The Madonna and the Cafe

     It was time for dinner. It was our second night in Paris and we were looking for something simple. There it was...pizza! We walked into Da Vinci's and grabbed a table at the front. The proprietor was a congenial man in his late twenties or early thirties. Armed with his English, my French phrase book and an English menu, we ordered successfully: Pizza to share and a glass of  red wine for me.

Our Lady of Lourdes home in Utah

     The decor of the place is basic and modern. There are black tablecloths and touches of red. I glanced around the room. The restaurant was beginning to fill up. I was famished from walking around Paris. The pizza was really good and quite a bargain. As I drank my wine, I noticed something by the cash register. It was an altar to The Blessed Mother. Our hosts were Coptic Christians from Egypt.
      Suddenly, I knew that the holy card in my purse, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, was going to find a new home at Da Vinci's. It was fitting. The card was from my Aunt Mary's funeral. She was an avid traveler and a fervent believer. When I paid the bill, I gave the holy card to my waiter. He held it reverently, kissed it and put it right on the altar. I was deeply touched by his reaction.

The holy card I left in Paris was similar to this one

     On the way out, I stopped to joke with some Irish ladies that I had met earlier. The waiter came up and gave me a tiny plastic statue of Our Lady of Lourdes. I was delighted. My new friend and I could only speak fragments of each other's language, yet we connected on a deeper level: the heart. God's language is love; Mary embodies that love.  As we clear the debris from our hearts, there is no room for the tower of Babel. When I turned in that night, I put Our Lady on my nightstand and turned out the light. The Madonna glowed in the dark, just like the rosary beads of my childhood! I was across the ocean and away from home, but I was able to communicate with another soul on a level that defies words. I fell asleep feeling grateful and blessed. I wish you a season brimming with love and connection. Merry Christmas!

She glows in the dark! Here she is in my linen closet.

Unexpected Gifts

  

  

      He stood frozen in the hallway and gripped the Fed Ex envelope in his right hand.  His face was  expressionless and tight.  "They let me go, " he said.  I laid the plate gently on the table "What do you mean?," I sputtered. "I need to find a new job," he replied.  Suddenly, my stay at home mom gig seemed indulgent.  I had been a stay at home mom for thirteen years; I needed a job too. 

        Scholarship is one of my gifts. I was convinced that I would be an ambassador or a lawyer. I wanted my life to have value. I applied to various universities including Vanderbilt and Georgetown.  The Georgetown University School of Foreign Service was my ideal.  I waited. I hoped.  Much to my delight, I was offered a place in the class of 1984.

     My first professional job was working as a government editor. I worked in Washington, DC and Asia, traveled widely and met many people including my future husband, David.  When we married,  David was stationed at Fort Lewis, Washington.  The military was a core part of his identity. I knew that I could be happy in a variety of jobs, so I quit my editing job and moved to Washington State.  My husband wanted me to have a career of my own. I thought long and hard about my next move.

      I looked for a portable science career and settled on nursing.  Psychiatric, Medical Surgical, Obstetric and Geriatric nursing filled my days. My least favorite subject was Psychiatric Nursing. Years later, my background in this subject would prove handy, even priceless.

        When my husband got orders to Okinawa, I stayed behind to finish my degree and sit my RN (Registered Nurse) boards.  I was 3 months pregnant with my son Victor.  This boy would change my mind about staying home and crack my heart wide open. I stayed home with him during our two years in Japan.  When we returned to the States, I worked part time for a year and a half.  I would often rush from work to collect my son before the daycare closed. I felt like I was doing many things at once, and none of them well. 

     The deployment tempo increased when we moved to Fort Bragg, NC.  My husband traveled often and even deployed to Iraq.  I decided to stay home and give my son stability. Stay at home moms helped me time and time again. I put out judgment and received generosity in return. Much to my chagrin, I realized that these women created real, heartfelt change every day. We all have different lessons to learn. God knew my heart and He put me with people who nourished my growth.

     We continued to move. My resume grew older, and sadder. My son entered elementary school.  In fifth grade he came to me and said, "Mom, there's something wrong with me.  I have to spin the dial on my locker a certain number of times.  Sometimes I'm late for class. I need help".  I was concerned about my son, but deeply touched by his trust. He knew that nothing he could say would change my love for him. My nursing background helped me find a suitable practitioner.

