Mornings

Photo by Michelen Studios on Unsplash 

I'm doing a little poetry writing in my meditation/devotional time in the mornings. This was my morning ramblings, barely edited.

Mornings

Why is it that some days I wake before my alarm? 

A full half hour or more, 

Driven to see what is happening in the world 

Or at least on Instagram. 

What changes from day to day 

When I bolt out of bed

to when I can’t get up,

When I'm excited to rise

To when I sink back in, 

Not because I love laying down 

But because to rise is to struggle.
 

Is it dinner? Drinking? Experiences? Mondays? 

Just the way life works? 

Maybe that.

Some days better than others. 

Somedays better than others. 

To get up either way is the gift, I guess. 

The dog must be greeted. 

The coffee must be poured (trust me on this). 

The sun comes up. Regardless. 

So today I shrug 

And take it as it is. 

Trusting in providence. 

And holding on.

Viral Learnings, Part Nine, What Covid Has Done In Me

Photo by Hilthart Pedersen on Unsplash

I ran across this poem today and thought it said well what this time of Covid has done in me. Covid has simplified things greatly. And yet the pull of complexity, of greatness, remains. To remain simple, and open, seems like a gift and goal of the Spirit.

I Don't Want to be a Spice Store

by Christian Wiman, in Survival is a Style

I don't want to be a spice store.

I don't want to carry handcrafted Marseille soap, 

or tsampa and yak butter, 

or nine thousand varieties of wine. 

Half the shops here don't open till noon

and even the bookstore's brined in charm. 

I want to be the one store that's open all night

and has nothing but necessities.

Something to get a fire going

and something to put one out.

A place where things stay frozen

and a place where they are sweet.

I want to hold within myself the possibility

of plugging one's ears and easing one's eyes;

superglue for ruptures that are,

one would have thought, irreparable,

a whole bevy of nontoxic solutions

for everyday disasters. I want to wait

brightly lit and with the patience

I never had as a child

for my father to find me open

on Christmas morning in his last-ditch, lone-wolf drive

for gifts. "Light of the World" penlight, 

bobblehead compass, fuzzy dice.

I want to hum just a little with my own emptiness

at 4a.m. To have little bells above my door.

To have a door.

Viral Learnings, Part Eight: The Courage to be Different

Photo by Terrence Thomas on Unsplash

This week, I had the privilege to offer a short word of encouragement to the graduating class of Skyline High School, in a video the Baccalaureate team put together. As someone who loves being around high schoolers (I've had a few myself) and particularly this class of graduating seniors, it was an honor to do so.

And while every class is special, the class of 2020 will always have a special place in my heart, for they will forever be the class who never graduated--At least who didn't celebrate their graduation properly. With this pandemic hitting in the winter of their senior year, it was such a shock and so sad to think of ending their 13 years of elementary and secondary school like this.

But there is an upside to this way of ending high school (besides curbing senioritis early :))--It creates the courage to be different.

Here is what I told them...

Congrats class of 2020 at Skyline and all our area high schools! I can't wait to see what God will do in and through you in this strange and challenging season.

Viral Learnings, Part Seven: What Hope Looks Like

Photo by Neil Thomas on Unsplash

 Right now, I'm really loving an online daily devotional app called Lectio365. For those of you familiar with Lectio Divina (Latin for Divine Reading), the app loosely mirrors this spiritual practice of listening to scripture and meditating on in in small chunks, allowing one's heart and spirit to hear what the Spirit is saying to you. If you are looking for a really easy, engaging way to start your day and find some peace, I highly recommend it.

Today’s reading focused on John 12, when, six days before the Passover, the start of Holy Week, Jesus chooses to spend time in the home of one of his best friend Lazarus, and his sisters Mary and Martha. 

Why Lazarus? Presbyterian pastor and author Fredrick Buechner calls Lazarus, "The friend with whom Jesus didn't feel he had to be the Messiah." What a gift to have friends like that. 

And maybe that was it. Maybe he just wanted a nice night with close friends whom he didn't have to play a role for. Maybe it was just wanting a homecooked meal, or a safe place to lay his head. Maybe it was just easier than finding the ancient version of a Motel 6 to house himself and his disciples.

But as the podcast continued, the writers suggested another reason why Jesus spent time with his friend Lazarus facing the final week.

"Jesus prepares himself to die by spending time with a man who has come back to life. His friend Lazarus was a promise, a portent; a profound reassurance that death is not the end." 

I've never thought about that before, but how true it is. 

Only one chapter before, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, "Lazarus, come out!" (John 11:43). What comfort it must have provided Jesus so close to his own death, to be reminded in his friend what resurrection actually looks like. If Jesus was fully human (as we believe he was), it makes sense that he needed some comfort, a visible reminder that death does not get the final word. 

And he found that in the presence of his friend and confidant, Lazarus.

How true is that for us today in the midst of this pandemic.

