3.10.12

{week one of the sermon series "the prodigal god." the community wrote their thoughts. i filled in the rest and collaged the background.}

I Found A Lie

I found a lie inside my heart.
It said that the body of Christ didn't matter.

It said that only the blood -
Only that elusive spirit of Jesus
would be enough
for the absolution for my soul.

And I could do that much on my own.

So I chased that mist
which was breathed and blown
by the movement of the wind.

I chased the dance
of his creative soul.

alone

Then I realized
that grace is never about giving
me what I want. . .

That's a silent hallelujah.

So all I want to say is this -

Don’t give up
on this thing called church.
This body of Christ -
It's as simple as a gathering of hearts across the distance.

It is more than sitting and standing and unanimous voices of song.
And it is more than fancy words.

Life will continue in its
strenuous
aching
briefness.

But there is glory. There is love,

and this,
this body of Christ,

it is a Good God’s dream.

{written after a long struggle to find my place in a faith community - and to celebrate becoming a covenant member of Journey at Christ Church}

A Time and A Season

We move forward, even when convinced we are standing still.

That's the lesson I've learned through this summer of silence.

The seasons change around us, times change and regardless of our plans, our personal failures, our bouts with fear or grief, one day we look up and notice that we aren't quite in the same spot we thought we were.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said, and I knew what she meant; what she was feeling, because I felt it too.

All I felt was tired. Too tired to keep up the running conversation I had been having on paper with myself for years. Too tired to lift my camera from its resting spot and see the world through different eyes. Too tired to experience my life as anything more than a task list, with each hour carefully planned and precious few seconds to remember that there is a time and season for everything.

And then yesterday, standing under our massive old walnut tree that has absorbed at least a century of knowledge, I noticed it. There were golden leaves quietly falling all around me and I knew what had happened. The season had changed.

My season had changed.

And for a moment I wondered how it happened. And then I didn't any more. Because the miracle isn't in how it happened.

It's in the fact that somehow, without my permission, it just did.

If The World Ends Today

If the world ends today. . .

I will be sitting on my front stoop, sipping coffee and watching the sun peek over the back fence.

I will be examining my flower beds for glimpses of bright color among the green fronds and emerald blades of foliage.

I will be making breakfast and putting a load of towels in the washer.

I will make a half-hearted attempt to do some cleaning but secretly I will be wishing I could take my book into the sun and disappear into words for awhile.

I will be taking dogs for walks at the park and meeting a friend while we all raise money for cancer research.

I will be firing up the grill and adding something good to the symphony of scents floating from grills all up and down our street.

I will be cracking open a microbrew after watching Ali mow the lawn.

I will be singing in the kitchen and looking forward to a softball game tomorrow.

I will be getting a full night's sleep and anticipating coffee on the front stoop tomorrow morning.

I will not be counting on the rapture. I will not be fearful of hell.

And I would not change a thing about today, tomorrow or yesterday.

Conflicted

I awoke yesterday to the news of Osama bin Laden's death. {i go to bed early} I found it on Facebook. The first message I saw was from a friend who I've known a long time. I've known her to have strong Christian faith and values. Her post read, "Thank God the bastard is dead."

It kind of made me gasp. And it set my mind whirling. My heart became uneasy.

Osama Bin Laden orchestrated unspeakable acts of violence, terror and death. {yes. i was there.} He was an enemy of the state, an enemy of peace, and a man who sold out to a misconstrued theology of the teachings of the Holy Quran.

He was also a human that was created by God. The same God that created me. And you.

My heart still feels heavy this morning.

What is my posture supposed to be when something like this happens? So I did what we do in 2011 when we are confused. I went to Facebook.

Me: I'm conflicted. Is anyone beyond redemption? Is that even our decision to make? Or do actions prove that someone is so evil that they can never be loved back into relationship with good? I don't expect answers. It's just what's on my mind.