      We did cognitive behavioral therapy (a retraining of behaviors and learning to sit with anxiety) at home. Gradually, he transitioned to taking full responsibility for his therapy and treatment. Now, my son has a toolbox of solutions at the ready. He is a bright, independent young man who is headed toward an engineering career.

     Selfless love and service can be catalysts for personal and spiritual growth. I believe that my challenges have made me more open to God's will for my life. Perhaps, gifts are not always the things that come most readily.  I still have gifts, but now I understand that when you step out of your comfort zone, you can uncover unexpected gifts. How we use these gifts determines our true value.

About Face

     First my left ear hurt. Perhaps a pimple in my ear? No. My ear grew to resemble a blush colored cauliflower.  Time to check in with the doctor.  The first antibiotic did nothing. After three days, I planned to go back and get something else. I got up, got dressed and looked in the mirror, my face was flush right and I had trouble closing my eye. I looked like a Picasso painting and not in a good way.What? Did I have a stroke? I set off for the doctor.  My eye was constantly watering; I had not anticipated how difficult it would be to drive.
     I had not had a stroke. I had Bell's Palsey.  My swollen ear and neck had clamped down on the nerves to the left side of my face. 80% of cases fully resolve, but I could only think about the 20% that did not. I got antivirals, antibiotics and prednisone. Prednisone made me feel like I was going to jump out of my skin or have a heart attack. I would take it and then go for a brisk hike around my neighborhood until it started to metabolize. Now, 5 weeks later, I have some residual stiffness but my face is back to normal. The physical transformation and temporary paralysis were both horrifying and thought provoking.
     Perhaps it is human nature, but I used to take my face and nerves for granted. God gave me green eyes and great teeth and they have been there everyday. I never thought of these things as gifts, but they are. It made me think about the many souls that deal with afflictions that are not temporary; this humbled me.

     The illness also made me realize that I need to slow down and ask for help when I need it.  Even the Creator of the universe rested on the 7th day! Why do I think I have to do everything myself? It's not independence. It's wanting to do things MY way. Hmmm. That is not as exciting as "independence", but I think it's true. So my husband cooked and my son drove and I laid on my bed and rested. I have had plenty of time to contemplate my tendency to "judge a book by its cover" and I am ready to turn the page. If I believe in the preeminence of the soul's beauty, it's time I cease my lip service and live my life from a deeper place. I believe that my numb face enervated the far corners of my heart and I am grateful. Peace to you.

The Communion Dress

        As soon as my eyes opened, I saw it.  It hovered over the chair like a billowy spring cloud. My First Communion dress was a puff of sheer perfection. The lines were simple but elegant. There were knife pleats, sheer sleeves and the merest hint of a ruffled skirt. To an eight year old, it was the very definition of a special occasion dress. My veil trailed on a hanger nearby. My mother had crafted it from a piece of her own wedding veil. It was an impressive halo of lace and netting.

