Of all the liars in the world...

I came home from work.

I cooked dinner for my roommate L. and I, like I do most nights. Tonight was beef stir fry with lots of fresh vegetables and Shanghai noodles.

Together we did some baking.

The sacrament of Banana bread.

And oatmeal cookies. With butterscotch chips.

I chatted online with a dear friend for a bit.

And on the phone with another friend, making plans to attend services together at various places on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. And to spend some time laughing and drinking tea and catching up on Thursday night after the service.

And on the phone with my mom.

And then I showered and crawled into bed early. To do the Lenten devotionals that are drawing to a close. To catch up on some emails.

And to go to bed early.

It was a rather full evening, but not rushed. A nice change in the pace of weeks that have been stressful and rushed and full of struggle and pain.

A cup of passion tea.

Mini mandarin oranges.

A bag of dried mango.

A package of melba toast crackers.

A couple of hot crossed buns.

I'm not really sure what exactly this day will bring, but I know it's going to bring some changes. Maybe some big ones. So I'm prepared for anything with my favorite snacks close at hand!

Rescue Hampered as Aftershocks rattle Italy's Quake Zone

Slowly, oh so slowly, my heart is again feeling ready to dream of far-away places. Of traveling and praying and walking as a witness to the things God shows me. India seems to be popping up a lot right now. Peru remains constantly on my radar. Back to Italy, and into France, Germany, and Poland. Maybe, maybe even Africa. My heart is tentatively reaching out, testing the waters of dreaming of time spent in these places again, and that is both thrilling and terrifying.

That said, this thought from Henri Nouwen caught at me when it arrived in my inbox last week.

Travelling With the Eyes of God

Travelling - seeing new sights, hearing new music, and meeting new people - is exciting and exhilarating. But when we have no home to return to where someone will ask us, "How was your trip?" we might be less eager to go. Travelling is joyful when we travel with the eyes and ears of those who love us, who want to see our slides and hear our stories.

This is what life is about. It is being sent on a trip by a loving God, who is waiting at home for our return and is eager to watch the slides we took and hear about the friends we made. When we travel with the eyes and ears of the God who sent us, we will see wonderful sights, hear wonderful sounds, meet wonderful people ... and be happy to return home.

It's been a while since I posted any news headlines, but I'm following the story of the recent earthquake in Italy quite closely.

Italian Rescuers Work Into Night

another thought from Henri Nouwen.

The Autumn of Life

The autumn leaves can dazzle us with their magnificent colors: deep red, purple, yellow, gold, bronze, in countless variations and combinations. Then, shortly after having shown their unspeakable beauty, they fall to the ground and die. The barren trees remind us that winter is near. Likewise, the autumn of life has the potential to be very colorful: wisdom, humor, care, patience, and joy may bloom splendidly just before we fall to the ground and die.

As we look at the barren trees and remember our dead, let us be grateful for the beauty we saw in them and wait hopefully for a new spring.

Another thought from Henri...

Where Mourning and Dancing Touch Each Other

"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). But mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their "times" do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their "times" may become one "time." Mourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.

Often our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief. We lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness. Mourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness - they belong together as the sad-faced clown and the happy-faced clown, who make us both cry and laugh. Let's trust that the beauty of our lives becomes visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.

I've slept for most of this Palm Sunday. I've eaten Chinese food in bed, and drifted in and out of consciousness with episodes of Grey's Anatomy playing on my laptop near my bed. I drove across the city (a terrible waste of gas, I suppose) just to buy one little item at a "one-of" shop. I've swept the kitchen floor, and wiped down counter tops. And cleaned the bathroom.

And nothing has worked to silence the way my heart has been wandering - talking loudly within itself. The way it hurts and longs, and drives itself into Holy Week. The inexorable, unstoppable movement towards crucifixion, and then, finally, resurrection.

I looked up the definition of inexorable just now, to make sure that was the word I wanted to use. I have this bad habit of using words that I'm fairly certain are the right ones, but words that I couldn't properly define if asked. The definition reads: not to be persuaded, moved, or affected by prayers or entreaties. It was the right word, for not even prayers and entreaties are capable of stopping the progress forward through this week, and the many memories it carries with it.

A year ago, I attend the Catholic Palm Sunday mass for the first time. I'd attended mass dozens of times, and I'd grown up in church, so I was pretty sure I had a handle on what to expect. It had just, somehow, seemed important for me to attend mass on one of the high holy days last year, after beginning Lent in Rome, at St. Peter's on Ash Wednesday.

