The Sound of Music

Waiting. Waiting.. Waiting... Much of life is waiting. This morning I was waiting at the bus stop, as I do every morning. It's the same each morning - at least for me. I walk to the bus stop - the kids run. I chat with the parents - the kids run around in the park. The big, yellow bus pulls around the corner and all the kids run to their parents for the obligatory hug.

Jackson, my middle son, hugs me and runs along his merry way. Cooper, my youngest, always lingers a bit longer, hugs me a bit tighter, and engages in that moment more than Jackson. More than me.

This morning he hugs me tightly, laying his head on my chest for a few seconds.

"Mom, do you have your ipod on?"

"No, why?"

"I hear something..."

"Oh, you must hear my heart beating."

Lays his head back on my chest, "Oh yeah, that's what it is. It sounds so nice."
Then, he kisses my belly; I lean down and kiss him on the forehead and off he goes.

The sound of music, while waiting at the bus stop. I didn't even hear it. I didn't hear a thing really, or at least nothing really registered until that moment. Who knew that I sounded as good as an ipod. Now, since his current favorite song is, "BOOM, BOOM, POW" I'm not sure I really want to sound like that, but to know that me, just me, sounds like music to my son. Man, I will take that any day.

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

The Weight of Water

The other morning I was out running early, very early. Early enough that I knew it was raining only because I could feel it on my skin. I couldn't see the rain falling. Although when I passed a streetlamp and looked up I could really see just how hard it was raining. The rain streaked down like glistening tinsel.

It's easier for me to run in the rain when it's dark. I can't really see what I'm in for...and once I'm out there, well...I'm already up out of bed, dressed, and wet, so I may as well stick it out.

By the time I got home I was really glad I had spent the early morning hours outside. Something about the monotonous, humdrum of the rain against my skin, and the splashing of my shoes through the puddles made me feel just right. Just right in the way that everything in the world may not be just right, but I was just right. I felt fresh. I felt renewed. I felt ready to take on the world. Maybe, I sort-of felt baptized. Awake.

That feeling stuck with me as a new heaviness set in. The weight of my soaked clothing practically begged it to be stripped off of me. And that's about when it hit me - the weight of water.

Water is heavy. One liter of water equals a little more than 2 pounds. As I was out there in the rain, being cleansed by the water, it was also sticking to me - weighing on me.

I'm thinking about this so much because we so often focus on the renewing, cleansing, refreshing, sanctifying aspects of water...but we forget about the weight of it. We forget that when water is added to something it makes it heavier. There's this notion that water whisks away the dirt, the imperfections and therefore, the water is making the thing lighter, because the bad stuff is gone. We forget that just a little water adds up quickly.

So, in light of this, what does it means to be baptized, to be drenched in water? To be totally covered in the rushing waters of the Jordon, the rains of the great flood, to cross the waters of Galilee?

I should say that I don't mean for baptism to sound like a burden, but rather if we could think about the weight of it - the enormity of the gift, then maybe we wouldn't forget it so often. We wouldn't forget that we are claimed by God, that we have been drenched with an enormous gift.

The promise in Baptism isn't just that we are cleansed and renewed and claimed....but that we are cleansed and renewed and claimed even in the dark. Even when the weight of the world seems too much to bear - the weight of Baptism is more. The gift of God is more. The love of Christ is more. The breath of the Spirit is more.

Because, you know, we walk around a lot in the dark. We don't see the drips of grace falling fresh on our heads. Maybe sometimes it helps to be reminded to lift up our heads in the dark times, so that we catch a glimpse of the gifts of God raining down on us.

A Prayer in Time of Need

Last weekend I attended two funerals - they could not have been more different from one another. Saturday I went to the funeral of a 50-something woman. There was not an empty seat in the church - pews were packed, extra seats in the aisles were filled. It was standing room only. The woman who had died had everything planned to a T. She had breast cancer, so she had thought a lot about her death and her celebration of life. This funeral was definitely a "going-home" celebration. Friends got up to talk about their relationship with her...they made us all laugh and cry. We all learned knew things about our friend...pieces which we could hold onto. She reminded us each to live...not to live as if we are slowly inching closer to death. But to live, live until the day we just die.

