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Love, Work, and Joy

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My mother had read somewhere and often repeated:

In order to be happy, you need something love, something to do, and something to look forward to.

I used to quip that eating fulfills all three. (A stance I still maintain to this day.)

Despite my flippant response, I always acknowledged the wisdom in the simple saying. As a kid, I never had any trouble filling all three. I loved my family and friends, my many pets, anything involving horses. I went to school and did homework and worked odd jobs and played outdoors by the hour. I looked forward to summer vacation and the county fair and a good book.

As I’ve gotten older, I have noticed how easy it is to let the cares of the world detract from each of these overflowing columns. I have no fewer things to jamb into each condition, and yet something seems to block my ability to fully embrace the whole. Perhaps you have experienced this too.

Sometimes love brings heartbreak.

Sometimes our to-dos bring drudgery.

Even the things we are looking forward to can seem like So. Much. Work. (How many times have I heard someone say that preparing for vacation takes so much effort it’s easier to simply not take one?)

Is it even worth it?

The Bible talks about embracing faith like a little child. That is not the only thing we need to embrace in this manner. I’m not sure why we so easily lose our childlike wonder and enthusiasm, but I know we do.

Something to love. Something to do. Something to look forward to.

Even the beautiful simplicity of this principle can feel like one more thing to do rather than the promise of fulfillment. But I remember the young and eager enthusiasm. I see no reason why we can’t get it back.

My still favorite-for-now book of the Bible talks a lot about toil and gladness. It recognizes that the two are often connected, and that enjoyment is a gift from God. At least five times a similar sentiment is repeated: There is nothing better for man than to eat and drink and provide himself with good things by his labors. Even this, I realized, is from the hand of God. (Ecclesiastes 2:24)

We need to not be afraid of work. Thorugh work is often found the reward of satisfaction and the production of goods that are profitable for life. At the same time, we need to recognize God as the inherent provider of both the work itself and the work’s outcome. Joy is a gift from God we can ask for. It is a fruit of the Spirit who dwells within us. It is cultivated when we recognize with thanksgiving the love, work, and hope God has granted to each of us.

Practical Application: Work and Joy

It would be easy to over-spiritualize this. After all, we are instructed to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and our neighbor as yourself [Something to love.] We are told that we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do (Ephesians 2:10) [Something to do.] And we are encouraged and to look forward to the promise of a new heaven and new earth where righteousness dwells (2 Peter 3:13) [Something to look forward to].

Those are all true. But my point here today is more practical.

Who can you show love to today? Who did you receive love from recently that you may have overlooked?

What work can your hand find to do that you can do with all your might (Ecclesiastes 9:10), embracing a childlike faith that it matters even if you can’t see how?

What small pleasure can you look forward to, even if it seems like work to get there?

Acknowledge love. Work hard. Cultivate joy.

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:16).

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. Seek a joyful day today!

I Thought it Was an Avocado: Lessons on the Fullness of Life.

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Avocados fullness of life

Several years ago, I met up with a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years. She was in the mood for sushi; I am up for anything I don’t have to cook myself. In short order, I found myself faced with a sampling of dainty and colorful circles known as sushi rolls.

Despite the fact that I apparently dream about sushi when coming off of pain meds, I have had very limited exposure to it. This is okay; it was probably best if I didn’t know exactly what I was eating.

I could identify the rice, and some shavings of carrot. There was something cucumber-like, and a small mound of pureed avocado.

I love avocado.

It is perhaps an odd food to love – a smushy green vegetable with a taste my mother describes as creamy lettuce – but I became obsessed during my running days. As I dreamed up elaborate food fantasies to keep my leg muscles churning, my go-to was always corn chips and smashed avocado with a side of chocolate milk. Yum.

Imagine my delight then when I saw this unexpected favorite on the plate before me. I decided right then and there that I was going to like this sushi thing.

I scooped up a forkful and popped it in my mouth.

Unexpected Fire

My friend stopped mid-sentence, and I watched as her eyes bulged to mirror the horror in my own. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Burning erupted like an electric shock through my lips, mouth, and throat. Milliseconds later my friend completely disappeared beneath the torrent of tears that surged from my eyes like a firehose.

“Did you just eat a forkful of that?” she cried.

“What is it?” I gasped.

“Wasabi!”

Let me pause for a moment in case you, like me, have never heard of wasabi. True wasabi is a plant grown in Japan, tricky to cultivate and therefore very expensive. The wasabi we are most likely to encounter outside of Japan is imitation wasabi made from pureed horseradish and dyed green to look like the original. The texture appears deceptively creamy, but since it ignites upon contact with any part of your face, texture quickly becomes a moot point. When applied delicately to a sushi roll, wasabi balances and accentuates the pungency of fish. By the forkful, it tastes like fire.

Two pitchers of water later I was still crying silently into a stack of paper napkins.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“I thought it was avocado!”

Apparently, I was the only one who found it perfectly reasonable to expect a small mound of pureed avocado next to a sushi roll.

I won’t make that mistake again.

But I bet I will make others.

Fullness of Life Includes Painful Lessons

Life is full of painful lessons. Some are flash-in-the-pan, two-pitchers-of-water-and-now-it’s-a-funny-story kind of painful. Some are out-of-the-pan-and-into-the-fire, things-keep-getting-worse-instead-of-better kind of painful.

