Sometimes it's the little things

A handful of peanut M & M's
Turkey souvlaki kebabs with salad and garlic bread
Groceries purchased for another week
A good price on a dozen red roses to grace the "altar" space near my mirror
Wearing a bohemian skirt all day
A spring day that was almost without snow
Accomplishment when the website update at work worked
A paid bill
Smoked gouda
Oranges
Nine straight days
Moroccan Rose bath oil

It seems that a lot of the things that make this version of a smile list are food related. What's that about? Just seems funny when I'm forcing the eating issue 3 times a day.

Ah well. Right now I'm just thankful that tomorrow is Friday. That means jeans for work, a quiet evening at home, and only one more day of work.

And it's a new month too. I can use some newness again.

Spiritual Reading - Thoughts from Henri

two thoughts from Henri Nouwen on "reading spiritually"

Reading Spiritually About Spiritual Things

Reading often means gathering information, acquiring new insight and knowledge, and mastering a new field. It can lead us to degrees, diplomas, and certificates. Spiritual reading, however, is different. It means not simply reading about spiritual things but also reading about spiritual things in a spiritual way. That requires a willingness not just to read but to be read, not just to master but to be mastered by words. As long as we read the Bible or a spiritual book simply to acquire knowledge, our reading does not help us in our spiritual lives. We can become very knowledgeable about spiritual matters without becoming truly spiritual people.

As we read spiritually about spiritual things, we open our hearts to God's voice. Sometimes we must be willing to put down the book we are reading and just listen to what God is saying to us through its words.

To Let the Word Become Flesh

Spiritual reading is food for our souls. As we slowly let the words of the Bible or any spiritual book enter into our minds and descend into our hearts, we become different people. The Word gradually becomes flesh in us and thus transforms our whole beings. Thus spiritual reading is a continuing incarnation of the divine Word within us. In and through Jesus, the Christ, God became flesh long ago. In and through our reading of God's Word and our reflection on it, God becomes flesh in us now and thus makes us into living Christs for today.

Let's keep reading God's Word with love and great reverence.

Thursday Morning Rhythms of Life

I woke this morning to an email from a dear friend that, among other things, contained the cheerfully tongue in cheek reminder "Only two days left!" I love that I have a friend who counts down to the weekend at least as much as I do.

I've been thinking about the rhythms of my life again lately.

About how there are patterns that can be seen if I stop and recognize them.

How different days of the week seem to have a rhythm all their own.

Mondays, for example, are generally decent days for me. They're a bit slow out of the gate (never quite wanting to leave the rest of the weekend behind), but thanks to a weekend, as a general rule I'm fairly well rested and have the energy to get through the day.

Wednesdays, by contrast are generally a "tough it out" sort of day. I'm not sure why that is. But Wednesdays are typically hard. I don't have a lot of energy reserves, and it takes a whole lot more bribery and self-talk to get through the day. And chocolate. Wednesdays require chocolate. Maybe it's just that it's that middle of the week "hump day". Maybe it's that we have staff meetings every other Wednesday, and they're usually a bit of a frustrating ordeal. I tend to feel ill more often on Wednesdays. I tend to be tired and cranky more often on Wednesdays. I'm learning to be gentle with myself on Wednesdays.

Yesterday, by the way, was no exception to any of those rules. Also, my well-sealed water bottle decided to come open in my purse on the way home, dousing several items and generally creating a kafuffle.

However, after leaving work, I managed to accomplish several important errands in a short period of time, thus picking up my mood. And, I ate a huge sandwich from Arbys. Every once in a while I just really want one of their roast beef sandwiches in the worst way. I quite happily sat cross-legged on my bed, chowing down on my large roast beef sandwich, and catching up on some emails and watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy. Then, I soaked in a bath tub accessorized with Morrocan Rose scented oil (a new purchase from the Body Shop yesterday). I had some chocolate (always helpful). I worked through a number of goofy little items on my "to do" list for the week that simply needed to get done. I wrote some emails. I painted my fingernails and my toe nails. And I relaxed and enjoyed watching the cattyness of an episode of "America's Next Top Model". (How embarrassing is it to admit that this kind of ridiculous cattyness is sort of entertaining and relaxing???)

And now, now it's Thursday, and I was greeted by the reminder from my friend that there are only two days left in the work week.

I actually generally like Thursdays. I like the days that are busier, and have a rhythm to them. There are a number of things on my list of stuff to do at work today. Some weekly things, and some projects that need to get finished. I like Thursdays because it's the day in the work week when it seems like things begin having check marks beside them on my list of "must be dones" for the week. On this particular Thursday (usually it's on Friday) I have a weekly lunch date with a coworker who is also a friend. Also, on this particular Thursday, for the first time in a week or so, there are no snow flurries in the forecast in the week, and the forecast promises temperatures above zero and sunny skies. (Have I mentioned that I love having an office with a window where I can actually see and experience the sun?!?!)

And with that, I'm off to start my busy day. But first, a trip to the office kitchen to make my toast for breakfast. Because I'm working on eating meals regularly. Like three times a day, like a normal human being. But I can't eat so early in the morning when I first wake up and head out the door. So I bring bread and honey with me to work, and make toast in the office kitchen.

Remembering...

Last week saw two ten year anniversaries:

The shooting in Columbine, Colorado, and, a few short days later, a copycat shooting in Taber, Alberta.

Both impacted me greatly at the time, and continue to have an impact today.

I was in high school at the time. My school, like so many others, was on high alert. We had bomb threats called in, and the general dis-ease of having the security of someplace that should be safe challenged.

The boy killed in Taber was a pastor's son. There were so many similarities in his situation to my own. The testimony of his father in the days following his death was hugely impacting. A few years later, in university, I received a memorial bursary set up in the boy's name.

Ten years. I reacted strongly on the tenth anniversary of the Columbine shooting. I was with a friend, and heard the news on the radio, and felt my insides clench, "Is that today?"

There was a certain urgency in that, a memory that came back so strongly.

I read the following two articles in the last few days, and was struck by each.

My Columbine

Taber Shooting "real awakening" for Canadian Schools

Introspection...

