place to be, and I'm enjoying every minute. (Except the minutes cleaning up dog poo. We're working on it!)
One of the things that really struck me today was my sweet son Isaac. At 15, some guys are way too cool to be seen with their mother. He hugs the guts out of me publicly, and invites his friends to do the same. It doesn't matter whether he's sweaty from Cross Country, wrestling, or just because he's a teenage boy, he has no reason to feel embarrassed to love his good old Mom. He went to Mass this morning with Debbie (my dear friend) and his sisters. He received a large smattering of very dark ashes on his forehead. They were still very dark when I picked him up at 2:30 for an appointment. When I asked him if any of his friends noticed, he said 17 people had asked him about it, and that he told them it was a sign of repentance, and that it was a church thing.
The cool thing is that he could have washed them off, but he didn't. He could have given a wise-crack answer, but he didn't (that I know of.) He also fasted the whole day! Not the wimpy fasting that I practice, where your total food intake for the day equals less than 2 total meals. He full-on fasted. No Food! Did I mention he's 15 and has a hollow leg where he normally stores the FOOD? Not one bite. He was all in.
In the first reading in Mass today, it talked about loving God with your whole heart. This made me tear up a little, because I still don't feel like my heart is quite "whole" yet. But after praying about the whole thing, I realized that I am being asked to love like Isaac! Publicly. Fully. With my WHOLE heart! Holding nothing back! He's a great example of what love should look like. Hug that red-haired girl because you know she's beautiful! Answer your friends when they ask you about the signs of your faith! Love each other like you mean it!
Isaac, I'm so thankful for you today. You are such a beautiful soul!
Happy Lent!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Follow me to my new blog!
Hello everyone! Follow me to my new blog! Since Lent is over, it's time for a new point of view!
http://www.viewfromtheshoe.blogspot.com/ is the new blog. Come check it out!
http://www.viewfromtheshoe.blogspot.com/ is the new blog. Come check it out!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
My Last Lenten Blog!
I'm at my keyboard, having spent this entire day in a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. This is it. My Last Lenten Blog. Tomorrow is the big day we have spent all this time preparing for. Did I live up to my promise? I hope so. I blogged every day, whether I felt like it or not. Inspired or uninspired, I put my hands to the keys and offered God free reign. I've written some gibberish, and he's spoken to people with the keys of my keyboard. I'm so glad to have been a part of this process. I've learned so much about being brave and listening to what GOD has to say, and filtering out what I want to say.
I have fulfilled my obligation, but it's been so much more than that. I feel like I have shared myself in a very personal way with anyone who cares to read in. I tell my kids all the time how important it is to be yourself, because God made only one of you. How sad it would be for the world to miss out on you because you are trying to be someone else. It would be equally sad if God put a story in your heart and you didn't share it. Or if he whispered messages to your heart that he wanted the world to hear, but he wanted YOU to write it for him, and you said "I'm not good enough." That's where I was when we started this journey together.
We started out covered with the ashes of sorrow. We remembered that we were made of dirt and we will return to dirt. Somewhere along the line, we realized who formed that dirt and how he made us in His own image and likeness. Then he breathed life into us, and made us real humans. He could have stopped there, like he did with the animals he made. But he loves us enough that he took on a body like ours, and a nature like ours, and lived like us so we could hear his words. Remember that the Creator speaks and it becomes so. So when he says he loves us, it can't be any other way. When he holds us close to himself and smiles upon us, it's real. The most real thing there is is Love. And God is that Love. It existed before the light and the dark. It existed before the Heavens and the Earth. It was and is and is to come. We were Created by Unending Forever Love. For no other reason than to share in that Love.
And they wonder why I cry at Mass. I cry at home, too. I ponder and weep. I imagine and cry. I see a picture in my head of Jesus in the garden. His lazy friends are sleeping, he's about to be separated from everyone that loves Him, and he's about to see what evil really looks like. He's preparing to take on my sin and yours so he can descend into Hell and battle Satan once and for all. Disappointment, betrayal, spitting, beating, mocking, it's just the pregame for Jesus. His most important work is yet to come. So they crucify him on Friday. The earth quakes, darkness descends, the spirits of the dead are roaming around Jerusalem. (look it up, it's in there!)