Both kinds prompt us to keep moving forward, which is the only direction worth moving.

I’ve been thinking of this quote lately from the poem “Benedicto” in Earth Apples: The Poetry of Edward Abbey:

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

It’s not the typical prose of a blessing. No wind at your back, no sun shining warm on your face, no soft rain falling upon lush Irish fields.

And yet.

Something in the grit of the words hooks me. Like flames on the tongue. The discomfort is not there only to endure. The discomfort is there because in the right way and the right amount it adds rather than detracts.

Sometimes you have to be uncomfortable in order to experience the fullness of life.

Even the most sugar-loving among us would get bored of eating nothing but sugar. And maybe wasabi isn’t so good by the forkful, but when blended in the right proportions, it gives a beautiful spice to an array of dishes.

More Than a View

This is what I’m trying to say:

The fullest life is not the one where personal comfort is prioritized above all else. Like a muscle being stretched, sometimes we need to be stretched. We need be uncomfortable, awkward, unsure. We need to go when we’d rather stay. We need to try when we’d rather give up. We need to fail, and cry into a stack of napkins, and take in the view.

It’s not just one amazing view at the end that matters. Because in the end, it’s not about the view at all.

It’s about who we have become along the way.

Get out there and try life, my friends. And if it’s creamy and green, try just a little to begin.

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. I hope it spiced up your day! 🙂

Denominations: What I Love About Our Denominational Differences

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I didn’t realize I was odd.

Well, let me rephrase. I didn’t realize I was odd in this particular way, until I started to notice: when I went to the Methodist carry-in, everyone was Methodist. When I went to the nondenominational Bible study, everyone was nondenominational. When I went to the Catholic speaker series, everyone was Catholic.

Did anyone besides me hang out at denominations besides their own?

It seemed like in general, the answer was no. Most people I talked to found a home church and stayed there.

I am a huge proponent of having a home church. It’s important to connect regularly with people who know and support one another. I also visit other churches every chance I get. I love experiencing different forms of worship, liturgy, and teachings. It doesn’t mean I ascribe to all their beliefs, but I learn something deeper about my own faith by engaging with others.

So, on this eve of St. Valentine, I’d like to share with you some of the things I love about our denominational differences.

What I love about the Roman Catholic Church.

First and foremost, I love the depth of their theology. Whether you agree with it or not, there is an answer to every question you can think up. They have had the structure and the history to maintain and build upon generations of scholars who have devoted entire lives to the study of God. I also love the high calling of the single person within the Catholic Church, whether within the religious orders or within lay leadership. In addition to religious outreach, they actively engage with and are foundational to the creation of major institutions like hospitals and education. (For a humorous introduction, check out this 8min video about the difference between a Friar, a Monk, and a Jedi.) Counterintuitive to their patriarchal structure, I also appreciate the reverence exhibited to women, with Mary at the forefront.

The liturgy of the Mass is replete with symbolism, and while nearly impossible to follow as a complete newcomer, some churches have started using overhead screens or other means to help first-timers follow along. I also love the prevalence of the contemplative Within Catholicism there is space for quiet, reflection, and what is referred to as adoration in front of the body and blood of Jesus. There is a richness of history, tradition, and belief that is beautiful within the Catholic Church.

What I love about mainline Protestant denominations.

Crosses in the building.
I love the crosses designed into the architecture of this (very modern) Lutheran church. You can read a blog I wrote about it here.

I love that the mainline churches are like a dividing mass of cells – sourced from the same nucleus but differentiating through time and space and discussion. They wrestle from within; even in the beginning, the Protestant Reformation was not a new church planting but an attempt at change from within. I can practically see that cell bubbling and wriggling as though an elbow was jabbed out here, a knee there. They are the ones openly wrestling with issues of church history and social justice. They are publicly and structurally asking: Can pastors marry? Can pastors be women? Can pastors be openly gay? The answers span the entire spectrum of denominations, and regardless of whether I agree with a particular answer, I appreciate that they are asking the questions. I respect a structure that allows for debate and dissension and differentiation.

I love that many mainline denominations are liturgical, maintaining a traditional structure of prayers, hymns, scripture readings, and communion while sometimes blending modern music. Several share a common lectionary with the Catholic church, which means that on a given Sunday people around the world and across multiple denominations are listening to and reflecting upon the same Bible passages. There is something beautiful about this unifying connection. Overall, I love the balance of diversity constrained by structure and the foundation of history enlivened by modern touches.

What I love about nondenominational churches.

I love the practicality of nondenominational churches, including their emphasis on scripture and how to apply it to our daily lives. I’ve never seen so many people carrying actual Bibles to a sermon as when I attend a nondenominational church. Many of these Bibles look like life itself: frayed, tear-stained, highlighted with joy and smudged with dirt. And many of the people holding them are ready to give the defense that Peter told us to be ready to give (1Peter 3). The emphasis on personal testimony encourages each person to genuinely wrestle with their faith, and if there was ever an impromptu scripture-quoting competition, my money would be on the nondenominational team.

