getting uncomfortable (chalice lighting)

Last Sunday, I was privileged to serve as worship associate which pulled me out of my comfort zone.  Part of the responsibilities included writing a personal reflection to share as chalice lighting.  This meant sharing a little of who I am with a community I don't know well.  This is a challenge for me, but one I'm happy I accepted.  Here is my reflection...

Paulo Freire, an educator, asserted that children are not empty vessels in which adults can pour in information.  Rather, they hold within them innate knowledge and life experience which helps them understand even the most complex concepts. I learned of his liberation pedagogy as a graduate student.  Little did I know that this single text would become one of the most powerful influences on my role as parent. To let my children discover the world from within themselves, shaping their learning from my own life experience, my own knowledge, and my own questions.

So, too, has been our experience in shaping their spiritual lives - sharing our thoughts, ideas, and beliefs not as fact but as guide.  More importantly, staying open to their questions, their ideas.  Whether it's Jacob's affinity for polytheism and the gods ability to hold force over nature, Ella's assertion that there is one God, neither male nor female, encompassing  both genders as co-creators of this Universe, or Meghan's mastery of the intangible gifts taught in RE - love, forgiveness, friendship.  Ask her sometime to share what these elusive concepts mean.  You'll certainly walk away with more depth in your own understanding.

Their sense of spirituality may sometimes challenge mine.  But they are open, eager, curious, questioning, and can, at the drop of a dime, move their attention and emotional energy clear away from the heaviness of this conversation to something more present.  Something right here, right now.  I think this may be the greatest lesson in spirituality taught to me by my children.  To be very present... with them...with life.  To get myself unstuck from distance brought on by the intensity of thoughts and ideas floating in my head and to...simply ...be.

We light this chalice to honor the child-like questioning and curiosity in each of us, to welcome this enthusiasm and energy into our own spiritual lives, and to acknowledge the innate knowing found in us all.

creative expression

I'm certain many of us recall dying hard boiled eggs each year in anticipation of Easter Sunday services with pretty dresses, hats and gloves, visits from the Easter bunny, jelly beans, and chocolate.  I don't quite understand why, for me, those traditions now seem strange, unfamiliar.  They are beautiful memories of the past that don't quite resonant with the present.  Perhaps it is the winter weather which seems to be refusing to leave.

Perhaps it is the depth with which I now understand this season - Spring, new life, renewed spirit, awakening.  Somehow pretty dresses and candy don't quite get at the beauty and wonder and mystery that is Easter.  

With winter hanging about and a inner calling to create, to bring new life to our everyday, I wandered back to one of those traditions - painting eggs. Vibrant colors, an expression of nature almost bursting from my brush, painting eggs seemed just the thing to rekindle Easter in my heart.

What I really enjoyed this year was that our creative energy seemed to linger: just like the weather.  I set up a card table and simply left the supplies out so anyone interested could put color to egg as they felt moved to do so.  Surely this meant way more to me than anyone else, but I did love seeing the paint, the brushes, the growing pile of eggs in the "completed" basket.

I also took advantage of a young man's interest in taking photos.  While I was wrist high in paint, Mr. Man took the camera and captured anything he saw of interest.  What a wonderful way to peer into the mind of a child!  He did a beautiful job with posed and candid shots.  He saw color in beauty in the ordinary.  And was sure to capture the people who are oh.so. important in his life.  It was nice, for once, to be on the other side of the camera (normally, I run as far from the camera as I can!).

This Easter, may you find the deep and rich meaning of life, the opportunity to be part of creation, and the joy of Spring!

mourning song

This poem was written in response to the recent loss suffered by my brother-in-law and sister-in-law.  At 21 weeks pregnant, they lost their baby.  This is an experience I've faced many times, thankfully never my own pregnancy.  

There is a wound so deep,

a pain so piercing,

that it renders the soul helpless, hopeless.

For each the circumstance different.

None less.

None more.

Death mirrors life, I know.

Natural, necessary.

But a desperately wanted,

deeply loved unborn child.

There is no understanding in that.

Certainly science can offer explanation and cause.