First Holy Communion

      The day began with a Mass. The boys and girls were lined up in pairs, shortest to tallest. I have no memory of the homily, but I do remember receiving communion. I remember thinking that First Holy Communion was the holiest thing I had done up to that point. I was struck by the fact that Jesus Christ could be present to me, a little girl. The very idea of it made me feel honored.
     I am one of four girls, so going out to dinner was reserved for special events. My parents took me to a lovely Italian restaurant. I ordered lasagna. My Dad ordered one too many cocktails and was loud. He even interrupted the couple at the next table with his banter. My stomach started to hurt. I went to the bathroom. I thought I might be sick. My parents commented that I must be overtired from such a big day. I was not tired; I was mortified. As we left the restaurant, the couple from the next table were standing in the parking lot. My Dad told  the man, "Go ahead and kiss her" very loudly. My stomach hurt.
      At the end of the day, I thought that I took off my Communion dress, but I actually wore it for 44 more years. The dress changed materials. No longer diaphanous, it was heavy like wool, yet invisible to the naked eye. It acquired patches of Velcro where my Dad's shortcomings stuck. Last year, I finally took off the dress.
      I made time for spiritual reading and reflection a priority. I started asking myself difficult questions about faith and forgiveness. One day I was cleaning my house and I was thinking about my Dad, now deceased ten years. I found myself thinking about my Communion day, my dress, and lasagna. I sat down on the floor and wept. I wept for the little girl in white, but I also wept for the awkward drinking Dad. As an adult I understand that he had both substance abuse and learning challenges. He was not mean, but he could be selfish and childish.
     Here's what I know:  Jesus Christ comes for the girl in white AND the loud Dad. When the apostles asked Jesus how to pray, he gave them the Lord's prayer. It says "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." It does NOT say, forgive when it's easy and costs you nothing.
     None of us is perfect and our frailties vary. When I moved from simply feeling hurt to feeling for my Dad's inability to connect with others, I was astonished by the power of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not condone behavior, it brings it into the Light. A few days later, I sat in meditation. I thought about Dad, and suddenly, in my mind's eye, I saw the Communion dress. It floated upward into a dark blue night, shimmered, and then slowly dissolved into stars. That is the power of forgiveness.
   

    

The Rest is A Miracle

     I just finished my first week of 10K training. I followed it to the letter. I even did my long run in the snow. But my plan got derailed. I woke up with a sore shoulder.
     Yesterday was meant to be a weight training day, but I couldn't face it. I iced my shoulder. I took a nap. I read quietly. I took Motrin. When evening arrived I sank into an Epsom salt bath. When I awoke this morning, I felt achy, but the pain was gone. I went for a slow 2.5 miles.  A miracle! I had the best run I've had in months.

I understand the importance of rest, but I try to ignore it.

Mule deer intuitively know the importance of rest.

     Sometimes I see rest as a waste of time. I miss training and can't wait to get stronger. However, rest is crucial to success. If I listen to my body, it can heal and grow stronger. When I was in my twenties, I ran through pain all the time.  In my fifties, I simply don't have the resilience to push through pain. My need to rest is actually teaching me volumes.
     Modern life is chaotic. Everyone is busy. If we purposely put the brakes on activity and set aside time for quiet, the quality of life changes. New yoga students want to rush from pose to pose. Seasoned practitioners know that how you transition from pose to pose matters. The quality of your transition effects your health in between and your alignment in succeeding poses. It took me awhile to realize this, but my life is like this.
     When my husband lost his job, I was rushing from activity to activity. I was exhausted and there was little fruit to my labor. I didn't solve a thing. Finally we both slowed down and realized that this was a time for us to focus on our son and not our egos or careers. Miraculously, my husband found contract work and a meaningful part time job. Our worries are not gone, but we are relaxed and calm.
    If you are always rushing, if every time slot is scheduled, when can you hear God's words to your heart? You can't.  Carve out a space in your day for quiet. Rest in His presence. You can mull over a dilemma, read an inspirational book, look up something in the Bible, run or simply sit in nature. Transitions prepare you for your next destination.
     When you take a break from physical training your muscles build and rest. When you take a break from worldly concerns, your spirit builds and refreshes. Matthew 11:28-29 reminds me "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." When I am calm, I can hear the still, small voice. I am open to possibilities, and even, miracles. Be blessed.

What's in YOUR Purse?

      If you're a woman you probably carry a purse. You may call it a bag or a handbag, but you carry that thing everywhere. It's like a security blanket for grown ups. When my son was little, my purse was a magical bag of tricks. All you had to do was open that zipper and stare into the treasure trove that would save you. There were wipes, an extra diaper, my wallet, a clean shirt for him, a clean shirt for me, at least one toy, a drink and a snack or two. The toddler days are gone, but the purse remains.
     Today's purse has a wallet, cell phone, four pens (Four pens? Do I think I am going to write an incredible missive? Or attend a scavenger hunt where purple pens are at a premium?), three lipsticks, one band-aid, tissues, a lens cleaning wipe, a headband, coupons, an assortment of photos, a sweet note from my husband from 1995 and a holy card of Jesus. Whew! Maybe I should simply graduate to a suitcase?

Sweet mercy! Just get a suitcase.