I am feeling deeply introspective this morning.

Thinking about things from my growing up years, and feeling the tug of conflicting emotions that go with them.

Someone I know had a comment on facebook this morning about not sleeping, and wondering how long a human being can go with those sorts of overactive brain, seriously interrupted nights of sleep. I thought about commenting but didn't. I have had two or three or more of those a week since I was at least 12. Which is about 14 years now. Maybe more.

I am thinking about fears. About how they can be communicated. And how to be free of them. About the contradiction in knowing that some have been inherited, but that the person from whom I inherited them is these days largely free from them.

I am thinking about food. And hunger. And life. And how, because of some changes I've been making in my life, and some of the things I've been reading that have ironically enough coincided with those changes, I'm more aware than ever about the connections between food and hunger and life. And more aware than ever of the many, many food related metaphors and descriptions from scripture.

And I'm thinking about those I've known with eating disorders, and about my own concerns about the way my body has handled food this last year.

I'm thinking about loneliness. And how it's a fairly common state for me these days. How I miss being physically close to the people I share hearts with. How I'm wondering when and and if God will provide a church family and relationships (the sorts of people I can call for hugs and prayers) nearby. Or if maybe I need to look at relocating?

I'm thinking about the conversations I'm having with myself these days. The ones where I tell myself that even though I don't care about that thing, or I don't want to do something else, I need to, because they are decisions that should ultimately be life-giving.

I'm thinking about motivation. And how lacking that is in some essential areas of my life. And how ridiculous some of the little tricks and bribes I've been using to create motivation feel. And how I'm praying that even though they seem ridiculous, they'll work.

I'm thinking about how everything is connected. Everything is spiritual. And about a friend's comments about time not being nearly as linear as we tend to treat it. How eating toast with honey for breakfast conjures memories, just because of the honey. How I'm still enjoying the salami I purchased on the weekend, but how, every time I eat a slice of it, I'm switching locations, and sitting again in St. Peter's square, leaning against a friend, feeling the spray of a fountain, and knowing the unsettledness of those moments.

So, I'm introspective this morning, and my mind is wandering.

And I'm praying:

• for the brother of a dear friend who is having surgery today
• for my own brother and his girlfriend, currently touring with their choir
• for friends to come alongside, at just the right moments
• for a community to be planted in for a time
• for several marriages that have begun in the last year, and several that will begin in the year to come
• for the upcoming travels of dear friends and family - to Czech, and to Africa, and points in between
• for connections
• for those who are grieving, and a friend who is grieving, as well as being involved in loving on those who are grieving
• for life
• and breath
• and food (physical and spiritual)
• for love
• and joy
• and hope restored and renewed

Henri on Authority...

A few thoughts from Henri Nouwen on authority...

Authority and Obedience

Authority and obedience can never be divided, with some people having all the authority while others only have to obey. This separation causes authoritarian behaviour on the one side and doormat behaviour on the other. It perverts authority as well as obedience. A person with great authority who has nobody to be obedient to is in great spiritual danger. A very obedient person who has no authority over anyone is equally in danger.

Jesus spoke with great authority, but his whole life was complete obedience to his Father, and Jesus, who said to his Father, "Let it be as you, not I, would have it" (Matthew 26:39), has been given all authority in heaven and on earth (see Matthew 28:18). Let us ask ourselves: Do we live our authority in obedience and do we live our obedience with authority?

The Authority of Compassion

Mostly we think of people with great authority as higher up, far away, hard to reach. But spiritual authority comes from compassion and emerges from deep inner solidarity with those who are "subject" to authority. The one who is fully like us, who deeply understands our joys and pains or hopes and desires, and who is willing and able to walk with us, that is the one to whom we gladly give authority and whose "subjects" we are willing to be.

It is the compassionate authority that empowers, encourages, calls forth hidden gifts, and enables great things to happen. True spiritual authorities are located in the point of an upside-down triangle, supporting and holding into the light everyone they offer their leadership to.

It Might Be Hope (Sara Groves)

You do your work the best that you can
you put one foot in front of the other
life comes in waves and makes it's demands
you hold on as well as your able

You've been here for a long long time

Hope has a way of turning it's face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope

It's hard to recall what blew out the flame
it's been dark since you can remember
you talk it all through to find it a name
as days go on by without number