I love that nondenominational churches cheekily remain “nondenominational” despite the fact that they are the fastest growing “denomination” in the United States. (If you like data, see for example this article.) Their style includes blue jeans and loud music which sometimes is the perfect fit. When I walk in the door, I’m as likely to be greeted with a donut as with a handshake. I have yet to walk into a non-denominational church who didn’t have someone at the door with some variation of “Welcome. Thanks for coming today.” I love the emphasis on family-friendly outreach: child care so that parents can participate in Bible studies, outreach activities and community-building events where first-timers are as welcome as long-term attendees. There is an energy, approachability, and practicality within nondenominational churches that integrate Christianity into daily life.

Common Ground

I have learned so much about my own faith by experiencing the worship styles and teachings of others. I hope this short reflection encourages you to visit one of our sister churches. We all may be different, but we also may be part of one body growing up into the headship of Jesus Christ. What can we learn from those who we may disagree with? What might surprise us that we actually have in common?

This post was first written for inspireafire.com.

Eyes in the Dark: A Choose Your Own Adventure

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Choose your own adventure by following the prompts after the intro below. Ready, set, go!

I was walking the dog in the dark the other day, which happens a lot this time of year in this part of the world. We’re past the winter solstice but won’t really notice for quite some time. I was thinking, as I walked in a dark foggy drizzle, how the places with the most sun right now are even colder. Take McMurdo Station, Antarctica, where the sun doesn’t set until February 21st, but the high temperature still doesn’t break freezing. On the other hand, I could be back in Wiseman, AK where the sun has climbed to a grand total of about 3 hours of daylight and a toasty -20°F.

It’s about this time in my meanderings when my dog suddenly froze at my side – not from cold, but from something that caught her nose off to the left. I swung my head to look in the glare of my headlamp. Through the bushes and into the field beyond, two, then four set of eyes reflected back.

Do you creep closer to see what they are? Go to AA.

Have you already had enough adventure for this year (yes, even though it’s only January) and prefer a nice simple reflection and a cup of tea? Scroll down to YY.

AA. Eyes in the Dark

The eyes are too far from the ground to be coyotes and there are too many of them to be bears, so I move as close as I can into the bushes. I swing my headlamp trying to catch the shape of them, but there is nothing but blackness and the floating eyes. When I move the light they disappear entirely, only to reappear the moment my light catches their eyes. Deer?

I hear a sudden clang and recognize the bell worn by the small flock of sheep normally pastured farther up the road. Well, that’s anticlimactic. Which is my preference as far as mysterious glowing eyes go. I used to tell myself there is no difference between walking in the dark and walking in the light. But that all changed.

To read how I revised my darktime theory, scroll down to LL.

If you’d prefer a daytime adventure now, go to DD.

DD. Daytime Adventure

You can certainly see a lot more interesting things when walking in the light. Oh, you miss out on the moon and stars and mystery eyes, but it’s much easier to not bump your shin when walking with an actual light rather than the mere reflection of one.

I recently came across this chair chainsawed out of a stump. And these ice crystals frozen like a Christmas tree star resting atop stiff blades of grass. A neighborhood messenger reminded me to “Celebrate Each New Day.” So many times even when I have the opportunity to observe my surroundings I am too preoccupied to notice. Sometimes I need a daytime adventure to remind me of this. It doesn’t have to be big or exotic. I merely have to notice.

For one final celebration, go to NN.

If you’d like to wrap this adventure with a cup of tea, go to ZZ.

LL. Dark vs Light

I used to tell myself there is no difference between walking in the dark and walking in the light. If I wouldn’t be scared in the light, I shouldn’t be scared in the dark. After all, nothing has changed except the light. I revised this theory once upon a time during a late fall camping trip. The moment the lights went out, every kind of rustling, grumbling, clacking, hooting, screeching creature stampeded the perimeter of my campsite. Where once there was a tranquil clearing, the darkness itself morphed into living creatures. It was at that moment I realized there was a difference. Light changes everything.

For one final light reflection scroll down to ZZ.

To wrap up with a New Year’s Adventure, go to NN.

NN. New Year’s Adventures

I climbed into bed well after midnight on New Year’s Day, holding to the time-honored family tradition of welcoming the New Year across as many time zones as possible before wisdom and daylight overtakes us. I read the last devotion in my yearly devotional, and since it was technically January 1 now, I flipped to the front of the book and read that one too. Beginning and ending, alpha and omega – I loved the cyclical feel of it. I

spent most of the forthcoming daylight hours asleep, but there would be another night. Another day. Another adventure. New Year’s is a time for trying something new, giving ourselves fun challenges, or starting over again. I love that there will be another one next year, but that first we get 366 new days, 8784 new hours, 527,040 new moments. We can try again. Choose a different adventure.

Go ahead, choose a different adventure. Follow it through to the end.

Which really, is just the beginning.

YY. Simple Reflection

Reflection is the key word here. I am amazed how little light it takes for the distant eyes to glow softly back. Someplace in the dark I hear the clang of a bell, and I recognize it as the sheep bell attached to the lead ewe’s collar. They are enjoying a nighttime graze in the frosty grass. When they turn their heads, the eyes disappear as though they were never there. A step out of the headlamp beam and they are equally lost to sight. In a moment, it’s impossible to tell if they are still there, watching me, or if I am staring into empty space.

