New Every Morning

Every time I think there's no reason for me to do an updated version of an old post, I get new inspiration. It's like clockwork. This year, that clockwork comes via the usual place: Evangelical friends who've decided that maybe they might like to try out the Lent thing, just once, to see if they like it. But they aren't sure where to begin. Indeed, we've come a long way since the days when I had to hide from everyone I knew that I was observing Lent. I'm like a Lenten hipster.

What I am not, however, is any kind of an expert, which is why it baffles me that people keep asking me questions. All I have to offer is long experience as a once-Evangelical (these days I think of myself as a boring Protestant, nothing more) who spent many years treating Lent like a cafeteria line before finally settling upon my own observance. If my experience is of any help to you, come on in. If you already come from a high church tradition, or if you're horrified that your Evangelical friends would even think of doing Lent, this post is not really for you. (If you aren't interested in Christianity at all, it's extra-really not for you. Sorry; it's part of who I am, but if it doesn't work for you, maybe my next post will be more your speed.)

You know what my neighborhood has a lot of? Churches. I went out in the pre-winter-storm chill to take pics of a few.

With those disclaimers firmly in mind, here's my FAQ:

1) Lent? But why? Isn't that a Catholic thing?

It's not an exclusively Catholic practice, and as your friend I urge you to Google a bit. As for 'why,' it's a practice that I find helpful and comforting. As always, YMMV.

2) Are you judging me for not doing Lent?

Fortunately, this question has gotten less frequent over time, and thank goodness, because it's awfully silly. No. You do you.

3) Don't you think we've already given up enough in the last year? Why would we want to add another thing?

I absolutely do think that. If you just can't face adding Lent to your life right now, no worries. It's okay if you skip a year, or relax a bit from the things you would normally do, or wait until 2022 to try it for the first time. OTOH, if you think, "here is one thing in my life I can keep unchanged," go right ahead. 

Everything has changed in a hurry; it's okay to make your Lenten observance serve what you need right now. Jesus himself said that the Sabbath was made for people, not the other way around.

4) Do you have any Lenten resources to recommend?

This is an area that's wide open to your own interests. If you're looking to dive into a particular area of your faith more deeply, that's a good place to start. Perhaps you have a daily devotional guide that you opened a couple times the first week of the year but have been neglecting ever since. 

As for me, I will usually pick a book of the Bible and read through it multiple times throughout Lent, and I've never gone looking for other resources beyond that. Maybe that's a new thing I can try for 2021 so I finally have an answer to this question next year.

5) Should I announce my fast on social media?

In my experience, people get a little worked up about this one, which is probably why I've heard a lot of strange reasons in favor of blowing a virtual trumpet on Shrove Tuesday. Here's what I got:

• Before you decide, please read Matthew 6:16-18 and carefully consider your motivation for announcing your fast.
• If you're asking me as someone who's done this many times and has some experience of the value of people knowing my fast vs not: no, you shouldn't.
• If you're asking because you're looking for some accountability: I'd suggest you find an offline human, or if it must be online, that you approach someone you trust via private message.
• If you're asking because giving up Facebook is your fast and you want to let everyone know where you're going: I'd only do it if you know for sure your absence will upset someone. A social media fast is a good exercise in humility, because you'll realize upon your return just how well that world keeps on spinning without you. (I say this from astonished experience.) If you absolutely need to let someone know you're going, this is probably best done via private message rather than a public announcement.
• If you're asking for spiritual guidance, I refer you again to Matthew 6:16-18.

5.5) But don't you think that if I announce it on Facebook, it might start a conversation about faith that could lead someone to follow Jesus?

I absolutely do not. If we've learned nothing else from the last decade or so on social media, we've learned that productive conversations rarely happen on Facebook. Facebook is where civil conversation went to die quite a long time ago. It's not going to happen.

If you want to try anyway, then I admire your faith in humanity. Good luck. (Although I would add that if you are into proselytizing, Lent is probably not a great tool to use for that. So... good luck.)

 

6) Do I have to do the food part of fasting, like meatless Fridays?

Are you participating in Lent as part of your faith tradition, and does that faith tradition ask you to go meatless? If so, in order to fully participate with your community: yes. If you're creating your own community or going it alone, then you have a bit more leeway to decide which elements, if any, of the traditional fast you're going to adopt. If you've never done any fasting from food before (and do not have a medical condition that precludes fasting), this could be an opportunity to try it.

 

7) Did you know Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday is 46 days, not 40?

Yes. Sundays don't count as part of the 40 days because Christians celebrate Jesus' resurrection on those days, and that celebration supersedes the mourning/fasting of Lent.

8) Does it matter what I give up?

Yes, it matters, but maybe not in the way you're asking. (And it's okay if you haven't decided yet.) Some things to consider:

• What are you trying to learn from Lent? What areas of your life need growth? Think about that and let that shape your fast. Also keep in mind that your fast, if it's helping you learn/grow, may not be something you want to stop at Easter. You can absolutely use these six weeks as a starting point for something more permanent.
• You may feel like giving up chocolate or TV or something small is silly. But if you're a first-timer or you choose something small that will be a genuine challenge, there's no reason to feel less than because you gave up coffee. Growth can come from small things, too.
• Consider how you will keep yourself in check when your chosen fast starts really tugging on your brain. If you give up coffee and the trade-off is that you're unbearable to your coworkers for six weeks, maybe you're not quite displaying the love of Jesus in the way you'd intended. Have a plan for refocusing yourself when needed.
• It's not so much what you're giving up; it's what you replace it with. So before you say, "Got it!" take some time to consider what you're adding to your life during Lent.  

8.5) If there's something in your Christian life that's a problem, shouldn't you fix it all the time instead of just six weeks a year?
I didn't realize for a long time indeed that there are folks who believe this is the point of Lent--to temporarily stop doing the things that shouldn't be part of Christian life at all. That's not it. Lent is intended as a time of fasting, which is a different thing than abstaining from vices.

Of course, if this six weeks is a good starting point for making a change you've been wanting to make, great! I hope it goes well for you. But that doesn't mean it *has* to be that, and for many people, it's not. So, if that's your concern about Lent, you can stop worrying.
 

9) What if I don't start on Ash Wednesday or fizzle out by the end?
It happens. It's okay if you're human. The Israelites prayed, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (That's Lamentations 3:22-23.) Make a new beginning as often as you need to; the important thing is that you keep going.

10) What else do I need to know?
Get in there and do it, and be open to what changes in you. Six weeks is a nice length of time to focus specifically on the things you want to give attention to--it's long enough to be a challenge, but short enough to feel doable. Come Easter Sunday, you may be surprised by what you've learned about yourself and your Christian walk in so short a time.

