Ridiculous Hope

It's Easter Sunday and we're celebrating resurrection, life and light, victory and joy and hope. He Is Risen!

In the face of my heaviness, the sheer ridiculousness of this hope has never been more apparent. Look at us! Hope? Where?

Hope when we are steadily finding new ways to capitalize on brokenness? Hope in the face of greed that drives us to further and further depths? Hope when we pervert everything that is beautiful and good in this world? Hope in the midst of war and oppression and exploitation? It's ridiculous. Foolishness.

And yet we hope anyway. We trust not in our own selves but in the One Who has already declared victory over the darkness. He has come, He is coming, and He will come again. Alleluia!

Today we remember with the ease and comfort offered through the familiar Easter celebrations, but some days we forget. This is why we have been blessed with one another, this messy imperfect Bride of Christ, brought together that we may remind each other that hope and light and love exist.

This need echoes in my mind often these days. We have been learning to share our stories of heartache, pain, loss, unmet needs, failures, abuse - and it is Good. It is good to share, to understand, to heal. But oh, such stories. Such a steady stream of deep stories.

We need hope, too. Not instead of our stories of brokenness, but as well as. Both. Share our deep pain, always, yes, take away its power and receive comfort and bring more moments of me too so that less of us hide in shame. But the other stories, too, stories of joy and hope and beauty and compassion, stories filed with good and love and kindness - we need them. Let us not forget to tell them.

Let us show each other that this world also holds the good and holy things that we need and long for. Remind us of that ridiculous Hope we cling to, the one that says all is not lost, that darkness has already been defeated, that evil does not win and unity will one day be our song and our reality.

Proclaim your stories of hope, and in doing so buoy one another up. Hold on to that ridiculous hope, rejoicing in it not only today, but every day. He Is Risen!

Heavy

I feel heavy these days, heavy under the weight of the world's pain. I watch as despair curls and licks and winds its way near me, looking for a way to settle in. It's filled with lies, I know, the precise opposite of the hope that we know we have, but it's tempting to let it in all the same.

Money, sex, power, that trifecta of human apathy. Every day we hear more of the many ways in which we value a gained dollar, a passing moment of pleasure, a bit of control, over the person next to us or across the world from us. Of what concern is the good of our neighbour, wherever in the world that neighbour might live, in the face of selfishness and comfort and what's in it for me? There is such unimaginable horror in the things we do to each other, to all of creation.

Too often we look at one another and fail to see a created soul, loved and valued and of great worth. How many new ways will we find to objectify and oppress, to exploit and pervert, to treat people as commodities and opportunities? Money, sex, power, in endless permutations, big and small, and the small all the more insidious for their seeming unimportance. Endless, endless.

And here we are, remembering the death of the One Who was to free us from all this sin and death and darkness. Die to defeat death, to conquer sin, to pave the way for our salvation, to lay down His life in showing us what Love looks like in action, all the varied and familiar ways we talk about what was done and why and yet - and yet. And yet today I struggle to see it. He has overcome darkness but I see little else.

This is why the world needs every reason it can find for celebration, for joy, for expressions of love. Let us see that there is good, too, and beauty and love and compassion and togetherness and all the things we need and long for. This is why we write down gratitude, why we seek opportunities for joy and celebration, why we shine light and be light and bear witness to light. This is why we push back the darkness again and again and again, reminding ourselves of our own selves, because we are not immune to the things that bring us to tears when we see them in others. This is why we try to do a little good each day, wherever we are, in whatever way we can.

But today I simply feel heavy with the weight of all that breaks our hearts in this world - and perhaps that's as it should be on a Good Friday. Shed tears for the evil, the horror, the brokenness, and the apathy. Light candles and repent and wait, wait, let despair wash over only for a moment and then remember hope as Sunday dawns.

Such is the already-and-not-yet of God's Kingdom Come.

What I want to give up for Lent

Lent has arrived and there is much I want to give up.

I want to give up my worries, all of them. Always worry has been my steady companion and tormentor. There have been too many sleepless nights, too many what ifs, too many knots twisting stomach and shoulders and relationships because worry, worry. Because of these anxieties, I have seen things that do not exist, believed things about others that are untrue, and heard words that were never said - demons, all of them, that worry has given life to. I have not trusted you, Lord, in the small things or the significant things; forgive me.