     We all carry different size purses or wallets. Some folks just use their pockets. Everyone has a different definition of what they need. Yet all of us carry something in common. The photo of my purse contains clues. It's hard to see, and sometimes you have to look very closely. It's not keys, though it is the key. It is sometimes heavy and sometimes light. It transparent and vivid at the same time. It is the very best in all of us:  It is our ability to love.
     There have been times when my wallet's been light, and my heart heavy, but my husband's love--as evidenced by the note I carry--has kept me going. My photos of loved ones speak to heart connections that span time and space. The holy card of Jesus depicts him with a glowing, sacred heart. His commandment is "Love one another as I have loved you." It's difficult, yet so simple.

Your heart is a strong muscle.

     When we go out in the world, we take our cell phone and our wallets, ( If you're me, you also take lots of pens and lipsticks) but what we really need is heart consciousness. Our ability to love is more powerful and trans formative than that silly band-aid floating around in my purse. Love can heal and love can change things. I check for text messages daily. From now on, I'm going to check for heart messages too. Judith Campbell said, "When your heart speaks, take good notes." I have enough pens, I just have to pay attention.

Light Guides

    As the two boys crossed the finish line, they jumped up and down with joy and embraced. They had won as a team. Both ran, but one had special needs and one was a guide. The guide kept his buddy on course and focused. Similarly, at the National Ability Center in Park City, sight impaired athletes ski with a guide. Though the situations vary, we all need a guide from time to time.

We are all light guides.

     My sisters have guided me many a time. Parenting dilemmas, marital stresses and even fashion dilemmas... there is no topic that hasn't benefited from their loving intervention. When my newborn son was ill, my sister found my hospital room in Japan. When I heard her voice, I saw a beam of light crossing the globe and anchoring me to the earth. She was my guide in my darkest hour. Friends and family have stepped in during unemployment, military deployment and sickness. Here's the beautiful thing: This kind of aid doesn't make you beholden or weak. Eventually you will be called on to walk alongside somebody and be THEIR guide. Your own history and challenges actually make you a better guide. You approach others with empathy and compassion.
     For believers, being a light guide is an opportunity to be a channel of God's grace. It is a privilege. Sometimes you guide a loved one. Sometimes you guide a stranger. The soul work is the same. Just as there are fishing, hunting, trekking and snowshoe guides, there are different life guides. There are many gifts but the same Spirit. You may give counsel, teach, encourage, heal or simply be present. Offering your time by being present is a significant way to bring light into darkness and remind a person of their inherent worth.
     The impact of a guide is exponential. The light is passed from one soul to another. It is a vital circuit. When you are following, take notes. Your time to lead is coming.
   
   

     

Same Church, Different Pew

     I nagged my husband to stop in Sedona, Arizona.  I heard that the red rocks were beautiful and that the energy of the place was strong. We drove into the valley and then we saw it: The Chapel of the Holy Cross.

     It is a breathtaking chapel built into the rocks. You enter from the back. The front of the chapel is made of glass.  You look past the altar and out at the valley of rock and sky. The interior has simple wooden benches. My husband kneeled and looked deep in thought and prayer. I sat down and had a humbling, profound realization: The side trip was not about me at all. I was the catalyst, but not the reason.

     Fast forward to this Easter Sunday. My men are less than enthusiastic about organized religion. I could have coerced them to go to church, but that felt wrong. If I really believe that each person must form their own relationship to the Divine, I have to let God's time and ways prevail. We want our relationships with people to be authentic. How much more important is a genuine relationship with the Creator?
     When I returned from church,  My husband was watching Music and the Spoken Word by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I joined him and it was deeply moving. Modern Christian rock doesn't resonant with my spouse; it doesn't have to. The concert finished with Handel's Messiah. We watched in stunned, reverent silence.
     There is one God, but many ways to see his face. Today I am praying that each of us discovers their own personal hallelujah. Happy Easter!

The Velveteen Rabbit

         " Dad, did you have a a Johnny Lightening M-14?"  A sad look crossed my husband's face. He replied, "Yes, but grandma got rid of it."  When my son came back into the room, my husband was wistfully staring at the computer, browsing through photos of the Johnny Lightening toy. This little exchange prompted an interesting, and very thoughtful, observation.