If you have a community to do this with, by all means, embrace that community whole-heartedly and do this together. God has placed you in a community for good reason, and fasting together as a shared experience can multiply your joys and divide your struggles. Do not neglect your community this Lent. Embrace them. And if you have to embrace your community via Zoom this year, so be it!

Ashes to Ashes

For some reason, my pre-Lent posts have been wildly popular the last couple years. I'm not certain why that is, but in case you've dropped by under the impression that I know things, I want to state as strongly as possible: I am not an expert. My Lenten experiences have no basis in any particular branch of Christianity, in part because in my early years of observing Lent I had to keep it a secret from my extremely Evangelical family. They would have flipped their collective lids.

At the Cathedral Church of St John
the Divine in New York.
One of the most beautiful
buildings I've ever been in in my life.

So Middle School Su had to cobble together her own path through this time of year, and now that I have nearly 30 years' experience of Cafeteria Lent, folks trying it for the first time tend to ask me questions. So this post is an FAQ of what previously non-observing friends and acquaintances usually want to know ahead of Ash Wednesday.

1. Are you judging me for not doing Lent?

No. I don't have the interest or mental energy for keeping that close of tabs on your life. You do you and I'll do the same.

2. Do you have any Lenten resources to recommend?

I do not, but if there's a particular area of your faith that you'd like to explore more, that's a good starting place. Your local library probably has a decent religion & spirituality section.

3. Should I announce my fast on Facebook?

People are a little weird about this one, which is probably why I've heard a lot of strange reasons in favor of blowing a virtual trumpet on Shrove Tuesday. Here's what I got:

• Before you decide, please read Matthew 6:16-18 and carefully consider your motivation for announcing your fast.
• If you're asking me as someone who's done this many times and has some experience of the value of people knowing my fast vs not: no, you shouldn't.
• If you're asking because you're hoping that announcing your fast will start faith-producing conversations: you have wildly misjudged the medium if you expect a productive conversation on Facebook. Still, if you'd like to forge ahead and have an exceptionally open-minded audience, go ahead and try it. Best of luck.
• If you're asking because you're looking for some accountability: I'd suggest you find an offline human, or if it must be online, that you approach someone you trust via private message.
• If you're asking because giving up Facebook is your fast and you want to let everyone know where you're going: I'd only do it if your absence will upset someone. A social media fast is a good exercise in humility, because you'll realize upon your return just how well that world keeps on spinning without you. (I say this from astonished experience.) If you absolutely need to let someone know you're going, this is probably best done via private message rather than a public announcement.
• If you're asking for spiritual guidance, I refer you again to Matthew 6:16-18.

4. Do I have to go meatless on Fridays?

Are you participating in Lent as part of your faith tradition, and does that faith tradition ask you to go meatless? If so, in order to fully participate with your community: yes. If you're creating your own community or going it alone, then you have a bit more leeway to decide which elements, if any, of the traditional fast you're going to adopt. 

5. Did you know it doesn't really add up to 40 days?

Yes. Sundays don't count as part of the 40 days because Christians celebrate Jesus' resurrection on those days, and that celebration supersedes the mourning/fasting of Lent. 

6. Does it matter what I give up?

Yes, it matters, but maybe not in the way you're asking. (And it's okay if you haven't decided yet.) Some things to consider:

• What are you trying to learn from Lent? What areas of your life need growth? Think about that and let that shape your fast. Also keep in mind that your fast, if it's helping you learn/grow, may not be something you want to stop at Easter. You can absolutely use these six weeks as a starting point for something more permanent.
• Some folks are under the impression that people only give up sins that they should have already been trying to remove from their lives. Now, if Lent helps you do that, I'm not about to tell you not to. Six weeks of focused intent may be you push you need to finally deal with that thing. However, it doesn't have to be that, and for many participants it's not.
• You may feel like giving up chocolate or TV or something small is silly. But if you're a first-timer or you choose something small that will be a genuine challenge, there's no reason to feel less than because you gave up coffee. Growth can come from small things, too.
• Consider how you will keep yourself in check when your chosen fast starts really tugging on your brain. If you give up coffee and the trade-off is that you're unbearable to your coworkers for six weeks, maybe you're not quite displaying the love of Jesus in the way you'd intended. Have a plan for refocusing yourself when needed.
• It's not so much what you're giving up; it's what you replace it with. So before you say, "Got it!" take some time to consider what you're adding to your life during Lent. 

7. What if I don't start on Ash Wednesday or fizzle out by the end?

It happens. That's why the Israelites prayed, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (That's Lamentations 3:22-23.) Make a new beginning as often as you need to.

8. What else do I need to know?

Get in there and do it, and be open to what changes in you. If you have a community to do this with, by all means, embrace that community whole-heartedly and do this together. God has placed you in a community for good reason, and fasting together as a shared experience can multiply your joys and divide your struggles. Do not neglect your community this Lent. Embrace them.

You still have a couple days to get ready, but try not to wait until 11:50 Tuesday night.

Out of the Darkness

I've lived my whole life with a risen Saviour. It's never been a question, it's a thing I can't remember not knowing. Easter Sunday is but another confirmation of that which I live with every day: He is risen indeed.

You know who didn't know that? Jesus' original followers. And this is another thing I've always known, that they went through Holy Saturday filled with grief and despair, not knowing how close hope and joy was. Not knowing just how brief this season of sorrow was going to be. They looked ahead and could only see an endless stretch of empty days filled with discarded dreams--how could they possibly go back to their old lives after all they'd seen and done?

But knowing that this was what they felt is a different thing, on this side of Resurrection Sunday, than feeling what they felt. I have a pretty vivid imagination, and some experience of grief, and you probably do, too, so we have an idea of what that day was like. Which means we also have an idea of what it was like on Sunday, when they friend and leader they thought was lost turned out to not be, when grief mingled with surprise and disbelief and finally gave way to joy. A joy that I now share in but likewise can't fully know on this side of eternity.

I keep coming back to this verse in 2 Corinthians, particularly in the springtime when the whole world feels new. The Cincinnati weather for the past couple weeks has not given me a lot to celebrate in the way of spring arriving, between our freezing temperatures and our gloom, but on Easter Sunday the joy and newness comes from within, no matter what the skies are doing. It is a time to rejoice.

A time to remember that even in the darkest moment, hope remains. All things will still become new.

Together. Apart.

Source.

I put this book on hold at the library before Ash Wednesday, thinking it would be a good Lenten read. My turn to borrow it finally came up yesterday, with less than a week of Lent left to read it in. Oops.

I'm staring at the cover, now,* instead of reading it. For a few weeks I've been in one of those seasons when I walk through a dense fog of numbness, and while on so very many levels it's better than some of the alternatives, it means that words like Life Together jangle around in my head and can't find a place to belong. What does life together mean when you are forever apart?

