We are now in the grip of February. All memory of the the festivities of Christmas and the New Year seem to have faded. This weekend we celebrated Valentine's Day. So all the days which break up the seeming endlessness of winter have passed. February has lost its luster and it is time to move on. It seems only fitting that tomorrow we begin the Christian observance of Lent. We begin with ashes and the reminder that we are people whose lives have always been shaped by earth, formed from earth. As we are marked with the ashes of last year's palm branches, we reaffirm ourselves to our birthright and to once again be shaped by the faith story of the Way of Jesus.  

Most often we forget…if we ever knew….that the word Lent simply means 'to lengthen'. It stems from an old English word 'lenten' which most accurately is defined as 'spring', meaning the way in which the days of winter lengthen into the newness of spring. For the most part, in the church, we have lost that nuance. And yet, as we begin with the reminder of our connection to the earthiness of what it means to be human, and end these 40 days with Easter, the celebration of rebirth, it seems good to be reminded. 

Over the next weeks we will clothe ourselves in the stories of Jesus and how he walked the earth forming relationships, healing people and living into the fullness of God's presence. The invitation of every Lent is to hear these scriptures in new ways, ways that will change us. As we do, without our even realizing it the snow that is piled higher than most of our cars, will begin to slowly melt. Buds will begin to be visible and the birds' songs we have missed will be heard once again. If we are intentional….or lucky….the sacred words will dig their way into us and plant seeds. We may be blessed to mirror the outside world…..melting, greening, birthing, growing. 

But for now we continue to walk into the waning days of February with a furrowed brow. What will this Lent bring? How might it be different than others? What seeds are waiting to be planted in us this year?  And what changes will we find in ourselves when Easter morning arrives? 

Only time and the lengthening days will tell.

"Be like the bird
That, pausing in her flight
Awhile on boughs too slight,
Feels them give way
Beneath her and yet sings,
Knowing that she hath wings."
~Victor Hugo

I have been doing some mid-winter decluttering. In a bag of letters I found this poem written on a 3 x 5 index card. Though the writer's name was not on the card, I knew exactly who had written it and when. At some point of a dark and difficult time in my life, one of the dear saints of our church had tucked this poem into a card or letter she had sent me. I remember receiving several such 'love' notes from her during this time. The notes were extremely helpful to me, not only for their beautiful sentiments, but because I knew that they were also accompanied by her prayers. I knew this woman's prayer patterns well and I knew that in the early morning hours she had other index cards placed near her Bible and her comfortable chair. Those cards held the names of people for whom she had been praying for days, weeks, even years. When I would see her, she would often ask me about someone, recounting their illness or difficulties, asking me how things were going for them. A few years ago, when she passed on from this world, I remember feeling that one of the great 'pray-ers' in my life, in the life of our church, was lost to us. I did not know who would take up such a mantel.

This poem holds so many metaphors for our fragile, human lives, doesn't it? Don't we all feel, at times, as if the boughs on which we rest are too slight? I know I certainly do. There are those times when the weight of what we carry threatens to break the very ground on which we stand. When that bough gives way, we often feel as if we are going to fall with a harsh thud. And yet, if we allow ourselves to rest into the assurance of who we truly are, God's beloved ones, we can find the memory of our wings. This praying saint sent me this poem to guide my memory. In finding this card, I am once again reminded of her wisdom…..and her encouragement of my own. 

If we allow ourselves, we can probably conjure up the names of people who are our 'holy reminders'. Those people who, with a word, a call, a note, a nod, help us to remember the fullness of who we are. These are the people, I believe, who offer us unconditional love, though we may not always define it in this way. These are the people who nearly always see the best in us and, even when they don't, they honor the relationship, not with judgment, but with a knowing glance. Sometimes these people are our parents or siblings. Most often they are people who have decided, for whatever reason, that they are our earth-traveling companions who love us just the way we are. What a gift!

The reciprocity of this kind of relationship is that we offer that same kindness, gentleness, generosity to another. Because we have been given the gift of these people who help us see the sacred nature of our living, we can make that same offering. And so the questions become: In your life, who has helped you see the best in yourself? Who has encouraged you to see yourself as the image of God? And: To whom can you return the favor? 

I am grateful to Elizabeth who reminded me of my wings, my ability to fly even as the odds weighed me down. I am grateful that she empowered me to pay it forward.

On this Valentine's Day weekend, what better gift can we offer than to send the gift of unconditional love? Enjoy!