Love makes you real.

     My son saw his Dad not as a retired Special Forces soldier or as an authority figure, but as a person with feelings. This put a new wrinkle in his brain. As my husband sat there looking at the long lost toy, he softened for just a moment. In that moment, his heart was on his sleeve and my son saw it. "Dad looked like a little kid. Maybe people stay small on the inside, Mom," he said.

      In Margery Williams' The Velveteen Rabbit, the velveteen rabbit becomes a beloved toy. His coat gets shabby but it doesn't matter because he is truly loved. When we look beyond the surface of people, we are able to love their heart and not their exterior. When my son did that, he saw his Dad differently. My son's heart grew a little bigger. His Dad's world got a little sweeter. In the Velveteen Rabbit, the Skin Horse says,"When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, you become REAL." Children make us better and they DO help us become real.

Snow Plows

   

When the road's clear, you can drive safely.

     Winter driving in Utah can be treacherous, but our roads are well taken care of.  Well before dawn, crews are out on the highways salting and plowing. Sometimes three or more plows work together to manicure the interstate. My husband says they are coordinated like dancers. I am very grateful that the plows clear away the snow and ice. Because of their work, we simply go on with our activities regardless of the weather. Snow plows are huge and you should never try to out run one. We actually have highway signs that say "Respect Snow Plow Operations." This got me thinking about how God uses events and people in our lives to help us move forward.

     When I look back on the last three years, I see that unwelcome surprises and disasters have helped me clean out debris and move ahead. Of course, I did NOT see this at the time. When the septic tank broke, when my husband was laid off, when my son got in a fight....I acted appropriately: I freaked out. In hindsight, I can see areas of personal growth for all of us. As far as my own growth, suffice it to say I would not have changed some of my ways if I wasn't forced to do so.

Ninja Mom needs a shovel. Shovels and plows are both good.

      God wants us to function at our highest level. He presents us with custom tailored situations that often bring us to our knees. In the quiet, cold reality of our chaos, we finally turn to Him. He wants us to be in relationship with Him. I want to be better about coming to Him with gratitude and not just grumbling. I know He saw me standing in the snow and crying about my broken pipes. I know for certain He heard my prayers for my son and I know He heard my pleas for my husband's employment.  He is gracious and He is faithful. My gratitude is not misplaced. It's simply tardy.

Respect the Grief

    It can creep up on you. Perhaps you are washing dishes. Maybe you are running or driving. Suddenly, you find yourself crying. Grief is sneaky and grief is real. I recently lost my Aunt Mary and it has given me the chance to think about life, death, and mourning, a little more personally.

     In the old days, there was a designated period of mourning. Though we tend to see this as archaic, it did have a good intention. The bereaved wore different clothes and the bereaved were treated with a reserved respect. The whole process was part of letting go. After my Dad died, I actually had a woman yell "How are you, Mary? How's your Mom?" across a crowded room.  I was able to choke out a weak, "fine," but I made a mental note: Never shout at the bereaved! I can't help but feel that modern society barrels ahead. There is little acknowledgement that the energy and composition of the world has changed.
     I am not arguing for a return to traditional mourning, but I am suggesting that a person can create their own rituals for processing a loved one's passing.  My aunt was a generous gift giver. I have taken this to heart and feel that when I give I am affirming her legacy. I feel like I am saying "She lived and she made a huge difference and I will carry on her work."
     Aside from honoring the deceased, it is good to simply take a deep breath and be quiet. I couldn't attend church last week because my grief was too close to the surface. I am not a public crier. For someone else, going to church might be just the right thing. People are different and they grieve differently; it's important to leave room for that.
     I have regrets. I can think of a million ways that I could have been a better niece. But I'm taking it as an instruction to use my finite time on earth a little better. Gandhi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." It's never too late for that. Peace to you.

Gospel Girl

    I stood at the podium. I had practiced and I was ready. One of my dearest friends asked me to read the Gospel at a service celebrating her 18 years in ministry. Growing up Catholic, priests and deacons read the Gospel. I never witnessed a woman reading the Gospel as a girl. As an adult, I saw a nun read the gospel and distribute the already consecrated host at a tiny country church.  But that's it.