I want to give up my apathy. Too often I am content with the bread and circuses society offers, and in doing so I turn my eyes and heart and hands away from that which should fully capture them. I line my thighs with excess calories while others go hungry. I buy things I do not need. I scoff at the idiocy of a culture that would discuss at length the appropriateness of wearing yoga pants while giving no thought at all to the working conditions of those who make their clothes in the first place, and yet in so many ways, I am no different. I can be equally unconcerned, equally unbroken, over the things that deeply matter rather than the frivolous things that raise my blood pressure and occupy my thoughts. Forgive me, Lord, for my apathy.

I want to give up my perfectionism, that drive that says if you can't do it just so and all the way, then why bother doing it at all? This perfectionism has kept me from carrying out in body what my heart desires. It has heaped shame on those I love. It has made me a poor friend. It has limited my desire to live a full and creative life. I want to do not for approval, but for Love's sake alone. Forgive me, Lord, for the control I have allowed perfectionism to have and all that I have allowed it to rob from my life and my relationships.

I want to give up my hurry. Always rushing about, quick, we'll be late, come on, let's go, I want to get home, pay attention, this needs to get done, I'm busy, I have other things that need attending, quick quick hurry hurry now. I want to be less inconvenienced by the minor nothings that cause me to sigh or rant my impatience, those moments of spilled cereal or late-night needs or other such grand-scheme-of-things trivialities. I want to be slow, calm, more willing to see joy than to rush through the moment's task. I have missed much in my busyness; forgive me, Lord.

If only it were possible to turn these things off, the way I turned off my computer in past years. Remove them from the house like foods we've given up before. Put them in a drawer and leave them there while these forty days pass by.

If only.

But these things are woven among the better parts of me, not easily separated and set aside. They are my continually-working-out areas, long and slow processes as the One who created me untwists the broken parts inside, burns away the impurities and brings me ever closer to my true and whole self.

I'll quietly choose something different this year, something separate and concrete - but if I could, I'd give up all of the above instead.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 38-40

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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First there was the sound of a can of compressed air being used in the bathroom, followed soon after by the sound of my hair dryer. I walked down the hallway and turned the corner and there was the husband, blowing hot air at nothing at all.

I asked him, bewildered, what he was doing.

"Cleaning out the vents in your hair dryer. Much more lint in there and it was going to turn into a heat gun."

My first thought upon hearing this was, write it down. Write it down, add it to the list, don't forget this moment because this is a gift right here. To have him notice the little things that I would never consider, to be cared about in practical yet no less meaningful ways - it's a gift.

He put the hair dryer down and we all left for a Good Friday service at (yet another) new church. It's been a year now and we're as homeless as ever. We try and we give up and we try again and I'm tired of trying, I just want a pew to sink into every week, to worship and fellowship and is this so much to ask? This one small grace?

I always panic when we pull up to a new possibility. I look at my husband and he reads it in my eyes, and he's not feeling so sure either. We'd drive away if it was just us, I know we would, just two big introverted chickens we are. But the kids are waiting expectantly in the backseat, so we squeeze each other's hand and step over one more unfamiliar threshold.

This one, though...it felt good. Maybe. It's often hard to tell after that first visit (other times, though, one visit is more than enough to tell us what we need to know). We're not holding our breath but we'll be back there tomorrow for Easter Sunday and that's all we can do, go back until we know one way or another. But this Good Friday service? It, too, gets written down. Thank you.

This is what the past 40 days have done to me. Write it down, I think it time and time again as I go about my day. Notice. Remember. Write it down. Cultivate this spirit of gratitude. Find the grace in it all, the good stuff and the hard stuff, and write it down.

384. Preparing. Anticipation.

387. Silent doors, and a husband who makes them so.

388. Baby girl's word explosion.

390. My sewing machine.

396. Clarity. Learning from past assumptions.

398. Hot cross buns. Rosemary olive oil bread.

399. Fellowship.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 32-37

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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It's Holy Week and I'm wholly stressed. A certain boy turns seven years old today and Easter is fast approaching and I've got an Easter dress to finish sewing for baby girl and the preschooler is having a challenging week and I must remind myself, always always, that he doesn't do this to me. He's the one having a hard time, and it's my responsibility and privilege to slow down and help him through it. Still, there are birthday presents to wrap and Easter bags to sew and plastic eggs to stuff, and I'm a bit tired already.

I can feel Good Friday approaching. Perhaps a portion of my busyness is to ward off the sense of mourning that accompanies the solemnity of the day. A quiet Saturday afterwards, and then, joyous day, He is Risen! But first, there's Good Friday.