You've been here for a long long time

Hope has a way of turning it's face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope

~~~

I am praying for those moments of hope to arrive today.

Sara Groves - It's Going To Be Alright

If I could do anything in the world this morning, I'd lay my head in the lap of a friend, or someone who loves me, and sleep, with this song being sung over me, or playing on my ipod as whoever was holding prayed.

Maybe it'll help?

I did something tonight that I swore, growing up as a pastor's kid, that I'd never do. I'm not going to tell you what it was (though if you email and ask nicely I might). I'm just going to say that I became a person I never wanted to be. That my level of desperation was high enough to toss pride out the window and hope that this will help. That it'll bring some peace and freedom and relief.

Here's hoping.

A few more quotes

The calendar my friend gave me last week, with quotes from female saints, continues to hit chords in my heart nearly every time I flip a page.

This quote appeared late last week:

“I fear suffering, but not if it is dealt out by the God of mercy, who will not make me bear what is above my strength. My dying is eternal life with Christ. To the extent that I comprehend Christ in faith, to the same extent I shall embrace him in love.” (Saint Katharine Drexel)

And this one appeared this morning, as I was struggling again with a number of things, including forgiveness issues, and begging Jesus for his presence and his grace:

"In this mortal life, mercy and forgiveness are the path that always leads us to grace." (Blessed Julian of Norwich)

Three Thoughts From Henri on Forgiveness and Relationships

three thoughts from Henri Nouwen...

From Blaming to Forgiving

Our most painful suffering often comes from those who love us and those we love. The relationships between husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters, teachers and students, pastors and parishioners - these are where our deepest wounds occur. Even late in life, yes, even after those who wounded us have long since died, we might still need help to sort out what happened in these relationships.

The great temptation is to keep blaming those who were closest to us for our present, condition saying: "You made me who I am now, and I hate who I am." The great challenge is to acknowledge our hurts and claim our true selves as being more than the result of what other people do to us. Only when we can claim our God-made selves as the true source of our being will we be free to forgive those who have wounded us.

Being Handed Over to Suffering

People who live close together can be sources of great sorrow for one another. When Jesus chose his twelve apostles, Judas was one of them. Judas is called a traitor. A traitor, according to the literal meaning of the Greek word for "betraying," is someone who hands the other over to suffering.

The truth is that we all have something of the traitor in us because each of us hands our fellow human beings over to suffering somehow, somewhere, mostly without intending or even knowing it. Many children, even grown-up children, can experience deep anger toward their parents for having protected them too much or too little. When we are willing to confess that we often hand those we love over to suffering, even against our best intentions, we will be more ready to forgive those who, mostly against their will, are the causes of our pain.

Laying Down Your Life for Your Friends

Good Shepherds are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep (see John 10:11). As spiritual leaders walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we are called to lay down our lives for our people. This laying down might in special circumstances mean dying for others. But it means first of all making our own lives - our sorrows and joys, our despair and hope, our loneliness and experience of intimacy - available to others as sources of new life.

One of the greatest gifts we can give others is ourselves. We offer consolation and comfort, especially in moments of crisis, when we say: "Do not be afraid, I know what you are living and I am living it with you. You are not alone." Thus we become Christ-like shepherds.

Can't Do Anything Right

Today's Garfield cartoon made me chuckle in appreciation. I've been having a challenging few days, and this one resonated just a bit.

Adrift in this water.

I've been re-reading and re-experiencing Sara Miles' brilliant book "Take This Bread" this last week. Thinking a lot about food and feeding people and life and faith and all the places that life and faith and food and feeding people seem to intersect.

I've also been thinking a lot about the sacrament of baptism over the course of this last year, and tonight, as I was laying here reading from one of the last chapters of "Take This Bread", some comments on baptism again caught my attention, speaking deeply to my heart.

Miles tells of standing near the baptismal font of her church with a little girl who had come to the food pantry that Miles had started in the church. She writes:

Sasha looked at me, not smiling. "Is this the water God puts on you to make you safe?" she demanded abruptly, in a strangely formal voice.

I put down my boxes. What was she asking for? Was I being asked to baptize her? My mind raced, flashing back to when I'd stood at the font for my own baptism just a few years ago.

Nothing about the water had made me safe. It had pushed me further out from the certainties and habits of my former life...I was no less flawed or frightened or capable of being hurt than I'd been before my conversion, and now, in addition, I was adrift in this water, yoked together with all kinds of other Christians, many of whome I didn't like or trust.

How could I tell this child that a drop of water could make her safe? I had no idea what Sasha was going through at home, but I suspected it was rough. And baptism, if it signified anything, signified the unavoidable reality of the cross at the heart of Christian faith. It wasn't a magic charm but a reminder of God's presence in the midst of unresolved human pain.

I remembered what Lynn Baird had asked me, when I was contemplating baptism.

"Do you want it?" I asked.

Sasha locked her eyes on me. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I want that water."

There was something so serious in her face that it stopped me cold. I dipped my fingers into the font, and Sasha turned her face up to me, concentrating. I made the sign of the cross on her forehead.

(Take This Bread, pg. 236-37)

Nudity, taking bad risks, and feminism

My roommate and I packed up the car this morning and headed for the mountains. We drove a new route, a much more winding, somewhat longer, but generally very pretty route. We spent a couple hours wandering the main street shops of the little town we visited. We got a Thai lunch that was less than extraordinarily Thai, but was still quite edible. We bought a few varieties of fudge to snack on. We soaked in the hot springs for a while as snow flakes drifted around.

And then we drove home, and that is where the title of this post comes in. Yesterday when we visited the library together, we grabbed a number of travel themed books. Mostly guides to the various day trips, walks and hikes available in and around Calgary. But on a whim, I also grabbed a book with the unlikely title of "100 Places Every Woman Should Go." I'd thrown the book in my bag as we were leaving the house this morning, and as we were leaving the hot springs to drive home I handed her the book and we decided we'd go through it and either add the places to our collective lists of "must sees or must dos" OR that we'd mock the book.

What followed was a raucous hour as she read me bits and pieces of the book, and we collectively mocked it. We talked a lot about feminism too.

Here's what we decided: according to this particular book, a high proportion of the places every woman should go either involve new age spiritual experiences, nudity, really odd risks of life and limb, or some combination of the three. At last count, we were supposed to try nudity in California, Japan, Russia, Spain, and Croatia. As for collectively odd spiritual experiences, we were supposed to have those in Guatemala, Mexico, the US, and somewhere in Europe that I've forgotten. Odd risks of life and limb included several treks involving volcanic craters (which tended to also be spots of "energy convergences" conveniently enough for those seeking the spiritual experience as well as the risk!), oh, yes, and trekking in the mountains in Pakistan. You know, the mountains that border Afghanistan. The mountains filled with bombs and terrorists and so forth.