Meanwhile, his followers wait. Lost, confused, scattered, they wander and try to figure out what the heck just happened. They must have been dazed and confused, but anticipating. Waiting, but for what. He flat out told them several times He would rise again, but did He mean it literally, or like on the last day? Do you think they tried to go back to their old lives? Did Peter, James and John go fishing? I don't know. The ladies hung out by the tomb and cried. (Makes sense to me, that's where I'd be!) Where are you in this story right now? All this stuff happened, and where are you? Are you going back to your old life? Are you waiting to see what happens next? Are you anticipating the miracle that we celebrate tomorrow morning, when the Light of the Universe shines triumphant over sin and Death and Hell, and viral stomach flu, and every other crappy thing in the world?!!!
No one came through the Easter story unchanged. Judas was dead. Peter humiliated himself (Jesus forgave him, though.) Jesus was GLORIFIED! Most of the apostles became martyrs for the faith. How about you? How are you changed by these events?
It makes me want to Love better. It makes me want to do the job that God made me to do. I wasn't called to be a martyr (yet, that I know of), or a savior. I was called to love you. I was asked to share God's Love with you during Lent. In case I haven't made it perfectly clear, God Loves You...and so do I. Very much. Happy Easter.
Lent is over. I can't wait to see what happens next!
I have fulfilled my obligation, but it's been so much more than that. I feel like I have shared myself in a very personal way with anyone who cares to read in. I tell my kids all the time how important it is to be yourself, because God made only one of you. How sad it would be for the world to miss out on you because you are trying to be someone else. It would be equally sad if God put a story in your heart and you didn't share it. Or if he whispered messages to your heart that he wanted the world to hear, but he wanted YOU to write it for him, and you said "I'm not good enough." That's where I was when we started this journey together.
We started out covered with the ashes of sorrow. We remembered that we were made of dirt and we will return to dirt. Somewhere along the line, we realized who formed that dirt and how he made us in His own image and likeness. Then he breathed life into us, and made us real humans. He could have stopped there, like he did with the animals he made. But he loves us enough that he took on a body like ours, and a nature like ours, and lived like us so we could hear his words. Remember that the Creator speaks and it becomes so. So when he says he loves us, it can't be any other way. When he holds us close to himself and smiles upon us, it's real. The most real thing there is is Love. And God is that Love. It existed before the light and the dark. It existed before the Heavens and the Earth. It was and is and is to come. We were Created by Unending Forever Love. For no other reason than to share in that Love.
And they wonder why I cry at Mass. I cry at home, too. I ponder and weep. I imagine and cry. I see a picture in my head of Jesus in the garden. His lazy friends are sleeping, he's about to be separated from everyone that loves Him, and he's about to see what evil really looks like. He's preparing to take on my sin and yours so he can descend into Hell and battle Satan once and for all. Disappointment, betrayal, spitting, beating, mocking, it's just the pregame for Jesus. His most important work is yet to come. So they crucify him on Friday. The earth quakes, darkness descends, the spirits of the dead are roaming around Jerusalem. (look it up, it's in there!)
Meanwhile, his followers wait. Lost, confused, scattered, they wander and try to figure out what the heck just happened. They must have been dazed and confused, but anticipating. Waiting, but for what. He flat out told them several times He would rise again, but did He mean it literally, or like on the last day? Do you think they tried to go back to their old lives? Did Peter, James and John go fishing? I don't know. The ladies hung out by the tomb and cried. (Makes sense to me, that's where I'd be!) Where are you in this story right now? All this stuff happened, and where are you? Are you going back to your old life? Are you waiting to see what happens next? Are you anticipating the miracle that we celebrate tomorrow morning, when the Light of the Universe shines triumphant over sin and Death and Hell, and viral stomach flu, and every other crappy thing in the world?!!!
No one came through the Easter story unchanged. Judas was dead. Peter humiliated himself (Jesus forgave him, though.) Jesus was GLORIFIED! Most of the apostles became martyrs for the faith. How about you? How are you changed by these events?
It makes me want to Love better. It makes me want to do the job that God made me to do. I wasn't called to be a martyr (yet, that I know of), or a savior. I was called to love you. I was asked to share God's Love with you during Lent. In case I haven't made it perfectly clear, God Loves You...and so do I. Very much. Happy Easter.