He leads me beside quiet waters. (Psalm 23:2)

     I understand the cultural and historical ideas on priesthood. I get it. The Bible shows us a patriarchal culture and Jesus was a man. But I ask you this: Does a soul have gender? I don't think it does. I think organized religions have power and I think human beings like power.

     When I spoke the words of Christ from the podium, I felt reverent. I felt honored. I felt awed.  I don't believe the God of the Universe sees gender or any other earthly characteristics. I believe he sees past our hearts and into the very corners of our souls. My God is not offended when I read His words. I feel His presence and it feels right in my soul. How can I be silent when I know all the amazing things he has done? Your spirit links you to God. It is the divine spark in you. Rendering Him honor is a privilege that belongs to all His children. Worship according to your own heart.

The Value of Salt

     The barrage of snow storms back East has prompted a run on salt, specifically rock salt. Home chefs know that you can use rock salt to make delicious homemade ice cream. The East Coast has not been concerned with frozen treats this winter. Governments are concerned with deicing roadways while citizens are worried about steps and sidewalks.

     The abundance or scarcity of salt has been a driving force in history. According to the Morton Salt Company,(http://www.mortonsalt.com/salt-facts/salt-history) Roman soldiers were paid salt money or salarium regentum; this is where we get the English word salary. Salt can take many forms iodized, black, shades of grey, pink, sea, flake, smoked, seasoned and kosher to name just a few.

There are many kinds of salt.

     Depending on which version of the Bible you read, salt is mentioned 30-40 times. Matthew 5:13-16 reads "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled by men."  There are as many people and gifts as there are types of salt. So how do we maintain our flavor?
      I think we do this by honoring the gifts we're given. There are different gifts but the same spirit. So if we believe in God, living our belief means using our gifts in his service. It's not always easy to discern our gifts, but I believe they exist and are waiting to be unwrapped. Some gifts are used on the world stage while some are used in quiet service. Both have equal value.
     There have been times when I have felt I wasn't "worth my salt". Maybe we all have those moments. Take a moment to look at your life through God's values not the world's. God's greatest values aren't material related. They are all about love. When you start with love, remember that he made you in his image. Love extends to you too.

Like Stained Glass

     "So what is your favorite element in painting?" the instructor asked. "Color " I responded without hesitation. "Mine is light, he stated, "without light your picture doesn't have values or color." This was an "Aha" moment for me artistically and spiritually.

We are part of something bigger.

     When you paint, you have to consider the palette you are working with, the type of paint, the perspective and the light.  Where will the light come from in your painting? How will this be reflected in the various shades of color? Color is given its very breath by light. Merriam Websters online defines color as "a phenomenon of light or visual perception that enables one to differentiate otherwise identical objects."

Paint is no good without light.

     I have always been fascinated by color and its impact on environment and people. The colors that people favor in their dress and surroundings can indicate personality traits or even a state of mind. For instance, I find pale blues, greens and purples soothing in the hospital setting. Red and yellow are said to animate. These colors are often found in fast food establishments. But behind this wash of color is the prism we see through: Light.
     From the very beginning, God is associated with light. Genesis 1:3 reads "God said, let there be light and there was light." In Isaiah we are exhorted to "walk in the light of the Lord." The New Testament (1 Jn 1:5) states, "God is light; in him there is no darkness." So if light brings color and depth to painting, how much more depth and vibrancy can God bring to our lives? If we believe in a Creator God, the Alpha and Omega, the faithful God of Israel, the impact on our lives can transform us.
      If we believe that God's plan is perfect for our growth, then it is not God's plan that needs revising. It is our response. If we align ourselves with his purpose for our lives, his light will shine in and through us. We will be the best version of ourselves; this gives him glory. Genesis tells us that God created man in his own image. God is like an infinite stained glass window. We are pieces of this beautiful window and we share his beauty, thanks to his divine light.

It's in the Cards

     The envelope was heavy. I opened it and slid the card out. It was a whimsical Easter card. Yellow, lavender and pink eggs were being painted by Easter bunnies.  It was bright, cheery and studded with a dollars worth of dimes! When I was a little girl I loved getting mail. Is still do.  My Aunt Mary lived in New York, but she sent holiday cards to Georgia throughout my childhood.