I know that's not what the book is about. I don't know how familiar I'll be with the words inside until I open it up and read it, but this is a book Chadwick loved and talked about often, so I'm sure I'll meet some old friends inside. I know this isn't a book about that relationship. It's about community, and I'm nothing if not wildly enthusiastic about embracing my community. But this is something Chadwick and I shared--one reason I never read it was because he loved to tell me about it. And now I'm about to read about being together, alone.

I thank God every day for the community I have. A church family who are some of the best on the planet, coworkers who I don't understand how I'm so lucky to spend every day with. (We have some new folks who have absolutely brightened my past couple of weeks. To say nothing of the ones I already knew were bright.) I don't know how this happened, but there's a part of me that thinks that life together is already going pretty great, and I'm not sure how one little book will make it any better.

So. I'd better crack this thing open and find out. I'm sure the library still has a waitlist of other people who need it, too.

Maybe one of them is you. What's your community like?

*Unrelated tangent: there's an actor who I like, who I follow across all his public social media accounts, who has a strange relationship with commas. Sometimes it's all I can do to hold back from telling him that I'm taking all his commas away until he learns what they're for. Other times, like now, I find the urge to slip in an extra comma à la that guy too strong to resist. Sometimes it's more comforting than frustrating, so I can see why he's embraced it.

And We'll All Go Together

Earlier this week, one of my posts from a year ago when I was looking for the right church turned up on my Facebook memories. I believe that was also the week I visited Echo Church for the third time and finally decided I was there to stay.

While my usual bike, Sharlie, has been to
Echo many times, last week was (IIRC)
Hugo's first time there. His mountain bike
tires are much more suited to the mud &
slush that were on Cincinnati streets
last weekend.

They're stuck with me now. They don't seem to mind, either because they're great actors or because I'm more fun to be around than I thought. I'm equally at peace either way. I wish I could say I learned something from the journey of visiting many places before I found my people, or that I now have the tools to find the right church in the future, should I ever be so mad as to change cities again. (This is city #5. While I have a short list of other places I'm willing to live, it gets shorter all the time and I'd rather not have to deploy it unless absolutely necessary.) (Unless there's a nonprofit in NYC that has a job to offer me right now and will pay me enough money that I can live a couple blocks from a subway line. I'd take that in a heartbeat.)

No, all I've learned is that God has many people in this city. And some of them are pretty great people who've opened their hearts and lives to what God wants to do through them. In our women's Bible study we've been reading through Mere Christianity, and this week got to some great things C.S. Lewis says about Christian community: "...united together in a body, loving one another, helping one another, showing Him to one another. For that is what God meant humanity to be like; like players in one band, or organs in one body." 

That reminded me of a bit in Screwtape Letters (which I haven't read in years, so this is entirely from a memory that is only marginally reliable), when Screwtape tells Wormwood that for his client to be attending the same parish church week after week, seeing the foibles of his fellow parishioners up close until they grate on his nerves, is an effective way of keeping the client in hell's clutches. From what I've heard, the client in question in Screwtape is Lewis himself, so to put those passages together makes me think that Lewis hung in there through the aggravation he may have felt at his fellow community members and their more trying traits, to come out the other side treasuring them deeply as fellow believers. 

I don't know if I've ever gone through that process as thoroughly as I could. Goodness knows I'm fairly easily irritated, and never more so than in this era of everyone proudly displaying their quirks, delightful or otherwise, all over social media in a display of I don't even know what. (Guilty!) But to embrace a community is to embrace the whole of it, even at times when I may be completely flabbergasted by the person standing in front of me. As a person whose whole life is a bit outside of the ordinary, it's not like I don't bring my own foibles to the equation.

So after a year in this community, I'm happy, and indeed delighted, to have found them. And I know I still have some growing to do. So here's hoping for many years of all growing together.

Post title is a nod to the song, "Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go," which I wasn't planning to do until I wrote that last sentence. And after that I naturally couldn't think of anything else.

Change Comes in Pieces

I wrote this post in 2012 for the alumni site of Adventures in Missions (AIM), the short-term missions program for young adults that I participated in straight out of high school. AIM gave me incredible experiences and lifelong friends. Alas, the alumni site did not give me a storage place for my words. This piece came up in my Facebook memories a few days ago, but when I clicked through to re-read, I got an error message and then remembered that the alumni site is no more. 

Since I don't want a perfectly good 700 words to go to waste, I'm reposting it with a few tweaks but no updates that bring us to present day. So here's a bit of time travelling back to Austin during London 2012.

In the last 24 hours, I’ve watched 14 different sports. Right now, I’m flipping between three channels on my TV and two live feeds on my computer, and I have TV Guide, NBC Olympics, and London 2012 windows also open so I won’t miss anything. You might say I’m a fan.

My earliest Olympic memory is of fellow (eventually) Longhorn Mary-Lou Retton in ’84, but it wasn’t until ’88 that I understood that these mysterious Olympics were something special. And like everybody else, I couldn’t have been more into ’92. The Dream Team. The Unified Team. Kristi Yamaguchi and Viktor Petrenko. Dan and Dave. Janet Evans. Kim Zmeskal. It was an amazing year.

And then it got better, I thought—the IOC separated the Winter and Summer Games into different years, so we had an oh-so-short wait before the next Winter Games. I was delighted at first, but the closing ceremonies had more of a sense of finality than usual, because there were no forthcoming Summer Games. A two-year gap didn’t seem so short any longer.

In some ways, the Olympics are better than ever because each set of Games gets its own year, without the world’s attention being divided between the two. But the price for making both versions more special was that The Olympics as a whole have lost some of their mystery. The rarity and sense of occasion is diminished when the Olympic rings never vanish from Coke cans and McDonald’s wrappers. A little bit of the excitement and anticipation is lost, because it’s always an Olympic year.

But why should my post-AIM life make me think of the Olympics? In many ways, my time in Scotland was no different from anyone else’s field time: I learned. I grew. My personal horizons broadened. More importantly, my spiritual life expanded as the bounds I had placed on what God could do were dissolved again and again. But my heart broke into pieces.

There’s a gorgeous story about Dr. David Livingston, one of the pioneers of western missionaries to Africa. His compatriots in Scotland wanted to give his body a proper burial in the country of his birth, but the African people he had devoted his life to were not wild about the idea. Their ultimate solution was to send Dr. Livingston’s body back, but keep his heart. Why? “His heart belongs in Africa,” they said.

Yes. This. Exactly.

