Don't stop.

Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.  Write them on the door frames of your houses and on your gates. --Deuteronomy 6:7-9

What a crazy winter we have had in Ohio! Snow on top of snow on top of snow. 

The "Chinese guard dogs" of slush and ice that the plows sculpted at the end of my driveway? Earlier in the week, they were pugs. This morning-- they are Great Danes. I shoveled as I was able, and the fluff and stuff are now piled as high as my armpits. At least. 

The front sidewalk, undrifted, has a good-- or should I say solid-- seven inches of snow. Where the winds have gathered it up, shuffled and and dealt it afresh, it's well over a foot deep in places.

They say on the radio that major highways are having to close because of accidents and unaware drivers. 

I spoke with a young lady yesterday when I gave blood. She is a senior in high school. She could say, quite literally, that this is the worst winter she has seen-- wait for it-- in her entire life! 

My neighbor, yet again, has shoveled out the grass in their back yard so the dog can do her business. (Yes, fans, this is yet another reason I am a cat person.)

All this snow has impressed upon me two thoughts this morning, as I listen to the growl and scrape of snow blowers and shovelers.

First: I love snow, I really do. But this past week or so, I don't believe there is a soul among us who has not confessed that we just can't take much more. Please! A little break-- just one melt? A few days above freezing? 

And yet. The snow, even in its massive, crazy quantities, is still blessing.

Blessing, even today, for children who are out of school and getting bored already.

Blessing for those whose livelihood depends on moving that snow off driveways and highways.

Blessing for those who will need the moisture for crops, come springtime. (And springtime will come. No doubt.)

But at the same time, I think sometimes, when the days are particularly wonderful, we do cry out to God in our hearts. God, I just can't take any more. I don't deserve this much blessing! Please-- a little break?

Truer words were never spoken. We do not deserve one iota of what we receive. 

And yet. 

And yet when we open our eyes and look around, the blessings are piled up nearly to our armpits-- and still coming down.

That's one thought. Here is the other:

I am writing this because-- I must. Because the day we stop telling our stories, we begin to die away. We begin to forget who and Whose we are. 

And I believe this is happening in our world, and in our churches. We are not telling our story, faithful and true. And so we begin to forget. 

Even the texts we have heard since we were wee ones begin to grow cloudy or unfamiliar. 

The Good News, the best story ever told, begins to fade and be silenced. 

We need good news. We really do. In a time when the evening news begins and ends with anger and despair? Yeah, we need good news.

So. Tell your story. 

Write it on your forehead. Impress it upon the hearts of your children. Do not allow your story to be forgotten. 

That is why I blog. Not because I make the big bucks doing so. Not because my writing is always scintillating or spellbinding.

But because it is My Story, and I can't, not tell it. And My Story is but a single episode, an epic moment in a much greater Story that cannot, will not die. Without me-- without you-- the story is incomplete.

You matter. More than you may know.

Gracious, Eternal Lord, teach us to tell our story. Help us through the rough spots. Show us where you never left, not even for a moment. And guide us as we walk together, shining light into the dark corners and reminding one another: we are never, ever alone. Amen

Lovers, dreamers-- and you.

[Jacob] had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord. . . . When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, 

and I was not aware of it.” 

He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” 

--Genesis 28:12-13; 16-17

(I am back. Seems like I haven't blogged in about a decade. Ideas would come and go, and life would nose its way in and divert my attention. And because I didn't immediately jot down any ideas . . . well . . . gone with the wind.) 

We lost another beautiful voice recently. Singer and storyteller Pete Seeger has joined Abraham, Martin and John in the eternal Peace Walk. He will be deeply, sorely missed. 

I remember watching "Reading Rainbow" with my kids, and Pete Seeger read/ sang his picture book Abiyoyo. So much fun. (You can see/ hear it here.) Mr. Seeger always seemed to be such a gentle man, in voice, in spirit and in manner. Always gentle-- but never weak.

Always, he seemed to have an unshakeable dream, a vision that he refused to give up. And always, he would give voice his dream with gentle, firm conviction, as though in his mind, in his life, it was already a reality. His banjo bore these words:

This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.

And in his music, with every strum and every note, you got the feeling that the threads of love and peace were being woven into a beautiful new fabric, stronger, more beautiful and more desirable than any other.

But before he could sing about it, he had to believe it. Had to envision it for himself, so he could share the dream with others. Had to be able to imagine the dream as reality, or it was all fluff and bother; otherwise, those who hadn't the vision could easily "yes, but" it out of existence and silence the hope.

Ah, those dream-killers. The person in the crowd who cries out to the magician, "I see what you've done there," breaking the spell, reminding the audience of the "laws" of reality. 

Sigh.

Everything was begun as a dream. Arguably, even God, in the Genesis narrative, had Something In Mind when he first began creating all that is-- out of nothing. When chaos moved across the waters, it was a dream of magnificent proportions that brought order to the chaos.

For Pete Seeger, the dream began with an "if": If I had a hammer. If I had a bell. If I had a song to sing. And then the assertion: I have a hammer, and a bell-- and a song to sing. A dream to dream, a gift to share all over this land.

Pete Seeger's dream for peace lives on. His desire for all humanity to live in harmony continues, even as his own banjo has fallen silent. Because the thing about dreams is, they're contagious. They can catch fire and spread, pick up steam and grow, until bit by bit, they are no longer dreams, but the New Reality.

Oh, sure, along the way the yammering "Yes, Buts" and the lonely "If Onlies" will try to drown out the dreamer's voice. But they only win when we listen and believe that their fearful questions are greater than our desire to share the dream.

Dare to dream. Share your dream. You are not alone. In fact-- that's the dream, isn't it? That all may be as one?

Gracious God, we pray that our desire to be together will always be stronger than our desire to be divided. Help us to listen--and to speak. Amen

Lovers, Dreamers and You