An Offering

  Lent. A time of reflection. Waiting upon God. Practicing the gift of sacrificial love which knows no bounds. I view Lent as a communal grace offering to the One who has no need of gifts yet bids us come with all that we are and all that we have. This year more than ever I come seeking renewal. I have become all too aware that my vision of life and faith are so easily corrupted by the flawed level of consciousness I bring to each and every day. I humbly seek and desire the very mind of Christ.

   These are a few of my Lenten gifts I seek to lay at His feet:
          The gift of a letter. To write a note of acknowledgement to someone whom I have witnessed extending a particular kindness or gentleness when none was required.
          The gift of friendship. To reach out to embrace and encourage someone to whom I am not easily drawn. I have been the recipient of much in the way of friendship and love. How can I continue to remain within my own selfishly comfortable boundaries, to withhold myself when Christ calls me to pour myself out on His behalf?
          To surrender my secretly superior attitude whereby I judge and condemn the actions of others. May I renounce, confess, and let go of this secret sin and the others that so readily grow alongside it.
          To allow the wounds and suffering of others to pierce my heart. I find it easy to grow callused and hard-hearted, particularly when confronted with suffering on a global scale. I earnestly desire to be faithful in prayer for those whom the Lord would put on my heart.
          To seek out the way of unexpected service, however small or seemingly insignificant it might be. I would do well to remember that a cup of cold water offered in the name of Jesus can be a precious and life-giving gift.
          To daily seek Him and to offer up to Him the praise of my lips. To turn my conscious thoughts toward Him and to meditate upon His word, then to joyfully come into His presence with songs of thanksgiving.
          To laugh more with those I love. 
          To find joy in the ordinary and happiness in the simple.
          To desire less.
          To need less. 
          To buy less.
          To give away more.
          And then to give even more.
          To practice kindness to those who have wounded me.
          To seek to forgive quickly.
          To be willing to readily forgive everything from the slightest hurt to the gravest offense. 
          To let go of old wounds and to seek the grace of healing that only He can bring.
          To speak freedom.
          To renounce all lies and to fall in love with the truth.
          To be willing to speak the truth even when it is not easy or easily understood.
          To risk reputation for the way of Christ.
          To love the unlovely. 
          To listen more and to speak less.
          To quit interrupting.
          To value another's story more than my own.
          To be willing to walk to the end of the road with someone. With anyone.
          To be a better listener.
          To be a giver of joy.
          To rest in His presence.
          To celebrate His beauty I see in others.
          To celebrate His beauty in my surroundings.
          To greet each new day with anticipation.
          To end each day with heartfelt gratitude and prayer.
          To share the story of all that He has done for me, in me, and with me.
          To embrace the reality of Easter in a deeper way.

       

Acts of Kindness

     A hospital is a study in contrasts. As a place of employment, it is a bustling place that never sleeps. While nighttime does bring an ebb and flow of sorts, the siren's wail, the beep and whir of endless machines, and the quiet voices of the nurses and technicians as they move about the hallways remind one that the business of caring for human life in its various stages forms the crux and the impetus for the hospital.
    The waiting rooms are filled with another kind of energy. The weariness on the faces of those who shift uncomfortably in already uncomfortable chairs does little to disguise the tension and emotion that simmer beneath the surface. When the phone rings and a volunteer announces a family, you can feel the room rise, shift, and settle much like a wave in a football stadium. Sometimes the waiting seems interminable and the passage of time moves at a snail's pace. I am glad that I am not there today. Waiting in a hospital can be a difficult thing. But not today; thankfully, not today.


   Today I am thinking that I am especially thankful for the tender mercies and kindness of health professionals: physicians, nurses, technicians and volunteers...for care given that moves beyond competence to become compassion. For hands that move with skill coupled with gentleness. For the willingness to see each patient as an individual with unique and special attributes in addition to his or her medical needs. So often the medical issue seems to dominate, but the gifted health professional has the wisdom to see beyond the need of the person to the person with the need.
   I have spent some time in hospitals recently. Either as a patient myself or alongside someone who was receiving medical care. The kindness of those who care does make a difference. Today as I prayed, I found this meditation by Teresa of Avila tucked in a page in my Bible. I offer it to all those who labor in hospitals to make a difference in the life of someone in their care. May you be blessed in your endeavors.

May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing that you are a child of God.
Let His presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise
and love.
It is there for each and every one of you.
  Teresa of Avila

Wedding Beauty and a Prayer

    Take a look at the pictures of Julie and Richard's St. John's island wedding captured by the professional photographer. They are AMAZING. Wow. And I thought The Husband and I had a decent camera. My humble Canon cannot hold a candle to whatever this guy was using. He's the real deal.
     This is my favorite. Can you guess why?