As short-term missionaries, we left our hearts behind when we came home. But I’ve found that two years of my life wasn’t sufficient for Glasgow to have all of my heart. There’s a piece of my heart at Spring Mill Bible Camp, my teenage safe haven. Bits of my heart live in Denver City, where I spent so much time as an AIM student and assistant, and at South Plains Church of Christ, where Chadwick and I were members for 8 years. Slivers of me sit at South Plains College and the University of Texas. You’ll find pieces of my heart with Chadwick at our little apartment on the edge of Austin and at workplaces like BikeTexas and the Wound Care Center. Even more bits of my heart are scattered across the planet right now, attached to people I love who have touched my life and left me as a better person. A better follower of Jesus. Better able to love the next person I meet.

Maybe that’s why, even as a mere observer, I feel such an affinity with the Olympic Games: not just because of the passion and dedication of the athletes, not just because of the excitement and joy and emotion of giving one’s whole self to a single moment. It’s because despite the storms, through some horribly wrong days and because of wonderfully right ones, and in contact with many hearts and minds, the Games change, and grow, and keep striving to be better.

Don’t be afraid of scattering your heart. Don’t shy away from leaving pieces of yourself behind. It hurts when your heart breaks, but that pain is not worth comparing to the glory that awaits us at the time when we will again be made whole.

Being Seen

A few weeks ago, during a Sunday morning sermon about the Samaritan woman at the well, I commented on Twitter that I'd once started a fight in a Bible class over this passage. Some folks asked to hear more, so here it is.

I'm going to call her Edna, which is not even close to her real name. Edna, God bless her, was an elderly woman of boundless, sometimes misdirected, energy; strong opinions and a stronger need to express them at all times (a trait she and I share, it seems); and the remarkable ability to cause annoyance in even the most saintly of her fellow churchgoers. Usually, when she spoke, people would nod and then change the subject so as not to get swept up into an unwanted conversation. (Which is a real shame, by the way, and something I absolutely regret having participated in.)

Enter me, at home on a visit, age 22. Fresh off a couple years of short-term mission work that had been preceded by a year at Bible school. Either out of kindness or a misunderstanding of the amount of Bible knowledge one is able to pick up in three short years, the Bible class teacher that day had sought me out before class to encourage to feel free to jump in to the discussion and share my thoughts.

Do you know what happens when you Google "Jacob's
Well"? You get a bunch of pics of the swimmin hole
in Wimberley, Texas. This pic is just a well. Source:
Dora Lupeanu on freeimages.com.

So here comes the simple question, "Why did Jesus have to go through Samaria in the first place?" Edna says, "He was afraid of the Pharisees and went through Samaria so they wouldn't follow him there." (The Jews of the time did not go through Samaria as a general rule--they were definitely not friends.)

Did I even stop to think before words came flying out of my mouth? I did not, and said something like, "Jesus was afraid of the Pharisees? Where did you get that idea?" Edna insisted that of course Jesus was afraid, because he had to be afraid sometimes, but I wasn't having any and told her that was ridiculous--surely the guy who argued with Pharisees in the temple every day, the guy who had turned and walked away from the mob who tried to throw him off the cliff, the guy who knew what his ultimate destiny would be--that guy did not go hide in Samaria because he was scared.

Meanwhile, my dad is sitting next to me grinning very much like a Cheshire cat--I'm pretty sure this was the moment for him when all that time & effort put into keeping me alive until adulthood suddenly bore fruit--and the Bible class teacher changed the subject. (He and his family are wonderful people, by the way, and I'm far from being the only young person he encouraged to find their feet with Biblical things by speaking up in his class. It's still a highlight of any visit home for me to spend a few minutes chatting with him.)

Edna spent the rest of the class writing me a long note about why I was wrong. Neither of us changed the other's mind that day, and indeed I still firmly believe that Jesus went through Samaria because here were people, and especially this wounded woman, who needed to hear his message of hope. He wasn't acting out of fear, but rather was doing exactly what he came here to do. I would just say so much more kindly now, if Edna were still on this earth to hear me say it.

And perhaps that's the real thing I learned that day and am still desperately trying to apply to my own life. This journey that we're on is full of twists and turns and sometimes the road leads to unexpected people and places. Perhaps the best gift we have for our fellow humans is to take a moment to hear one another's stories, to offer a moment of hope and kindness, to look one another in the eyes and say, "I see you. You are real. You matter."

Which is exactly what Jesus did for the woman at the well. And although I didn't know it at the time, it's exactly what Edna and the others in the room that day were doing for me.

Choosing This Task

Source: Goodreads..

This past week, the Bible study group I'm part of read a chapter from Uninvited about Hannah, Samuel's mother. (As in, 1st & 2nd Samuel. That Samuel.)

Here's the thing about Hannah, and also about many of the women in the Bible with whom I feel a particular affinity: she was infertile for quite a long time. Generally speaking, if we're told that a woman in the Bible has a closed womb, it's usually so we can see how God works to bring fertility where there was none. So Hannah's story has a different ending than mine does. But that doesn't prevent me from feeling this affinity, all the same, and especially for one particular reason-- her husband had another wife (Peninnah), who was quite fertile, and the Biblical account tells us that the other wife went out of her way to make Hannah miserable in her childless state.

When I was a kid growing up in church, I was told over and over again that Israelite women who couldn't have children were generally regarded as having displeased God in some way. Y'all, there are plenty of 21st-century Christians who obviously still believe this, and moreover, have appointed themselves as the deliverers of this dismal news to any childless women in their vicinity. I know y'all have heard this song and dance from me before, but that won't keep me from saying it once more for those in the back: do not be Peninnah. Do. Not. And there are a whole list of reasons why not, but the only one that's really needed is this: it is none of your business to police the childless folks around you. If you can't be around them and at the same time keep quiet about what they should be doing to increase their fertility or how they'll change their minds and it'll be too late or any other dopey thing that people say, then do them a favor and stop being around them. Harsh? Yes. But so is that behaviour, and there's no excuse for it. Just don't.

So I shared some of this experience with the group on Monday night, and they now know all of the interesting things there are to know about me (infertile, widowed, car-free--that's pretty much it), but my reason for sharing was this: Ms. TerKeurst wraps up the chapter with two sentences I wish I'd had in my arsenal for years. "She gets the assignment she was made to carry. I'm freed up for other better-suited assignments tailor-made for me." YES. This. This is what I've tried to hard to express for many years but could never find the words for.

This place is growing on me, so whatever God has in
store next, I hope it's at least in Cincinnati.

I don't know what assignment God has for me. It must be a doozy, if it requires no children and no husband. I don't even know where to start looking, except to be listening and watching and open to things that may come my way. And maybe today, the assignment that's tailor-made for me is to remind folks, again, that their words and attitudes matter. Following Jesus is a choice, it's one that has to be made daily, and it carries weight to choose to bear his name. And since I've chosen to carry the love of Jesus into my interactions with others, I cannot--I cannot--use my words to needlessly beat others down. My assignment is to lift them up and point to the One who always got it right where we get it wrong.