We've also decided that the book was definitely American in flavor. For each category, there tended to be both an exotic option, or a local option. Belly Dancing, for example could be experienced in Morroco or Turkey, but also conveniently enough, in the American belly dancing capital - Austin, Texas.

Other options included in the book featured such "feminine" attractions as sites dedicated to Joan of Arc, an Egyptian Queen, or Salem, Massachusetts, because, of course, the site of the Salem Witch Trials is something every woman should experience!

We talked for a while, too, about the fact that, as women, we're not all that gung ho on the whole feminism thing. We're just not militant enough! We talked about, as an example, the "Women's Centre" on the campus of the university where my roommate works, and I did my undergraduate degree. How theoretically, the woman's centre should be a place where any female on campus could feel comfortable. But, the fact is, that unless you're a fairly militant pro-abortion type, or a lesbian, you're not going to fit in at the woman's centre. And heaven forbid that we might actually want to have babies or husbands (admittedly not particularly high on my priority list at this moment) or that we'd value a baby over a career.

Our conclusion? We probably won't be using the book as an exhaustive guide for planning our future travels. And, while we're glad for the opportunities like voting, and equality, and education that feminism has offered, we're not all that sold on it as a movement either.

(and now, now I'm wondering if the search terms from this blog post are going to get me in trouble, and get me hate mail!)

Salami and memories

I woke slowly this morning. I'm always glad for that. For the opportunity that the weekends offer to drift in and out of sleep for a few hours without worrying that I need to be someplace.

My roommate and I had made plans to head for the farmer's market this morning, but she wasn't awake yet, so I showered slowly, made and ate some breakfast slowly, and curled up on my bed to read.

Eventually we headed out.

I go to the farmer's market when I need a "hippy, bohemian, life-giving colors and sights and sounds and scents" fix. I needed that fix today. I didn't really plan to buy anything, just wanted to walk the aisles, try all the miniature food samples, and look at pretty things. I did those things, but ended up buying some salami from a little European style sausage and butcher shop as well. Parmesan salami.

I haven't had that since I was in Europe last year. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen it here before. I have an oddly fond memory of a scattered together lunch of chunks of bread and cheese and salami in St. Peter's Square on the now infamous "Thursday in Rome". Of eating those things, of sitting with friends who were really more like family, even of cringing just a little as the wind carried spray from a fountain over me, affecting the thoughts I was already struggling with on that crazy day.

Water and bread and meat and cheese and life. So intermingled. The warmth of the dear friend I was sitting against. The surreal nature of sitting, picnicking in this place I'd studied at such length in school. The beauty and pain that marked those moments for me.

After the farmer's market we ran a few more errands, the library, and a grocery store.

And then home.

I'm curled up again in my bedroom, eating lunch. A thick slice of buttered, European style bread that we often buy to make toast and garlic bread with to accompany our dinners. A perfectly ripened mango, tangy and sweet. And parmesan salami.

And the memories and prayers that accompany them all.

Love makes a soul free

There is a calendar sitting on my desk that is a recent gift from a dear friend. It has a quote from a female saint for each day, and so far I'm loving it, and quite challenged by the words it has contained.

Today's quote is from Saint Faustina Kowalska, a Polish saint I've been quite fascinated by for the last while. Partly because of an experience I had with a friend's child, and the image that appears above that Faustina is known for. In addition, it was her particular feast day this past Sunday, so I'd been reading a pamplet of information about her that I was given at a mass I recently attended.

In any case, these words from her that appeared on my calendar today stuck my heart deeply, particularly the last sentence. It is my prayer that my heart would truly know the freedom of resting in the love of God.

"Love is a mystery that transforms everything it touches into things beautiful and pleasing to God. The love of God makes a soul free." (Saint Faustina Kowalska)

Headlines

I'm still being struck by stories about fires:

Man Critical after Calgary Apartment Fire

And these two made me chuckle:

Chewing Gum may Raise Math Grades (for the record, I chewed gum all through university, and still often do, and agree with those who say it helps with focus. also, my last year of high school, when I managed to squeak through a math grade that wouldn't steal my scholarships for university, the math teacher was the first one in years who let us chew gum in her class!)

The Power of Flowers (a reminder that I need to go out and buy some fresh flowers for my bedroom sometime this week or weekend)

Capacity for Surprise

They say that if you can be surprised, it is a sign you're still alive... I'm not sure how true it is, but a few different things have surprised me in the last 48 hours or so, and I thought I'd share.

• It surprised me to discover that I am apparently allergic to the adhesive glue on medical tape. The spots on my arm where the medical tape was after the blood I had drawn yesterday afternoon are an angry, irritated, bright red today. Tender and a bit raw. I have lots of allergies, but this one is new.
• It surprised me to discover that I still have the capacity to read a lot of very finely detailed information about a topic that I would not normally be interested in, because need to care about because now it's going to affect me directly, and that I had the capacity to pursue answers to some questions on that topic when they weren't clear in the information I was reading.
• It surprised me when a pharmacist actually called me back, in a short period of time, with the further information she'd promised to track down and get back to me on. I find it disturbing that it surprises me when good service is provided, but I was really grateful in this case.
• It surprised me when an "experimental" (read, "no recipe, just an inclination in my head") dinner turned out to be more than just okay, but actually really tasty. I'll definitely be cooking with ground chicken and black beans again.
  

The Aging Process

I had an unexpectedly amusing moment this morning while conferring with my eye doctor.

First, you should know that I've been seeing the same eye doctor since I first started wearing glasses at age 11. He specializes in lazy eyes (which I have in my left eye) and does a great job, so I keep going back. He was old and slightly odd when I was 11, and he's exactly the same now. Old and slightly odd. The same slight social awkwardness and stutter. The same overly bookish and intellectual nature that makes you think he'd be perfectly at home if he really didn't ever have to talk with another human being ever again. And a refusal to wear bifocals, so he's constantly tugging his own glasses on and off while trying to read the fine print on the dials of his various machines.

I was there to see him for the annual check-up, and to discuss a minor concern I'd had about the vision in my good eye. He explained to me what caused the small floating spot in the vision that had concerned me, and assured me that it was nothing to worry about. His choice of words, however, made me crack up.

"It's part of the aging process."

Oh, that made me laugh when I was free of the confines of the dim little examining room in his office!

If I'm experiencing the "aging process" at 25, what will it be like when I'm the perpetually "old" person that he seems to be?!?!

In the same vein...

In the same vein as the quote I just posted from Henri Nouwen, is this reminder from Clare of Assisi, which, amusingly enough, appeared in a calendar that was also a gift from the friend I visited over the weekend. Each day with a quote from a different female saint. I put the calendar on my desk at work, and was flipping through to find today's date, when Clare's name caught my eye. I have a particular affinity for Clare of Assisi, for a wide variety of reasons, and I wear a saint medallion with her image on it around my neck most days, as a reminder of some deep and hope-filled things.