G.A.: I don't think anyone is beyond redemption. Keep hope alive!

T.W.: I'm disturbed that American patriotism has superseded the sanctity of human life. I understand the pain associated with 9/11, but I don't see how this definition of justice is celebrated or justified.

Me: My only response can be humbleness before the only one who can judge. . . and I am not S/He.

H.K.: Preach It, Sister!

R.F.: This is exactly what I've been thinking. I hate to rejoice in the death of any human being. Doesn't that make us just like "them"?

R.C.: I had a great prof in college talking about how if we lose our perspective we eventually, on some level, begin to become what we hate...thanks, Tanya, for putting words to my gut this AM

D.R.: Wow, it took an elusive decade to kill a man, making him a martyr among his zealot followers. I wonder how long it will take to kill a myth?

And I read a few more posts.

N.R.
"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." —MLK

J.S.
Now I lay me down to sleep, one less terrorist this world does keep. With all my heart I give my thanks, to those in uniform regardless of ranks. You serve our country and serve it well, with humble hearts your stories tell. So as I rest my weary eyes, while freedom rings our flag still flies. You.. give your all, do what you must...with God we live and God we trust.

And I close my computer screen and my heart is still heavy. Moments like these find the prayer uttered from my heart can only be, "Lord, teach us to love."

A Love That Lights The Sky

{photo credit here}

Now that's an Easter message if I ever saw one. . .

This Little Light of Mine

Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

~Ephesians 6:13-17

One of the favorite teachings in the Southern Baptist denomination is about putting on the armor of God. It begins in the youngest of classes with teachers putting flaming felt darts on a flannel graph and warning children about sins that are going to be hurled at their tiny bodies when they aren't looking and how they must defend themselves. It continues with songs for the middle grades and sermons for adults. The encouragement is to "suit up" and head into battle. Be prepared. On guard. Ready to fight.

And so begins the struggle I dealt with for years.

The urge to defend God. The instinct to argue. The rationalization that it was perfectly acceptable – and probably best – that I simply write off those who refused to understand God the way I did.

I grew up in a faith that harbored anger for those who lived in a way that was different than what was taught under our very large steeple.

And so the armor was important. Airtight. Snug. Nothing came in and nothing went out of the armor. Made me ready to fight. Whenever and wherever.

And then I came to the realization that no matter what I did, I was not going to to conform to my church's standards for what a "christian" was either. I found my primary relational connections with girls, not boys. And no matter how hard I tried, how hard I prayed for God to make me different, God didn't. No matter how many tears and threats and barters, God just waited me out.

And that armor began to itch. And then I too got written off by those who were supposed to love me most.

I became afraid of God. Of church. Of Christians. They were so ready to "fight the good fight" in the name of Jesus and ready to wage war against whoever and whatever that they forgot that there were hurting human beings outside their breastplates of righteousness and shields of faith.

Years passed. Time healed the wounds between me and God and here is what I think I've come to know now. God doesn't call us to fight. At least not in the manner in which people of faith often find themselves. We are simply called to love God, love others and to stand firm in love.

I've come to believe that most of the issues that christians pour their energies into have absolutely nothing to do with salvation. They have nothing to do with loving people into relationship with God. People of faith are simply called to know what we believe. To let our actions speak for themselves. To be kind. To be Christ-like. And I see no evidence in the Bible of Jesus wearing armor.

These days I have no problem interacting with those who are different from me. I don't get angry when they question my faith. I'm not afraid of those who try to find God in a way different than I do. I don't feel the need to stand in judgment over what I don't understand. I now see it as an opportunity. Instead of feeling the need to defend God I just want to let a little light shine through me.

And here's the other thing I've learned – armor just doesn't let much light out.

Don't be afraid. Stand still and see the salvation of God. God will fight for you. All you need to do is hold your peace. ~ Exodus 14:13-14

Forgetting How To Pray

I don't remember when I didn't know how to pray.