 My prayer for each of you is that the Lord will be your strength and your guide.

And that you will learn to have confidence in and to rely upon the love that the Lord has for you...

That you will find healing, comfort, and peace in the company of each other.

That you will laugh often

And forgive easily

That you will give one another the freedom to grow and change as individuals

That you will each be the best friend the other has ever had or will have

That you will make time often just to be together...without words

That you will find a joy you have never known before and that you will share that joy with others

 And when the hard times come...

that you will hold fast to the vow you made before God to love one another for as long as you both shall live.

Rest assured, it won't be easy. 

The good things in life never are.

But it will be worth the journey.

So worth the journey.

Go and Pray...

I used to hang my purse on the back door knob when I got home. (Now I put it on the laundry room door; I must have a thing for door knobs and purses.) At this point in my life (many many years ago) I had a four week old baby and a 16 month old toddler. The baby was feverish. I had called the pediatrician's office as soon as they opened and was given one of their coveted early morning appointments. At that point I scrap the plans for the day and am now on my way to the doctor's office.

The baby is already bundled up and in the car in his little infant seat. Getting him settled is the first of my trips to the car. My sixteen month old son is toddling around the house in his normal fashion. I grab him, put on his jacket, pick up the diaper bag, and begin to dig around in my purse for the keys. The keys are on a large silver bracelet type ring, thus relatively easy to find. No keys in the purse. I put the toddler down and search again. No keys. I sit down on the floor and carefully sift through the purse again. No keys. I move on to the diaper bag, checking every pocket. No keys. I am getting really worried.

What if my toddler had taken the keys out of my purse?

Everybody knows how children love keys. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
   
I look my toddler in the eye, and ask, "Keys?"

He nods his head. I ask him, "Did you take Mommy's keys?"
He nods his head again.

At this point I don't know whether we are playing a nodding game or whether my son is really responding to my questions. I can feel the sense of panic beginning to rise. If he has taken them, I am up a creek without a paddle. I run over to the toy box with him in tow and quickly began to search, all the while saying, "Keys?" and hoping against hope that he will respond. No keys. I search the den quickly without success, and then I realize that I need to get the baby back out of the car. Done.

Doctor's appointments at my pediatrician's office are not that easy to come by, especially morning appointments, but that is the least of my worries. The baby is obviously feverish and my sixteen month old cannot tell me where he has put the keys. I am running all over the downstairs looking everywhere that I can think a toddler might put the keys...to no avail.

I start crying. I don't know what I am going to do. I look out the door to see if either of my neighbors who might let me borrow their cars are home. They are not. I am praying as I go through the house again.
I take a big gulp as the impression moves into my thoughts.

Go and pray.

"I am praying," I say to God in my head.

 The impression is stronger.

 Go and pray.

The Husband and I sleep in a heavy antique bed that belonged to my Momma's family. It has deep side rails and wide slats. When I am struggling with something, I will often go and kneel to pray on my side of the bed. I feel the impression ever so strongly as I move toward the bedroom, so I grab the baby and my toddler and off we go. I get the baby settled and then kneel down beside the bed. My toddler follows suit. My frustration with him starts to melt as I watch him bow his little head. I pray aloud and ask the Lord to heal my baby, to help me find my keys, and to bring some desperately needed peace to my heart and our home. I don't stay there long. Toddlers don't let you stay immobile long, even if it is for prayer. I remember that my son patted my hand as I finished praying out loud.

I look down as I open my eyes and began to pull myself up. As I do, I catch a glimpse of something glinting in the light.  I reach toward it. As my hand goes down between the bed rail and the side of the bed directly in front of me, there, caught on a slat, are the car keys on the big silver ring.

I am dumbfounded and in awe. God has directed me to the ONLY place where I would find the keys.

I know without a doubt that I would NEVER have looked there on my own,  and I would NEVER have found them had it not been for the fact that I felt impelled by the Holy Spirit to go kneel in that exact spot and pray. If the keys had fallen through, they would have fallen onto a flat box under the bed where I would NEVER have seen them. But they didn't. They were waiting there. For me to find them. When and only when I knelt to pray.
   
Kneeling to pray beside that bed is not something I do every day. I am usually praying on the run.
But that day, the impression was so strong.

Go and pray.

I wish I could tell you that I understand how prayer works. I don't. But I trust the One who calls us to follow Him into the marvelous and glorious mystery that is prayer.

All I know is that prayer is not about me. It is all about Him.

No Easy Answers

 Newtown, Connecticut. 

A dot on the map no more. 