God knows I fail at this a thousand times per day. Maybe you do, too. Maybe we can go forward together, all doing the best we can at the tasks we were made to carry.

Word: Checking In on Creation

The last Sunday of June seems like as good a time as any to check in on my word for 2017, Creation. (Some of the ladies at church can remember each other's words and cheer for accomplishments in their word of the year. I only remember mine because it's on my ribbon board and I can see it from here. Maybe my word should have been "memory.")

These are Charles Rennie Mackintosh font & roses.
Because when in doubt, use someone else's creation, I guess?

My word was inspired in part by 2 Corinthians 5:17 and in part by Rent, which is par for the course here in Su-Land, but of course all my creating thus far this year has had very little to do with either thing. Some creation in my 2017 thus far:

• Since I'm likely to be in this apartment for at least another year after my current lease runs out, I'm making it a living space I can feel comfortable in and happy to come home to
• More writing on my perennial friend, Sybil, who may never ever be finished but at least is my constant companion
• Building a new community, as best as I can, in Cincinnati (I honestly have no idea how humans make friends. I mostly just hang around people and try out a few topics of conversation until they either talk to me or run away. Is that what everyone does?)
• Tackling a massive knitting project with a hard deadline. I should be working on that right now
• Planning, with considerable enthusiasm, my next four crafty projects. Because creation begets creation
• 131 blog posts (out of 211 days of the year thus far), which is more than I've managed in some entire years. 
• Embracing that some of my blog posts are bound to suck, and taking the duds as a learning experience to make all my writing better
• Finding ways to keep all the new information I'm learning at work in order (every time a coworker asks me for information, I pull up the spreadsheet where I keep said information, which inevitably elicits a "Wow, you are so organized!" from the coworker. To be clear: I am so very not)
• Reluctantly spending less energy on the time-sucking pits that I love (Twitter and Pinterest) and less time on the sucky pit that has become a habit (Facebook) to devote more of my time and energy to things that need that kind of attention if I'm going to get them done

I'm not sure I would count all these things as creation, any other year, but I'm counting them now as I go through my days looking for opportunities to create and attempting to see the everyday with fresh eyes.

What are you creating today? Alternatively: what's something you're trying this year, and how is it going?

Fill it In

A few Sundays ago, the minister made an offhand remark about the local landfill during the sermon. Note to everyone: offhand remarks in my presence tend to turn into blog posts. Ye be warned, if you weren't already.

So the local landfill is colloquially called "Mount Rumpke," because Cincinnatians are a delightful group of quirky weirdos. This was the first time I had heard the preferred nomenclature, though, and it came along with a comment about how the speaker doesn't really know how landfills work. Which, naturally, activated the "Oooh, oooh! This is a thing I know!" section of my brain (and let's be honest, that's like 90% of the brain cells that aren't dedicated to things like breathing and circulation).

"But how could you possibly know about landfills, Su? Your areas of expertise are bikes and books." 'Tis true, but I am descended from a man who loves nothing more than to talk for hours about the things he knows (shut up), and said man has worked for a landfill for over 40 years. (He'll tell you 50, if you ask. But he was not working there as a 10-year-old.) So here's what he's managed to teach me in that time--what I've managed to hang onto without firsthand knowledge of working in one, that is.

If you imagine a landfill to be a giant mound of trash, with carrion birds circling overhead and plague-bearing rats headed in and out, you're thinking of an old-style open dump, the sort of which have not existed in the U.S. (not legally, anyway) since the late 70s. A sanitary landfill is exactly as the name describes: earth is excavated from site so the rubbish can be packed in and the floor and walls are lined to keep the nasty stuff in. The area will be divided into cells, and as rubbish trucks arrive, they're directed to empty in/near the cell. Large and heavy equipment will pack rubbish into its cell as tightly as possible, and once that cell is full, it's covered back up with dirt and packed in some more. Then the next cell gets its turn, and so on, because Americans produce quite a lot of rubbish. Which is why, if I ever hear anyone complaining about a landfill, my first question is about what they're doing to cut back on the trash they produce. No one's hands are clean when it comes to waste.

It has to go somewhere after it goes on the truck.
Image source: Niklas Johnsson on freeimages.com.

Here's the thing about sanitary landfills, and my real reason for wanting to share this: things aren't supposed to break down. If you're putting something in your trash thinking it's biodegradable, and it won't be around for that long anyway, please take that thing right back out of the trash and stick it into your compost. Things that biodegrade = compost; things that recycle (glass, plastic, paper, cans) = recycling; things that do neither = trash can. PLEASE. Because you know what happens when stuff breaks down? It releases gas and liquid, both of which can be harmful when you consider the company your rubbish is keeping. Liquid seeps and can get into the groundwater; gas is smelly, potentially poisonous, and when trapped underground, can sometimes get a bit antsy and violently force its way out. Which is why sanitary landfills have regulations about what they have to do to protect the groundwater, and methane wells to keep the gas under control. Mount Rumpke converts the methane into natural gas, which powers some local stuff, but persistent problems with the methane wells are what keeps Mount Rumpke much smellier than it's supposed to be. (I grew up around a landfill. I know what it's supposed to smell like. That's not it.)

Of course, the planet has its own way of dealing with things, and just because rubbish isn't meant to break down or leak in a sanitary landfill, it still does, just very slowly. Rain finds its way in through the tiniest of cracks, earthworms say, "Hey, what's this?" and basically the planet acts a bit offended at having a bunch of useless crap shoved in it. Which is why, after a landfill is closed, it has to be monitored for at least 30 years before anything else can be done on top of it, in case something decides to shift.

And to answer the other question brought up in church that Sunday: Mount Rumpke is expected to be operational until at least 2022.

Tl;dr: Don't put anything in the trash that is biodegradable or recyclable. Better for the planet, better for your community, and if your local rubbish collection charges by the size of the container you use--better for your wallet.

Actions Speak Louder

For years, I've not gone to church on Mother's Day, but this year I'm in a "new church, new people, new city... why not?" mood and will be headed out the door in just a few to see if this delightful group of people can remain delightful on this day, my worst day of the year for being in church. (This is not the fault of anyone I've gone to church with in the last few years. This damage was done long ago and I'm just coping as best I can with the residual mess.) I hope it doesn't end with me sitting in the hallway listening to the Next to Normal cast album.

Yesterday, I listened to The West Wing Weekly podcast about the episode I persist in calling "the Ephesians 5:21 episode" but I believe is more properly titled "War Crimes," in which the Bartlets return from Mass with the president complaining bitterly about the sermon being terrible. (A thing I have done a few times in my life, but not the week the minister went to Google images for sermon illustrations and chose an image without checking the source, and it was a still from the soap opera Days of Our Lives. That was a great Sunday.) He says:

Saint Paul begins the passage: "Be subject to one another out of reverence to Christ." "Be subject to one another." In this day and age of 24-hour cable crap, devoted to feeding the voyeuristic gluttony of the American public, hooked on a bad soap opera that's passing itself off as important, don't you think you might be able to find some relevance in verse 21? How to end the cycle? Be subject to one another!