I wasn't prepared for what I encountered. The more protestant tradition with which I grew up turns Palm Sunday into a sort of spectacle. A celebration really. Children waving palm branches made of construction paper. Songs of hallelujahs. The triumphal entry. Maybe a sermon on obedience - on how Jesus' way is best, with references to the way he knew the donkey would be available for use. Or maybe a sermon on this brief moment of acknowledging his kingship, or something contrasting the events of that day to the ones that would come in the coming week.

In the Catholic church, the palms are a short thing, distributed to each person in attendance at the beginning of the mass. And then, then you move into the account of the passion. Slowly and meticulously through the events of the coming week, ending as Jesus is laid in a tomb.

I wasn't prepared for the way they handled the scripture portion last year. Four readers, and congregational participation. I wasn't prepared for the impact it would have on my heart to be standing in a crowd, crying out "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" To see myself in that crowd clearly for what was maybe the first time. To have the knowledge of my own sinfulness, and the cost Christ paid for my sins again make the sudden journey from my head to my heart.

I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness and surrender in the last week or so. I've reached the conclusion that I'm terribly bad at both. Surrender goes slightly better than forgiveness, but not much.

My method of surrendering is sort of a kicking and screaming, okay, I guess you can have your way, but I'm really not happy about it thing, that is invariably an ugly and painful process. I've been thinking a lot about autonomy today. About how it seems that life would be a whole lot less complicated without the need to constantly surrender my will to the will of Jesus. About how rarely these days my will seems to fall in line with his, and how that can create a great deal of guilt, because in the deepest parts of my heart, it really is my desire to want nothing but his will.

I've been thinking, too, about all that kicking and screaming I do in the process of surrender.

And, I've been thinking about how, in some ways, forgiveness (with which I'm also struggling) requires that surrender. How I want to hold on to the bitterness, though I know it's not his will. How I want to exact retribution, and he says things like, "turn the other cheek" and "if a man takes your coat, offer him your tunic also."

I'm remembering a phrase that played on repeat in my head the day I was healed from depression. And a line that stood out when I googled the phrase "kicking against the goads" later that day. "The more the animal rebelled, the more the animal suffered."

But mostly, I've been thinking about some different lines of scripture. The bit in Isaiah 53 about how, "as a sheep before the shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth." The bits in the gospel accounts where the prophecies of Isaiah 53 are fulfilled, and we are told that Jesus remained silent. And that moment, in the garden, where, sweating blood, in great pain, for more fully than we ever can, Jesus knew the significance of accepting his father's will, and the pain and suffering that it would bring, he cried out "If you are willing, let this cup pass from me, but not my will, but yours be done."

Not my will but yours. No kicking and screaming, though there was great anguish of spirit. Just a request - if you are willing, I'd rather not walk this path. And then a confession of surrender, "Not my will, but yours be done."

A few days ago I made a visit to my favorite park. I sat at a picnic table, surrounded by snow, and wrote for a long time. It was an oddly informative way to discover the current state of my heart. Eventually I wrote some confessions - some choices really - on a sheet of paper, tucked them into the front cover of my Bible, and came home. In our back yard I lit that piece of paper on fire, letting it burn away to a small pile of ashes, in a way of symbolizing for myself that these were choices that are irrevocable. Choices to surrender. Choices that put his will first. I buried the ashes in the snow, to prevent them from flaring up again, ash covered over in clean whiteness, and re-entered the house.

And, for a few days it worked. The surrender I'd chosen, the forgiveness I'd committed to offer. In a way, it still works, though, as the ugly things within me rear their head again, I am constantly having to remind myself that these are things that have already been decided, submitted to his will, permanently settled, and buried in the ashes and snow in my backyard.

And yet those things and other ugly things remain near, keeping company with me as I walk towards the cross this week. As I move in that inexorable way towards the crucifixion, and pray with deep longing for coming resurrection.

This is the journey of holy week, and it is affecting my heart deeply.

It's been a nice quiet morning.

I managed to sleep fairly well last night.

And I stayed in bed late this morning.

I followed that up with a long leisurely bath, and some time pampering myself.

And now, now I'm going to do some cleaning, followed closely by a trip to pick up some Chinese food. Oh, and bubble bath. I'm out of bubble bath.

Then, I think, most likely an afternoon that will either involve reading, watching a movie, or napping. Or perhaps some combination of all three. Maybe pricing some plane tickets.