Though these moments beckon for something spiritual, 

a greater connection, a purpose.

As necessary as death is my belief in the connectedness of all life.

One life must be lost so another may be lived fully?

Farewell sweet Ethan.

Blessed are the moments your parents could hold you 

before you parted ways.

Befriend our dear Gracie.

Sing with her in the Heavens.

And fly.

Together.

Fly.

intentions

Living with intention

I've long admired my students who seem to live their life with much more intention than I did at such a formative age.  I don't recall knowing my life path until long after I graduated from college.  I don't even recall considering that I could/should pave my own path.

I remember my childhood being filled with down time, play, and siblings.  It wasn't until I was in high school that I remember my mother carting us from one activity to the next.  Even still, the hustle and bustle of my youth seems to pale in comparison to the life of a teen today.

Some of life's greatest lessons I've learned from students.  For fifteen years, I've followed their example to search for the right path. The one that would surely lead me to happiness.  The one that would make me successful.  Funny how the one question I've asked of them - what happiness and success are you seeking? - I've failed to ask myself.

A question I've asked myself recently, however.  And I wonder if seeking answers intentionally is really the right path.  I know in my own mind seeking answers - reading, praying, meditating with the idea that I can find them - sends me running in circles and chasing my tail.  The harder I look to find inner peace and happiness, the farther away it seems.  The harder I try to know my spiritual self, the less defined she seems to be.

I've long valued the worship traditions of Holy Week - contemplation, reflection, introspection, turned to hope.  There have been many powerful expressions of these messages in worship.  One year, we hammered a nail into the cross to emphasize our role in Christ's death.  Other years, presiding pastors have washed the feet of the people to show God's love.  This year, the pastor encouraged us to write down a burden on a post-it note stuck to our bulletins with the promise that there would be a point during the service to free ourselves of that burden.  When the cross was brought into the sanctuary, we each brought our note, our burden, and laid it at the feet of the cross.

It seems to me that laying our burdens at the feet of the cross contradicts our human desire to live with intention.  Intention, to me, implies control - control over our own destiny, shaping each endeavor to maximize success and minimize failure.  Laying down our burdens - letting go - frees us to simply live. 

Perhaps this is the lesson for me at this time in my life. To live.  Simply. to. live.

Perhaps it is time to throw away the adverb - to live fully, to live purposefully, to live with intention.

"I meet you in the stillness of your soul."  This phrase found in a daily devotional given to me by a very special woman hones this idea of simply living.  Being still, simply being requires no movement on my part.  It encourages me to stop being intentional, purposeful, to stop seeking and finding myself.  It gives me permission to let the Universe do the work.

My burden, my sin, which I left at the foot of the cross, was this . . .

Being absorbed in my pursuit of self, in my desire to connect myself with my greater purpose. 

I've been fooling myself that being fully present in this pursuit is the same as being present in the moment.  I've failed to see that the present moment is often not about me.  The present moment is where life is - with the people I love, with someone else in control.  Not by my intention.  

The present moment is in living!

celebrating Holy Week

There are many important lessons that come with the celebration of Holy Week - love, compassion, selflessness, justice, sacrifice.  So many lessons that I want to plant in the little minds in my home.  Earlier this week our family attended a Passover Seder and learned about the symbols and traditions of the Jewish people.  What always strikes me about this tradition are the stories of enslavement and God's message(s) about how we should treat one another.  Again - love. compassion. forgiveness. justice.

With the topic of Holy Week for our Sunday school lesson, I thought there might be too much ground to cover  for one day.  I decided we should take advantage of our time off and cover the events one. day. at. a. time.  Sunday we celebrated with palms and singing.  Tuesday, we celebrated the Seder.  Today, the Last Supper.

We started with the story of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples.  At the Seder it is tradition to wash hands during the meal.  Jesus' sets a beautiful example of leadership in his gesture to wash the feet of his followers.  This message was not lost on my children as they eagerly asked to wash Mama's feet.  There was even a bit of compromise and compassion as Mr. Man quietly agreed to wash Pie's feet so that Peace could wash mine.  Peace saw this sacrifice and shared her gratitude.  It seems some messages are taking root!