But first, today, there is a delightful seven year old to celebrate. There will be a rainy walk through the nearby nature park, the excitement of long-desired gifts to be opened, and quinoa chocolate cake with blueberries for dessert.

Today will be a good day.

376. Perspective.

378. Going to a craft show with the boy. Getting to spend time with one child.

379. The husband taking over when I'm worn out. Having a partner in life.

382. My delightful seven-year-old boy and his excitement over his birthday.

383. Watching the preschooler and baby girl interact. Their bubbling laughter and sweet hugs.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 26-31

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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I woke up before dawn yesterday morning. The demands of a pregnancy bladder outweighed my desire to stay warm, but I was soon back under the covers. Of course, that's when my over-anxious brain decided to worry about All The Things. Two hours later, my husband was in the shower and I was still wide awake. I gave up.

In the kitchen, I put the cast iron pan on the burner. I was craving eggs, and I was willing to bet that man in the shower wouldn't say no to a nice warm breakfast either. I was right, and we enjoyed a lovely quiet breakfast together before he had to go.

Somehow all three children were still asleep, so after puttering around for a bit, I settled into my favourite chair with my favourite quilt and my favourite mug full of black tea. I opened my Bible to where I had last left off - Ezekiel 33 - and uncapped my pen.

Only 11 verses in, I discover yet another gift my childhood in the Anglican church has given me:

"As I live," says the Lord God, "I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live. Turn, turn from your evil ways! For why should you die, O house of Israel?"

How very many times it has happened that words I have known since I was a little girl, words of hope and love and mercy woven into the prayers that we said together every week, should appear in the very Word of God Himself? How little I realized the amount of Scripture that was placed deep in my heart through this weekly liturgy! For that gift, of which I have yet to discover its extent, I am grateful.

356. Finding the perfect gift.

358. Baby girl dressing up as a knight.

359. Healing foods. Comfort foods.

364. The library's hold system.

365. A rainy day inside after a stretch of lovely sunny days.

373. A good ultrasound. Curled baby fists and kicking legs.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

A Season to Lament

Today I am pleased to have Nicole share some thoughts on her Lenten practice of "lament". I was intrigued by her choice and I am grateful she accepted my invitation to share her experience with us here.
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For the past few weeks, I have been focusing on “lament” as part of my observance of lent. It was a decision with a long build up - “lament” kept coming up in my life for the past few years through things I was learning in seminary, people I heard speak, and other random moments in my life. Laments in the Bible are protests, doubt, despair, and anger. Often they summon God to action, demand a response to the evil being faced. I started this journey of “journaling lament” thinking I would be lamenting the magnitude of sorrows and pains in the world that others face. Goodness knows the world has enough of them I thought I would spend these weeks lamenting lack of clean water, lack of education, the violence that faces women, children, and men on a daily basis. I thought I would delve into understanding corrupt prison systems and the way entire ethnic groups are oppressed because of their DNA. And I did that for a short time, but slowly, somewhat seamlessly, the laments became about me. About the fears and traumas rooted in my heart that impact the way I interact with the world.

I began to wonder if that is what these weeks were about for me. Not one more venture into strengthening my Christian Social Justice viewpoints. Not one more venture into finding out what else I can do to make sure I’m not oppressing people with my food choices or clothing choices. Maybe God brought me to these weeks of lament so that I could, finally, mourn the injustice in my own life. So that I could cry out to God with the honesty of the Psalmists and others in the Bible who demands to know an answer from a God who allows suffering and pain and heartache.

It is hard. It is hard to cry out in agony or anger on my own behalf. It is much easier to get angry and to rally on behalf of someone else; I don’t have to face my own pain and bitterness and brokenness or bruised spots on my heart if I am demanding justice for someone else. I can remain, to some degree, outside of the deepest anger and despair of those laments. I can remain somewhat objective, and in control. To rail against the heavens and to express the bitterness of my pain and my unfulfilled dreams is intimate and very scary.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying this is hard because I am some selfless saint. I am saying that various things in my life has taught me that my emotions create instability at best, and are dangerous at worst. And so my default mode is to tell myself to calm down, to think rationally, to look on the bright side, and - above all – to remain calm and in control. (This makes me an excellent person to have around in a crisis!) But there is nothing stable and calm about lament. There is nothing in “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” that is designed to keep the status quo.