This quote appeared on the calendar a few days back, and touched strongly on the theme of joy that I'd discussed at some length with my friend over the weekend, both making me chuckle at the timing, and groan as the truth of the words added to the challenges spoken by my friend to my heart:

"Melancholy is the poison of devotion. When one is in tribulation, it is necessary to be more happy and more joyful because one is nearer to God." (Clare of Assisi)

This one is hitting hard

This thought from Henri Nouwen arrived in my inbox several weeks ago. As I was sorting through the emails from the Henri Nouwen society that I've flagged to share on my blog at some point, this one jumped out at me.

Life has not been easy this last while, and joy has been rather hard to come by.

I flew across the country this last weekend to be with a dear friend who consistently reminds me that "crushed grapes can produce tasty wine." A friend who would offer advice in truth, even when I can't always yet feel the truth of what she says. I needed the challenges she offered, hard as they were at moments to hear.

And I'm grateful for her voice, and others, who remind me of the truths I've struggled to cling to.

Henri writes:

Friends as Reminders of Our Truth

Sometimes our sorrow overwhelms us so much that we no longer can believe in joy. Life just seems a cup filled to the brim with war, violence, rejection, loneliness, and endless disappointments.

At times like this we need our friends to remind us that crushed grapes can produce tasty wine. It might be hard for us to trust that any joy can come from our sorrow, but when we start taking steps in the direction of our friends' advice, even when we ourselves are not yet able to feel the truth of what they say, the joy that seemed to be lost may be found again and our sorrow may become livable.

Thinking grown-up things...

My facebook status for a while today read "Lisa is thinking boring adult things today".

I've had enough health problems this last year that it was time to make some decisions. And, because of a variety of circumstances, there were a number of "stuff of life" things that had been put off. So, I spent today thinking about "boring adult" things.

Things like:

• getting to the medical appointment on time, and being sure to discuss the appropriate concerns with the doctor, and then getting the follow up blood work done.
  
• filling a prescription
• sorting out a method for keeping track of vitamins and supplements and ensuring that I remember to take them
• figuring out some diet stuff (some seemingly obvious things like I'm going to lay off eating a few things that I regularly consume but have some mild allergies or sensitivities to).
• getting the oil changed in my car. and considering that I need the power steering fluid changed next month.
• a variety of errands
  
• doing laundry.
• house-cleaning
• cooking dinner
• calling the utility company with questions about a bill
  

And on it went. To be fair, I've thought about most of these things before, and I'm certainly not complaining about them, just reflecting on how, even two years ago, none of these sorts of things would have even crossed my radar. Whereas today, all of them where quite important to deal with in their own ways. Does that, along with the fact that I'll now eat mushrooms and love hummus mean I'm a grown up???

Who Said Bras Aren't Practical?

For all of those of you who've always hated the needing to wear a bra thing, apparently they can actually save your life!

Bra Deflects Bullet

Hope (restored?)

This is a photo of a bottle of wine I brought home with me. A gift from the friend I was visiting over the last number of days. We've spent much of the last year talking about hope. I have no idea where she found this particular wine, just that she has a gift for finding these sorts of things.

I'm not totally sure how to sum up the weekend.

It was beautiful. And hard. And freeing. And so very needed.

Full of hugs and prayer.

The airport shuttle driver who picked me up this morning asked me if I was going home, or leaving home.

Yes.

New things. Hope being restored. Oh I pray so.

The Importance of Roots

Loved this thought on the importance of deep roots from Henri Nouwen...

Deeply Rooted in God

Trees that grow tall have deep roots. Great height without great depth is dangerous. The great leaders of this world - like St. Francis, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr., - were all people who could live with public notoriety, influence, and power in a humble way because of their deep spiritual rootedness.

Without deep roots we easily let others determine who we are. But as we cling to our popularity, we may lose our true sense of self. Our clinging to the opinion of others reveals how superficial we are. We have little to stand on. We have to be kept alive by adulation and praise. Those who are deeply rooted in the love of God can enjoy human praise without being attached to it.

Give/Receive

Some thoughts on giving and receiving from Henri Nouwen...

The Dignity to Give and Receive

"Nobody is so poor that he/she has nothing to give, and nobody is so rich that he/she has nothing to receive." These words by Pope John-Paul II, offer a powerful direction for all who want to work for peace. No peace is thinkable as long as the world remains divided into two groups: those who give and those who receive. Real human dignity is found in giving as well as receiving. This is true not only for individuals but for nations, cultures, and religious communities as well.

A true vision of peace sees a continuous mutuality between giving and receiving. Let's never give anything without asking ourselves what we are receiving from those to whom we give, and let's never receive anything without asking what we have to give to those from whom we receive.

The Importance of Receiving

Receiving often is harder than giving. Giving is very important: giving insight, giving hope, giving courage, giving advice, giving support, giving money, and, most of all, giving ourselves. Without giving there is no brotherhood and sisterhood.

But receiving is just as important, because by receiving we reveal to the givers that they have gifts to offer. When we say, "Thank you, you gave me hope; thank you, you gave me a reason to live; thank you, you allowed me to realise my dream," we make givers aware of their unique and precious gifts. Sometimes it is only in the eyes of the receivers that givers discover their gifts.

Daring to Become Dependent

When someone gives us a watch but we never wear it, the watch is not really received. When someone offers us an idea but we do not respond to it, that idea is not truly received. When someone introduces us to a friend but we ignore him or her, that friend does not feel well received.

Receiving is an art. It means allowing the other to become part of our lives. It means daring to become dependent on the other. It asks for the inner freedom to say: "Without you I wouldn't be who I am." Receiving with the heart is therefore a gesture of humility and love. So many people have been deeply hurt because their gifts were not well received. Let us be good receivers.

Change?

A few weeks ago, on March 30th, I got an email from John Fischer's "Catch of the Day". He retold the story of the demoniac who is delivered, and the herd of pigs that perished when Jesus sent the demons into the pigs. He commented on the part of the story that has always struck me the most deeply - that the townspeople, instead of being amazed by the miracle, were terrified and asked Jesus to leave. All that to say that the last two paragraphs of his reflection struck me deeply, and I wanted to share them with you:
Although at first it sounds odd that they would want Jesus to go away after healing someone, I don't have to think very far past my own dysfunctions to understand this. The demon-possessed guy belongs in the graveyard, screaming, breaking his chains, and terrorizing the neighborhood. And the pigs belong on the hillside gently grazing. This is definitely a codependent town, comfortable with its accepted blend of sickness and tranquility. Until Jesus comes and messes everything up. He can make us well, you know, but it's going to mean lots of changes. You and I have to decide if we want that. So what will it be: the challenge of change, or send Jesus away? (John Fischer, "Codependent Town, March 30, 2009; Catch of the Day)

Counting Down, Heading Out...