I'm determined to make the most of my weekend. Especially considering that I only get one day off this week.

(And, I'm thankful for a short week at work because of the Easter holidays. A short week, followed by a short week, as my company is also closed for Easter Monday. Friday-Monday off. It's going to be beautiful.)

I'll be honest and tell you that I was absolutely dreading spending the last two days at this conference for work. My health has been worse than usual the last couple weeks, tensions in the office have been higher than usual, and it's always a whole lot of not particularly enjoyable work for seemingly minimal results.

That said, the locations are always beautiful, the food is always good, and the hotel is usually lovely.

AND here's the surprise:

Though I am completely spent and totally exhausted, I mostly enjoyed myself this weekend.

On the drive out to the conference site, I finished an audio book I recently started listening to: "The Year of Living Biblically" by A.J. Jacobs was insightful, and very funny. It was nice to listen to something a bit lighter, and just relax and enjoy listening while I was driving. I was also thankful for those of you who prayed for good road conditions. The weather in the city was pretty ugly yesterday, and I was fairly concerned about what the highway conditions would be like. They were immaculate. Apparently the city got the worst end of the weather deal yesterday.

The conference always begins with a banquet, and some sort of entertainment. This year I had the fun of sitting with one of my good friends from the office, her husband and two children, and three members of the band that was our evening's entertainment. We laughed a lot, managed to inadvertently light a cloth napkin on fire, and generally enjoyed each other's company. And, can I just say, that some of our table mates were, well, eye candy?!! We sat with the youngest brother from this band of three. (If you click on the link, that's him on the left. He has slightly longer hair now.)

Before any of you start match making, he's eight years younger than me. He is, however, the only member of the band who's still single. These Mennonite farm boys marry young! The oldest of the brothers is younger than me, and is married and already has his first child.

The concert High Valley put on was fantastic, and so well suited to our group. (It can be a bit hard to find appropriate entertainment for a group of 320 Mennonites spanning the range from ultra modern to old colony traditional.) And, you really haven't lived until you've seen three brothers serenade a young woman from the audience (not me, before you ask!) with their three part harmony version of the Backstreet Boys' "I Want it That Way" sung in Low German! I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. (I also really love their song "Been Through the Water".) But hey, I've long ago admitted here that my tastes run to country music, and this was some good quality country music, with a great stage presence thrown in!

I want to say thank you, too, if you prayed that I would be able to eat this weekend. That was actually a major concern for me, and I really and truly felt your prayers. For the first time in a week, I began to feel genuinely hungry at around 3:00 yesterday afternoon. I even had seconds at the banquet. And I didn't become ill. I felt the peace that comes with knowing that God was showing me grace in those moments, and I was and am incredibly grateful that he cares for even those seemingly little and practical things. I'm having a hard time finding words for it, but it actually had a huge impact on my heart to know that a few people were praying for that for me (I'd asked a few to pray that specifically) and to realize that there was no easily explained reason for my sudden hunger and ability to eat other than the peace that settled in and the knowing of prayers being offered, heard, and answered.

Today was full of work, but the afternoon was a pleasant surprise. My coworker and I were joined by several of the Old Colony women. Perhaps it's just that it's been a long time since I enjoyed genuine fellowship with other believers in a larger group, but we had so much fun. We laughed and laughed. We talked about everything from families and children, cooking and baking, school work, play, family dynamics based on who is the oldest and who is the youngest, and even told some jokes. I played with one of their babies (the cutest little guy, bound and determined to grin and flirt a bit with me!), and laughed with them. They were a wide range, some with only a few children, some with many. I was the only single girl in the bunch (we laughed at the fact that one of the ladies is only 4 years older than me, has been married for eleven years, and has six children ranging in age from 10-1 year old.), a fact that would sometimes make me uncomfortable, but these ladies are so genuinely lovely that it was an absolutely fantastic afternoon. I confess that I would not normally want to spend my afternoon with a whole bunch of married ladies with children, that I would generally feel a bit uncomfortable, especially in that setting where the women marry very young and have children by the bushel. But this afternoon was one of the best afternoons I've spent in a long time. They took genuine joy in each other, and in chatting with my coworker and I. They laughed heartily, shared about their families, and never once judged. (And when we're talking about women who still wear head coverings, and simple homemade dresses, and you pause to consider some of the topics we talked about, not to mention the fact that in blue jeans and a hoodie, with a pierced nose, and jewelry, I don't fit the Mennonite norm, that is truly one of the most beautiful blessings I've encountered in a while.)