Shortly after I had this mini-revelation that I was supposed to lament my own pains, I shared as much with my community here. Later that night my friend told me, “I feel like you need to know that what you have to say to the world is important. That your story can help others, but that you have to be able to tell it from a place of peace. You have to be able to do it without bitterness.” She said that the thought had occurred to her days ago, but it wasn’t the right time to tell me until she had heard me share earlier that night.

There were a few days where I found myself inexplicably sad. I’d take the time to sit in silence or to go for a drive alone and try to identify the sadness. It was most often hopes deferred or the memory of injuries I’ve suffered at the hands of other people’s misdeeds. It was good to grieve those times. One afternoon, I ran across an old quotation that I had saved years before after a friend sent it to me: “And sometimes the God who can’t be found will wrap his arms around you. So, lay down sister, lay down.” That short line speaks the truth of lament to me – that when life demands that you acknowledge the weight of the pain, that God wraps arms around you.

In Psalm 126 the Israelites sing of how the farmer who goes out sowing seeds of sorrow will reap songs of joy. “Those who sow in tears shall reap shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.” (126: 5-6) The Israelites used their understanding of the real life hardships of watering the earth and waiting for a return to express their relationship with God. The tears of pain, anguish, longing, and hope are all vital to the process of reaping the harvest. In the end, the harvest is always a time for joy.

Many of my laments this season were about “hopes deferred.” For as long as I can remember, all I’ve really wanted to be in life is a mom. I often don’t feel free to speak up about how much of a disappointment it is that I’m 31 and childless – but the pain is real. And then when I start thinking about being single there is a deep-rooted shame inside of me – shame that I’m doing something wrong, that my body is wrong, that I am wrong. Most, if not all, of the men I’ve dated are married now – which makes my brain repeat, “So, see? It is you that’s not enough, or too much, or just wrong.” As much as I can logically identify these thoughts as lies, my heart needed this season to really lament the pain and loss that is wrapped up in these hopes deferred.

I am coming out of this season of lament with a renewed focus about my life. With a passion and a clarity to live into the person God created me to be, regardless of what I may have thought my future should like some months or years before. Part of who God created me to be is one who mothers, one who nurtures. In literally every place I have lived and worked in my adult life – people in my community around me have called me “motherly.” (Meaning it as praise almost always.) It is my deepest hope and prayer that someday that means that there are children who call me Mom and who find their stockings in my living room on Christmas and who think I make the best chocolate chip cookies around. I don’t know for sure that will happen, I feel like it will, but I don’t know for sure.

One result of this season of lament in my life is that I will stop apologizing for the things that make me, me. I will make those things the measuring stick for how I live my life. My question will be: will this move, job, home, etc. allow me to nurture those around me?

I know what my goal is and I have a passion for making that the priority in a way I never have before. I have a better understanding of which things are the hundred-and-four good ideas that might happen as the result of living into who I believe God made me to be. But those things aren’t the goals – those are the dreams. What I have for the first time in my life is a goal, a destination. The destination is not what I will do, but it is about who I am, who God made me to be.

This clarity about my future – about what it is I need to prioritize and focus on in my future – is my song of joy reaped from seeds of lamenting dashed dreams and broken hearts. I demanded an answer from God and then when I laid down he wrapped his arms around me and spoke with joy and delight about who He made me to be.
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Nicole is a full-time seminary student studying theology with an emphasis on public policy. She has a passion for making people feel welcome and believes that on some deep but monumental level, a shared cup of coffee goes a long way towards world peace. You can find more of her writing on her blog Mashena.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 20-25

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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Some days, I confess, it all feels so pointless.

I rarely allow myself to think it. I know all the right responses. I know what I'd say to someone else. But some days I struggle to remember those same things myself.

I feel like I spend all day, every day, going from one mess to another. Get breakfast, clean breakfast, make lunch, clean lunch, prep supper, cook supper, clean supper, sweet the floors, do the laundry, run the dishwasher, tidy the living areas, tend to bumps and bruises and scrapes, intervene in the fights, change diapers, make the beds, wash the kids, on and on and on and on and do it all again tomorrow.

And all of it with a splitting headache, today at least.

Still, I press on. I wash the pots while the shepherd's pie cooks, hoping that my work now will give me a few extra moments of peace after dinner. We sit down to eat and the toddler drops her bowl onto the floor and I feel a flash of rage, as though she did this to me. On purpose. The bratty little tyrant, how dare she? Doesn't she know I don't have it in me to clean up one more thing tonight? I close my eyes on the mess and on my own ridiculous anger.