Right after work tonight I'm getting on an airplane and flying across the country to spend the weekend with one of my favorite people anywhere on this planet.

I'm incredibly excited to collect a hug. So excited that I was counting down sleeps!

So, about 8 hours of work, then several hours of flying, then a hug. A nice long one I hope. A lots more over the weekend.

At the moment I have my usual case of pre-travel stomach upset. I greeted the morning in a less than chipper way, but thankfully, wasn't feeling well yesterday, and didn't eat much then either. It'll settle down.

In the meantime, I have a pile of work to get through today. Training to do for someone else, and some tasks on my own "to do" list that must be accomplished by 4:00 when my dad is coming to pick me up from work and drop me off at the airport.

I've scheduled a few posts to go up the next few days. Hopefully that works. Other than that, I'll be back sometime Tuesday, as I likely won't take time to post while I'm away.

Update on T.

I spoke with T. about half an hour ago. He's sleepy, and drugged up, in pain, but thinks things went well. They actually didn't get to see the surgeon before he was released, so don't have many details, but are speculating that the surgery was successful.

So, now we wait for healing and pray that this really will be the last surgery that is necessary.

For those of you who pray...

Most of you who read the blog will know that I have a very close relationship with my youngest brother, T., and that I have watched over the last three years as he has struggled with a wrist injury that has proved the exception to every medical statistic.

At 10:30 am today, he is having his third surgery in as many years, and as usual, is deeply on my heart and in my prayers today.

Last night he sent the following request out to the church that we grew up in (where he is also currently on staff as the worship pastor):

Tomorrow morning I am having surgery on my wrist again. The surgeon plans to remove a plate from my left arm. This will take place around 10:30 AM. Please pray that the surgery is successful and that I recover quickly. It sounds like this will be a fairly minor surgery and it should be the last step in my healing process. Thank you for your prayers!

Please join me in praying for T and for the surgeon operating on his arm this morning. And in crying out to the God who heals that this truly will finally bring full healing and restore T.'s ability to play his guitar without pain.

Thoughts on Authority

These two thoughts on authority from Henri Nouwen struck me deeply today. I'm praying through them, praying for myself, and for people I love.

Authority and Obedience

Authority and obedience can never be divided, with some people having all the authority while others only have to obey. This separation causes authoritarian behaviour on the one side and doormat behaviour on the other. It perverts authority as well as obedience. A person with great authority who has nobody to be obedient to is in great spiritual danger. A very obedient person who has no authority over anyone is equally in danger.

Jesus spoke with great authority, but his whole life was complete obedience to his Father, and Jesus, who said to his Father, "Let it be as you, not I, would have it" (Matthew 26:39), has been given all authority in heaven and on earth (see Matthew 28:18). Let us ask ourselves: Do we live our authority in obedience and do we live our obedience with authority?

The Authority of Compassion

Mostly we think of people with great authority as higher up, far away, hard to reach. But spiritual authority comes from compassion and emerges from deep inner solidarity with those who are "subject" to authority. The one who is fully like us, who deeply understands our joys and pains or hopes and desires, and who is willing and able to walk with us, that is the one to whom we gladly give authority and whose "subjects" we are willing to be.

It is the compassionate authority that empowers, encourages, calls forth hidden gifts, and enables great things to happen. True spiritual authorities are located in the point of an upside-down triangle, supporting and holding into the light everyone they offer their leadership to.

Snippets

Little things from the last few days:

• I was so busy at work this morning, bouncing between projects, that I actually forgot to eat. I often fail to eat because my stomach doesn't always tolerate food well, but I can't remember the last time I was so busy, and enjoying myself fairly thoroughly in the midst of that busyness that I forgot to eat. I remembered, and grabbed a snack about half an hour before I was due to start my lunch hour.
• Chocolate is a real treat when you've fasted from eating it as often I have this year. I celebrated the arrival of Easter on Sunday morning (and the end of a Lenten chocolate fast) by eating an Almond Joy bar for breakfast! For those of you who live in the US, that's not going to seem like that big a deal. But I really, really like Almond Joy, and you can't get them in my part of Canada. So, when, in the midst of Lent, I was in Montana a month or so back with my roommate, I picked up a couple of Almond Joys and stashed them, just waiting for Easter. It was the best breakfast I've had in a while.
• I moved into an actual office today! No more sitting at the reception desk - at least not in the mornings - I'll still be there for varying amounts of each afternoon. It was kind of nice to be sitting somewhere where there aren't constantly people moving around behind you. It's not like I do anything at my desk that I worry about others seeing - it is work after all! But it's nice to not have people constantly coming up from behind, hanging out in the doorway while they wait for a fax or a photocopy, or needing my help with every little thing related to the photocopier - I guess they still need my help, but now they can't sneak up behind me and surprise me by demanding it!
• There will be a definite learning curve, and more than enough to keep me busy for a while in this new job, but for the moment, I'm excited about that.
• I'm going to see one of my dearest friends this weekend. I'm hopping on a plane and flying across the country to get (and give) a hug (or many!) and I can't wait!
• My roommate and I baked an acorn squash for dinner tonight, with a bit of butter and orange marmalade. It was surprisingly good, served with a hoisin baked pork chop, and a nice spinach salad.
• I'm praying for my baby brother, T. this week. He's in the midst of wrapping up another semester of school, has finals next week, but is having another wrist surgery on Thursday that will require a bit of recovery time.
• And with that, I'm off to do a bit of reading, and a bit of vegetating, before hopefully hitting bed nice and early, since last night, even with the help of the supplement I take for sleeping, I woke nearly every hour, and I'm fairly exhausted.
  

Still feel hope.

I had probably a dozen different thoughts and ideas over the course of the day for things to blog about, but none really come to mind right now. I'm sort of sprawled out on my bed, propped against pillows, already in pjs. I'm tired. The year, thus far, has been challenging in so many ways. So many things that were surprising or unexpected.

Even the answers to prayer were the truly unexpected sort.

I'm learning what it is to taste the bitter with the sweet. To appreciate the beauty more for pain that has been experienced to reach it. To feel life more deeply because of the struggle to survive and keep living.

And somehow, I still feel hope. Just the tiniest, faintest glimmers most days, but it is still there, and giving me a reason to cling deeply to living fully, even when that means pain.

Fire in the news again

Fire in Polish Hostel Kills 21

He's Alive

Easter

Easter began, quite literally for me, with the sound of shattering.

I'd fallen asleep only minutes before midnight, praying against hope to be asleep before the clock turned and the day changed. Needing somehow to wake up in the morning light and simply have it be Easter.

At about 20 past midnight, I woke to the sound of shattering glass, and my roommate moving around.

When I asked about it this morning, she told me that she'd missed the light switch while fumbling in the dark, and hit a picture instead, knocking it from the wall and causing the glass to break.

Somehow, that shattering sound was symbolic. Symbolic of a year in which many things have been broken.

And yet, it reminded me, too, of Easter. Of the curtain in the temple being torn in two, irreparable. God present with all people.
~~~
It was a full day.

