Just a suggestion . . .

Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!

For His mercy endures forever.

The stone which the builders rejected

Has become the chief cornerstone.

²³ 

This was the Lord’s doing;

It is marvelous in our eyes.

²⁴ 

This is the day the Lord has made;

We will rejoice and be glad in it. --Psalm 118:1, 22-24

You may have noticed by all the ONE DAY ONLY sales going on: Today is Leap Day. Every four years, we add a day to the calendar to keep it synchronized with the seasons. If we did not add this extra day, the calendar would fall behind the "natural" calendar of the seasons by 5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds every year. (Thanks, Farmer's Almanac!)

I live in a community with a sizable Muslim population. Over the years, we watched their observance of Ramadan move from February (when the days are short), backwards to July (when fasting becomes a much longer daily event).

Think how our lives would change if we had to re-order our seasonal way of thinking to "follow the sun." Whoa. . . . 

So today we get an extra gift. Twenty-four extra hours. Over the last three days, my community has been grieving the loss of young lives, now numbering three, plus the lives forever changed by a single senseless act.

But still the sun comes up today. Still God is on the throne.

As poet Mary Oliver puts it so elegantly, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" 

Or, at the very least-- what are you going to do with this one wild and precious day?

Need some suggestions?

Call a friend. Offer to take her (or him) to lunch. 

Go to the zoo. Talk to the animals.

Call your parents. Call your children. Better yet-- if they are close enough, take them to lunch. Or dinner.

Smile. Even if you are met with a scowl in return-- keep smiling. You never know what might be the "tipping point" in a person's day.

Take a walk. It's raining here, possibly God weeping over the young lives ended too soon and with such sadness. But I have a pair of waterproof shoes, and the last time I checked, I neither melt nor shrink when I get wet. (That'd be a great way to lose weight if I did!) Dance in the rain, splash in life's puddles! This is the day the Lord has made! Rejoice!

Try a new food. My daughter will be thrilled: I bought some almond milk this morning. It's really yummy on granola.

Take a nap. And do not feel guilty.

Offer relief to a young mother.

Offer a visit, maybe even offer to read to a seasoned member in your neighborhood. 

Schedule a day to volunteer. You know what you like to do; follow your heart.

Spend some time with God. He's waiting and wondering when you might find time to seek him again. Maybe that is why we have this extra day tucked neatly, this year, right in the midst of Lent. 

Live. Laugh. Love. Listen.

If all else fails-- relax. Just be. 

The world is hurrying by, not even realizing, perhaps, that there is anything special about today (apart from the sales). But ask my friend Kristi, who was born on Leap Day. It's not every year she gets to celebrate-- on her birthday! 

Rejoice. Be glad!

Wonderful loving God, thank you for surprises, for extra gifts of chronos time. Help us to step back, slow down, open wide-- and drink in the offerings of this day and every day lived in communion with you. Amen.

Lost Innocents

"You will be ever hearing, but never understanding; 

you will be ever seeing, but never perceiving. 

This people's heart has become calloused; 

they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes." 

--the Prophet Isaiah 6:9, 10

Sad day in northeast Ohio Monday. In the peaceful community of Chardon, gently nestled in the farmlands of Amish country, innocence was lost. A young man entered the school cafeteria with a hand gun. End result: Five shot, one fatally. And now, today, we learn another child has died.

The troubled young man had "tweeted" his intention to "do something with a gun," and no one-- not a single person who read that tweet believed it could happen.

People jump to lay blame. We need more metal detectors. We need tighter security. We need better gun control-- or we need to have more concealed weapons. His parents-- what's wrong with them, anyway. And the teachers, and the schools-- problems piled on problems, and no real solutions.

It is so much more than a gun control issue or a security issue. Those things may be a start, but if one has no sense of belonging, desperation and longing can give rise to extreme resourcefulness, and not in a good way.

Just as a terrorist will glide through airport security if he is motivated enough, so, too, will a desperate child find a way to eke out the destruction or revenge if he is hurting deeply enough.