That is why we crave stories of those who have survived, isn't it? The stories of "good news" that come at the end of every newscast. It's why magazines like Guidepost are still in existence. Why we hang on so tightly to people who have gone through the dark night of the soul and came out the other end. Why when we are in the midst of dark valleys with our kids or loved ones ,we reach out to friends who have walked the path before us--We need to see and hear what hope looks like.

At the end of the podcast, the authors ask a great question, "Who is there in my life whose very existence brings me hope and reassurance in difficult times?" Whoever it is, maybe consider coming close to them by writing them a letter or giving them a call this week. 

And then the other side is also true--What moments of resurrection have I seen God exhibit in my life, and who needs to be the recipient of that hope today? Because when we come alongside those who need hope in the midst of the dark, like Lazarus, we may find ourselves ministering to Jesus himself (cf. Matthew 25: 40). 

Jesus sought out that reassurance in his time of trial. As we go through this global trial, we are invited to do the same.

Viral Learnings, Part Six: What We Leave Behind

Photo by Macau Photo Agency on Unsplash

Today I did something I never thought I'd do. 

I went to Costco in a mask. 

It was a little weird and a bit eerie, wondering who was around, how close they were getting, and what might be the outcome (pro-tip: the self-checkout is NOT made for a cart full of supplies). I'm used to coming out of Costco with things not on my original list (a vacuum happened today). But I never thought that what I was most worried about was leaving one thing behind--An invisible virus during a worldwide pandemic.

It takes decision and discipline to leave certain things behind.

"If any of you want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." 

These are Jesus' words to his disciples in Matthew 16. When we look at this passage, we tend to focus on the cross that Jesus invites his disciples to take up. The cross is undoubtedly the signature of Jesus (as Brennan Manning put it), and is somehow meant to be the signature of our lives, too. 

And that should take our breath away (it certainly did for the disciples). Crosses represent sacrificial love, solidarity with the downcast, and often the adoption of a life or a calling that may be a challenge for us, but are ultimately good for others. As I think about health care providers right now, it's hard not to see their calling right now as a cross they bear on behalf of all of us.

But what is often missed is what surrounds the "cross" in this passage; what we leave behind. First, Jesus says we deny ourselves--Our own pursuits, plans, designs, whims, and comforts that make up a good part of our existence. And second, we follow him wherever he might go--Leaving our control and giving it up to the One we follow. Crosses are hard to pick up. But what may be equally as hard is to leave behind the things that make up comfort and control.

But here is the thing that I'm learning--When one picks up one's cross, what is left behind becomes less and less important.

I've been emailing this week with Drs. Aaron and Stacy (Harms) Zabriski, medical missionaries in Zimbabwe that our church supports.

When I think about their lives and ministry, raising a toddler and an infant in a part of the world with a pandemic of needs every day, my anxiety over needing to wear a mask to Costco feels a little embarrassing. But when asked about the "cross" they are bearing in their work (when it could be so much easier even now in the US), this was their reply...

Stacy: My journey to Zimbabwe involved a long road of suffering through medical school and training. I'm sure I wouldn't have finished had it not been for the Lord walking with me. At each turn when I wanted to quit, I thought, "Where else would I go? Lord, to whom shall we go?" Following Him was the only option. It was the same coming to Zimbabwe. For me, it wasn't as much feeling a burden to come, as feeling that was the only direction God was calling me. It was sort of like hearing Him saying, "I am working here. Come join me."

Aaron: For me, prior to visiting for the first time, I had some understanding of how hard life was for people in sub-Saharan Africa. But it wasn't until I saw this place for myself that I became truly convicted in my heart that I had to do something more to share these people's burdens. I think that during my first visit, every time I got tearful watching a child die of malnutrition or a hopeless HIV-infected single mother kill herself by drinking pesticides, it was God laying it on me. That feeling that I had to do something didn't dissipate when I returned to the USA. For myself, I felt burdened every day I was in the US, knowing that I could be doing more, and that God had laid it on me to do more, and that I was in a position to do more. It was almost a relief to finalize my return to Africa because then I knew I was following where God would have me go.

Wow. It turns out when one sees oneself as Jesus' disciple, the leaving becomes easier because the burden becomes a blessing. 

Isn't that the case in this challenge we are facing? When I remember the cross others are bearing to fight this virus, when I hear of those who are suffering from Covid-19, or are in the vulnerable population whose bodies are less capable of fighting it, or think of people like the Zabriski's who are willing to risk far more to bear the burdens of the sick and vulnerable than I ever will; what we've all sacrificed and left behind to care for others during this pandemic seems a lot less of a burden and more of a blessing. Staying home, wearing a mask to Costco, trying to lead our church virtually--these are small ways to shoulder the burdens of others. I'm not sure if I would really call them "crosses", but the small burdens become blessings when we consider what we've left behind.