There is something lovely about the simplicity of these women's lives. About the love for their husbands and children that they so avidly displayed (one - the one only a few years older than me, with six children already - was part of a card-making class we made available to the ladies this morning. She was so delighted to display the cards she'd made, and so excited because one of them was an "I love you" card for her husband. She took joy in telling us that she couldn't remember the last time she'd given her husband a card, and now she'd made one for him.) It was fun to chat with them about the bits and pieces of their lives. I chatted about embroidery with one (she'd making a baby blanket as a keepsake for her son - the little guy I was playing with this afternoon.) And more broadly as a group we talked about baking and cooking. Even listening to their thoughts on raising children, their concerns, their joys, how they make chores around the house work was encouraging.

They may never know it, but those women lightened my heart today, and brought joy today. They were Jesus in ways I'll never truly find words to express.

This was a weekend that I'd dreaded for all of the stresses associated with my job just currently, as well as many memories and associations with things that still hurt my heart deeply. I expected to walk away from it totally spent. I am physically totally exhausted (I got almost no sleep last night), and still struggling with the cold that seems to have settled into a nasty cough, but I am surprisingly refreshed as well. Jesus met me in a totally unanticipated way. A friend of mine wrote to tell me that she hoped that beautiful new memories would be formed to replace some of the painful ones, and somehow, they wore. My soul was fed in ways I don't understand, and I'm immensely grateful for that. I feel buoyed by the love and prayers of some of those around me, and the love of Jesus in meeting me in such an unexpected but very needed way.

When the conference ended, I whipped out of the hotel, and came back to the city, arriving at Palm Sunday (on Saturday!) Mass at the big cathedral I sometimes visit only a few minutes late - just in time to be handed a palm frond, and make my way to a spot in a pew. It was nice to round out my weekend that way. Reflecting on the passion of Christ. Sitting individually, with hundreds of other worshipers, preparing my heart to enter holy week.

And now, now I'm home, and resting.

The weekend was surprisingly beautiful, but I'm exhausted.

The plan is to spend tomorrow doing as little as possible, and pampering myself. I discovered that my roommates are going snowboarding, so I will have the rare privilege of an entire day of the house to myself. I plan to stay in bed late, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing. Bubble bath. Face mask. Maybe a hair treatment. Reading, and resting. I may not even make it out of my pajamas. I've done all the necessary errands, so if I don't want to leave the house until I have to go to work on Monday morning, I don't have to leave the house!

1. Mennonite War Heroes

2. They refuse to bare arms

3. Change? What's change?

4. Corney Reimer

I'm running around the office (well, not so much just at this moment!) getting the last few things in order. I think we're finally ready.

In twenty minutes I'll shut down my computer, lock the building, and head for the mountains and a conference with 330 Mennonites.

I have one specific prayer request: pray that I am able to eat at the banquet tonight. I've been having stomach problems again this week, and am concerned about my ability to consume food. I'm not too worried about the rest of the meals on the weekend, but it creates an awkward social and professional situation to attend a banquet, be seated at a table with VIP guests, and not be able to eat.

It will be an interesting weekend. Lots of memories relating to things I've struggled with this year attached to past conferences, so the memories are always strong.

AND

I have the first half of a few Mennonite jokes for you... I couldn't resist!

Answers when I get home, or if I get a chance to get to the blog before I come home.

Leave your guesses in the comments!

What is the shortest book in the world?

Why don't Mennonite women wear sleeveless dresses?

How many Mennonites does it take to change a lightbulb?

What do you call a Mennonite poet?

This has been a bit of a bizarre week.

On the work front.

On the personal front.

On the emotional and spiritual fronts.

On the health front.

I really don't have words for it.

Because of that, in combination with the work conference I have this weekend, it'll likely be quieter around here for a bit. I'm leaning towards sharing bits and pieces of other people's thoughts, while I work to sort out my own thoughts.

I ran around the office today like a crazy person, pulling together nearly all of the last minute details for a conference my company is hosting this weekend. 200 delegate packages, and a hundred spouse and guest packages took shape today, and I'm thankful for those who pitched in to make that happen.

In the midst of that I also had a long and very honest conversation with my boss. It will be interesting to see how some things play out in the coming weeks.