Then we talked about communion - the commonality between the Jewish cups of wine and matzah and Jesus' body and blood.  Both a beautiful expression of life.  So, we shared our own communion - each getting to serve and each to be served.

We closed today's lesson with the prayers in Gethsemane.  The fact that Jesus chose a garden for prayer - the stillness of night, surrounded by God's gift of creation - mattered to my children.  "Oh Mom," they said, "You like to meditate outside at the park. The picture of Jesus praying looks a little like where you meditate."

We talked about how Jesus must have felt and the words he prayed.

Father, if you can, take this cup from me.  But your will be done, not mine.

All three saddened faces knew Jesus was afraid.  They knew he was sad.  They wondered if they could truly leave themselves to do God's will.

A long time ago, I had the honor of co-directing a children's choir with a dear friend of mine.  We are far apart now and I miss her so.  Today, there is a song on my mind and heart that we sang with those little people as the adults of the church stripped the altar at the close of the service.  I'll leave you with the words...

A Lenten Love Song

Helen Kemp

Now Jesus went into the garden,

The garden of Gethsemane.

He went there sad and very weary

To be alone to pray.

"Dear God, I am so sorrowful,

is there no other way?

Dear God, if it is possible,

let this cup pass away."

Now Jesus went into the garden,

The garden of Gethsemane.

The olive tree bent over him,

and heard him sadly pray:

"Dear God, your Son is sorrowful,

but knows your way is best.

Let love take hold of me!

Help me to be bold and free

to do your will

and rest."

seeking a teacher

It's been a while since I've written an update on meditation.  Lest you think I've given that up, I thought it was probably time.

I'm kind of at that point where I need help with my meditation.  I've read books, practiced almost every single day for a year now.  I've tried different positions and spaces.  I've tried focusing on a word, my breathe, forgiving-ly releasing each thought and centering my mind.

Being outdoors heightens the meditative experience, but 30 degree temperatures give me fits when I'm moving around.  Sitting still in the cold may make me explode!  Probably not real effective!  So, for now, I'm stuck indoors.

The yield of this devotion has certainly been increased patience, understanding, and a sense of moving about life more purposefully.  That should be enough, no?

The problem is I can't let go of the expectation that meditation can enrich my spiritual life.  I know, the first problem is that I'm bringing expectation into meditation.  I did, indeed, and still do, expect meditation to eventually tap into some deep rooted connection with God.  I wish for meditative time to bring me to a spiritual space that I have never experienced, an awakening of sorts.  Maybe a spiritual clarity.  A mystical experience.

I often begin meditation with a prayer that God will open my heart and mind and fill me with the Holy Spirit only to feel my body ache in anticipation and hope.  The ache becomes a closing off and as my body grows tight, my mind floats back to the task list of the day.  Frustrating, really...

I'm not giving up, nor am I negating the impact meditation has had.  I am, however, recognizing that I've likely gone as far as I can without guidance.  Where to go from here, I have not a clue.

I welcome your ideas and advice!

a special box

This box is amazing!

A simple gift given to my children by a loving community of faith.

It's story is even grand.  

When we lived near this community of faith, I was very involved in the music program.  Music is, after all, my most meaningful form of worship.  Music touches me on levels nothing else can.  Not prayer. Not meditation. Not communion. Nothing. (I digress)

There came a time when this faith community needed to replace the old pipe organ.  It was just time.  Though there was great sensitivity about the waste created in this process.  What to do with the old pipes? the wood casing?  This old church of mine repurposed every piece.  EVERY piece.

This box - is our small piece of that organ.  Every piece of this box was made from the wood of that old organ.  The organ that I sang with. The organ that accompanied countless solos.  The organ that has a solid hold on my heart.  

This box is the first of it's kind.  The first.  And somehow that feels special, too.

It's grandness, however, does not stop on the outside of this box.

The inside holds special treasures as well.  You see, this is a baptism box, made for each child of God for their baptism day.  In ours, you will find baptism trinkets and reminders of other special events in the faith lives of my children.  Sometimes it is just a reminder of something special (a lock of hair from their first haircut, a recording of the 911 call placed when I was in labor with my second child).  Each of our baptism boxes is filled with wonder and stories.  Each box contains our past, just like it contains the music of that organ!