Lent is over. I can't wait to see what happens next!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday
Happy Good Friday! I am still in the pajamas I wore to bed last night. I finally got off the couch about 2:30, just in time to watch my family leave for Church. I'm sick and whiny, and I hope God blesses this blog, because I REALLY feel like I have nothing but yuckiness to share. I have mostly slept all day, and missed out on the really good stuff like decorating eggs, and the Good Friday service that speaks so well to my heart.
The apostles slept, too. Jesus said, stay here and keep watch with me. He was anxious and worried, and probably a little freaked out at what was about to happen. His humanity was showing, and it's so completely human to want to be surrounded by your loved ones in times of trouble. The problem was, their leaving him was going to add to the sadness of that trouble. They couldn't even stay awake with him for one hour! Neither could I. I felt like a total failure. Not that Jesus needs me, I think he'd like me to be there, though. He just wanted his friends to have his back for a minute, while he pours out his humanity to his Heavenly Father. He was frightened and lonely, who can blame him?
He falls prostrate. Face down and full out on the ground. The priest does this also, in the Good Friday service. Just like Jesus. Last year, I watched the priest in Missouri do this at the chapel on the Army base. We spent Good Friday and the whole Easter Weekend there, watching Misty join the Church. The priest there had on BDU's and combat boots under his robes. It was the first time I thought of Jesus as a warrior or soldier. It was also the first time I realized how many times the soldiers are mentioned in the Crucifixion story. I was also very aware that each of the soldiers in this chapel had taken an oath to protect and defend me and my freedom...even to their own death...and some of these basic trainees would actually make that great sacrifice.
There is no greater Love than to lay down your life for a friend. But if you aren't called to that degree of sacrifice, you could start with a little compassion. Stay awake with a friend. Pray with them and for them. Listen to a friend. Be a friend. Forgive someone who hates you and heaps on punishments you don't deserve. That would be a very Christian thing to do. Try praying while laying prostrate, full out and face down on the floor. (Or in your bed, if you don't want to scare the people you live with.)
I'm going to thank God for helping me fast. Crackers and 7-up, no problem. I'm also going to ask him to remove from me whatever keeps me far from Him, whether it be viral, spiritual, bacterial, or just plain stubbornness. Thank you, Jesus for your sacrifice. I don't deserve your love, but I'm so glad you chose to love me anyway!
Blessings!
The apostles slept, too. Jesus said, stay here and keep watch with me. He was anxious and worried, and probably a little freaked out at what was about to happen. His humanity was showing, and it's so completely human to want to be surrounded by your loved ones in times of trouble. The problem was, their leaving him was going to add to the sadness of that trouble. They couldn't even stay awake with him for one hour! Neither could I. I felt like a total failure. Not that Jesus needs me, I think he'd like me to be there, though. He just wanted his friends to have his back for a minute, while he pours out his humanity to his Heavenly Father. He was frightened and lonely, who can blame him?
He falls prostrate. Face down and full out on the ground. The priest does this also, in the Good Friday service. Just like Jesus. Last year, I watched the priest in Missouri do this at the chapel on the Army base. We spent Good Friday and the whole Easter Weekend there, watching Misty join the Church. The priest there had on BDU's and combat boots under his robes. It was the first time I thought of Jesus as a warrior or soldier. It was also the first time I realized how many times the soldiers are mentioned in the Crucifixion story. I was also very aware that each of the soldiers in this chapel had taken an oath to protect and defend me and my freedom...even to their own death...and some of these basic trainees would actually make that great sacrifice.
There is no greater Love than to lay down your life for a friend. But if you aren't called to that degree of sacrifice, you could start with a little compassion. Stay awake with a friend. Pray with them and for them. Listen to a friend. Be a friend. Forgive someone who hates you and heaps on punishments you don't deserve. That would be a very Christian thing to do. Try praying while laying prostrate, full out and face down on the floor. (Or in your bed, if you don't want to scare the people you live with.)
I'm going to thank God for helping me fast. Crackers and 7-up, no problem. I'm also going to ask him to remove from me whatever keeps me far from Him, whether it be viral, spiritual, bacterial, or just plain stubbornness. Thank you, Jesus for your sacrifice. I don't deserve your love, but I'm so glad you chose to love me anyway!