“God said “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky, to separate day
from night. Let them mark the fixed times, the days and the years and serve as
luminaries in the sky, to shed light upon the earth. God made the two great
lights, the greater one to govern the day, and the lesser one to govern the
night. God saw how good it was. Evening came, and morning followed.” Genesis 1

I am watching the sun set on the frozen lake outside my
window. Dotting the water’s surface are the countless ice houses that break up
the sea of white stretching onto the horizon. Their mostly monochromatic colors
of beige, white, and gray are punctuated every now and then with a brilliant
red structure, a bright blue one. (If I had an ice house, I’d paint it red so I
could find myself in a snowstorm!) The sky is, just this minute, forming hot
pink and lavender stripes that in turn reflect onto the white prairie of snow.
It is an Impressionistic canvas being painted before my very eyes. Two snowmobiles
are shooting across the lake …..bundled up cowboys riding into the sunset.

 Giant trees, oaks and maples mostly, are creating a black
lace curtain against the lake. Snow clings to the branches, holding on for dear
life. Up one side of the sturdy trunks the wind has glued the memory of its
flight pattern. Yesterday morning I watched as a squirrel jumped from tree to
tree with the ease and confidence of a trapeze artist. It made me laugh.

This noon, while eating lunch, my eyes were shocked by the
sudden soaring movement of an enormous bird flying toward the center of the
lake. Upon further inspection, I was blessed to recognize the brilliant white
head of a bald eagle, its wings outstretched surveying the ice below, perhaps
remembering warmer times when a tasty meal lingered below. Not today, my
friend. You will have to be content with your gift of flight. He circled
several times over the ice house villages offering his blessing.

The sun is a half sphere of red about to dip behind the
farthest side of the lake. It is creating a deep yellow and orange that brushes
color onto the white clouds, the edges now tinged with gold leaf, as if the
Great Artist added that last touch just for dramatic effect. The now purple
clouds are moving south as the wind picks up and, no doubt, the temperature
plummets. But wait, the sky has gone completely fuchsia.  The sun seems to be saying “I’m not quite
finished with this day.” Oh, brilliant Sun, you always have the last word!

 What possible reason is there that I have been given such a
gift of beauty, of mystery, of wonder? Since I cannot answer this immense
question, I will say only Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

 "The story goes something like this: A
little girl couldn’t sleep one night because the shadows in her bedroom looked
long and dark. Frightened, she begged her parents to let her join them in their
bed where she knew she would be safe. But her parents assured her she would be
fine in her own room.“After all,” they said, “God is with you even when you are
alone. Won’t that help you not be afraid?”The little girl shook her head.
“Sometimes: she replied, “I need someone with skin on.”~Ellyn Sanna, Touching God

Someone with
skin on. I need that, too, don’t you? I had heard this story sometime ago but
ran across it again at the retreat center where I am staying for a few days.
This is an annual retreat in which it is my privilege to hear the stories and
the dreams of those coming for ordination in the United Methodist Church. Our system is an intricate one
with many levels which moves people, eventually, toward full ordination, to
serve churches throughout our state. It is always a holy time for me. To be
privy to people’s stories of how God has moved in their lives. To hear how they
feel called to a life of faith sometimes at great sacrifice. To hear the
surprises of how the Holy nudged, sometimes pushed them to make a life out of
listening, praying, worshiping and being present to the significant and
ordinary life experiences of others.To read their reflections on the creeds and
doctrines written years ago, making sense of them for today. It is always a
rich and, sometimes, emotional few days. It is something I do not take lightly.

Woven throughout all the stories and words of
these candidates for ministry are many examples of ‘God with skin on’. None
came to this place in their life without flesh and blood people who guided,
encouraged, and challenged them. None came to this moment without real live
people praying over them, supporting them, leading them and loving them. God
with skin on. When the shadows of their lives threatened to overcome them,
someone with skin on showed up to urge them on, help them feel safe and secure

It is my prayer,
that as we interview these people for ministry, they will see and experience us
as God with skin on. While our questions may startle or challenge, I pray that
we will be the face of the Holy in their midst.  It is my hope that we
will all recognize the sacred act in which we are engaged as we hone a
relationship with future spiritual leaders of the church and the world.

Your day may not
bring any deep spiritual questions. You may not be required to give a
definition of salvation or be asked what you believe the nature of evil to be.
But whatever your experiences of this day, may you have at least one experience
of God with skin on. And may you return the blessing to another.

Over the last year an often unused word has crept into our
vocabulary: frugal. Given the present day economic situation, nearly everyone
is looking closely at how they spend their money. They are also looking at how
they can save their money. At the heart of this search is the presence of what
we value. In Saturday’s paper there was an article about the ‘new frugality’.
The headline read: New frugality does not mean cheap.

Being frugal does not necessarily mean being a cheapskate.
Cheapskates are not very fun to be around. Frugal people are people who
understand what is valuable and place their resources, energy and heart in
those places. Cheapskates hoard things in fear of a rainy day. Frugal people
clear away the clutter of what is not needed to make room for what brings them
joy, what sustains their spirit, what provides for their future. It is an
important distinction, I believe.