As Edith Wharton wrote in War & Travel: There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that receives it. I guess we could also say the eyes that receive it. Jesus said to place a lamp on a stand so that it gives light to all who enter. We are called to spread His light, but first, we need to receive it. No matter how dark it is, no matter how dark we feel, we can still receive. Like the soft eye of this gentle flock, it takes so very little light to reflect back.

Are you ready for a little more adventure now? Scroll up to DD.

Are you ready to wrap up with that cup of tea? Go to ZZ.

ZZ. Cup of Tea

There’s nothing like a good cup of tea to accompany the telling of a tale. Or, if you’re like me and like the idea of tea far more than the actual taste, any warm beverage of your choice. Let the steam shroud your face as you pause for just a moment and reflect. The New Year is a good time to carve out a little piece of peace. Sip your tea. Breathe deeply. Maybe when you turn just right your eye will catch the spark of a reflection. Light off a spoon, a flash off the tea kettle: A little wink from God. You are never alone. God is in the darkest places right alongside you, and God’s eyes need no source of light to spark.

Receive His light. Carry it with you into the new day.

This little choose your own adventure was first shared at inspireafire.com. Have an adventurous day!

The Lost Art of Writing Christmas Cards. (And Some Things We Should Maybe Lose Instead)

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Christmas Cards

Right now, I could be writing my Christmas cards. Instead, I’m going to write about writing my Christmas cards. Except this post is not really about writing Christmas cards. Pay close attention.

You see, I’ve always loved writing Christmas cards. (It’s the writer thing, don’t judge.) I used to spend a solid two weeks writing notes inside cardboard pictures of Santa-hatted puppies and star-studded snowscapes. My hands would cramp, my neck would cramp, half the recipients couldn’t read my handwriting anyway. But every card was like a trip down memory lane. I’d reminisce about highlights from the year, pull out special memories to share. Maybe I couldn’t chat over cocoa and cookies, but I could send a summation and hope for one in return.

I was dismayed once when a group discussion launched into a diatribe against Christmas letters. “They are nothing more than people bragging and trying to make you feel bad about your own life,” they said.

I had never heard of such a thing. I loved Christmas letters. Christmas letters were one of my favorite gifts. Often it was the only time I got to hear updates from long-distance friends, and as more people stopped sending them, I knew less about the lives of people I still cared about but simply did not see. Social media usurped the Christmas letter; I miss the annual summary.

In retrospect, I understand what the group meant (although I would argue social media is a bigger culprit of that). But I still disagreed. I want to hear from the people in my Christmas card stack – the big and amazing; the small and mundane. I want to share life. In my Christmas letter, I’m sharing a piece of myself, with you. I’m sharing my time, my effort, my cramping hands.

Part of the Gift

It reminds me of a story I read once where a man went on a long journey to deliver a small trinket and the recipient asked, “Why didn’t you just send it with a courier? It would have been faster.”

The man replied, “The long walk was part of the gift.”

I feel that way about my Christmas cards.

Wrapped between the fold is a smile for all the times that come to mind as I write your name. I twist a prayer between the pen strokes. I wonder what you have been up to, how you have been, when I will get to see you again.

Christmas cards are my connection point. And connection is the point.

Writing Christmas cards might not be your thing, and that’s okay. (I still miss your letters, but I get it.) The question is: What is your thing? What forges connection, weaves memories, heightens the “little something extra special” for you?

Maybe you like to bake goodies to disburse all over town.

Maybe you like to shop for that extra special something that tells someone, I get you.

Maybe you like to host dinner parties, call long-lost cousins, drop by your neighbor’s house…

Everybody has something.

But too often, our something gets lost in the everything.

We want to do it. We enjoy doing it. But we can’t get around to doing it because everything else gets in the way.

The Everything We Need to Lose

Tonight, I was running late from work (as usual), skipped the grocery store (I can go one more day without bread), and ran into the library because the due date was today. I slid my books in the return and was hustling unseeing out the door when a magazine rack by the door caught my eye.

I did not pause, but the image stuck in my eye. A Model Railroader magazine.

My dad would have loved to be sitting in that overstuffed chair by the door paging through that magazine. I would have loved to be wandering the stacks, pulling books at random, sitting cross-legged on the floor – even as an adult – to read the magic inside and smell the scent of books. I would have loved to have been there, with him.

The sidewalk was dark and the lights from inside the library were so very, very bright. My footsteps never slowed, but time snapshotted that scene like a stop motion movie. I was so immensely happy and so immensely sad that the gold and black shadows could have been the embodiment of me.

I scheduled a vacation day.

These meetings can be shifted. These emails can wait.

This laundry, this vacuuming, this how-am-I-out-of-bread-again can all wait.

Maybe I will start my Christmas cards. Maybe I will visit my neighbor who I haven’t seen in six months, even though she lives right next door. Maybe I will sit on the couch and pet my dog and look at the lights and just be.

True Light. True Words.

I can still see the people inside that library. How bright it was. How full of… words.

Do not let the everything dampen your something.