These are the days I need to remember gratitude more than ever. I'm home with these children, and it's just as I want it to be. We read and learn and create together, and it's just as I want it to be. Pushing back the dust and dirt and chaos time and time again reminds me daily of my own internal struggle with darkness, of the daily need for confession and repentance and worship, and it's just as I want it to be.

It's also exhausting.

It's okay to acknowledge that, I know. And it's important to recognize that point on the verge of overwhelm so that I can step back, look at our daily lives, make changes where needed, tend to my own needs so that I can continue to tend to the needs of others. That's when I feel the knot in the back of my neck start to loosen and things slowly begin to feel joyful again.

Throughout it all, though, I watch for the moments of gratitude.

334. Contentment.

335. Naps, mine and theirs. Quiet times.

338. Weeding and turning over the dark heavy garden soil. Earthworms. Dirt under my fingernails and an aching back testifying to hard work outside.

340. The boy's help and enthusiasm with weeding.

341. Fresh rosemary and basil.

342. Succulents.

344. Making things more beautiful.

349. Oven s'mores.

354. The hope and promise of burying seeds within the dark earth.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 14-19

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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I need to write down those moments of gratitude, and I am, but it's usually evening by the time I open that book and uncap my pen. How many little moments have I forgotten by then? They itch at the back of my brain, wanting to be remembered, but I find it impossible to bring them forward again.

No, I need that list of gratitude right here beside me, out in the open, waiting for that swell of gratitude to be written down immediately. Now I know.

300. Long evening shadows.

308. A sound sleep.

314. Moccasins.

317. Chicken soup with rice.

320. Prayer.

321. A morning walk in the spring sunshine.

328. The preschooler's eagerness to learn his letters and numbers.

332. Our big front windows. Bright daylight and beautiful sunsets.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 8-13

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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This was one of those weeks where gratitude was abundant some days and very difficult to find other days. It started beautifully, filled with sunshine and all the joyous flexibility that homeschooling has to offer. The weekend, however, brought news that the husband's grandmother had passed away, and the next days were both busy and quiet as he prepares to leave for her funeral. I, selfishly, feel the weight of being here alone for the next few days. We're both a little emotionally raw right now.

Even so, my list has not failed to increase in the midst of mourning. New life continues to grow. Joys both small and great continue to arise throughout our days. And always, always, there is hope.

283. Good chili.

284. Watching the boy help the preschooler climb a tree.

286. An unplanned picnic and afternoon at the park.

287. A sun-warmed bench.

291. A fresh stack of library books.

293. Receiving the Eucharist.

299. Feeling the growing baby's kicks.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

What I learned from 80 days with my laptop closed

I wrote this reflection 40 days after the end of Lent last year, but I never did share it. I recently found myself thinking back to that Lent and to the freedom I had felt in this habit. It was interesting to re-read this from the perspective of nearly a year later.

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I knew I needed to set aside the one thing that was consuming too much of my time. Sitting open, always there, that tantalizing laptop was distracting me from living intentionally, the continual desire of this journey I am walking. Just a few minutes...and a few more.

So I closed it for Lent. By the time Lent was over, I'd formed some better habits. Why mess with that? And so I find myself, an additional forty days later, still enjoying the freedom of days without a laptop.

When I say 80 days, it really was only the "day" portion. I allowed myself evenings in order to get caught up on emails, work, and various online activities. But during the day, when it mattered most, I slipped that shiny silver distraction under the couch and left it there.

80 days later, I've been able to see my daytime computer use from a new perspective.

1. On the days I cheated, I was grumpier and more impatient. "Just let me finish this one thing" can stretch on for quite a while in the fast-paced online world.

2. I was more productive. I mean, of course I was. Sometimes I'd do a bit of housework simply because I was bored and didn't know what else to do.

3. I read more. Again, naturally. Less time online means more time for other pursuits. Still, it was good to see that actually playing out.

4. I was more in tune with my body. Hunger, thirst, and tiredness are easy for me to ignore when I'm staring at a screen and clicking from one place to another.

5. I didn't miss a whole lot. At the end of the day, there just wasn't as much to "catch up" on as I expected there to be.

I did, however, have a hard time keeping up with my work. Whether volunteering with Natural Parents Network, marking my students' assignments for the online course I teach, or simply responding to emails, it was even more difficult than usual to juggle everything and get things done in a timely manner. Breaking out the laptop only in the evenings meant I usually had to choose between getting something done and spending time with my husband. Previously, I was able to get most of that stuff done during brief quiet moments throughout the day, leaving evenings free for watching a show or playing a game with the husband. This was a point of frustration for me. It made it even harder for me to get time alone, whether to relax, to write, or to work.