Seared in our hearts and minds this day, the fourteenth of December, two thousand and twelve.

Your population of 27,000 has grown exponentially.

Your children have become our children.

Your loss our loss.

Bear ye one another's burdens 
and so fulfill the law of Christ.

We want you to know that you are not alone. 

We are standing with you.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Knees bent.

Hands raised.

Praying.

If our hearts feel raw,

we know that yours feel shredded and torn in two.

The unthinkable has happened.

To you and those you love.

Weep with those who weep.

There is One whose heart breaks with yours.

I am running to Him tonight with your name on my lips.

Suffer the little children to come unto me, 
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

I am the Good Shepherd. 
My sheep know the sound of my voice, 
and I call them out by name.

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No one can snatch them out of My Hand.

Ever.

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Those who are His are His forever.

Our prayers are with you.

You are not alone.

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The Gift of Silence

   Learning to listen in the silence. Learning to be silent. Learning to just be. Learning that stillness can be a form of worship. I am undertaking a spiritual directions group with a small group of women, something this middle-aged woman has never done before. I have been in Bible Studies off and on for thirty something years. I have diligently filled notebooks with pages of notes, completed the blanks in workbooks, read countless Christian books and devotionals, memorized scripture, and invested time, energy, prayer and devotion learning all that I could about my Savior and Lord. 
    However, it was not until I began this group that I have begun to realize just how busy I have been. For days upon end and years upon years I have been busy, busy, busy. It's a busyness of the soul, fed by this information everywhere, instant gratification, and privileged lifestyle we lead. Now I am learning about a different type of devotion. One that does not require an extension of energy on my part. It is even different from waiting. It is resting. It is stretching me in ways that I have never been stretched before. 
   This is not easy for me. There are days when the stillness and the silence are deafening. There are days when they are comforting and healing. There are days when I run right back to my old emotionally energetic ways. 
    But I am learning. I am learning that there is a new way to worship. 
The words of the prophet Habakkuk are taking on a new meaning for me, "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silent before him." 
    Thomas a' Kempis also obviously understood this type of worship: 
"Thou brightness of eternal glory, thou comforter of the pilgrim soul, with thee is my tongue without voice, and my very silence speaketh unto Thee.  Come, oh, come; for without Thee I shall have no joyful day or hour; for Thou art my joy, and without thee my table is empty,  Praise and glory be unto Thee; let my mouth, my soul, and all creatures together, praise and bless Thee."

   

Revisiting an Advent Prayer

 I have read the story hundreds of times. It never grows old. I have committed it to memory where it lingers and provides renewal and refreshment to my heart at the most opportune of times. Sometimes the words rise unbidden to the forefront of my mind where they replay like a poem or song that makes my heart want to sing...

       "And it came to pass in those days...that Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David..."

You know the rest of the story as well as I do. You know the cadence of the words and the inherent poetry and beauty of the language itself and the special way that the story tells us at once so very much and so very little of what really happened that night.

I learned something new about the story today. Our pastor was talking about the shepherds, and he likened their social status at that time to that of the gypsy, the migrant worker, the undocumented immigrant, or the homeless. The shepherds existed within Jewish society as a people without a voice. They had no legal status whatsoever and were considered so unreliable that they were forbidden by law to give testimony in court. They were never allowed to worship at the Temple because their occupation rendered them ceremonially unclean. In the pecking order of the Jews, they were the lowest of the low. In fact, they did not count, and they did not have to participate in the required census. They were quintessential nobodies.

Now here comes the irony.

The first witnesses, the first to receive the message, the first to come and worship, the first to spread the Good News, the first to "see" the Messiah were the very least of all in the kingdom of heaven.

Think about it.

Christ brought a revolutionary gospel, a revolutionary upheaval to the old order, and He taught us a revolutionary way to love and to live.

And he began with the nobodies. He did not begin with those in authority: the kings or the priests or the rulers. He did not seek out the rich and the powerful. He did not even seek the Wise Men. They sought Him.

I am just beginning to work all of this through in my head...and it is leading me to ask myself who and what do I worship when I am not engaging my head and my heart with the Lord? What draws my heart? What occupies my thinking? What else besides the gospel captivates me?

I am afraid it is not very pretty. I am afraid it is petty and selfish. I know the things that charm me most when my heart is not immersed in the gospel are things that are really of little value at all.

I so want to be a shepherd. I so want to be willing to leave it all in the field of my life and say to my family and those with whom I am in community ..."Let us now go even unto Bethlehem,and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known to us."

I want to kneel on that rough and filthy floor and offer to Him all that I am and all that I have. I want Christmas made new in my heart.

This is my Advent prayer.

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