Blessings!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Are you listening?
I think God's trying to tell me something about listening today. At least I think that's the message, I'm having a hard time paying attention. This happens to me a lot. It started today with Lydia getting ready for school. "Mom, I don't feel very good." I heard her say it, but I wasn't really listening. "Get ready anyway, and see how you feel after you eat." Standard Mom answer. I half-way hear my way through the morning. I'm not really with it today. Some of the kids leave for school, the other kids get ready to leave with me. On the way to school I get the call from Lydia. "Mom, I'm sick, can you come get me."
I pick her up and take her to the doctor. No Strep. Possibly allergies. Heading back home. I am in "get stuff done" mode, not exactly listening. Until I asked Lydia if she is alright staying home by herself. "I've done it before." She says, clearly not thrilled about it. Now I'm listening. "Mom, can you stay home with me?" My beloved, strong, independent 13 year old daughter needs me. Sorry, school. Mrs. Lee is right, Family First. My baby girl gets me today.
So all day long, while she laid on the couch, alternating between sleeping and feeling crappy, I worked at the computer. My head said "Stop, I'm getting achy." My eyes said, "give us a break!" but I wouldn't listen. I really should have taken up residence on the next couch. (We have a serious amount of couch space at our house.) BUT I WOULDN'T LISTEN! But, God is good and patient. He'll keep calling me to rest, and when He's done being polite, he'll stop me. He knows how to get my attention. He shouldn't have to go to extremes, but sometimes he does. I know I'll pay for it later.
The next phone call I get is from Sylvia. She's at school and she feels sick, and can I pick her up, even though it's the end of the day. Sure, babe. I'm here for you. When Harriett and I pick her up, she's laying on the bench, and I'm not listening to her say something like,"it's about time." So I sign her out and ask Jenny a question, and we pick up Simon, and I'm not listening to Sylvia, I'm thinking about RIF books. Mrs. Ed asks me a question, and I answer and we chat, and we go to leave and there it is. God yelled stop...in the form of Sylvia (or Mount Va-Sylvius as we now call her) projectile vomiting all over the hallway floor. She catches her breath and starts round 2 immediately. A bucket appears, and I start sweeping her into the bathroom. As we transition from bucket to toilet, she catches her breath long enough to yell, "I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK! I KNEW I WAS GOING TO THROW UP, BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN!"
I AM NOW LISTENING.
I can't be more sorry. We wash her hands up, together, and I apologize and hug her. Mrs. Ed gets us a garbage bag for the pukey clothes. She has managed to contaminate at least one piece of every one's clothing. There is a section of hallway 7 feet wide and 12 feet long now covered in the vomit-dust that they have at school. We need haz-mat suits. BUT.....I AM LISTENING. We rejoice in the fact that we had not yet gotten in the van...or on the school bus. Sylvia feels much better. Mrs. Ed mentions how impressed she is that one small child can hold that much stomach contents. Sylvia beams with pride.
I didn't make it to Mass tonight. I washed two daughters hair and combed and braided it. Just like I used to do, before I chose to be so busy. Back in the days when they couldn't do it themselves, and they needed me. I don't remember when I started thinking they didn't need me. Maybe I haven't been listening. As I mentioned, they have my attention. I am listening now.
I am not taking my semi-pukulated child to school tomorrow. I feel as rotten as she did earlier. Maybe I should have rested while I had the chance. We will be camping out on our couches, fasting for Good Friday.
I will be trying to listen to what is really important. I hope you will, too.
I pick her up and take her to the doctor. No Strep. Possibly allergies. Heading back home. I am in "get stuff done" mode, not exactly listening. Until I asked Lydia if she is alright staying home by herself. "I've done it before." She says, clearly not thrilled about it. Now I'm listening. "Mom, can you stay home with me?" My beloved, strong, independent 13 year old daughter needs me. Sorry, school. Mrs. Lee is right, Family First. My baby girl gets me today.
So all day long, while she laid on the couch, alternating between sleeping and feeling crappy, I worked at the computer. My head said "Stop, I'm getting achy." My eyes said, "give us a break!" but I wouldn't listen. I really should have taken up residence on the next couch. (We have a serious amount of couch space at our house.) BUT I WOULDN'T LISTEN! But, God is good and patient. He'll keep calling me to rest, and when He's done being polite, he'll stop me. He knows how to get my attention. He shouldn't have to go to extremes, but sometimes he does. I know I'll pay for it later.