Today, these boxes also contained our lesson.  We read about Jesus' baptism, talked about our own, explored our boxes, and performed a baptism.  

It was a beautiful morning!

Christmas Greeting!

In a year spent discovering other religious traditions so as to strengthen my own faith, I've found delight in the connections displayed throughout the world's religions - music, nature, miracles, belief in humankind, sanctity of life.  But, I've also felt blessed to come back, periodically, to the tradition that has grounded me for so many years. 

So, my Christmas gift to you, dear readers, is to share a very special piece of my faith tradition.  Each of these nativity sets was gifted to me, most by my father.  They are beautiful and such a meaningful expression of what Christmas is in my heart.  Enjoy!

gratitude - day three

I've recently found God in a place that should not surprise me - nature.  The diversity of color, the calming peace of water, the guiding light of a full moon, the intricacy of a spider web all speak of a connectedness I can only attribute to a Creator.  Spending time in nature brings clarity, renewed spirit, and a greater sense of being intimately connected with something far greater than I.  I am thankful I've taken the time to see - truly see - the glorious nature around me.  

In the green of the grass and the quiet hum of the early morning breeze, I've also developed a yearning to bring only this nature to our table.  It feels good and whole and right for my family, but it also feels like the Earth has asked me to do this.  Each time I prepare a meal that comes from the Earth I hear a sigh of thankfulness from all that surrounds me.  

Nature, connection, sustenance, Earth - for these, I am thankful!

prayer

This is my prayer . . .

O Universe, good and gracious God,

Your call is growing louder and stronger.  My desire to solve this mystery and find the answer is creating too much noise for me to hear.  The 'what if's?' and 'how will change effect my family, my children?' only cloud my vision.

So, I give this to you to reveal in your time, in your way.  I ask for peace of mind, to genuinely and truly let this go.  I ask for patience to stop seizing control.  I ask for eyes and heart fully aware of each moment because I trust that your purpose for me will be revealed only in the moment just before me.  I trust in You that my family, my children will be cared for in whatever journey you have in store.

Fill me with your presence each day.  Open my heart and my mind. 

Amen

our classroom

So . . . recently I made the realization that I want to teach.  Some have already asked, "what are you thinking of teaching?"  Good question.  Really!

I'm not sure, to be exact.  But I know that feeding the minds of others thrills me so.  Watching the aha moments of engaged learners is a delight.  The subject area is a bit elusive at the moment.  But, I'm thinking that's okay.

There are three major and incredibly connected subject areas that resonate so loudly with me some days I think I can't hear anything else - faith, diversity and social justice.  If you know of a place where I can learn about teaching all of the above, be sure to let me know (ahem)!

It is also no secret that we've been searching for a church home. What we've found are places that talk a lot about God and the right way to believe in Him OR places that profess that finding a spiritual path is an individual journey; therefore, leaving finding God up to us.  I find that we (me and my husband) want something in between and feel saddened in our journey.

So, I got to thinking (uh oh!).  What if I tap into my desire to teach and husband and I turn our home into a Sunday morning classroom.  Somewhat of a Sunday School Home School! (For those of you that know me well, I can feel your jaw dropping!)  Husband liked the idea and jumped on board. 

The goal is to focus on social justice and diversity and connect our own understanding of the Bible with these lessons.  We'll use Bible stories, children's book, crafts, and music as teaching tools.  We'll decide as a family where to give our Sunday morning offering (cancer care, world vision, local food pantries . . . the choices are endless).  So excited!

And here it is . . . our classroom.

I need to acknowledge one source of inspiration for this.  A student invited me to chapel on Friday where she was speaking.  I've worked closely with her and admire her courage in life.  She shared that her parents were not churched when she was young, but she observed their faith through their every day interactions with people, their kindness, their giving, their service to others.  How important modeling behavior is for children.  I want to be sure that husband and I are modeling our faith in our every day interaction, rather than in our once a week obligation.

Happy learning!