I don't have a good solution for this increased difficulty in juggling things when the laptop remains closed during the day. Cut down on my responsibilities? Set aside one day to have it open and catch up on things that have built up during the rest of the week? I'm not sure, but the list of benefits indicates that it would be worth it to brainstorm some more and see what I can come up with.

And now onward I go to day 81!

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Postscript: Unfortunately, I've since let go of this habit of leaving the laptop closed during the day. I am better, however, at closing it and walking away for large chunks of time, and I feel its distracting pull less than I used to. Now that the sunshine is emerging more, however, I'm feeling the desire to reinstate the laptop-closed-during-the-day rule completely.

If you avoid computer use during the day, do you find it difficult to balance online responsibilities, social media, alone time, and time with your spouse during the evenings? What works for you?

40 Days of Gratitude: Days 1-7

There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

- 40 Days of Gratitude

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At last I have opened that notebook, picked up that pen, written down those bits of beauty that are there in even the most trying of days. Some days I have struggled to think of more than one or two, but most days it's a matter of where do I stop?

The more I search for gratitude, the more it reveals itself.

Here we are at Day 7 and I feel like I'm seeing the world through different eyes. Instead of interruptions, I see opportunities for unexpected beauty. Instead of demands, I see opportunities to love and serve. Instead of dreariness, I see bright colours - of course, the lovely change in weather hasn't hurt, either. Blue skies and bright warm sunshine are always good for the soul.

This first week's list has been a jumble of mundane and lovely, simple and complicated. That feels about right to me.

263. Do-overs. Grace.

268. "Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song, the joy of my heart and the boast of my tongue. Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last, hath won my affection and bound my soul fast." - John Stocker

271. London Fog, chai tea, chocolate chip cookies.

272. Kindness and compassion. Those who listen and offer love.

279. A freshly made bed.

And you? A moment of gratitude, something from your list, a link to your own gratitude journey? I love reading every bit that you share with us.

40 Days of Gratitude

Some years I have done well, writing down lists of thankfulness, the big and the small and the everyday things. There have been seasons, too, where my gratitude is offered in small prayers throughout the day, but I don't write it down and it doesn't feel, somehow, the same as when I can see those words on paper.

It's been the latter sort of season for me. There are moments when I'm left breathless with gratitude, but the moment passes and I forget too easily that it happened. I need to write it down. I tell myself that often and yet I never seem to get around to opening that notebook of mine, even with fresh paper and new pens and more than enough time in my day for this one small-yet-big thing.

What better time than Lent to return to this practice of recording gratitude?

Bring my heart ever closer to you, Lord. Some people draw away from God during times of pain and struggle, angry and bitter and accusing. I am one of the other group, the ones who forget during times of ease. I forget that He is my rock and my comforter, the source of all, Alpha and Omega, as near as my very breath. Gratitude reminds me.

I looked this past weekend at the last entry in my list of gratitude. During the very depths of my pain, it read simply this:

God, the one Who takes brokenness and turns it into joy, Who brings life from our death and beauty from our ashes, Who turns our mourning into dancing and binds up the hearts of the brokenhearted.

That is where I am during times of trial. Clinging to the rock and grateful for my very life, for the strength to simply take the next step forward. But now, when I feel my breath has returned to my body and my days are no longer awash in pain? I forget. I laugh more and smile more but I give thanks less fervently and this is my weakness.

It may not seem like much, but gratitude will be my Lent. Write it down, watch the list grow and grow and grow because gratitude is endless. 40 days and then beyond, why stop, let the habit carry me forward through Easter and past Pentecost and into Ordinary Time (which is anything but ordinary).

And if you'd like to join me? I'd love the companionship as we journal our gratitude through the next 40 days. Feel free to share the graphic to the left if you want to invite others as well. Leave your links, share parts of your list, whatever you feel comfortable doing as we encourage each other towards deeper gratitude in our daily lives. I'll share a few notes from my list each week as a jumping off point for those of you joining in.


Maybe Lent has snuck up on you this year and you're feeling unprepared, or maybe you're not sure what Lent is all about. Last year I shared some ideas on observing Lent. This year, I'm looking forward to the servanthood-focused series Waiting Tables over at SortaCrunchy; Megan has also shared some Lenten resources in preparation.