The next phone call I get is from Sylvia. She's at school and she feels sick, and can I pick her up, even though it's the end of the day. Sure, babe. I'm here for you. When Harriett and I pick her up, she's laying on the bench, and I'm not listening to her say something like,"it's about time." So I sign her out and ask Jenny a question, and we pick up Simon, and I'm not listening to Sylvia, I'm thinking about RIF books. Mrs. Ed asks me a question, and I answer and we chat, and we go to leave and there it is. God yelled stop...in the form of Sylvia (or Mount Va-Sylvius as we now call her) projectile vomiting all over the hallway floor. She catches her breath and starts round 2 immediately. A bucket appears, and I start sweeping her into the bathroom. As we transition from bucket to toilet, she catches her breath long enough to yell, "I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK! I KNEW I WAS GOING TO THROW UP, BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN!"
I AM NOW LISTENING.
I can't be more sorry. We wash her hands up, together, and I apologize and hug her. Mrs. Ed gets us a garbage bag for the pukey clothes. She has managed to contaminate at least one piece of every one's clothing. There is a section of hallway 7 feet wide and 12 feet long now covered in the vomit-dust that they have at school. We need haz-mat suits. BUT.....I AM LISTENING. We rejoice in the fact that we had not yet gotten in the van...or on the school bus. Sylvia feels much better. Mrs. Ed mentions how impressed she is that one small child can hold that much stomach contents. Sylvia beams with pride.
I didn't make it to Mass tonight. I washed two daughters hair and combed and braided it. Just like I used to do, before I chose to be so busy. Back in the days when they couldn't do it themselves, and they needed me. I don't remember when I started thinking they didn't need me. Maybe I haven't been listening. As I mentioned, they have my attention. I am listening now.
I am not taking my semi-pukulated child to school tomorrow. I feel as rotten as she did earlier. Maybe I should have rested while I had the chance. We will be camping out on our couches, fasting for Good Friday.
I will be trying to listen to what is really important. I hope you will, too.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
What's in your basket?
I just got back from Walmart, where the Easter Season is in full bloom. There are chocolate rabbits as far as the eye can see. The assortment was stunning. There was a texting rabbit, a rapper rabbit, a caramel-filled one, a peanut butter-filled one, fluffy ones in a rainbow of colors, jumping ones, and even rabbits that poop out chocolate candies. Let's just say, if there was a rabbit you were looking for that wasn't there, it might not exist. Rabbits, check.
There were also eggs. Real ones and chocolate ones and marshmallow ones, and even Krabby Patty ones, which I do not understand AT ALL. There were eggs that had lip gloss in it, marketed for the "under five" age group. Who lets their toddler wear lip gloss? Probably the same ones who design and manufacture sleazy dresses for young teens. There! I said it! Just because my daughter no longer fits in little girl sizes does NOT mean that she wants every inch of her skin to show, and neither does her mother!!! I really don't think I'm a prude, I'd just like to buy my daughters nice Easter dresses that aren't embarrassing to wear in front of a priest! Anyway, my train has jumped the track.
Here's what God put on my heart tonight. We set out our Easter baskets on the night before Easter, hoping to have it filled with something sweet. What do we really hope to find in that basket? I saw a lot of possibilities at the Walmart. (Maybe even purchased a few.) But the truth is that no amount of Tootsie Rolls or Malted Milk Eggs will make us truly happy. It all seems as empty and as hollow as "Dude" the rapper bunny. Even the really big pre-packaged basket with the doll and the Skittles, is just a substitution of what the real gift was and is and will always be...Jesus.
We went to the Easter Egg Hunt put on by the Methodist Church here in town, and this little girl was hunting eggs with some friends. "I hope this is the year I find out what Easter is really all about." She said. I bit my tongue, not knowing what her family's personal beliefs were. Looking back, that was a bad choice. She's at the Easter Egg Hunt for the CHURCH! (That might make it okay to mention Jesus. It's not a school function.) I just wanted to cry knowing that this girl made it to the age of 7 without knowing how LOVED she is! Every cell of my being wanted to tell her about Jesus and how he loved us SO much that he died so we wouldn't have to suffer. I wanted to give her every bit of Jesus, and fill her with a desire to know more and more about this incredible person who came to love us and give us the message that God has not forgotten us, but chooses to live in us still.