This is just like the cards I remember! The dimes would go in slots in the little hearts.

     While e-mails and texts are nice, cards are better. When you receive a card, you know someone picked it out for you. They took the time to choose a design and sentiment that reminded them of you in particular. Cards are tangible symbols of thoughtfulness and regard. It's a lovely thing to put a card on your desk, dresser or even a window ledge. When I receive cards, I line them up along the window in my kitchen. When I cook, wash dishes or simply drink coffee, I am reminded of faraway friends and loved ones.
     Aunt Mary passed away last month. She was a holiday kind of gal. She loved parties, decorations, people and cards. I just sent Valentines to my nieces and nephews and it made me think of my aunt. I was planning to send her Valentines chocolates in a beautiful box; she was a person that appreciated packaging and presentation.  Instead, I will focus on giving to others this year in the hope that I can be just a little like her.

Go ahead, get busy!

     My Aunt taught me that a card is much more than a piece of paper. It can be a  heart link to people near and far. Some old fashioned practices have timeless merit. Take the time to write a note or choose the perfect card. You have the power to delight and surprise right at your fingertips.

Winter Driving

     AP Physics lab is at 6:45 AM. Yes, you read that correctly. It is early. It is dark. It is unholy. We have two vehicles, so even though my teen has a license, we take turns ferrying him. The other day, it was my turn.

Even St Francis needs a parka!

     In the snowy darkness, we joked about the visibility, the temperature and the early hour. As we made our way down the "hill of death" aka, the big hill, my son commented, "What fresh hell is this?" For reasons unknown to me, this made me laugh, a lot.
     I dropped him at school and began driving back home. Yep, still dark with poor visibility. The highway was icy; I hate that. So I drove slower for conditions and I started thinking that the drive was a lot like my life.
     I have had dark periods over the last two years. There have been times when I thought I would careen into a ditch spiritually and emotionally. What made the difference? God. He has provided me people and experiences to remind me that he is with me. The darkest moments were when I relied on my judgement without consulting his will. The brightest moments were when I put aside my own ego and simply said, "Help!"
      Matthew 5:7 reminds me "Ask and it will be given to you; knock and the door will be opened to you." Why would Jesus say this if he didn't mean it?  He wouldn't; He meant it. I had an interesting conversation with my son about this very passage.  He said, "Well, what's the point of prayer? If  everyone asks for a million dollars, everyone will not get it."  He makes a valid point, but it doesn't cancel out the possibility of God's answer. Rather his point speaks to our values and finite view.
     The Lord offers guidelines for prayer. In the old testament they include: The prayer of the upright pleases him (Proverbs 15:8) and humble yourself and pray (2 Chronicles 7:14). In the new testament, Jesus answers the question directly in Matthew  Chapter 6. He begins by cautioning his followers not to "keep on babbling like the pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words." He then outlines the Lord's Prayer:

Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
Forgive us out debts ,
as we have forgiven our debtor.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

      Prayer cannot be compared to a spoiled child receiving his every whim. Far from it. We must acknowledge who we are speaking with and pray for our highest good (His will). We can ask for what we need, BUT we must be willing to forgive those who offend us. There is work involved in prayer!
     Good job the God of the Universe loves me regardless. I know I have withered his infinite ears with some serious "babbling like a pagan." But here's the good news: He does know me. "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." (Psalm 139:13). God is a God of second chances and He is patient. His parenting skills are unparalleled; He lets us stumble and fall for our own good. We just need to learn from our mistakes.
     He has been my co-pilot all along.  I needed to stop going so fast, look over the manual and trust the teacher. I'm working on it.

Fishing in The Dark

     I have been reading the book "Luke for Everyone" by N.T. Wright. Luke 5:1-11 captivated me. Bishop Wright's comments are thought provoking. He writes about Peter's realization of Jesus' holiness and how the apostles follow Jesus to become "fishers of men." Mr Wright notes that "when Jesus calls, he certainly does demand everything, but only because he has already given everything himself and has plans in store for us and the world that we would never have dreamed of." I love the imagery of this story and when I read it the second time, I realized something startling.