To the child who has cried out in desperation and been ignored-- I am sorry. I thought "my business" was more important. Please-- cry out again. And keep crying until someone hears-- but please, do not harm yourself and do not harm another. You are loved. And you are not alone.

To the parent whose child has "changed"-- ask. Ask in love. Listen. And if it hurts too badly to listen-- call someone. Call a friend, call a teacher-- call a pastor. You are loved. And you are not alone.

To the teacher whose class just seems to keep growing bigger and bigger, who feels overwhelmed by circumstance but keeps on teaching-- thank you. Thank you for being a safe, trusted adult in our children's lives. You are loved. And you are not alone.

To "the village" where our children grow up-- these children belong to all of us. We are never alone. And we-- are love. 

We are the smile, the loving touch, the caring ear when the child thinks his world is crashing down. 

We are here. Next door or halfway around the world, down the hall or down the street. We are here to listen, to love-- to give you a break.

* * *

This whole event seems darker, more somber in the shadow of the Cross, as we wander the road to Golgotha. God so loved the world-- the whole world that he came clothed in humanity, took on the sin of the world and died in our stead. 

And all he expects in return is that we love and honor God, and love and honor each other.

We are never alone. And we are loved. More beloved than we can ever imagine.

Merciful God,

our maker and our judge,

we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed:

we have not loved you with our whole heart,

we have not loved our neighbours as ourselves:

we repent, and are sorry for all our sins.

Father, forgive us.

Strengthen us to love and obey you in newness of life;

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

                                                                                                                 --From an Australian Prayer Book

How do I look?

Now we see a reflection in a mirror; then we will see face-to-face. Now I know partially, but then I will know completely in the same way that I have been completely known. --1Corinthians 13:12

Yesterday I suggested churches need to take a closer look at themselves. Today-- well, churches are made up of people. Us. You and you and you-- and me. And it is Lent, after all.

So let's take a look in the mirror and see what God sees. If we dare.

Frederick Buechner (Listening to Your Life) posits that when Jesus went off into the wilderness for forty days, he was pondering what it meant to be Jesus. And these forty days of Lent can (should) be a time of similar introspection for us, as well. 

How are you doing-- at being you?

When you look in the mirror, what about you pleases you? And what displeases you? Do you think God sees you the same way?

You have twenty-five words or less to deliver a message to your family and closest friends at the end of your life. What would you want them to know?

If you could have one "do-over" in your life, what would it be?

Parker J. Palmer reminds us that we are to let our lives speak. Whatever we are designed to do in this brief time we have on earth, we need to do it with gusto and without apology. 

What is your vocation, your calling in life?

Lent can be a glum, discouraging time if you let it. It can be about desert and deprivation, questions that go unanswered and answers called into question.

Are you all discouraged now? Wishing you hadn't clicked this one today?

Fear not. For no matter what, no matter when-- the Lord is with you. Even as Jesus was tempted in the desert, he knew the presence of the father.

And no matter what, when sun comes up tomorrow you will receive a fresh dawn, a new chance. A chance to tell someone you love them, a chance to be the hands and feet of Jesus to someone seeking.

Buechner offers this thought: "If sackcloth and ashes are at the start of [Lent], then something like Easter may be at the end of it."

Lord, no matter how discouraged I may become, help me, always, to remember that even when you were dead and buried for three interminably long days, on the third day the sun came up and the tomb was empty. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Buechner, Frederick. Listening to Your Life. New York: HarperCollins, 1992.

Camping out

 "This is what the LORD says: You are not the one to build the temple for me to live in. . . . I have been traveling around in a tent and in a dwelling. Throughout my traveling around with the Israelites, did I ever ask any of Israel’s tribal leaders I appointed to shepherd my people: 'Why haven’t you built me a cedar temple?' . . . I’ve been with you wherever you’ve gone, and I’ve eliminated all your enemies before you. Now I will make your name great—like the name of the greatest people on earth." --2 Samuel 7 (excerpts)

It's Sunday, and I am thinking about the church. 

I had a professor at Ashland who said, "A church begins to die the day it begins plans to build its own building." In other words, when a congregation forms because the Spirit is at work and cannot be quenched, when the mission and love for the Lord are paramount, a church truly delights the Lord.