My friend was a frequent lay assistant at church...she was an amazing "pray-er". One of the things she always said in her prayers - "We stand in awe of the power of prayer." Each time she would recite that, I would think, "Yes, yes we do." That day was awe-filled. It was assurance filled. It was couched in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. It felt as if the sting of death was there...yet, we knew it wasn't.

And then....the Resurrection. Easter Sunday. It was sunny and bright - a glorious day for new life. Another funeral was not on the agenda, but as I tucked in my middle son and checked on his gecko, which had been sick, I knew something was wrong. The gecko was cold and stiff - and, my baby had just snuggled into bed. I had to tell him though, because I knew he would find him in the morning.

Oh, the tears, the sobbing. I was crying as hard and he was. His brothers, his dad, and I all traipsed out to the garden for an unplanned funeral in the dark. As we walked to the garden, Jackson said to me, "Stripe (the gecko) died on the same day Jesus came back to life." Oh, my heart ached - more than I thought possible for the loss of a gecko. I just said, "Oh Jackson, I know." I didn't know what else to say. But Jackson knew...because then he said, "But, at least we know that Stripe is with God now." I thought, "Oh yes, Jackson. At least we know that."

We are promised that!

So, we dug a hole and we placed Stripe into the dark ground and covered him up. Jackson knelt down on the cold, dark earth and bowed his little head over the gecko. I whispered to Jackson, "Do you want to say a prayer?" He shook his head "No," - he wanted me to say it. The words, the prayer - it just came. I was crying, Jackson was crying. And as soon as the prayer started, his brothers and dad were crying. There's something about prayer. There's something to be in awe of...a power that we have no claim on.

His dad said later, "That was a damn good prayer for a lizard." Hmmm...the words just came. It was God, I know it.

That's when I made the connection to the funeral the day before. The funerals were so different. One well-planned, one make-shift. One packed full of people, one 5 people total. One in a beautiful, sunlit church, one in the chilly, dark of the night. One for a woman, one for a tiny gecko.

And yet, they both held prayer and love in common. They held the promise of the resurrection in common. They held the assurance of God's presence in common. A prayer in time of need holds healing and grace, power and gentleness. A prayer in time of need reminds us that there is something awe-some whispering about in the corners of our lives.

Lullaby

I don't consider myself a singer. I'm not horrible - my average voice doesn't prevent me from singing in the car, praising God, or breaking into song with my kids. But nobody is going to stop and listen when I sing.

Last Sunday I had just returned to my seat from the communion table - I had sat down to join the singing and I suddenly had this experience of being wrapped in a warm cloak. I stopped singing and listened. There were three men singing, one to my right, one to my left, and one behind me - all with these pure, clear voices. Their song became my song. I didn't sing. I listened. It felt so much more worshipful to listen than to make a sound.

While these people were not singing to me - they were praising God, I realized that for me, in that moment, I was feeling what a child cradled in it's parent's arms must feel like when they are sung a lullaby. Protected, loved, surrounded. The baby takes it in and, somehow through simple song, hears a truth beyond just the words of the song. The baby knows love.

I think God gave me the gift of a lullaby last week. A time to rest in the arms of God. Those men were God's voice and, in some way, we were all wrapped in the warm Spirit of God.

Things Blow Up

When I turned 16 my dad taught me how to change the oil in my car and how to change a tire. I sort-of paid attention, but not really. I have no interest in cars outside of their practical use. So, breaking down on the side of the road is way up there on my list of dreads. I always fill my car up with gas - I am not one of those people who gage the miles just so I can inch by on the last 1/8 of a gallon - I fill up as soon as the gas light comes on.