I no longer hand-write letters in each Christmas card. I resorted long ago to a typed letter, which felt initially like cheating but is a serious improvement for anyone who actually wants to read it. (And everyone else can file it away.) I still handwrite the recipient’s name, tuck an unspoken prayer between the pen strokes, fold a piece of myself and my year into the envelope.

People may or may not receive my cards as the connection I perceive them to be. Perhaps I, in turn, sometimes miss the connections extended to me.

The most precious gifts always contain a piece of the giver, and we would be wise to acknowledge that. It is a point God made abundantly clear. After all, He didn’t just send us a Christmas card.

He sent us Himself.

May God open our eyes to the true gifts of each giver, and the ultimate gift of the ultimate Giver.

Wishing you moments of reflection and the gift of connection during this holiest of seasons.

This post was first shared at inspireafire.com. Merry Christmas!

Simple Thanks: Here is your Reminder

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Simple Thanks Reminders

Usually I wash, dry, and remake the bed all in the same day. Only occasionally do I pull spare sheets from the closet to rotate them. This means that when a sock gets caught in the fold of the fitted sheet, it could be months before it is rediscovered. Usually by then its mate has hopped off to parts unknown, but occasionally a gleeful reunion ensues.

There is a certain sense of satisfaction to a sock drawer of matched sets.

I’ve mentioned before I am often thankful for warm fuzzy socks, but I don’t usually pay much attention to the pairing. Until laundry day and one has gone missing.

Sometimes we don’t get the joy of reunion without the loneliness of disunion.

Simple Thanks From the Dustbowl

I recently read Kristen Hannah’s The Four Winds. The story follows a family through the dust bowl of the Texas panhandle and their struggle for survival among the millions who clawed their way westward. At one point the lead character notes she would never again take for granted… a floor.

Many scenes in this book arrested me in their description and continue to haunt me weeks after, but this comment settles about me like a shroud. So many things could have filled in that what-not-to-take-for-granted space. Clean water, healthy food, warm clothes, medical care…

How often do I thank God for my floor?

I need reminders to be thankful for the simple – and not so simple – blessings. Like those decks of exercise cards you can deal out to create a unique routine each day. Today it may be squats, crunches, lunges. Tomorrow: crunches, squats, jump rope.

I need to deal out socks, laundry, floor. Heat, water, stove.

Thanks for the Thorns?

Unfortunately, the things we have to be thankful for are often connected to things that we are not. (Laundry doesn’t clean itself.) Juxtaposition of hardship and blessing can bring into sharp relief the thankfulness we have neglected. But, if we aren’t careful, that juxtaposition can cause us to focus on the wrong thing entirely. As the old saying goes: I can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.

Where we focus our attention matters.

Further, we sometimes only reach a point of deep thankfulness by going through a season of loss. I think of Caleb in Joshua 14 laying claim to his portion of the promised land, 45 years late. How much rejoicing there was that day! How much deeper their appreciation must have been to finally arrive home after living as nomads in a strange land for 40+ years. I bet they, too, never took for granted the floor of their own home.

Focus on Thanksgiving

Yet there is another twist to this story. Caleb should have been allowed to enter the promised land decades before, when God turned the Israelites back for their lack of faith. Caleb and Joshua alone lived through the entire exodus while all their comrades died in the desert. Caleb could have become embittered at the long delay, frustrated by his comrades that led to their wilderness years, defeated by the thoughts that must have come “We’re never going to get out of this desert place.”

Yet all those years later, he boasted to Joshua, “I’m just as vigorous to go out to battle now as I was then.”

This did not happen by chance. Proverbs 15:13 tells us what we already know from personal experience: heartache crushes the spirit. The fact that Caleb is as vigorous on the brink of his homeland as he was 45 years earlier tells us that his spirit was not defeated. He was still focused on God’s promise.

Generations later the Apostle Paul explained how someone – Caleb, us – can live with such focused peace. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” he said (Philippians 4:4). Pray and petition with thanksgiving, and the peace of God will guard your hearts and minds.

Our Reminder Today

Wherever we are – picking through dirty laundry or rejoicing over a found sock – we can cling to God’s promise to never leave us or forsake us. Like Caleb wandering in the wilderness, like the gardener pruning back thorns, we can find something to be thankful for now. We can cling to the hope of the roses yet to come.

Go ahead. Shuffle your blessings and deal a set for today. Remember what to be thankful for.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I am thankful you took the time to read it!

The Speed of Change

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Highway sign

I was reading an article the other day on the Catholic Synod that started earlier this month. If you aren’t familiar, this “Synod on Synodality” convened bishops from all around the world to pray for God’s direction for the Catholic Church. Through a series of meetings, this global gathering will culminate in a document of recommendations to be given to Pope Francis in October 2024. Some are heralding this gathering as equally momentous to that of Vatican II, a similar gathering in the 1960’s that led to, among other things, a more participatory style of mass spoken in the local language (versus the traditional latin).

Alongside the potentially historic nature of this event, one comment from the journalist struck me as particularly relevant to all of us. While talking of the potential changes that could come from this synod, the journalist noted that the Catholic Church also needs to be cautious in implementing any changes.

Change done too quickly could lead to a schism between those standing fast on tradition and those pushing for reform. Similarly, any needed changes enacted too slowly could lead to schism from those frustrated by a lack of action.