But somehow, 'we' have come to believe that a successful church needs its own building. The cafeteria of the local school or the basement of an insurance building is no longer "good enough" for God.

This is a tough idea, I know. After all, we are raised to aspire to own our own home. Why would God not want the same?

Where did we get this idea?

David thought the same thing. David thought that if he were truly a God-fearing, God-honoring man, he should build a temple of cedar for the Lord, a place where all could come to sacrifice and worship and honor Yahweh.

God set him straight on that one, didn't he?

Through the prophet Nathan, God reminded David that he has always travelled with the Israelites. Where they camped, God also camped. God led them through the wilderness in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. 

God's presence was ever with them.

Much later, in his letter to the church at Corinth, Paul puts it this way:

Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him; for God’s temple is sacred, and you are that temple. --1 Corinthians 3:16-17

We are the temple in which the Spirit chooses to dwell. 

As Jesus promised, the Holy Spirit, the Comforter has come in Jesus' absence, to guide us, to comfort us and encourage us.

Robert Frost, in his poem, "Mending Wall," wrote, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall." No matter how carefully we construct a wall, over time the moss and the ivy begin their insidious destruction, until the bricks and stones crumble and collapse, and whatever was being walled in (or walled out) is free again to go where it will.

I wonder if it isn't God working at that wall in sneaky fashion.

When we build a church, what is our motivation? Are we seeking to keep someone in (or out)? Is the Lord honored in our plan? Will the building of a church work to carry the Missio Dei forward, advancing the Reign of God in this world? Only you know the answer to this for your church. But it's worth thinking about and praying about.

Heavenly Father, as you choose to dwell within us and among us, help us always to examine our motives. Remind us of the ways you wish to be honored by your children, and of the many ways we are stewards of your Creation. Amen.

Sukey : )

 Abraham gave the name Isaac [which means "he laughs"] to the son Sarah bore him. 

Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him.

 Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” --Genesis 21:3, 5-6

What's in a name, anyway? 

Shakespeare reminds us that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. 

And I imagine we all know at least one person who perhaps might have put a l-i-i-i-i-t-t-l-e more thought into the names they gave their children.

Our names remind us of who we are. In some cases, they help us become who we are. For instance, I have to believe a dwarf named Grumpy is never, ever going to a fun guy.

Now you are wondering-- what does all this have to do with a very cute, very soft elephant? A lot, actually.

This cuddly friend came into my life recently and needed a name. But I didn't have one right at the tip of my tongue, so I asked a friend for help.

Quick as a flash, she says, "Well, what's the Greek word for 'prayer'? Or the verb, since that is, after all, how the whole elephant thing started for you anyway."

What a good idea!

Oddly enough, while much of my Greek has left me, carried away by the pneuma, it did not take me long at all to remember the word for "prayer."

Proseukomai. Yep-- I even remember it's a deponent verb. And I can still see the goofy images from our Greek study book, that went along with learning the deponent endings. Oh, my! A tie. . . . My Greek professor would be so proud.

Anyway-- 

This beautiful little elephant, released from the attic to be about in the world, has a name.

Her name . . . is Sukey. 

And she has joined Skippy the bush kangaroo, Wally the koala and Reese the monkey, watching over my slumber.

Gracious Lord, thank you for the little things, and thank you for reminding us that you have called each of us by name, a name given with love and caring, perfect for who we are created to be as children of the Almighty Father. Amen. 

How bright are you?

"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light. Upon those who live in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned." --Isaiah 9:2

"In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." --John 1:4-5

Every Thursday evening, I drive downtown to my church for choir rehearsal. (It's grueling and wonderful, but that is probably another post.) My route takes me along the Shoreway, a curvy path that wends its way along the shore of Lake Erie.

It's still winter here, and at 6:30 at night-- it's getting good and dark. The lights on the skyscrapers are brilliant and busy, the scoreboards of the stadium delivering nonstop advertisement and promotion. The red and blue lights on the Detroit- Superior Bridge cast their soft colors against the urban landscape.

But Lake Erie-- now that's dark.