"Now I lay me down to sleep. . ."

"God is great, God is good. . ."

And the big one, the prayer that kept hell from licking at my toes and allowed me to sleep at night without fear –

"Dear Jesus, Forgive me of my sins. Take the black and ugly out of my heart and save me. I want to go to heaven and not that other place. Just in case you forgot . . A-men."

But suddenly, forty years or so later, prayer isn't quite so easy. I have questions that cloud up the air and make a foggy divide between me and Him. Like somehow God must be frightened away by my doubts and my long silences.

Tentative, I try again.

Holy One, Do you understand the groanings of this heart? This heart that wants to want You again? Are You there to rescue me even when this fool doesn't really think she needs to be rescued?

I don't need a rainbow set in the sky or a lame man to walk again. I just need You to cover me in peace and whisper in my ear, "You're still mine."

But He doesn't answer. At least not like I hoped He would.

And then I remember.

He answers like this. . .

:: a 70 degree day when it snowed just last week

:: the tiny buds on the lilac tree just outside my living room window that will soon perfume us with the scent of purple

:: a kiss and a smile from my love who says, "How did we get so lucky?"

:: the radio turned up loud with my favorite song

And I begin to remember and understand that while I asked God for a whisper, God shouted love. And I remember that I spend far too much time worrying about the right words instead of remembering how to listen with anything more than my ears.

It's All About the Kindness

I read someplace the other day that if you type "Why Are Christians So" into the Google search box you might be surprised. Their predictive search function will automatically fill in the most popular queries based on this phrase.

The results are astounding. I guess. Or maybe they aren't? Here's what came up for me.

Maybe these answers are completely on the mark. And that's kind of depressing.

I've always thought that anyone who calls herself a Christian ought to work a whole lot harder on kindness than love. We spend quite a lot of time in churches spouting things like, "God is love," and "Love one another," while most of the time we have no clear idea what that actually might look like. It's just this vague phrase that has no real context or presence in our dealings with each other.

Even worse, there are whole flocks and denominations of Christians who use the word love to justify being harsh and exclusive. Love becomes doing what is "best" for you and, by the way. . . you don't get to decide what is best for you. I do.

Maybe we should go back to the beginning and start small. Work on kindness first and then graduate on to love. If you are a methodically kind person in your day to day interactions with others, odds are you have a great shot at becoming a loving person. But if you skip the lessons of kindness it is very unlikely you'll learn how to love. It's about baby-steps. And they start with kindness.

Today is the first day of Lent. I've got some work to do on kindness. And just maybe, 40 days from now I will also be a little bit more loving.

6:36 ~ February 9, 2011

{the sermon at church on Sunday challenged each of us to treat ourselves with dignity and kindness and remember that we belong to God. we each received a handout of bible verses that remind us who we are in Christ. i created this word montage from all of those verses to help me remember. when others treat me with less than kindness, as they did today, i will ponder on these things. . .for they are what is real. and true. and good.}

Looking Up

I am a sun-seeker. I find God in the sky peeling back and when he isn't there it's hard to turn from the curtains framing my view.

Sometimes I just hold the fold of cloth and pray into it, softly, until she appears.

Survival tip for winter melancholy:: Remember to look up. I whisper it to the winter and winter nods her head and – i. look. up.

I walk outside, wrapped in my yellow coat. Snowflakes fall fast and furious. The cold envelops me, wraps me in aliveness and I know in my bones that god holds me here too.

And life returns in fits and starts. And I see the miracles all around me. All because I looked up.

It's All Hype

Sometimes, I have these days when I am all put together. My hair is so amazing that I should be in a Pert commercial. There are no zits to be found on my fair and creamy complexion and for once, my pants fit just right.

Life is good and I am awesome.

Then I trip. Or drive to work with part of my coat hanging out the car door. Or I spill something on my shirt or I realize I've been smiling at the world, thinking I was stunning, with a big chunk of green parsley between my teeth. Something. Anything to remind me that I'm not nearly as awesome as my ego and imagination might like me to be.