The church I grew up in put on a full length play and musical this morning. A series of monologues my dad wrote nearly 25 years ago. "Faces in the Crowd." And so, you stand at the back of Golgatha, and listen as Ciaphas, the thief on the cross, Mary, John, Peter, Nicodemus, Mary Magdalene, a Centurion, and a bystander discuss the happenings of the crucifixion. You are given a window into their hearts. They did a fantastic job with the production - an accomplishment on a grand scale for such a small church.

There were moments that were deeply moving. That hit my heart deeply. The lines of Mary Magdalene, discussing the demons within her, and the way Jesus had freed her from them. The wandering, longing insanity from which she'd been delivered. My brother J. played the role of Nicodemus. A role that fits him somehow - this one with much knowledge, encountering the Christ and finding the fulfillment of that. And yet, there were lines in that monologue too, that were unexpected. A moment where he lifted his hands to heaven and begged for mercy, for Jesus to die quickly in the midst of his pain. And that prayer, too, I understood.

I'm thankful that He is risen. That easter has come. And I find myself praying still for resurrection to come fully within me, within my broken heart, within the hearts and lives of so many I love.

And so, as I pray, for the first time since Friday, since commemorating the death and burial of the Savior, I light the Christ candle that rests on my dresser, and say to the world "He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!"

To those who wait...

The following passage, from one of my Lenten reading books, caught at me tonight, in it's description of this Holy Saturday, this day that I've passed, that is now drawing to a close...

It read:

"This is a day for expecting the kingdom of God. To those who wait, the time between death and resurrection is very long. For God, it is but a moment." (Journeying Through Lent with Luke, by Nancy Koester)

I am waiting and expecting the kingdom of God. I am longing for resurrection to come.

Moving through the waiting

I pray better, I wait better, I survive better, when I'm moving.

When there are things that can be a distraction.

When there is motion that can be a focus.

And so, on this day that is so marked by the waiting for resurrection, I've moved.

I grocery shopped and visited the library.

I went to the post office, and stopped off at my parent's home.

I looked through cookbooks with L., planning some new meals to add to our regular fare.

I did laundry.

And cleaned my bedroom.

And swept the kitchen floor.

I vacuumed George.

And scrubbed his dashboard and other surfaces.

And fed him with gasoline.

I remembered to be thankful when malfunction with my seat in George stopped long enough for me to move the seat to the right spot, making it easier to drive.

I worked through several lists of things that needed to be done, cleaned, or accomplished.

And now, now I'm getting ready to settle down a little.

To read and pray and actively wait.

To prepare for the week ahead (though thankfully, I don't have to return to work until Tuesday).

To let quiet overcome the need for movement, and hopefully bring peace.

The Day Between

This is the day between.

The day the disciples hid in an upper room, their world falling apart. Angry, fearful, shocked, grieving the loss of the one to whom they'd devoted the last three years of their life. The one they'd lived with, eaten with, slept near. Their teacher, the one they'd thought would change the whole world order. Their friend.

His body was laying in a stranger's grave.

And it was sabbath. They weren't permitted to work, or to be near the grave, so they gathered and waited, wondering if the wave of hatred that had stolen him from them, would come for them next.

~~~

This is the day between.

The day that life and light and hope lies temporarily buried.

I know the end of the story.

And yet, today I reflect on the grief, and the emptiness.

And I wait.

I fill the waiting, the grieving, the emptiness, in my own ways.

Moving on with life in a simple way. Groceries. Cookbooks. Maybe a walk in the park.

~~~

This is the day between.

And I am waiting.

Via Dolorosa

As I listened to this song being performed this morning, it hit my heart deeply. Isaiah 53 has also been deeply on my heart today.

Tenebrae

It's Good Friday. I hate that name. It's such ridiculous thing to call a day marked by bloodshed, by darkness, by hatred "good". Years ago, as a small child, I memorized a prayer for this day, a prayer that has stayed with me all these years. It began "Lord, it seems so strange to call a day like this Good Friday."

I always feel Holy Week deeply. And Friday is always the hardest day.

I head for the mountains, not because they help or bring comfort, but because at least there, unlike the city, there seems to be space large enough to hold the brokenness and suffering without it being absolutely crushing.

I'm attending a service called Tenebrae this morning with my roommate and some friends. It's the only service I've ever attended that seems to fit this day. It's an ancient ritual, involving candles and darkness. You walk into a dim room, lit only by a few candles. Move through reflections on shadows. Songs. Scriptures. Reflections. As the passion narrative progresses, the shadows grow deeper - candles are snuffed until finally only the Christ candle remains. And then, that too is snuffed out, and you simply leave, in silence.