Tonight, the clouds were holding their breath, waiting, I suppose, for me to get safely to choir and inside before the rains came. (It is, after all, all about moi.) They hung, heavy and low, laden with water sucked up from the lake; and soon and very soon, that water would be spat out over the landscape again.

But wow, was it dark tonight. It almost felt as if a wall, a curtain had descended, shutting the lake off from the city. No lights out there-- at all. 

Well, that was what I thought at first.

But then, as I came along closer to downtown, I sneaked another look-- it's a curvy road-- and there was a single light . . . on . . . off . . . steady . . . in rhythm . . . deep in the darkness . . . breaking through . . .not overcome . . . .

Kinda cool, when you think about it. (Of course, driving a curvy road in the dark is probably not the best time to be thinking too deeply or trying to focus on a light . . . that comes . . . and goes . . . .)

But in its persistence, this little light-- a buoy, maybe-- just goes on doing what it was made to do, and persists-- even through the darkness and the wetness. And the darkness did not overcome it.

There is a Chinese proverb. I am certain you have heard it: It is better to light one candle that to sit and curse the darkness.

It is better to offer a single dollar, if that is all we can afford, to provide a meal for a hungry child than to wring our hands and lament the cost of poverty in the world.

It is better to go next door and meet the "new kid on the block" than complain about the way the neighborhood has changed.

It is better to muddle through an unfamiliar hymn, or attend that Sunday school class (even if I don't know a single person there) than to endlessly reminisce about the way the church used to be and how much better it was "back in the day."

Lord Jesus, shine on me, shine in me, and let my light so shine and my joy be so obvious, that all who see me, this day and every day, will want what I've got. May my candle be strong enough, grounded in Everlasting Light, that the darkness, no matter how dark, cannot overcome it. Amen.

Blowin' in the Wind. . . .

"For dust you are 

   and to dust you will return.” 

-- Genesis 3:19b

(This may be good news, or it may be other news. But I have decided to attempt to blog every day throughout this period of Lent. Thus begins a personal journey undertaken publicly. My prayer is that somehow, my words, my heart, my journey might speak to yours.)

First of all-- no, this is not a repeat of yesterday's post. But after receiving the sign of the cross on my forehead, my mind is still on ashes. 

Formed from dust. Returning to dust. This mortal cloak we wear-- dust.

I remember one of the first times over the last ten-plus years when I have been a part of scattering the ashes of a family member. 

My husband's mother had always been very, very clear about her wishes. Every time she would take a trip, she would gather us 'round, remind us of where she kept her will, and tell us again: She did not want to be buried in a box. She wanted to be cremated. Returned to the dust from which she believed she was formed.

(Of course, Rich and I were always uncomfortable with the conversations-- but in the end, we were grateful. There was no question.)

The family gathered at the edge of a large field. It was fall, a lovely time of year, crisp and clear. Rich opened the box that held the ashes, stopped and took a breath. He said a few words-- long since gone from my mind-- and took a handful of ashes and allowed them to be carried off in the breeze. 

I don't think one is ever quite prepared for this moment of watching the Spirit Wind lift these ashes like a delicate plume of smoke, rising and disappearing in a moment's time-- just as our very lives last but a blink of an eye in the scheme of God's kairos time.

It's a beautiful thing. 

And for me, there is something about knowing that when I think of these saints whom I have loved, my memory is not directed to one specific place. They have been released from their earthly fetters, travelled on the breeze and are near, in heart and mind, wherever I am.

Yes, I can go to camp and sit near the lake where Rich was set free. But he isn't just there. 

His true memory lives in our hearts, our minds-- and in the way we treat one another.

Heavenly Father, as we journey forward we remember the saint leading the way, those we have loved who also loved us. May we be aware of their holy presence still in our lives, today and each day, cheering us on as we run the race set before us. Amen.

Remember.

"For dust you are 

   and to dust you will return.” 

-- Genesis 3:19b

(This may be good news, or it may be other news. But I have decided to attempt to blog every day throughout this period of Lent. Thus begins a personal journey undertaken publicly. My prayer is that somehow, my words, my heart, my journey might speak to yours.)