It's fantastic enough to see a character of deep faith on TV. It's even better when he or she articulates that faith in a way that shows the heart of the character. And such a heart is one I'd like to have, a heart that can stop being a narcissist for possibly minutes at a time to consider just how serious the "one another" passages (there are a bunch of them, by the way, should you be looking for something to read) are, to take them to heart and act on them.

I was a bit stuck for an appropriate image for this post, then
ran across this old tweet. So, yeah, more of this and less of the
other stuff.

Being an infertile woman in church on Mother's Day has sucked, by and large, but if I'm going to give the new folks a chance to not be sucky the least I can do is bring a frame of mind that is as much "be subject to one another" as I can possibly manage behind my overly-thick emotional shield that I must carry on this day. Maybe I can take a couple of layers off after today.

Finding a Family

I'm away from what is rapidly becoming my beloved church home (right now it's just my really really really like a lot church home, which takes a lot longer to say) this morning, and reflecting on something Keely and I talked about earlier this week: What is church?

She's going through the same fun-fun finding a new church thing that I just finished. (We've been doing things at more or less the same times for at least 15 years now. Not on purpose--it just happens.) Through our conversation, my phone was buzzing with "mouse updates"--someone at church was having some unwanted critter problems last week and regaling a couple of us with the more hilarious details. So, naturally, when Keely asked, I said, "People who will willingly read each others' mouse updates." She said, "That's a really good definition."

I spent half an hour this morning
swearing at my phone and the
Flying Pig Marathon, trying to
get the runner tracking to work.
After all, it's only fair for me to also
track my running friends in return
for all the kind texts and tweets.

And I like that it is. I'm sure there are many folks with so many support networks that all they're looking for from church is the encouragement from the Sunday morning gathering. If that's you, fantastic. On you go.

If it's not, for those who are looking for more than that, then "what is church?" is the question we have to ask ourselves, perhaps several times. I was not specifically looking for people who would send me congratulatory texts after I finish a half marathon, or their mouse updates, or suggestions for the best places to ride a bike, but that's what I found once I found a church family that was kind and welcoming and not weird about me being widowed with no children. (It's remarkably sad how many church folks are weird about that. More the "no children" than the "widowed", but still.) What is church for you?

The church I'm visiting this morning is the church I grew up in, and once upon a time they were my people, but I can feel the years between us when I visit. Some of them still see the kid they once knew, which is only natural. Some of them still say, "Oh, Billy and Denise have a sister?" every time they see me, as though I'm one of The Silence. Some of them are every bit the delightful folks they've been my whole life. I'm happy to seem them on every visit, but I readily admit I'll be happier to be back at Echo next Sunday.

Because they're church for me.

Keep it as a Treasure

I was rolling along this morning on a pre-church errand (when church doesn't start until 11am, you can get a lot done in the morning, especially if you're an early riser), and enjoying the glorious blue of a sunny morning, which was a nice contrast from yesterday's grey and overcast. And also from right now on Sunday evening, as I sit and type this, in fact. Apparently that little bit of sun has to tide us over until the next sunny hour.

There's a song from a musical for everything, y'all, and this morning's "nice day" soundtrack was Oliver, which I haven't though about in years: "Who will buy this wonderful morning? Such a sky you never did see! Who will tie it up with a ribbon and put it in a box for me?"

I seem to have rather a lot of cloudy-day
photos. Maybe Oliver was right and
 it really *can't* happen twice.

It's a rare nice moment for Oliver in the musical, especially since everything is about to start sucking again as soon as the applause for the song ends, but the song itself has always felt strange to me. London street vendors are hawking their wares, needing to make enough sales to keep despair at bay for just a little longer, and in walks a kid who is, at the moment, full of hope. He sees a beautiful day and streets filled with activity. He of all people knows how bad life can be, but for the moment it's great. For the moment.

"There'll never be a day so sunny," he says, "it could not happen twice." An oddly cheerful song with not-entirely-cheerful lyrics right in the middle of what is a fairly dark story, and also an odd song for my brain to fix upon on a Sunday morning. We live in a world that is filled with despair, and it's easy to look around and see no way to make it better. The sunniest of days can't brighten a life that's filled with darkness.

But in Jesus we have hope, and that's what makes "Who Will Buy" such an appropriate Sunday song. Hope mingles with the despair and brings light to dark places. The sun shines into a life that sees more bleak days than beautiful ones.

It's easy, in the busyness and bustle of life, to forget to be a light. But be the light we must, because the world has plenty of darkness. To make the sunny day happen twice, to tie it up with a ribbon--this is the gift God has given those of us who call on his name, and it's a light we carry within that doesn't darken when the clouds roll in. And that's worth singing about.

Post title is a line from "Who Will Buy".

Springing

As spring progresses, I grow ever more convinced that my seeing The Secret Garden for the first time before my first spring in the Midwest as an adult was by divine intervention.

Every tulip I've seen has been so bright and amazing that
it's almost hard to believe they're real. 

I don't think of God as a giant puppetmaster pulling strings and controlling day-to-day life, though, which I suppose means that I don't really believe that thing I just wrote. But still, it was a remarkable confluence of circumstances which has led to me five months later strolling through this, my favourite of seasons, singing "And you'll be here to see it." (There's just one verse of the song in the first minute of that video, although the whole thing is worth watching.)

For here indeed I am. After a frustrating 2016 filled with false starts, I've landed on my feet with a job I enjoy and coworkers who fill me with delight, plus a church home that's ditto with bells on, and getting out of bed most days is not as hard as it once was. And while my heart may still belong to Austin, I do stop to look around every day and marvel at all this green. In many ways, every day for me is like Dorothy walking out of her house into Oz. (But before the whole shoe incident with Elphaba.)

Not every tree is blooming yet, but the ones that are--I can
barely take my eyes off them.

I went for a nice long walk before church this morning.
Great way to start a Sunday in a good frame of mind to
go tell God that he's pretty cool.

I don't need summer to get here in a hurry. In fact, I need it to not. I need plenty of mornings of singing "Winter's on the Wing" on my walk to work and loving every second of it. This is a season of rebirth and it's helping to heal the holes in my heart.

What is spring doing for you?

E is for Echo #AtoZChallenge

Join me on the A to Z Challenge: I'll share a different thing from my new home, Cincinnati, every day for 26 days in April.

The building is
Sharlie-approved.
(Sharlie is my bike.
 She's named after
Charlotte Brontë.)