Regardless of where one stands on the theological spectrum of issues being discussed at this synod, the necessary tension of change management is worthy of reflection. Apply this in our own lives and our own churches. Consider this from both a personal and societal perspective: change done too quickly can lead to schism; change done too slowly can lead to schism.

Just Right Change

Change needs to be done – in the words of Goldilocks – just right.

Or, in the words of God, little by little.

Little by little is how the Israelites were commanded to take possession of the Promised Land. One might argue that this, the most wonderful change of all – entry at last into the land flowing with milk and honey! – should be done as quickly as possible. After forty years of preparation, surely it is time to flip the switch and be done with the waiting. But God explained He would not drive out the enemy nations quickly, “lest the land become desolate and the wild beasts multiply against you” (Exodus 23:29).

Interpretations of this passage range from the practical to the symbolic. For example, if the land were too sparsely populated, the tended vineyards would fall into disrepair, wild animals would thrive in the abandoned fields, and it would become more difficult for the Israelites to re-cultivate the land. Other interpretations use the wild beasts symbolically to represent a range of sins that would overcome the Israelites if they transitioned too quickly to a life of leisure.

Regardless of the interpretation, the message is the same: the Israelites needed time to acclimate to their new land, and the land needed time to acclimate to them.

Impatiently Waiting

I remind myself of this passage when I am impatiently waiting for a change. Why does God not give me a breakthrough, an answer, a clear direction? Why does God stand idly when He could do something?

Either I am not ready for the change, or the change is not ready for me.

God can work immeidately and unexpectedly, but more often He works “little by little”. The moment of breakthrough is often preceded by long stretches of tiny tweaks and invisible preparation. We are not the first to want instant change. We are not the first to have to wait.

“How long, O Lord?” was a common cry from the Biblical writers.

The answer comes slowly.

God’s works are perfect, but He works through people who are not.  He deftly navigates cultures, politics, and stubborn human hearts. He knows beyond what we can know and sees further than we can see. He knows the magnitude of change that is needed; more importantly, he knows the magnitude of change that can be tolerated. Suffering breaks God’s heart; it does not hurry Him.

It also does not stop Him.

Courageously Waiting

When we are facing a needed change, we can take courage in knowing that God is working even when we do not see the results. Like the vision that was given to the prophet Habakkuk, change comes at it’s appointed time. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay (Habakkuk 2:3).

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights. (Habakkuk 3:17-19)

In the midst of great desolation, God enables me – and you – to persevere. More, God enables us to climb to new heights. He does not pluck us from our circumstances and set us someplace new. He gives us the strength and the attributes and the direction we need to start climbing.

In other words, He changes us. Then He changes our circumstances. Then He changes our environment. Step by change by step.  

Slowly.

This post was first written and shared at inspireafire.com.

How to Handle a Hatchet (AKA, How to be Scared and Unafraid)

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How to handle a hatchet; hatchet and gloves

If you stumbled across this blog while looking for information on how to handle a hatchet, I recommend this YouTube video I discovered the other day. That video might get you closer to what you’re actually looking for. But while you’re here, you might be curious what kind of rambling connection I’m going to make on the topic. If so, then come along. I’m curious too.

You might wonder why I have a YouTube video on hatchet handling at my fingertips.

Fingertips is the key word in that sentence.

You see, a couple weeks ago I learned a friend had her hand run over by a car (something about setting blocks under the wheel when the emergency brake let loose). Shortly after that, I learned a coworker nearly lost her pinky finger to a sledgehammer (something about clearing out some old patio pavers).

It was against this backdrop that I began to second guess my desire to buy a hatchet.

To hatchet or not to hatchet

My desire to buy a hatchet originated from the wish to split campfire wood with something more travel-able than the 3lb 30” behemoth in the garage. This desire was expedited by an approaching (solo) camping excursion. Previously I had only flung an ax when another person was around. I thought perhaps a hatchet would be more manageable. (Which, according to many self-proclaimed experts on google – and what’s not to trust about a self-proclaimed expert on google – is actually a false assumption. Despite the alluring size of the hatchet, the longer handle of an axe makes it a modicum safer than a hatchet.)

How to handle a hatchet in a tree

I ran to the local hardware store on my lunchbreak. I watched videos on how to handle a hatchet. And I looked up how many times the word hatchet appears in the Bible. (Only once. Can you find it?)

From my recently acclaimed favorite-for-now book of the Bible, I read: If the ax is dull and its edge unsharpened, more strength is needed, but skill will bring success. Ecclesiastes 10:10.

Based on this, I felt it was prudent to watch some more YouTube videos.

Hatchet in action

In the end I shoved the scary thoughts aside and took my newly acquired hatchet on my outdoor adventure. It pounded tent stakes much easier than shoving them in with my boot, and for that alone I deemed it a success. Then I tackled the wood.

The hatchet’s small size barely bit the first log I attempted. After a dozen cuts, I pulled the hatchet out in defeat. I wasn’t brave enough to swing any harder. “Skill will bring success,” I thought, as I hunted for a smaller piece.