After Tenebrae we'll have lunch together and then L. and I will go to the mountains. We'll stop at a place I've loved and just sit for awhile. L. will take photos, and I'll likely write for a while. And then we'll head off together to take more photos, and round out the day with a trip to the hot springs.

It'll likely be quiet here for the rest of the weekend. The only thoughts likely to make it here (if any at all) will be reflections on the progression of the rest of Holy Week, and the deep longing and need for the arrival of resurrection.

My heart has been numb, but today it is beginning to hurt again, and I am needing to allow space for that. To let myself feel and think and experience. To search for Jesus and peace. To pray, and simply be quiet.

Maundy Thursday

It's only 20 minutes or so until midnight, and I'm sitting propped in bed, with the full moon peeking at me between the gap in my blind and the edge of my window.

Maundy Thursday.

I worked a full day today.

And then joined my friend Faye and her boyfriend at a Maundy Thursday dinner she'd read about. Turns out it was a rather small gathering, and we were definitely the only strangers in the bunch.

But that was okay.

The small rituals made it unique. Washing each other's hands before eating. Sharing communion prior to the meal with friends and strangers around the table. The bread of life. The cup of abundance. Their words to go with an ages old ritual.

We joined them upstairs, to walk through some reflections, light candles, and walk a prayer labyrinth carefully laid out. A slow walk, to the center, then back out. This is a method of prayer I'd like to experience again in the future, when I'm a bit less exhausted, and have had time to quiet my heart enough to truly pray. And yet, even with a heart that was broken, exhausted, and oh so distracted, there were moments when I sensed Jesus speaking, or at least drawing nearer as I walked.

After the labyrinth, the three of us walked along the river, and a ridge overlooking downtown, winding our way back through China town (stopping for spring rolls and bubble tea) and eventually back to our vehicles.

But mostly, these days, on Maundy Thursday I think of blood shed. The words of the communion ritual we commemorate, and I think of how, my baby brother T. had the bone in his wrist shortened last year on Maundy Thursday. That's his scarred wrist pictured above. A week from tomorrow he will have his third surgery in as many years, this time to remove the screws and plates put in place during last year's surgery. They are irritating the tendons, and it remains impossible to tell if the last surgery successfully solved his condition.

And so, on this Maundy Thursday, I find myself thinking again of T. and of blood shed. Of the need for healing. Of a body broken and blood poured out that healing might be offered. And the tiny parts of my heart that cling to the hope for a miracle are crying out again for healing for oh so many.

Changes

So, those of you who've been aware of my work situation for the past year will know that it has been quite challenging at times.

But, there's been a bit of a shake-up in the works this week, and now that everything is official, I can post it here and share with all of you.

There has been someone I've found particularly challenging to work with. Due to a number of factors, she has chosen to move on to other things. Her last day with our company was yesterday.

On Monday, I was made aware that these changes were coming, and asked to consider taking her position on. After praying and consulting some trusted advisors, on Tuesday I agreed.

Today, we formalized this new step, and I can now tell you that as of this morning my job title has changed from Receptionist/Administrative Assistant to Administration and HR Coordinator. I'm excited about the new step - concerned about the potential for ongoing conflict in our company, but excited to be stepping into a new and challenging position.

It does, however, feel a bit weird.

About a year and a half ago, when they created this position, before "particularly challenging coworker" was hired, I'd applied and was a strong candidate for the the position. Because of the direction God seemed to be taking me at the time, I withdrew my candidacy and they eventually hired "particularly challenging coworker". I left the country for five weeks, and returned to a bit of a maelstrom that has lasted for the entirety of the last year. The directions it had seemed God was leading me changed. The doors that had seemed wide open closed. I spent much of the year struggling with questions and timing.

And now, a year and a half later, I've accepted the position that I removed myself from competition for then. It was the door that seems open in front of me. It brings its own unique set of challenges, and a steep learning curve for a while.

I'm feeling a bit bittersweet, thinking about the year that has passed, what I thought would be, and what is. But I'm excited, too, to see things changing, hopefully for the better.

Here's to new things amidst the rubble of the old.

Headline

Butterflies Hit by Damp Summer

Progressing through Holy Week (another thought from Henri)

As this holy week progresses, I'm pulling a bit into myself. Working through some things. Making some decisions. Navigating some changes that are small, and some that are rather large. I'll likely have a post about some of that sometime in the next day or so. But in the meantime, I hope you'll forgive me if I offer you the words of others more often than my own.

Today I have a thought on shyness from Henri Nouwen to share with you. I'm not a particularly shy person, but, as an introvert who definitely prefers a background role in large social settings (or just prefers to avoid said large social settings) I've often been accused of being shy. And, I do know some people who are genuinely shy. Anyway, I like the challenge of this thought. The invitation to a "wordless being together in love."

The Beauty of Shyness

There is something beautiful about shyness, even though in our culture shyness is not considered a virtue. On the contrary, we are encouraged to be direct, look people straight in the eyes, tell them what is on our minds, and share our stories without a blush.

But this unflinching soul-baring, confessional attitude quickly becomes boring. It is like trees without shadows. Shy people have long shadows, where they keep much of their beauty hidden from intruders' eyes. Shy people remind us of the mystery of life that cannot be simply explained or expressed. They invite us to reverent and respectful friendships and to a wordless being together in love.

Full Evening

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.

Favorite Snacks (Prepared for Anything)

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!

Still following the earthquake story...

Rescue Hampered as Aftershocks rattle Italy's Quake Zone

Travelling With the Eyes of God

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.

Earthquake

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

Still Waiting for Spring

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.

Mourning & Dancing Touch

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.

Entering Holy Week

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.

Sunday Again

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.)

The weekend in review (unexpected joys)

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!

Mennonite Joke Answers...

1. Mennonite War Heroes

2. They refuse to bare arms

3. Change? What's change?

4. Corney Reimer

Rushing Around, Heading Out (and laughing)

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?

Bizarre week

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 Place of Softening (1 Samuel 23)

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.

Interesting Article on Sleep

Sleep Problems Linked to Suicide

April Fools?

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.