I had the best of intentions of doing research on the beautiful building where Echo Church meets (we rent part of the building on Sundays, and that's all I've bothered finding out so far), but sometimes things just don't work out. My boss has a massive book filled with Cincinnati's history that I should probably ask to borrow one of these days and this building is probably in it. It obviously began life as a church, but that's literally all I know about it.

Anyway! You may remember I did quite a bit of hand-wringing trying to find the church that would essentially be my Red River Junior, and I'm happy to say I have. And while they're lovely and wonderful, this post is essentially to show you how pretty the building is.

While I was taking pics on Sunday morning, I heard my sister-in-law telling someone they were for the blog. So whoever that was: here it is!

Probably my favourite two of the stained-glass windows.
And of course, the view of the old stuff is slightly obscured by the
(necessary) new stuff.

I thought I got a pic of that window from
the inside, but since I didn't, here it is from the
outside instead.

Quietly Engaged

My word for 2017 is "creation," but I'm having a hard time applying that to Sunday mornings.

As I've noted before, any church I find in Cincinnati is going to be Red River Junior in my mind for a while, and there's no displacing such an amazing group of beloved brothers and sisters from their perch in my heart in such a short time. The church I've been attending is getting closer, though--I think it's safe to say I've found my people.

Probably not these on a Sunday
morning, either. Source:
Radu Fizesan on freeimages.com.

So what can I do, as the very new person, to bring creation with me when we gather on Sunday mornings? (I'm not gathering with them today, though, since I'm sitting 100 miles away.) Obviously I want to do my part to create and sustain a community, and for now that looks like desperately trying to remember everyone's names--I've fallen back on my old strategy of learning the women's names first, then figuring out who's married to whom (single people are actually easier to remember with this strategy--I'm not leaving y'all out!), and eventually I'll remember from one week to the next which bearded man is which. Seriously, that's a lot of beards in one place on a Sunday morning.

And despite all the exhortation that the worship time is corporate and participatory, there's a lot of sitting quietly on Sunday mornings--I did most of my sermon-time creating back when I was young enough to be kept occupied with crayons and paper. One reason I got in the habit of tweeting particularly resonant things that the minister says is to make sure I'm engaging my brain. I'm not sure that counts as creation, except that I'm adding to the noise of 21st-century life. Not the creation I was going for, but maybe right now that's the best I can do.

How do you make your Sundays an act of creation?

Righteous Anger

My poor coworkers had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they decided to be nice to me. But when I'm surrounded by people this amazing on a daily basis, it's hard not to tap into our great conversations when it's time to write a blog post. (That is to say, more coworker-inspired posts are coming. If y'all are reading this: ye be warned.)

It's nice to know, in these moments,
that God still has your back.
Source.

I don't remember how the conversation started, but my coworker told the story of a priest telling her, "Just go kick God in the shins and you'll feel better." The idea that it's okay to be mad at God is not a new one, of course (should you doubt that, try reading the Psalms), but it's not one I heard until I was an adult, when I had finally figured it out on my own and no longer needed that affirmation. This is information that would have been helpful at ages 12-19. (It's helpful now as well, of course. But it would have been good to know then.)

I don't know if it's the faith tradition I grew up in (although I have my suspicions); I don't know if it was the era, with former rebel Baby Boomers trying to get their Gen X teenagers to do the opposite of what they had done as teens and instead trust what authority figures had to say; I don't know if I happened to be living among people who had never been given this permission themselves. Regardless, the message I received as a young person was that God knew what he was doing, and any thoughts to the contrary were not only futile, but also a sin, and possibly blasphemous. And then they wondered why so many of my generation went running from the church once we hit college, when the more remarkable result was how many of us stuck around to see how this thing turned out.

Real talk. He's still there even in the kicking and
screaming moments. (I have no particular insight
on the hot dog.) Source.

Of course it's okay to be angry at God. Of course it's okay to tell him so. Of course he knows that we can't see the big picture on this side of eternity. Maria Trapp expressed it so beautifully in The Sound of Music: "It will be very interesting one day to follow the pattern of our life as it is spread out like a tapestry. As long as we live here we only see the reverse side of the weaving, and very often the pattern, with its threads running wildly, doesn't seem to make sense." (Yes, I find many uses for that book. It's packed full of wisdom and truth.)

Life is going to suck sometimes. Please, by all means, let God know how you feel about the sucky things. Rant and rave and even swear a bit if you need to. "He's a big God; he can take it," may be trite and slightly goofy, but it's still true. And please teach your children and everyone you know that this is okay, too. Bad things happen to people who are taught it's never okay to be angry. Give your nearest and dearest the tools they need to carry on without checking out through a world that's just going be outright wrong at times.

And trust that the God who holds all things in his hands is not going to be horrified if you get angry from time to time.

Ashes to Ashes

For Ash Wednesday, this is going to be more like a spiritual Sunday-ish post than a Wednesday one, so if that's not what you came for, now's the time to bail. See you tomorrow.

Chadwick died on an Ash Wednesday, which even for him was a pretty odd gesture, but that made it difficult to conjure up any will to observe Lent for a couple years. This year, though, since I've given my life a hard reboot, it's time to rejoin the Christian calendar and see what this new era of Lenten observances will bring.

I searched freeimages.com for "Lent," and what I got was
this, entitled "Spring Church Exterior." I'm not super-
clear what that means, but it's pretty. So I guess this is as
Ash Wednesday of an image as I'm going to get.
Source: George Bosela on freeimages.com.

However, I do want to make it clear at the outset that I am no Lent expert--I started observing Lent as a teenager in an "everybody's doing it" kind of way. I've kinda become the local "expert" anyway for many Evangelical friends who've wanted to jump into Lent over the years, based solely on my experience on this journey that other folks don't have, but everything I know is also available to you via either Google or by diving in and experiencing it yourself. (Although I will add that the first time I read The Sound of Music, at age 20, it changed my view of Lent dramatically. That was the year I started taking it seriously as a tool for spiritual growth.)

One of my "new city" challenges is that I have no idea where there's an Ash Wednesday service near me, and I may not find out before it's too late. (Also? I can walk into anywhere in Texas with ashes on my face and no one will blink. I don't know yet if that's true in Ohio, so I kinda need an after-work service.) But that's a small thing, since I've missed Ash Wednesday service more years than not. Especially when I was still living in my parents' house--I can just imagine the looks on their very Evangelical faces if I walked in with ashes on my forehead. No.

Anyway, I'm here today to help, not reflect on my non-ecumenical upbringing. This FAQ is cobbled together from questions I've been asked often over the years.

1. You do what? But isn't that a Catholic thing? Do you judge people who don't do it?
a) Lent.
b) Yes. Also many other branches of Christendom. You should maybe get out more.
c) No. That would be ridiculous. You do what works for you.