I have this nasty little habit of believing that the gifts I bring into the world are so amazing, so wonderful, so cool that I am the center of the universe. I occasionally think that my opinions are so needed that anyone who dares to disagree with me is wrong. They are idiotic or at least just plain foolish to ignore the wisdom I am spouting forth.

Except it's all hype.

In reality, I have my fair share of moments in which I am an arrogant, egotistical, know-it-all. And, although I struggle mightily against it there are quite a few scenarios in which I fail. Monumentally.

I could do my best to justify myself. I could claim heredity. After all, any daughter of a fire and brimstone preaching, Southern Baptist minister comes by this character flaw honestly. But doing that would be disingenuous. What I really am is a human being that is broken and flawed and in need of grace.

And the only way to find grace is to come to terms with is that I am never as awesome as my best moment and will never be as lousy as my worst. I fall somewhere in the great sea of mediocrity with the rest of humanity. And as with all the humanity the balance and struggle is to know we are all equally loved by God, and to recognize that all of us are gifted with holy dignity.

It just isn't necessary to step on someone else's neck or soul to make myself feel better.

One Minute

Do you have only one minute?
Hem it with quietness.
Do not spend it thinking how little time you have.

You can give much in one minute.

~ Celtic Daily Prayer (p. 571)

Why I Am A Christian {Sort Of}

{if you have read here for very long you may wonder what a middle-aged lesbian, who questions just about everything and takes nothing at face value is doing calling herself a Christian. so do i, most days}

I have three friends who are experiencing gut-wrenching, life altering, terrifying things right now. The first has been dealing with the cancer of someone he loves and the wake of years of testing and waiting and treatments and wonderings what every little cough and sneeze might mean. The second is having some big and scary medical tests and is forced into the endless rounds of waiting that come with the territory. The third has had a big, unnerving diagnosis and now everything in her life seems turned upside down.

Two of the three of my friends have spent many, many years of their lives like Jacob - wrestling with God and waiting for God to be revealed. These two have grappled with the big questions that life brings and they have struggled with God until they trembled with exhaustion. The result of this work has been that they have come to at more peace with themselves, and with God, than they ever thought possible.

My third friend struggles. She has no center. She's spent her life – some for reasons of her own making and choice, some not – skimming the surface and never going deep into anything. Her answers to life's questions have been found in bottles and parties and people who tell her not to think. And now that she's forced into reflection, she has nowhere to go.

And, perhaps for these three people's witness alone, this is why I continue to be a spiritual seeker. The work that I do now will prepare me for the difficult days that will always come.

And, although many, many days I don't want to be. . . I am a Christian. For reasons, mostly beyond me, I have thrown my lot in with those who, for the most part, are legalistic, judgmental, hypocritical, old-fashioned, and very often cruel. {and that's just my list for starters} I've been asked how I can possibly be so involved in an institution that has made homosexuality their banner for contempt and hatred. And I've wondered that myself. Many times.

And even though I have made every attempt to walk away, I continue to find my spiritual center at the cross of Christ.

Intellectually, I want to be a Buddhist. I find myself drawn to Buddhism on a very deep and personal level. But inevitably, I humbly end up practicing the tenets of that faith through the lens of Jesus. Perhaps it's all just nature and nurture in action. Christianity is all I've ever known. {remember, I am a Southern Baptist preacher's kid.} And this makes me wonder if I am nothing more than the woman who returns to her abuser over and over again because she just doesn't know where else to go. I'm willing to admit that is a possibility.

I like to think that perhaps I am a dreamer that wonders whether the church can ever become what God desires it to be and I'm just trying to find my place in that dream. That's possible too.

The last thing christianity needs is another apologist to defend the faith against those who would seek to discredit it. Hell, at least half the time I'm the one doing the discrediting. And if you ask most of the rest of christianity I have absolutely no business attaching myself to their coat tails and ruining their otherwise unsullied reputations. They are probably right too.