 As I write this I am sitting in a small room at Christ the King Retreat
Center in Buffalo, Minnesota.
It is a simple room that looks out over a lake. The room has everything I need:
bed, comfortable chairs, a desk, lovely lighting, warm blankets, running water,
heat, a shower and toilet. Most necessities. But throughout the retreat
center there is an attention to beauty that feeds the soul. These surroundings
do not represent the work of those looking to pinch a penny but of people who
know what is valuable. There are plenty of books and the silence to read and
digest them. There is good food and plenty of it, fresh fruit and home made
cookies are available all day. It is a frugal environment allowing guests to move
about in the beautiful simplicity to do what they need to do: pray, worship,
sleep, read, restore, connect with their own spirit and the Spirit.

 I do not want to minimize in any way the challenging economic
times in which we live. I know people who are struggling desperately and see even more that I don’t know who arrive at our church doors needing help to navigate these confusing times of more need and less financial resources. But
I do think these times have the gift, if we accept it, of helping us see what
we truly value. They can provide us with the opportunity to structure our lives
around those values, allowing us to let go of many of the extraneous wants that
can distract us from what we know to be important, beautiful.

 What do you truly value? What do you really need? How are
you living your life, arranging your days around those values and needs? What
creative ways might be nudging you to a new frugality?  These are fascinating questions to ponder. Answering
them might lead to ways of living that would change us in ways we never
imagined.

"No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money. "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?" Matthew 6:24-25

"It's the process of writing and life that matters….We are trying to become sane along with our poems and stories."  ~Natalie Goldberg

I  was listening to a Minnesota Public Radio show a few days that featured Rachel Fleischleiser and Larry Smith, authors of Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six Word Memoirs by Authors Famous and Obscure. The book consists of submissions by people who have created a six line 'statement' that speaks volumes about who they are. I was fascinated by this concept. I had actually heard these two interviewed before but had forgotten how compelling this idea was. Six words to sum up our lives. Isn't it any interesting idea? You can learn more about the project and even enter your own six word memoir at www.smithmag.net/sixwords.

When asked where the idea came from, Smith stated that it had its inception from a story told about Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway, taking up a bar bet about whether it was possible to write a novel in six words, replied with:  For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn. The imagination goes wild with a statement like that, doesn't it? It truly is a story in and of itself. And so, these two authors began collaborating by asking the famous, the infamous and the ordinary to offer their own six word memoirs.

Perhaps I was taken with this idea because I started a memoir writing class yesterday. This is something new for me and I entered it with some trepidation. I have not been in a writing class since college. Will I make a total fool of myself? Will I find new inspiration? I don't know the answers to these questions yet but I do know that I love stories, particularly life stories and will find some kind of wisdom in trying to shape a way of speaking about my own life. I do not think, however, that the task will be to condense it to six words! But it might be fun to try.

For some reason the concept gave me the idea of thinking about a six word memoir for individuals in the Bible. Take Moses for instance:'Burning bush. God speaks. Long Journey'. Or Mary: 'Angel arrives. Answer yes. Changed forever'. And John the Baptist: 'Don't look at me. He's coming'. Finally, Jesus: 'I told the truth. No regrets'. It's a great exercise,isn't it?

What might your six word memoir be? What pivotal moment defined who you are? What might your six word spiritual memoir be? What six words might illuminate your faith life to others, to yourself? The economy of language in an exercise like this can be helpful in sharpening our vision of what we value, in telling the story of who we are at our very core. It might be worth some contemplation. I offer it to you in these winter days when reflection seems to be sewn into the marrow of the day.

Weekend arriving. Wide open. Adventure ahead?

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, "Surely God is in this place – and I did not know it! How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven."
~Genesis 28:16-17

I have been privileged to spend the last three days in the presence of artist and author Jan Richardson whose work has been an inspiration to me for many years. Her use of poetry and collage to express her spiritual journey, her faith, has often helped me find words to express my own deep longings, my most difficult questions, and my most heartfelt prayers. I always find it a great gift to pick up a book and read someone's words that so adequately express something I have struggled over. Jan's words have done that for me.

Yesterday I spent the morning with others as Jan led us through scripture, prayer, and reflection that moved toward creating our own collages. While I had looked forward to the morning for some time, I also knew I harbored a sense of apprehension. As someone who does not think of themselves as a 'visual' artist, I carried into the morning memories of every 'bad' art project I had ever created, from elementary school to adulthood. I mentioned this to one of the participants, a known artist, as we shared coffee before the workshop began. She simply smiled at me. I was not sure what to make of it.