Interested in joining in? Already have something else planned for Lent that you're comfortable sharing with us? I'd love to hear about it!

Where my hope is found

I drove the kids 1145 kilometers to spend a week at West Edmonton Mall with my family. It was worth every "I spilled my water bottle!" and "I dropped my crayons!" and "I'm still hungry!" and "He's touching me again!" along the way. It was worth the long days and late nights. It was worth braving the cold and snow instead of relishing the west coast warmth. The amusement park and the water park, mini golf and bowling, sea lions and penguins, good food and better desserts, and most of all time spent with loved ones, it was all worth it.

But I missed Holy Week.

I really missed it, missed observing it in an intentional and community-filled way. I thought of it, gave a brief nod to it as my eyes closed at the end of each full day, but it was little more than that and I felt its absence.

We returned late Saturday night and all any of us wanted was a quiet day at home. Still, I'd missed enough, so I forced myself out of bed and all of us out the door for a Resurrection Sunday service. It wasn't our church and it wasn't perfect, but it was us there, it was resurrection celebrated, and it was good for that reason alone. Christ is risen!

And then, just as we were settling on sushi for supper because being gone all week hadn't lent itself to being ready for a proper Easter dinner, we received an invitation for supper. Again, the wrestling between no, just some time to ourselves, please on the one hand and yes, Easter with cherished friends and new ones as well on the other, and again the latter won out. And it was Very Good.

Today, though, Easter Monday, we kept all to ourselves. We celebrated the risen Christ in ways both traditional and uniquely ours. Not the Easter bunny, we're stodgy like that, but egg hunts and gifts and games and desserts and Much Ado About This Which Is Everything. Yes, we celebrate it joyfully because it is the greatest hope we have, sin and death defeated! Praise God.







We celebrated with sunshine and Easter dresses and too much candy, and some of us didn't quite make it until bedtime.

It was a good beginning to the joyous season of Eastertide. And now the celebration continues!

When Lent sneaks up on you

Every year, it does it. Sneaks up on me like I can't read a calendar, can't remember that it's coming, it's coming, it's here, so soon after Christmas and yet not soon enough for my mind to have not wandered back into the mundane, away from the great mystery of birth, death, resurrection, Emmanuel.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and Lent begins. We will light the candles each day, spiraling our way towards Easter. This year I will put aside the one thing that consumes too much of my time and spend it more intentionally, deliberately, and fruitfully, the continual desire of this journey I am walking.

Perhaps this season of inward preparation has caught you unawares as well? Busy with the daily and feeling like thinking about one more thing is simply too much right now? If it helps you, let me offer these ten ideas for observing Lent, my small contribution to the many great lists written by others.

1. Fast. Abstain from one thing to practice self-denial, to focus more clearly on the season, and to anticipate the joyous Easter celebration. Meat, sugar, chocolate. Internet, television, social media. Yelling, gossiping, complaining. In determining your one thing, consider whether there are any areas of imbalance in your life that might be helped through a specific sort of fast.

2. Add a spiritual discipline to your daily routine. Take a silent walk, study a book of the Bible, meditate on a portion of Scripture, confess, worship, or spend more time in focused prayer for others and for the world. Consider praying the Daily Office; make it even easier with the iPray Book of Common Prayer app.

3. Read a daily Lent devotional. Excellent options include the book Bread And Wine: Readings For Lent And Easter, the Bible plan Lent for Everyone by N. T. Wright, and the Lent devotional by Ann at A Holy Experience.

4. Include the kids. Follow a Jesus Storybook Bible Easter reading plan. Colour a Lenten calendar. Create an Easter Tree. Grow grass on Calvary Hill.

5. Declutter your physical surroundings. Cluttered physical surroundings can often sap us mentally and spiritually as well. Use these forty days to go through closets, storage spaces, drawers, bookshelves, cupboards, stacks, and cabinets to get rid of what is no longer useful or beautiful to you.

6. Give. Whether giving time (through service and volunteer work) or money, use this season to bless and serve those in need around you. Consider joining the 40 Days of Water campaign to help raise money for clean water in Uganda.

7. Practice gratitude. Keep a gratitude journal open on the counter to jot in throughout the day, or write down three gifts before going to bed each night. Express gratitude to others through words, cards, letters, or little notes.

8. Perform a daily random act of kindness. Pay for someone's meal. Send an unexpected letter. Drop off a plate of cookies. Slip a gift card in the hand of someone who could use it. Need some ideas? Check out the Random Acts of Kindness Foundation.