Today, as I was leaving seminary, I stopped to fill-up - just to be sure I wouldn't run out. I hopped in my car and was on my way. All of a sudden the car began sharking violently and most of my control over the car was lost. I was able to pull over to the side of the road. I got out, and started to walk around the car. I had no idea what I was looking for, since, as I said, I know nothing about cars. But as a approached the rear tire, the problem was obvious. Flat tire.

We are not talking about just a low tire here. It was totally blown. Holes in it - on both sides. There was absolutely no way I could drive it; I was an hour and a half from home; and...I certainly don't remember that tire changing lesson my dad taught me. I distinctly remember thinking - "Why do things have to be soo hard right now?"

Two separate times I was asked, "Geez, what did you do to this tire?" It was that bad. Why is everything blowing up?

Needless to say, I was not happy. I was cursing and frustrated and wishing I was home. But here's the thing - I saw all these angels today. Things do blow up - but then there are these angels that show up.

*A woman turned around, came back and got me, and drove me to the seminary.
*The song on the radio was singing, "if you put your light with my light, we'll make the world a little brighter".
*A good friend at seminary is a whiz with cars - drove me out, filled the spare, took the blown tire off, and put the spare on....followed me to a tire store.
*The men at the tire store met me as I pulled in - "You need a new tire?"...Uh, yeah. 5 minutes later, brand new tire on the car and I am on my way.
*Grandma was at the house to get the kids, so I don't have to worry about them.
*It wasn't raining or cold (this is huge for me).

The truth is I was scared, crying, and frustrated and simultaneously incredibly aware of people, even strangers, loving me through it. That is an amazing thing.

Things blow up...my tire was just a reminder to me that this is so true. Angels show up too...lights and love, hands and hearts joining together to put things back together.

Ask you shall receive....

I have this sort-of funny thing going on with my youngest son involving communion. Most parents I know have children that either take communion or don't - really no in-between. And, in most churches there is a given 'practice' involving communion. Some churches begin communion whenever the child desires (or the parent), some churches it's the 2nd grade, some churches it's 5th grade, and some others still it's 8th grade. The "acceptable" time to commune is up for discussion.

Cooper, who is now 6, really fits none of the categories, accept the first - whenever the child desires. He's the in-betweener kid. Last year on Maundy Thursday we were involved in a Seder Meal. Cooper listened attentively the whole time (at least as well as a then 5 year old boy can). After this ritual, we all went up to the sanctuary and stood in a circle. As the bread and wine were being distributed, he cupped his hands and looked up into the pastor's eyes, as if to say, "Me too. I am a part too. I love Jesus too. This includes me too."

I think about that a lot. I know that Cooper understood, as fully as any of us do, what the celebration of Holy Communion is about. And I think as we grow and wilt, ask and deny, open ourselves and close ourselves, we all come to new and fresh understandings of communion and God's love for us.

I haven't gotten to the funny part yet....this year we returned to our home congregation after being gone a year. Cooper decided he didn't want to take communion anymore - he said he wasn't supposed to. And - I thought it didn't really set a good precedent me up at the altar forcing him to take communion (that surely can't be grace...). So, he stopped taking it, also excusing himself by saying he didn't like the grape juice. I let it go. Besides, there is precedent for those not feeling worthy to come for a blessing as they confess their sins, instead of receiving bread and wine (although I don't necessarily agree with this - who among us is worthy?).

Today though, just a few weeks before Maundy Thursday, he cupped his hands and looked up into the pastor's eyes... different pastor, same feeling. The pastor looked at me, looked at him; Cooper looked at me, looked at him. I said, "Okay. Yeah, give it to him." He asked. What can we say to that?

Ask and you shall receive - it's the promise of Jesus. Ask for grace, ask for love, ask for forgiveness, ask for just a foretaste of all that God has promised to each of God's beloved children. Because when we ask - we receive, one way or another.