I was scared to do something foolish, but I also knew I wasn’t being unreasonable. I set up my new attempt and heard the tell-tale crack as the hatchet came down. Slowly but surely, I splintered that wood into kindling fine enough to start with a ferro rod. (I also used a cotton ball and strips of cardboard, but it was my first full-fledged ferro-rod fire so I give myself some leniency.)

Scared and unafraid

Fire from hatchet

Here’s what I learned from this experience.

It’s okay to be scared. Jesus never said to not be scared.

He said: Do not be afraid. Do not fear.

He never said: Do not be scared.

You might think this is splitting hairs – isn’t being scared and being afraid the same thing?

I don’t think so.

I think this is on the order of “be angry and sin not.” There is the emotion, and then there is what we do with the emotion.

I’m not trying to argue a new doctrine here, but I think there is a point worth considering. The word scared means “thrown into or being in a state of fear, fright, or panic.” Think of that surge of adrenaline, the startled shock of when something unexpected scares you. There is a sharpness to being scared.

Scared is an adjective that describes how we feel when something has happened to us.

Fear is different. Fear is “an unpleasant often strong emotion caused by anticipation or awareness of danger and accompanied by increased autonomic activity.” Fear is focusing on future danger, instead of on the One who walks with us in the here and now. This means we choose fear by where we focus our attention. This anticipation and awareness then drives up autonomic activity (heart rate, breathing, upset stomach). The more we fear, the more we feel afraid.

Fear is first a verb, and then a noun. It is something we do. Then it is something we have.

If we do not ever let it go, then fear will fill us. And “filled with fear” is the definition of afraid.

Stick with me.

If scared is an adjective that describes how we feel when something has happened to us, then afraid is an adjective that describes how we feel when our own thoughts have happened to us.

There is a reason Jesus said, “Fear not.” Do not become afraid.

Lots of things can scare us, but there is only one thing we are ever afraid of. That one thing is our own thoughts.

Here is the connection

I was a little scared of the hatchet. I did not let those scaredy feelings grow into fear.

“Skill will bring success,” I said. I started small. I studied slowly. I splintered wood into a successful fire.

I was scared, and unafraid.

And that, my friends, is how you handle a hatchet.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed!

Peace, Sock Lint and How There is Nothing New Under the Cover (Except there is)

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“Peace. Be still,” Jesus said.

He was talking to a storm at the time, but I’m pretty sure he tells me the same thing quite often. “Storm” could be middle my name some days.

I like this verse, even though I don’t abide by it very often. I used to do an annual camping trip to unplug and sit in the woods. As a kid it was three weeks. As I entered adulthood it dropped to two weeks, then one. Now I’m doing good if I carve out a long weekend. Funny how other “responsibilities” have a way of interfering with the importance of doing nothing.

I wonder sometimes what my overstimulated brain would do if it were plunked down in the middle of a forest for 3 weeks. I’m pretty sure I would have all the symptoms of a minor detox. Some days I swear I feel the sizzling of my neurons as they process input from so many unnatural sources – the environment I’m in, and more often than not, numerous environments I’m not in. All these foreign inputs are brought to me courtesy of Zoom, Webex, YouTube, Google, Slack and a host of other platforms charging me to view this, respond to that, answer here, decide this. When I stop to think about it, which of course I don’t, the pace of business stacked atop the pace of life truly is insane. And if those inputs were suddenly all yanked away? Pretty sure my brain would short circuit and leave me in a jittery, irritable, can’t-settle-to-any-one-thing kind of state.

And then I’d probably sleep for a week.

Sock Lint Survival Skills

In the jumping-from-one-thing-to-another fashion so endeared by modern society, I was thinking of camping while cleaning out the lint screen of the dryer the other day. It reminded me of the time I built a fire-starter by stuffing dryer lint in a stack of empty toilet paper tubes. In case you’re wondering, this experience belongs in the category of “seemed like a good idea at the time but I will never try that again.”

Apparently the lint, so spark ready when it was warm and fuzzy in the dryer, managed to absorb enough moisture in transit that when I struck the first match it smoldered for 20 minutes. Worse, it permeated the entire campsite with the smell of dirty, wet socks. To this day, I do not understand this, because my socks were clean when they went in the dryer. Almost makes me want to try again just to see if I’m remembering the experience correctly.

Marshmallow à la stinky foot, anyone?

Anyway. It seemed prudent to pass on this lesson while I’m thinking of it. Just in case you’re looking for some homemade firestarter ideas. Don’t buy this one off your local scout.

Back to scriptures.

Seasonal Scriptures

I was thinking the other day, among the laundry lint and at least a dozen other simultaneous thoughts, how certain scriptures appeal at certain times. These days, I find myself a big fan of Ecclesiastes. As counterintuitive as it may seem, I take some measure of comfort in the declarative “Meaningless!”

When the world seems to have gone mad, when I never seem to have enough time, when I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next – Meaningless!

And yet.

For every “Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless!” there is a triumphant echo of “Behold, I am making all things new!”

See, I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it?

No, I don’t perceive it. And I’m not particularly interested in a new thing. The old thing was suiting me just fine, thank you very much.

That’s okay, He says, as I flip back to Ecclesiastes. I wrote that too. There is a scripture for every season under heaven you know.