9. Begin with an Ash Wednesday service. Anglican, Catholic, Lutheran, and Methodist churches typically hold an Ash Wednesday service, although the practice is spreading throughout other denominations as well. Mark this first day of Lent with confession and repentance.

10. Reduce Internet and/or computer use, spending the extra time with family, friends, and God instead.


If you feel comfortable sharing, how will you be observing this Lenten season?

Intimate God

I lay curled on my side, my favoured fetal position.

(The husband hates this. "It's hard to snuggle with you when your knees are in my ribs, you know." Sorry, Love.)

I lay there wondering when I will finally feel those first movements of the tiny one growing inside me. I marvel at the intensity of the love that I already feel for this child who I can not yet even sense, much less see and touch and smell.

I hear the silent whisper: "That is but a reflection of the way I love you, My Child."

That is the way my Heavenly Father loves me. Even more, truly, in its perfection and completeness.

I can scarcely fathom that sort of love from our holy God.

Scars still run deep from my first understanding of God, distant and angry, meting out his forgiveness with reluctance and only after much begging. Always watching, waiting for the mistakes, quick to anger. Sins separated as far as the east is from the west? No, never, but rather counted and recorded and stockpiled on scales that could never be balanced out.

My head has since learned of another picture, a picture of a God who is Love itself - not simply loving, a single characteristic, but Love in His entirety, the very embodiment of Love! - and yet my heart has been slower in accepting this. It's too good to be true...but then isn't the entire Gospel? It's all just too good, and yet somehow still true.

I surround my children with this picture of a God who is Love, but can I really do so completely if I haven't wholly accepted it myself? Can I reflect a picture, however weak and marred by human error, of that sort of unconditional, all-consuming love if part of me is pushing it away in my own life?

This, I decide, will be my Lent. Giving up...what? My picture of an angry God? My hesitance to wholly accept His perfect love in my life? I don't know. I can think of it only in the positive: I desire to spend this Lent coming to better know this God who loves us passionately and intimately and wholly. Drawing closer to the source of all life and goodness. Learning more of the passion that led to a cross and a tomb and a bodily resurrection.

"As Jesus addressed God by the Aramaic family word 'Abba', Father, so Christians are encouraged to do the same: to come to know God in the way in which, in the best sort of family, the child knows the parent. From time to time I have met Christians who look puzzled at this, and say that they have no idea what all that stuff is about. I have to say that being a Christian without having at least something of that intimate knowledge of the God who is at the same time majestic, awesome, and holy sounds like a contradiction in terms. One of the characteristic signs of the Spirit's work is precisely that sense of the intimate presence of God."
-N. T. Wright, "Simply Christian: Why Christianity Makes Sense"

Lead me during this time of Lent, Father, to a more intimate sense of your love and presence. Prepare my heart to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, Your Son and our Savior.

Just writing along with The Extraordinary Ordinary...

Wordless Wednesday: Lent begins

Ash Wednesday

Today we begin in earnest the preparation of our hearts for Easter. A dear friend of mine shared this wonderful quote about Lent:

Some years ago a friend of mine told me that he had urged his children to move beyond giving up candy to giving up some habit of sin that marked their lives. About halfway through Lent he asked the children how they were doing with their Lenten promise. One of his young sons had promised to give up fighting with his brothers and sisters during Lent. When his father asked him how it was going, the boy replied, "I'm doing pretty good, Dad—but boy, I can't wait until Easter!"

That response indicates that this boy had only partly understood the purpose of Lenten "giving up." Lent is about conversion, turning our lives more completely over to Christ and his way of life. That always involves giving up sin in some form. The goal is not just to abstain from sin for the duration of Lent but to root sin out of our lives forever. Conversion means leaving behind an old way of living and acting in order to embrace new life in Christ.

My vision for this Lenten season is a time of refocusing my heart and my attitudes by spending more time in prayer and reading God's Word. With that as the foundation, I pupose also to use this season as a time of cultivating more of a servant's heart in my relationships, and in particular my marriage.

This has been a difficult past 8 months for us with my husband unemployed and I have begun to recognize much bitterness and anger within me. It is that bitterness and anger that I want to root out, to give up, replacing it with a giving heart and gentle spirit, which I know I can only do through the power of God.

My desire is a living faith, a faith which is demonstrated through the fruit and good works which arise naturally out of a loving relationship with our God.

How will you use this Lenton season?