All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

Every once in awhile one of my kids says or asks something, which is very innocuous at the basic level, but then the more it rolls around in my head, the more profound it seems. I often wonder if the depth of what their statements conveys is known only to me or if I read into things too much. A little of both, I guess. At this point in my life, as we all embark on a new Lent, it feels more like God talking. So, here's a little portion of how a conversation went with Jackson (age 9) today...maybe it'll speak to you.

I'm folding laundry as Jackson curls up on the couch and asks, "How come we don't celebrate Mardi Gras?"

"Hmmm," I am thinking, "well, we sort-of have before. Remember last year at CLC (my internship congregation), when we had the Pancake Supper? That was on Mardi Gras or Shrove Tuesday. It happens the day before Ash Wednesday." I am fully aware that my answer is insufficient and don't go into spiritual disciplines of fasting, remembering we are dust, and simplification. For some reason I think it's just too much for him (maybe it's the mom in me protecting his self-esteem - yes, I know...pride can be a sin...).

Jackson says, "But why eat pancakes before Ash Wednesday?" Exactly what I was trying to avoid. "Okay, here it goes," I am thinking. So, I say, "Well, Ash Wednesday is the day we start Lent, which is the 40 days which lead up to Easter. And during Lent we remember and try to focus on God and what has been done for us in Jesus. We try to simplify things. So, people eat pancakes before Lent as their last chance for awhile to over-indulge."

Jackson innocently states, "So, I guess we're not going to be having pancakes for awhile?" I laugh and say, "No, we can have pancakes..." He says (and this is what I love because it's simple and profound ), "Yeah, I guess we could have pancakes, but definitely no 'all-you-can-eat buffets' - that's definitely out of the question."

So - no 'all-you-can-eat buffets' for Lent, no 'it's all about me', no satisfying myself with things which ultimately don't satisfy. I'm hoping during Lent this year I can sit simply with God at the sparseness of the foot of the cross and be fed on the simple offering of bread and wine - then I really will be full.

26.2

26.2

Not long ago I ran the Marine Corps marathon. I have been running long distance since high school, and this was my first. For as long as I can remember I've said how much I wanted to run one. Around mile 7 I told my running partner that I felt as if I would cry, because I was so happy. I think I had a smile on my face for the first 13 miles. Every step felt like one step closer to the fulfillment of a dream. Then, the pain started to set in...and at mile 19 I was pretty sure I couldn't make it. But, I kept plugging along - putting one step in front of the other and I finally got there - crossing the finish line, holding hands with my running partner.

But, here's what I've been thinking about a lot these past few days (especially today). The marathon - those 26.2 miles I ran - that was the easy part. It was the short part. The hard part was actually the months leading up to the race. I didn't want to just run it - I wanted to do well. I wanted to qualify. The long runs on Saturdays (22 miles), logging miles at 5:30am every morning, and the speed work on Thursdays - that was where the work really was.

The race was just the culmination of a whole lot of sweat, exhaustion, and perseverance. I am so thankful I could enjoy the race - that I smiled and cried, that I took in the sunshine and the music, that I ate the free jelly beans and felt a rush dashing through Georgetown. It's what I worked for and it was over so fast.

Sometimes I think we focus so much on the goal of getting to something, that when it finally gets here, we forget to enjoy it and then it's gone. The it, whatever that may be, becomes something to check off, rather than something to celebrate. I'm trying to remind myself of this right now with Christmas upon us, with my semester coming to a close, with my kids growing up so fast.... I don't want it to be gone and wonder where did it go.

I wonder what it would actually be like if we really celebrated Christmas; if we really celebrated accomplishments, even if it's as small as learning to tie shoes; if we really celebrated the joy of family and friends. Who really cares if the Christmas tree cut-out cookie actually has green sprinkles on it? Maybe, just maybe letting lose and making it a red tree this year is okay. Maybe it is more fun to order a pizza, so we have time to chat with friends, rather than spend the whole night in the kitchen. And, it really is a big deal when you learn how to tie your shoes or know all your multiplication facts. Because the fact is, most of life is the training part of the marathon - the sweat, the tears, and the exhaustion, so when we get the opportunity to bask in the warmth of friends and family, love and laughter may we take it all in. Celebrate the 26.2!