I have a few hours in the office tomorrow morning before heading to the mountains for the conference. A few last minute things to get done, then an hour and a half or so of driving.

And then? Then I'll be spending the next two days or so at a five star hotel in the mountains. With 330 or so Mennonites. Should be an adventure!

The passage heading reads "David Hides in the Wilderness".

Saul is chasing him. He fears for his life. The previous chapters tell us that Saul has been afflicted by a tormenting spirit that filled him with depression and fear. (A spirit that the scriptures say was sent by the Lord - because that concept doesn't raise a whole other slew of questions. But that's a different post....) Saul is jealous and angry - out for David's head, and David is staying one step ahead of imminent death only because "God didn't let Saul find him."

David is wandering and hiding in the hilly wilderness of Ziph.

I once heard a sermon on this passage in which the pastor told us that the word Ziph means "place of softening" in the Hebrew. I've never been able to confirm that, but it has stayed with me, working at moments in my heart.

It came back to me just now, as I find myself again wrestling with my thoughts, having a conversation with a dear friend about pain and numbness, about feeling things deeply.

But the image it brought with it this time wasn't the usual idea of a gentle softening - like pouring sweet smelling liquid into the load of laundry, and having fragrant, fluffy towels emerge at the other end.

The image was one of meat being tenderized, softened. Have you seen a meat tenderizer? A small, harsh metal mallet, it's face covered in protruding spikes. And you don't use it gently. You pound with it. Slamming it over and over into the meat with a force that thins and softens. A force that may ultimately produce a tasty result, but is violent and harsh at moments in its application

There is no question in my mind that the wilderness seasons in my life have often been "places of softening." And, while gentle isn't exactly the word I'd use, those seasons have rarely been as harsh as the one I find myself in just presently.

I pray that it truly will be a place of softening. That the result will be beautiful. I can certainly feel the blows.

I am thankful, at least, for this: The NIV translates verse 16, "And Saul's son Jonathan went to David at Horesh and helped him find strength in God."

In the midst of the wilderness, the son of the one who seeks his death, comes to David to "help him find strength in God." In that, at least, there is something hinting at hope.

There have been those moments, though few, and brief, where I have been shored up by friends who have found me in the wilderness. Friends who have helped me to see God again, amidst the turmoil. And for those moments I am deeply thankful.

And there is something challenging, too, in that friendship, that trust. David was running for his life, and yet he allowed his location to be revealed to the son of his sworn enemy. He chose to trust the relationship more than the strength of the evil spirits that had so overtaken Saul.

These days I find it difficult to trust in even the most intimate of relationships. I'm not sure how I would handle it if in the midst of the brokenness, in the midst of feeling as if I'm running for my very life, for the ability to be who Jesus has made me, a close relation of the "enemy" sought my friendship. I don't know that my heart would be open, even at the prompting of God, to allow them in enough to bring renewed strength and faith.

I am challenged by David tonight. By this "place of softening" in the presence of those from the enemy's camp.

Sleep Problems Linked to Suicide

It's a new month.

It's also the day famous for practical jokes. Not being a huge fan of the practical joke, I was reflecting this morning on two memories from April Fool's that don't involve jokes.

There was the day many, many years ago (not even sure how many now) when April Fool's also fell on Good Friday, and our family received a phone call telling us that some dear friends were about to have a long desired baby. The trouble was, the baby was coming about 4 weeks early, and because it was April 1st, it took the poor dad to be (who also had a reputation for enjoying a good joke) quite some time to convince my mom that his wife was in fact, in labor. It was an odd mix - the remembering of Good Friday's suffering, with the anticipation of welcoming a special little guy into the world. Many things have happened in the years since that day, and our two families have become disconnected, but I don't think I'll ever forget the emotions of waiting for that little guy to enter the world.

And, a year ago tonight, I received an email from a friend on the other side of the country. A happy email. She wrote something to the effect of, "Shh. We haven't told many people yet, but thought since we'd chatted about our relationship in Malta that you should be among the first to know. P. proposed to me tonight, and he assures me that it wasn't an April Fool's Joke!" I had the privilege of attending their wedding in Newfoundland last fall.

I'm needing some happy memories today.

It's a new month.

The first quarter of the new year is now past, the "newness" of the year is wearing off, and it hasn't brought with it any of the things I'd hoped for or expected.

And, it snowed again overnight.

So, this morning I'm focusing on happy memories, and praying for the coming of new things, the restoration of hope, and the arrival of spring - physically and metaphorically.