But as I watch my three friends and learn from their trials I am coming to understand that there is no real faith – Christian, Buddhist or otherwise – that leads to a closed set of easy answers. Faith is not meant to intensify boundaries. It's an invitation to explore questions, to wait with hope and to transcend fear – together.

On Puking. And Living In The Moment.

Last night, as I was waiting for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer to start {yes, I've been excitedly waiting!} I went upstairs to read in bed for awhile. I was chilly and the extra covers sounded very appealing. I was completely absorbed in my book when Sammy jumped up next to me and promptly puked. Large. Loud. And in a huge pile. He took one look at the pile, one look at me and jumped down, running off to play some more with Delilah. Like it was no big deal.

One minute his tummy is obviously hurting. The next minute he pukes. By then it's all over so he goes back to his business. When I puke I tend to lay around for at least three days – moaning, whining and generally miserable, even if I only puke once. Even when I'm feeling better, I'm pretty consumed with wondering if I'm going to feel bad again any time soon.

Samson has no such concerns.

And then I remembered that kids are a lot like dogs. They live in the moment, experience it fully and then let it go.

So, when is it exactly that we outgrow our ability to be only in the now?

I started working with mindfulness several years ago now -- but I wonder if I've gotten any better. My mind wanders -- sometimes in a "good" way, a way that I approve of, that doesn't distract me from the moment (but still wandering), and sometimes in such an "aggressive" way that I am completely removed from the present.

I just wonder. When does this shift occur?

For further reflection:

"If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not 'washing the dishes to wash the dishes.' What's more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact, we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can't wash the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea, either. While thinking of other things, we are barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus, we are sucked away into the future -- and we are incapable of actually living one moment of life!"

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

First Night

I knocked and no one answered the door on my first scheduled visit to his house. So I knocked again. Nothing. Feeling kind of panicky and a little uncertain, I tried the door. It was unlocked so I let myself in. It was my first evening of providing care and homekeeping services for an older gentleman with developmental disabilities. I had only met R. once, briefly a week and a half prior and one of my many concerns was that he wouldn't remember me tonight and wouldn't let me in his house.

As I stuck my head through the front door and called out, "Helloooo? Anyone home?" Silence. "R? Are you home?" Silence. And then I smelled the humid, fresh scent of soap and realized he was in the shower. This was another of my tasks that had me worried. His family is afraid of falls but I wondered how in the world to offer such intimate help to someone you've only met once.

"Hi R! It's Tanya. . .Do you remember when we met last week? Do you need any help?"

Suddenly the bathroom door popped open and out he came – one hand propelling his walker and the other holding up his only clothing, a bright red towel.

The only internal discomfort appeared to be mine.

"I remember you! I'm going to get dressed right now."

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"Nope. You wait there."

With silent relief I waited and surveyed my surroundings. He had his Thanksgiving decorations up – the exact same turkey, Pilgrim and pumpkin cardboard cutouts that I pasted in the windows of my childhood homes. He was working on a jigsaw puzzle on a table in the living room and his Christmas lights were in a neat pile in the corner, waiting for the proper day to hang. His kitchen was immaculate and a list of emergency telephone numbers hung on the refrigerator door.

He came out of his bedroom wearing jeans and a light blue t-shirt. His shirt was tucked in, his pants were belted and he had socks and slippers on his feet. For a guy who was going to bed in less than an hour I was impressed that he didn't come out wearing his pajamas. I would have.

We went to the kitchen so he could eat his dinner. I was aware that he cooks his own meals but I was impressed by his routine. He heated his entree in the microwave while he set the table. There was a placemat with all the proper paraphernalia, including a knife which he wouldn't need, all in the correct place and order. He tucked a napkin into his shirt and draped another over his lap before digging into his meal.