Food For Thought

Yesterday was a day jam-packed full of parties, soccer, errands -all the things which make me feel like weekends are way more work than a regular old weekday.

Cooper (my youngest son) and I attended the Baptism of a dear friend, after which we celebrated by eating CAKE.

Cooper pointed to a corner piece with a giant red icing flower on it, "I want that one."

"Of course you do, " I thought, with my eyes rolling in my head. What I said was, "Coop, we are going to be eating junk all day, how about half of this piece which is already cut."

"OK, but I want the whole piece."

I gave in, he ate it. Then we dashed from the Baptism celebration to a friend's birthday party. During which he had bubblegum ice cream and CAKE. Oh boy, I am thinking we are on sugar overload.

Then last night, we had our family celebration for Jackson (my middle son who turned 9). I should preface this next sentence with the fact that we did eat a nice big, healthy, home cooked meal, but we all also had...you guessed it...CAKE! And for Cooper, it was his third round of cake.

I was thinking about this as I tucked him into bed and he was completing melting down - I guess coming down off his sugar high. It's often all or nothing, feast or famine.

When there's too much cake it just isn't special anymore, it doesn't seem sweet or like it's something to be savored. Like too much soccer, too many parties, too many emails, phone calls. It all just becomes ordinary and we don't savor the fun and celebration of life.

But, also when there's too little cake we crave something more, so we search and search for something to satisfy that hunger. Like when there's too little love, too little forgiveness, too little enjoying what we are given.

Feast or famine, all or nothing. It leaves us with a stomachache.

What was it Jesus prayed? "Give us this day our daily bread." Give us what we need, what satisfies our hunger. I truly believe that we are given more than we need. Saying it's all about 'moderation' seems way too easy to me - we know that. I think digesting all that fills up our lives is more about savoring....

Reverance

I have a cat named Moses; he's about 13 years old and an outdoor cat. This means a few other outdoor cats have become friends with Moses via food stashes. About two months ago a new cat emerged on the scene - a very striking Siamese cat. I would see him often darting off in the mornings.

Last Tuesday I was returning home about 9pm and I saw the Siamese cat on the side of the road right in front of my house. I knew immediately he had been hit by a car, but as I pulled into my drive he lifted up his head and looked at me. Another car had stopped too. I dashed inside to get my flashlight to check on the cat. Since he had looked up at me I was hoping maybe just his leg was broken and we could take him to the Emergency Vet Clinic.

As soon as I went over to check on the cat I knew he had died. And I knew he had died a painful death. I felt awful.

The passengers of the other car and I knocked on my neighbors' doors to see if anyone knew who owned the cat. No luck. My dad was visiting last week and decided to call the police. He ended up calling 911 - who promptly told him they did not handle dead animals (which makes total sense to me). They did transfer him to our local police who said they would let animal control know. All day on Wednesday - no animal control, but many sad children and adults as they passed by the poor cat. Late Wednesday afternoon my dad physically arrived at the police station to ask animal control to come out. He was told they had no record and he could talk with the dispatcher (which he did). Still nothing.

By Thursday afternoon my dad could no longer stand it. His words to me, "It's just irreverent!"

I've thought a lot about that and how we each are distinct, valuable creatures. And I have thought a lot about my response - I could barely look at the poor creature. I felt awful, but I also didn't really do anything.

Later on Thursday the cat was gone. My dad had gone out, scooped the cat up and buried him in my backyard. In some small way he returned the cat's dignity. A 'proper' burial - a little reverence.

I wonder what would happen if we all appreciated and revered the dignity of others instead of covering up our eyes or closing our ears to the things which are hard to see and hear.