Fishing in the light of day.

     Jesus stood on the shore in broad daylight and told the men, "Put into the deeper part and let down your nets for a catch." Though hesitant due to a futile night of fishing, the fishermen did as Jesus asked. When they retrieved the nets, they were stretched to the breaking point. In fact, their companions came to help and "filled both boats, and they began to sink." (Luke 5:7) N. T. Wright talks of fishing in this area and he confirms that the best fishing is often at night. But not with Jesus, and this is what takes my breath away.
     When Jesus stood on the shore, the best fishing was by the light of day. "In him was life, and that life was the light of men." (John 1:4) 1 John 5-6 explains "God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to walk with him, yet walk in darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth." The Miraculous Catch of Fish is powerful as metaphor and literal example. If I follow Christ, I will walk in the light. His radiance is part and parcel of the Holy Trinity, one in substance and undivided.
      Light vanquishes darkness. If I could remember this, I would waste less time on worry and spend more time being productive and grateful. Edith Wharton wrote: "There are two ways of spreading light: To be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." On good days, grace allows me to be the candle. Other days, being a mirror is all I can muster. When you're a mirror, it's important to choose what you're reflecting. Am I reflecting an image that I believe others want? Or am I taking my Christianity seriously and living the way Jesus did? 

A Generous Heart

     "There is little chance for a meaningful recovery." That's what the doctor told my family about my Aunt Mary. She had a massive stroke.Her eyes were fixed and dilated. The family kept her on the ventilator until I arrived from Utah. We said our goodbyes. We prayed. We allowed her physical body to depart and we were confident that her soul had already begun its journey. Instead of dwelling on Mary's departure, I would like to share something about the way she lived.

God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. (1 John 1:5)

      She was a career woman in a time when very few chose that path. She worked for the high speed advertising firm, J.Walter Thompson in New York City. It was a glamorous business and the firm decorated the offices of their movers and shakers. Aunt Mary was a facilities manager. She coordinated the purchase and placement of draperies, artwork and furnishings. She had gone to school for business but was blessed with an innate sense of color and composition.
     She was always interested in people. Mary would tell us stories about how people dressed and what they did. I remember her telling me the details of an Indian wedding that she attended. I was fascinated. On the surface, she appeared to be an insulated woman, but she was actually quite well traveled and cosmopolitan. She took her nieces and nephews on eye opening trips abroad. But it is her understanding of connection that impacted me the most.
     When I was small, she lived in New York and we lived in Georgia. We would alternate visits. In between she sent cards for every occasion. I remember colorful cards loaded with a dollar's worth of dimes. People love to be remembered and children even more so. She was generous with her possessions but even more so with her heart. I bless her for teaching me what it takes to be a good aunt and good soul. Heart connections are the most important thing we make in this life and the only things we carry with us when we leave. Blessings on the journey Aunt Mary. You made a difference.
     

The Early Lamb

     I am driving past my neighbors sheep and suddenly I see something out of place. A new lamb! A new lamb in January! I was surprised and delighted. Typically we start seeing the lambs in March. This was an early lamb.

The angry ewe and the early lamb. The ewe kept stomping her feet at me.

     The old and new testaments are rife with references to lambs as sacrifice. The Messiah is often referred to as "the lamb of God." Lambs are symbolic of new beginnings and hope. But what does an early lamb mean?
     Human beings are linear, tangible creatures. God exists outside of time and space. He is "the great I am." While we use terms like early and late, God exists in a space where time is not a factor. The Israelites waited upon the Lord in Egypt. No doubt they waited longer than they thought humanely possible. This is the key: humanely possible. The creator of the universe has more than our earthly convenience in mind. Proverbs 19:21 reads: "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."
     About 6 months ago, I stopped flailing. I stopped telling God what I needed and I started listening. Since then, I have seen many good things come from unemployment and illness. If someone had told me this, I would not have believed it. Hebrews Chapter 11 reviews the trials and victories of the Israelites and states "These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect."
     If I walk on faith then maybe I can really "run with perseverance the race marked out for us."(Hebrews 12:1) Lambs, like blessings and opportunities, are not early. They are perfectly formed and born in God's time.