We made small talk while he ate. It did smell good, and when I said so he grinned. "One of the things you don't know is that I'm a very good cook!" Indeed. As soon as he was done eating, he filled the sink with warm soapy water and did his dishes. I was beginning to realize how important routine is for him.

My other big responsibility in helping with personal care is shaving. R. is in his late 70's and has some issues with vision. He's pretty good at shaving his face but has been having some trouble managing under his chin and neck. The hair has grown to be at least 3" long and he's beginning to look unkempt. When the dishes were done I suggested we move into the bathroom so we could shave.

I asked him to show me what he normally did and he grabbed his electric razor and got started. When he quit after about 30 seconds I asked about all the rest of the hair. He said that it was too hard and his razor didn't work good enough. "Fair enough," I thought. "Let's just see what we can do."

I had him sit on the toilet lid and started trying to remove the hair under his chin. The razor was useless. I found a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet and as we chatted and giggled in his tiny, incredibly hot bathroom I got started cutting. I was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet.

He is an older man, doing the very best he can do to maintain his dignity and a life of meaning and purpose. I was thinking about all this, and about how he could possibly trust me so quickly and easily, when abruptly this story came flooding back to me. It comes from Matthew 25 and it concerns living as someone who understands what it means to love God and others –

{Jesus is speaking} I was hungry and you fed me,

I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,

I was homeless and you gave me a room,

I was shivering and you gave me clothes,

I was sick and you stopped to visit,

I was in prison and you came to me.'

"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

There are many things that R. struggles to do, but being kind and funny is not one of them. That night the tiny bathroom smelled of urine. We were both sweating, my legs were shaking from kneeling for so long and I wasn't making much headway with scissors – but that's not the real reason I was there.

I was there because R. and I have many things to teach each other.

My hour was nearly up. We gave up on the shaving for the night and I got ready to take my leave. As I put on my coat R. opened his arms for a hug. I leaned down and he put his still-whiskery lips on my cheek and gave me a kiss.

"I think you and I are going to be friends," he said.

I left with tears in my eyes and a certainty that he is right.

The Barn and The Moon

We had drumming circle again last night. There is much that I really enjoy and find thought provoking about Native American spirituality. There is also much that I am beginning to find uncomfortable, but I think that comes from specific people in the group and not so much from the way the circle is being led and presented. There are several people in the group who are deep into spiritual healing of physical brokenness and this makes me uneasy. Too often the language and behaviors of these "healers" blames the victim, particularly if they are not healed and made whole immediately.

But, maybe this is all just me. And. . .it's good for me to sit in a circle and be exposed to things I don't agree with, right? {nodding appropriately}

Last night we did several meditations that are still with me this morning. One was brought forth by a member of the group who I find fascinating. She's older, with fun and funky grey hair and is full of a kind of magnetic energy that I enjoy being around. We were meditating on the season of Thanksgiving and the fact that fall is a time of letting go of the things in our lives that no longer serve us well when Suzanne gave us the following quote to think about –

my barn burnt – now i can see the moon

The more I thought about this image the more I was moved by its truth. How many big, devastating events have happened in my life? {Many} How many of those big, devastating events eventually made room for growth and new life in unexpected ways? {All. . . maybe not in ways I expected – or even wanted – but growth came anyway.}

And then the inevitable questions come for me to sit with in silence today –

What am I missing because I'm focused on the close-up, minute, negligible concerns of my small life? The vastness and power of creation?

This is why I continue to explore God through Native American drumming circle. . .

On Getting Well

It's Saturday morning and I nearly slept the clock around. What a treat!

I've been lax in the blog writing department lately. I write a lot of them in my head, but can't post them here. Sometimes I'm just too lazy and sometimes I'm just too dog-tired to try. Writing takes a lot of work. Really, all this is just a paragraph of excuses. . . when what I really want to say is – i'm sorry and i'll try to do better.