That's what is bothering me. THAT is the gift I want to give my children Every Easter and EVERY Christmas. Nothing I can give or do or be is as good as that. I look at the gifts that I choose for them, and they are fine by worldly standards, but how do you wrap eternal salvation? Mary wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it in a manger. Then, thirty-some years later, Joseph of Arimathea wrapped it in clean linen and put him in a tomb hewn from rock. God the Father wrapped it in flesh. I just want them to KNOW that. I want them to know that when their hearts break with disappointment, they never break alone. I want them to know that when their friends turn on them, (and some of them will) they are still not alone. I need them to know that they are loved beyond what Luke and I can ever love them, and we love them an indescribable amount. I want them to know that the Creator of the Universe cares enough about them that he remembers how many hairs are on their head. I want to wrap up a burning Love of God and give it to them, and have it be their favorite.
Faith is a gift that only God can give. You can't buy it at Walmart. Faith, however, is exactly what I hope your basket is full of this Easter. I pray that it is overflowing with Faith, Hope and Love.
(and maybe a few black jelly beans.)
There were also eggs. Real ones and chocolate ones and marshmallow ones, and even Krabby Patty ones, which I do not understand AT ALL. There were eggs that had lip gloss in it, marketed for the "under five" age group. Who lets their toddler wear lip gloss? Probably the same ones who design and manufacture sleazy dresses for young teens. There! I said it! Just because my daughter no longer fits in little girl sizes does NOT mean that she wants every inch of her skin to show, and neither does her mother!!! I really don't think I'm a prude, I'd just like to buy my daughters nice Easter dresses that aren't embarrassing to wear in front of a priest! Anyway, my train has jumped the track.
Here's what God put on my heart tonight. We set out our Easter baskets on the night before Easter, hoping to have it filled with something sweet. What do we really hope to find in that basket? I saw a lot of possibilities at the Walmart. (Maybe even purchased a few.) But the truth is that no amount of Tootsie Rolls or Malted Milk Eggs will make us truly happy. It all seems as empty and as hollow as "Dude" the rapper bunny. Even the really big pre-packaged basket with the doll and the Skittles, is just a substitution of what the real gift was and is and will always be...Jesus.
We went to the Easter Egg Hunt put on by the Methodist Church here in town, and this little girl was hunting eggs with some friends. "I hope this is the year I find out what Easter is really all about." She said. I bit my tongue, not knowing what her family's personal beliefs were. Looking back, that was a bad choice. She's at the Easter Egg Hunt for the CHURCH! (That might make it okay to mention Jesus. It's not a school function.) I just wanted to cry knowing that this girl made it to the age of 7 without knowing how LOVED she is! Every cell of my being wanted to tell her about Jesus and how he loved us SO much that he died so we wouldn't have to suffer. I wanted to give her every bit of Jesus, and fill her with a desire to know more and more about this incredible person who came to love us and give us the message that God has not forgotten us, but chooses to live in us still.
That's what is bothering me. THAT is the gift I want to give my children Every Easter and EVERY Christmas. Nothing I can give or do or be is as good as that. I look at the gifts that I choose for them, and they are fine by worldly standards, but how do you wrap eternal salvation? Mary wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it in a manger. Then, thirty-some years later, Joseph of Arimathea wrapped it in clean linen and put him in a tomb hewn from rock. God the Father wrapped it in flesh. I just want them to KNOW that. I want them to know that when their hearts break with disappointment, they never break alone. I want them to know that when their friends turn on them, (and some of them will) they are still not alone. I need them to know that they are loved beyond what Luke and I can ever love them, and we love them an indescribable amount. I want them to know that the Creator of the Universe cares enough about them that he remembers how many hairs are on their head. I want to wrap up a burning Love of God and give it to them, and have it be their favorite.
Faith is a gift that only God can give. You can't buy it at Walmart. Faith, however, is exactly what I hope your basket is full of this Easter. I pray that it is overflowing with Faith, Hope and Love.
(and maybe a few black jelly beans.)
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