2. Do you have any Lenten resources to recommend?
I don't, although I'm pretty excited about this Arts and Faith series this year. Google, friends. Google.

3. Should I announce my fast on Facebook?
This has been more of a touchy subject than I could possibly have anticipated, but this is what I usually say:

• If you're asking me as a friend who's done this for a while and has some experience of the value of people knowing my fast vs not: then no, you shouldn't.
• If you're asking because you're looking for some accountability, then I'd suggest you find an offline human, or if it must be online, that you approach someone you trust via private message.
• If you're asking because giving up Facebook is your fast and you want to let everyone know where you're going, I'd still suggest not, but you need to do what you think is best if your absence will upset anyone. Again, you can probably do this via private message. (I've gone weeks without visiting Facebook before, and it's a nice exercise in humility when you find out how well that world keeps on turning without your presence in it.)
• If you're asking for spiritual guidance, I refer you to Matthew 6:16-18.

4. Do I have to go meatless on Fridays?
Are you participating in Lent as part of your faith tradition, and if so, does that faith tradition ask you to go meatless? If so, in order to fully participate with your community: yes. If you're creating your own community or going it alone, then you have a bit more leeway to decide which elements of the traditional fast you're going to adopt. More on community anon.

5. Did you know it doesn't really add up to 40 days?
Yes. Sundays don't count as part of the 40 days because Christians celebrate Jesus' resurrection on those days, and that celebration supersedes the mourning/fasting of Lent.

6. Does it matter what I give up?
Yes, it matters, but maybe not in the way you're asking. (And it's okay if you haven't decided yet.) What are you trying to learn from Lent? What areas of your life need growth? Think about that and let that shape your fast. Also keep in mind that your fast, if it's helping you learn/grow, may not be something you want to stop at Easter. You can absolutely use these six weeks as a starting block.

This is the thing about Lent that tends to get me the most angry/corrective comments, to be honest, for a couple reasons:

• Some folks are under the impression that people only give up sins that they should have already been trying to remove from their lives. Now, if Lent helps you do that, I'm not about to tell you not to. Six weeks of focused intent may be you push you need to finally deal with that thing that's been nagging at you. But that doesn't have to be what you do, and I agree that only avoiding a spiritual stumbling block for six weeks per year is maybe not the ideal approach, if it's true life change you seek.
• There are others who will say that giving up chocolate or TV or whatever is silly. Pope Francis made some incredibly relevant and thought-provoking comments on that very subject a couple years back. Here's the thing: It's not so much what you're giving up; it's what you replace it with. If you give up Facebook and replace it with a TV show, then maybe pause to ask yourself what you're trying to accomplish. If you give up caffeine and replace it with being unbearable for the entire month of March, you may not be sharing the peace of Christ with others quite as much as you intended.

7. What if I don't start on Ash Wednesday or fizzle out by the end?
It happens. That's why the Israelites prayed, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (That's Lamentations 3:22-23.) Choose your favourite cliché for making a new beginning every day, and go do it.

8. What else do I need to know?
Get in there and do it, and be open to what changes in you. If you have a community to do this with, by all means, embrace that community whole-heartedly and do this together. God has placed you in a community for good reason, and fasting together as a shared experience can multiply your joys and divide your struggles. Do not neglect your community this Lent. Embrace them.

No community to share with? Having to do this alone? I hear ya. We can be Lenten Twitter buddies, if you like (send me a Tweet or a DM to let me know that we're doing this, though, because "become a mind reader" is not what I'm doing for Lent). Growth and joy can still happen even on a solitary journey, so don't despair.

Have a blessed Lenten season, friends.

The Verb (Kinda)

A couple weeks ago when I talked about my word for 2017 (creation), Kar left this great comment:

Reminds me of something I read in the book Bruchko a few years back that has stuck in the back of my mind. He talks about the peace of God entering his life at one point & describes it as a very active thing full of life (rather than the passive, calm connotations peace often has). I just really loved that. The idea that God was moving & actively transforming, healing, fighting for him. I love that concept of peace-- an active, living, creative thing.

I knew I wanted a Charles Rennie Mackintosh font for
my card, and while I was at it I grabbed some of his
Glasgow roses, too.

Years ago, I heard a teacher bemoaning that students responded better to the expression "doing word" than if she used the more proper "verb," but gosh, I love "doing word." I can see why students would prefer that phrasing. (It's the 21st century--we're never happier than when we're doing, amirite?) And I almost chose a verb--my 2017 word was nearly "create" instead of "creation," and at the last minute I changed my mind, and I can't for the life of me remember why. To think of all the hours my rhetoric instructors spent on telling me to watch out for unnecessary nominalization, and here I go running headlong into one.

The English translation of John 1:1 reads, "In the beginning was the Word." You know what it says in Spanish? "The Verb." I've loved that since the first time I read it. Not being a language expert, I have no idea what the difference is that renders the same word as "word" in one language and "verb" in another, but wow, I love thinking of Jesus as a verb. The Verb became flesh and dwelt among us. No wonder we like doing words so much.

And the nice thing about choosing a noun like "creation," as Kar pointed out, is that it carries an air of activity with it. You can't have a creation without having created. If I want to get to a creation, then first I have to be busy in the act of creating.

What are you creating today?

Word

The church I've been attending the past few weeks asked everyone to choose a word for 2017. I wasn't there at the beginning of the year, so I was late to this party, and in fact just got a blank card for my word last week. I didn't know what my word was going to be, except that it was definitely not going to be "New," because that's what my life has been about for two years and I'm ready for different fun now.

The church meets here.
They don't own the building.
I don't know what it used to be.

But because my brain has this really irritating tendency to grab hold of one thought forever and ever, amen, once I thought, "Definitely not 'new'," the verse in 2 Corinthians, "Therefore if anyone be in Christ, she is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new," lodged in my brain and wouldn't get out again. (That's the KJV, because I love the phrasing of "all things are become new." Also made a couple small gender modifications because I'm a she, it's Greek, "he" is not in the original, etc. If that bothers you, I don't mind.) So I brought my card home still blank.

Sunday morning, after a day out of town, I rolled back into my apartment just long enough to put my stuff down and see my blank card still sitting here all empty, which got the brain puttering along in the "all things are become new" rut it's settled into. When I got to church, there was an entire stack of blank cards and a request that we all write down our words so we could be mutually encouraged by the words that had been chosen. Into my head pops 2 Corinthians 5:17 (I do hope you're reading that as "second Corinthians" and not any alternative phrasing), followed by "The opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation." Yeah, okay, if my brain is going to make connections I may as well run with it. (Watch that entire clip only at your own risk.)

Creation. Creation is my word for 2017. Here goes.