For the last ten weeks we've been a part of a Wednesday night small group from our new church. It's been a really good growth experience for me. Besides making a dozen or so new friends who I can't wait to hang out with every week, it's been a group that is teaching me so much about what it means to be a spiritual thinker in a commercial world. (This week someone compared each of us, as we go through our weekly routines and schedules and then come back together again each Wednesday night, to characters from the original Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer claymation. We are the characters in the "Land of the Misfit Toys." I love that and it's captured my imagination all week!) {wondering if i can find Rudolph on Hulu this weekend!}

This week in small group we talked about Jesus' question to the paralyzed man, "Do you want to get well?" It was a tough question and a good discussion. One of the things I realized is that "getting well" is a process that never ends. I might work really hard to get well from the big, dangerous things in my life – like addictions or insecurities – but truly getting well is a process of continuously peeling back the layers of my life and making all the smaller, and just as consequential, improvements that make me whole.

I asked the question, "What if you just get tired and decide that you're 'good enough?' What then?" And as soon as I said it, I knew the answer. You become one of those people who is stuck, cranky and just waiting to die.

No, thanks. I don't want to be that guy.

So I will keep plugging along, doing the things that bring life to my soul. One of the reasons that I've been a bit lax in writing is that I'm making a conscious effort to exercise my creativity every day. Whether it's photography, intuitively making a pot of soup without using a recipe, playing with paints or crayons, or actually writing something, I'm pushing myself to become more. And pushing myself to let go of some of the things that keep me from "getting well."

I've adopted a new spiritual practice since we lost our hour of daylight last weekend. {coming home in the dark is really, really hard for me. . .i struggle in these long months of darkness} When I get home, before starting dinner, I consciously bring some light inside. I light candles around the house and as I strike each match, I pray for someone who I know is struggling. I remind myself that darkness doesn't last and that light, warmth and home will always trump shadows and dread.

It's just one more way of getting well.

Sunday Dressing

I changed clothes three times yesterday morning trying to get ready for church.

First I had on jeans. They were a tad too big and I felt sloppy. I traded them in for a pair that was a bit more fitted but still I felt as though I were going out for breakfast rather than going to church. I switched the second pair of jeans out for a pair of grey "almost jeans" and vowed to just let it be and go to worship.

See, clothes are just one more in my long list of church baggage items.

Growing up in the Baptist church I never-ever-ever wore pants to church. Not if it were blizzard-ing and 40 below. Not on Wednesday nights when we had youth group and we didn't have prayer meeting. Not even when I was seven or eight and I insisted on practicing cartwheels in the church basement. . .no sir, my mother just made me wear shorts under my dresses. You know – modesty was important. . .

There was no occasion in which it was acceptable for those of the female persuasion to wear pants to church.

And I still struggle with it. But not for the same reasons.

I don't give one whit about what someone might consider "modest" for me. I don't think that women should have to dress in a certain way in order to be considered holy or acceptable to God, or to others. I long ago gave up cartwheels in the basement so that's out of the mix. I'm quite sure that church isn't the place to show off your fashion sense or show how much money you make by the clothing you can afford. None of those things matters to me.

I changed my clothes three times this morning because I somehow still believe that I ought to offer God my best. I ought to care enough not to just roll out of bed and show up looking like something the dog drug in. I should take enough time to be respectful and reverent and actually ironing a shirt or putting on something I don't normally wear to the grocery store. And just maybe by doing that, I set myself up for something special to happen that morning.

I don't know. Maybe it's all just bullshit. Maybe I was so brainwashed from my childhood church teachings that it's all I know. I wear pants now. I could not care less what anyone else wears to church – I'm just happy that we're all there together.

But my baggy blue jeans are still relegated to Saturdays.

Looking Up

I lift up my eyes to the hills—

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—

he who watches over you will not slumber.

~Psalm 121

{Perhaps when I cannot find the answers I seek, it's time to change my perspective.}