Viral Learnings, Part Five: The Yeast Remains

found at theclevercarrot.com

One of the things I've started doing during Covid-19 is making Sourdough Bread. A few weeks ago, I made a starter--Some flour, water, a little honey, and some yeast, mixed and punched and put in a zip lock bag to be left out for 5 days while the yeast fermented and did its work. At that point, I put a few cups in a sealed container in the fridge, and baked the rest. I'd give the end product (my first loaf) a "B" grade. I'll get better.

But what I really loved was the starter. Every once in a while if I was making something, I'd pull out a bit to add to what I was doing--bread, pancakes--you name it. And then, a few days ago, I "fed" the starter, adding new flour and a bit of sugar. Lo and behold it started growing again, replenishing itself, replicating, the yeast reactivated, resurrected, providing a new expression of dough from the same strain. 

As I understand it, this could go on forever; the yeast replicating itself, the exact same strain and makeup, as long as I take care of it and feed it well. That is why businesses like Guinness Beer guard their strain of yeast so tightly.

Photo by Sam Barber on Unsplash

They keep a strain of the original yeast under lock and key in case anything would happen to their working stock (these strains are hundreds of years old). It wouldn't be Guinness without the yeast that works it's way through.

What a metaphor for life. During this time of Covid-19 quarantine, I find myself asking, "What yeast am I feeding to grow living bread in me?" Because the fact is that whatever the yeast is that I'm tending will be what the "dough" my life will taste like. 

"A little yeast works itself through a whole batch of dough," Paul writes in Galatians 5. What is the starter yeast that is working it's way through me today? Is it Grace? Love? Mercy? The story of Scripture and God's faithfulness? Or is it fear? Anxiety? The stress of the nightly news? Mad Men (which I'm currently binging)?  All of these are a part of life in some respects, but the yeast will likely be the thing I feed the most. 

The reality of life is that even when the bread is gone, the yeast remains. What am I feeding today in my soul and spirit that remains and replicates for tomorrow's daily bread?

Something for me (and for us) to think about.

Viral Learnings, Part Four: New Rhythms of Grace

Photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash

I realize what I'm about to say is said from a place of privilege, but one of the new learnings for me during this season of world shutdown is the opening up of new rhythms of grace.

It's pretty amazing how easy it is to get in a rut that you can't get out of. Even if it's a good one filled with good things, our lives seem to lean towards patterns of normalcy. Wake up, put your feet on the floor, find your glasses (a daily trial), make your way to the coffee pot, and it's off to the races. I think that is why vacations are so 

longed for--Not because you hate your work (although I suppose that may be true for some), but because you stop for a second from the regular routines and pick up a new rhythm for a while. The change resets your regular playlist of life and invites you to hear a different tune. I often find that it's only when I'm forced to stop and listen in a new way that I can hear the heartbeat of the Divine once again. 

Now I realize that for some, this may be the opposite. Change is terrifying and throws everything good out the window. And yes, of course, house quarantine is a far cry from a vacation on the beaches of Hawaii. And if one is trying to work from home, entertain kids, or just forced to be alone within the four walls of your abode, these new rhythms may sound more like dirges and horror movie soundtracks then lines of grace.

But make no mistake, there is grace being composed and played. It may be a subtle, distant tune from a far away land, but God is playing the song and invites us to listen in. 

For me, here are some of those grace rhythms I'm picking up...

• More regular check in's with friends around the country, calling in to see how we are doing in one of the epicenters of the virus.
• (Almost) nightly movie nights with our family.
• Watching my kids navigate online learning, and the miracle of that statement alone.
• Watching our church family care for each another in new, creative ways.
• Family devotions in the morning.
• Social distancing happy hour in front of our houses on the street with neighbors.
• The generosity of our community towards local restaurants and towards first responders and health care workers.
• Staff meetings using Web ex, which feels the Brady Bunch in good ways (seeing faces in rows of squares).
• The Psalms as a new home to place my anxiety.
• A new appreciation for tik tok dances performed by my kids.
• Watching my Kristi do her work as a school nurse remotely for her community.
• Spending time with our almost 9 year old Great Dane who is on borrowed time at this point (and let's face it, our animals are the ones who are really loving this, aren't they?).
• Family dinners. Every night.
• An excuse to even write this down and process this experience. 

Of course, everything isn't a welcome rhythm. The fears of life and the future, enduring the nightly news and press conferences, the worries about getting a virus with no cure, the longing to give people you love hugs, the concern for those who have lost their jobs or shuttered their businesses; those things remain. 

And yet, if I listen closely, even these longings and pains come with subtexts of hope. For they point to a deeper truth that we all need to hear. 

That this world is not the end. 

That those who sow in tears will reap in joy (Psalm 126). 

That the One whose name is Love identifies with us in our suffering and will never leave us alone. 

Those are the rhythms of grace that are appearing. I, for one, need to hear that tune more and more.