Today, in the Christian year, is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the season of Lent. 

For some, it becomes a time of denial, of "giving up." Maybe it's chocolate, or cigarettes; maybe it's swearing or television. For others, it becomes a time of "adding on," a season to strive to do more for those whose paths cross our own. We may decide to serve a community soup kitchen, or knit prayer shawls.

The season, for me, becomes a time to remember, to reflect on who I was, who I still am, and who God has created me to be. 

It is a season of confession, of repentance-- of transformational beginnings.

We came from the dust of the earth, formed by God's own loving Hand, breathed to life with God's own holy Breath. We are created in the Image of the Divine, the Imago Dei.

And as the Imago Dei, we are, in so many cases, the first and possibly only glimpse of the Almighty someone may see today.

Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?

As I walk through this day, what is my life saying? Between the words? In the margins?

Lord Jesus, my prayer is this: May my hand fit ever so perfectly within your leading hand, may my steps match your rhythm. And may I truly be the Imago Dei for a lost or troubled soul, today and each day. Amen.

Continuing Education

By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people. --Exodus 13:21-22

It's never a dull moment here on Mars. Some days, I feel like Dorothy, caught up in a tornado of stuff. And my little cats, too.

I just get comfy in a church, the door opens to leave. I think I know where I am going next-- that door slams shut. Quite loudly and painfully. Ouch.

And over there, a new door begins to creak open, a shaft of light-- a pillar, perhaps-- shines through the crack. 

Always, God leading. Always, heidi a step or three behind.

In the midst of this latest break-up, someone asked me if I had stopped to reflect on what God might be teaching me through this event. So here are perhaps a few things I am learning about myself, and about God: 

I am (re)learning that God's plan may seem quite obtuse at times. (My MDiv is only a degree, not wisdom. DUH.)

I am (re)learning about priorities. Am I anxious and eager to get on with things? Sure. But sometimes there are so many other things that are way, way more important. Life or death important. 

I am learning that pain hurts. And I am learning that if I don't allow myself time and space to experience this latest hurt, let myself admit just how hard this is, letting go of people and a place I considered family for a very long time-- if I cannot do that, if I cannot shed a few (more) tears, there will be no healing. And if there are no tears to water the hardened soil of my heart, there will be no growth.

I continue to learn that despite the pain, we are made for community and we are made to live together. God never intended for us to journey alone for very long. Even our Triune God is in constant community-- and constantly seeks us, as well, because God so loves us.

I continue to affirm that the Family of God is so much more, so much greater than any single church family, or any single denominational family. Children of God, like the children of humans, come in many sizes, shapes-- and yes, even beliefs. And the older I get, the more I want to learn from these many different family members. And none of us will ever, ever learn a thing if we keep yakking and never stop to look, listen and love with our hearts. 

Most of all, I continue to understand, more each day, that God really, truly is leading me-- even me, by day in a pillar of cloud and by night in a pillar of light. 

But I need to lift my eyes to see. (And that also means pulling my nose out of my navel.) 

And just when I need it most, I also receive a fresh lesson (okay, three, at least) in the power of prayer, the healing, comforting, strengthening power of time spent not just speaking to God, but listening deeply for that still, small voice of love. 

We pray for healing, we pray for comfort for ourselves or someone we love. And sometimes-- of course, it could be just me talking here, but sometimes we forget to watch for God's answer. 

And even when we see the answer, plain as the nose on our face, we smile and keep walking, never stopping long enough to praise God for his magnificent grace and glory in our broken lives. 

Stop. Right now. You have stopped long enough to read this blog, so take another minute to thank God for what he has done. 

Gracious God, I thank you for surrounding me and mine with your Divine love and protection. 

I thank you for the people you have brought into my life (yes, you know who you are) and pray you will bless them even as you have blessed me-- and more.

I thank you for your healing touch in my spiritual sore spots, and for the physical healing of Steve.

I thank you for the very gift of life, in all its wonderful, mysterious forms.

And I thank you for believing in me, for challenging me but never leaving me to face those challenges alone. 

Amen.