It’s true. This much I do perceive. Verses that speak to me in one season grate at me in others. Verses that breathed life during one season fall like withered leaves during another season. Verses that sparked and flamed in the light smolder like stinky sock lint in the dark.

And then.

Old and New Again

There is a new one. An old one, but a new one. One I’ve read many times before with nary a second glance that suddenly I cling to as though my life depended on it. There is nothing new under the cover of my Bible, and yet… there is.

Yes, He says with a wink. After all, the old is being made new!

The transformation may come in a twinkling someday – my transformation. But in the meantime, I muddle through. God never lets me sit too long in one place. He never lets me rely on one thing – even a verse of scripture – for too long. He constantly reminds me that on this journey, it’s Him and me. We’re travelling together, and as long as it takes, He will guide me. By a Word that is living and active, I wrestle with the new and learn from the old. I return to the old and step toward the new.

Something old, something new… it starts to sound a bit like that wedding adage. And why shouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t it sound exactly like a wedding?

The bridegroom pours himself a glass of wine. He’ll wait.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you found the meanderings thought-provoking!

Beauty in Brown: An Alaskan Remix of an Old Proverb

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It is amazing how much stress we carry with us when we do not fear being eaten by a bear.

Brown Bear walking

I’ve been chewing on a quote that is widely cited as a Byzantine proverb: “He who has bread has many problems; he who has no bread has one problem.”

I’d like to provide an updated version a là Alaska. It goes: “She who does not fear being eaten by a bear has many problems; she who fears being eaten by a bear has only one.”

I discovered this version while walking the brown hills of the northern Alaska interior, watching for brown bears that I sincerely hoped would never appear.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of adventure, except, of course, I hope to repeat it as soon as I possibly can. Alaska is a place that got under my skin more than a decade ago and has not let me go. This was my first adventure north of the Arctic Circle, driving more than 350 miles north of Fairbanks into a wilderness area accessible by road only since 1994. If I thought Alaska was wild before, this experience gave me a whole new appreciation for remote wilderness travel. This is as remote as you can get and still arrive by something other than bush plane, dog sled, or boat. This land does not invite tourists; it barely tolerates the humblest of guests.

Looking for Brown Bears on a brown hil

I learned a lot on this trip, like how to use a CB radio, but two lessons that stuck as deep as the spongey tundra are worth repeating.

Lesson 1: Bears

Brown Bear looking at you

First, there is nothing like the literal fear of being eaten by a bear to eradicate years of stress. My inbox, that looming deadline, the oh-so-important report that is worth staying up all night to complete – they all vanished. (Sorry, boss). I was not worried about the latest news, the urgent phone call, the life plans (or lack thereof.) I had one thing and one thing only on my mind: did that brown rock just move?

My day pack jangled with bear bells and burst with extra layers, but it was lighter on my shoulders than all the daily cares I usually carry.

It is amazing how much stress we carry with us when we do not fear being eaten by a bear.

Lesson 2: Tundra

My second lesson grew from the tundra itself. I’m not sure what I was expecting north of the arctic circle in June – polar ice caps? Endless snowfields? – but it wasn’t rolling brown hills under a blazing 70 degree sun.

“It gets warm here,” one ranger told me when I asked if this was typical. “The difference is that here the season is very short. Snow will move back in by August.”

tundra plants

This was not the snowcapped peaks and glacier raceways that first endeared me to Alaska, but as I squelched across the muddy looking mounds, I began to notice something. While the hills looked brown from a distance, under my feet they sprouted with surprising color. They were a complex mesh of orange, tan, and sage. Some sported delicate flowers in white, pink, and lavender. Lichens and mosses wove tapestries with a species diversity that even my untrained eye could not fail to notice. Under my feet rose an entire forest of miniature plants as wild and tumultuous as the most magnificent forest – the entirety of their existence just happened to stretch mere inches above thin soil.

How much beauty do I fail to see because I am looking for a mountaintop experience rather than embracing the wild tumult of the life beneath my own two feet? How often do I see a lifeless brown when all I need to do is look a little closer to see bursts of life-giving color?

There are certainly snowcapped mountains around, but many hillsides of the northern interior do not sparkle with the silver peaks of their southern counterparts. Nor do they flash with the incessant whir of tourist’s cameras. Their deepest beauty is hidden in the wildness of their plain brown fronts, traversed more frequently by brown bears than by people.

Lessons for All of Us

tundra with mountains in back

Fortunately, the closest I came on foot to one of the natives was a series of large tracks melting into the snow on the opposite ridge. Another day I watched from the car as a brown bear wandered up the hill and out of sight. It’s an experience that’s hard to replicate anyplace else, but the lessons apply to anyone.

Try it.

Scan as far to the horizon as you can see. Look in every direction, even if it’s just across your living room. Ask yourself: Did that brown blob just move? Then look down. At the space between your feet. Notice every texture, every color, every crack, thread, or crumb. What do you see? What do you smell and hear and feel?

I tried it. It’s not the same as Alaska. But it’s amazing, when you’re not just searching but noticing, what beauty is hidden in the brown, what weighty lessons are waiting to be set down.

Pass the bread, please.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed coming along on the adventure!