We listened as Jan wove the story of Jacob taking a rock for his pillow and dreaming of the ladder going from earth into heaven. Angels coming up and down….I've always been intrigued by that coming and going from heaven piece of the story. As Jacob awakes, he looks around him and says "Surely God was in this place and I did not know it." Another favorite part of this story. How many times do I, do we all, miss the presence of Holy right in the places where we are? And then, in response, Jacob pours oil on the rock, marking it as a holy place, a sacred moment in the midst of the ordinary, fractured life he lived. 

Soon it was time to move to the tables where beautiful papers, magazines, glue sticks and scissors were placed in preparation for the collages we were to make. I chose earthy colors of greens and browns, some flecked with shining gold. As I tore the pieces of paper making their edges ragged and round and cut others for precision of straight edges, I began to move the pieces around a small 3 x 5 index card until the pieces seemed to fit. I saw something there, something that had meaning for me in bringing together the tiny pieces into something larger than themselves. As I filled myself with confidence, I lifted the glue stick to make permanent what had been impermanent. My collage took shape. And I liked it. 

Now I am not saying what I created was great art. It wasn't. But it was my art and it brought me pleasure to have made it. It also mirrored my experience of the story of Jacob who took what was ragged and ordinary, a stone, and saw something more in it. As he used this cold, hard object for his dreaming pillow, he came to know the presence of God in even the torn and broken pieces of his life. In his waking, as in my pasting, there was the experience of something larger than our individual lives. Taking the pieces and putting them together……angels going up and down, scraps of paper, pieces of dreams, glue that sticks, oil that pours…..I touched the Spirit and the Spirit touched me. I left the morning more of who I am than when I arrived. I'd like to think the same thing happened to Jacob during his slumber party in the wilderness.

What are the pieces that are flying around your life these days? Where are the wilderness places that might bring dreams? How might you touch your inner artist to bring the separate individual shards together into something greater, something more? Perhaps today is a good day to sit down with an index card, some colored paper and a glue stick and see what might materialize right before your very eyes. It just might be a holy moment.

Yesterday was one of those days. Instead of moving in any logical form, say from point A to point B, I seemed to be stuck in a revolving door. I'd start one thing and either a distraction or an interruption would take me off course. Ever have a day like that? Add to the winding nature of the day, driving in the slowly falling, traffic congesting snow, and it was no wonder I never made it to my computer to write. 

However, in that spinning I did see something that caught my attention, something that brought laughter and joy to an otherwise confusing day. Driving along Lyndale Avenue past a neighborhood community center I saw these words on the sign outside the building: Preschool Communal Singing and Dancing, Tuesdays. Now this did not seem to be an invitation to organized dance classes or music lessons. It did not seem to be offering tap or ballet classes which would culminate in costumed Sugar Plum Fairies or Prince Charmings. I think the word 'communal' was a well chosen word. On Tuesdays we could walk into this particular community center and be witness to preschoolers….three, four and come five year olds……dancing and singing. Doesn't it just make your heart full of delight?

One of my favorite moments at weddings I attend is when the children begin to move to the dance floor in anticipation of the music to come. Sometimes even before the bride and groom can have their first dance, the children are gnashing at the bit to get those little bodies moving. As soon as the music begins, they are on the floor, gyrating, spinning, moving until little beads of sweat ring their exuberant faces. It is clear they are doing something primal, something that lifts them above the ordinary, as muscles and music meet.

I once had a music professor who had done her doctoral thesis on the spontaneity of children singing. She had traveled to several countries observing children on playgrounds and in relaxed atmospheres. Her findings were that children spontaneously sing with great regularity. In the midst of playing and simply moving about in the world, they hum or sing with abandon.

As adults, we have much to learn from children, not the least of which is remembering who were once were……beings that sang and danced with joy for no reason whatsoever. Children can remind us that at one time we thought of ourselves as artists whose work brought us joy simply in the creation of it. Our imaginations drove what we would do and who we would become. I believe children can also remind us of how the Spirit moves in our lives if we are awake, if we are aware, of what brings us joy and what brings life to those around us.

You may or may not have a child in your home or your neighborhood to be this sacred touchstone. If you don't I invite you to think of those preschoolers filling a gym space on Tuesdays while the snow falls outside. Barefoot or in stocking feet, their winter boots abandoned by the door, I imagine them walking to the center of the gym as the music begins. And then their little bodies will commence dancing and singing for all they are worth, storing up memories for a much later time. Memories of how they danced, how they sang, how they were artists, how their whole bodies were filled with an unspeakable joy.

I bet you are smiling right now.

Work like you don't need the money.
Love like you've never been hurt.
Dance like no-one's watching.
Sing like no-one's listening.
Live like there's no tomorrow.
~author unknown 

"A sacred being cannot be anticipated; it must be encountered."
~W.H. Auden

We have had a strange winter visitor in our backyard. Last week my husband called me to the sliding glass doors that lead to our deck. Standing there looking back at me was an opossum. The creature stood just feet away acting dazed and confused. For some reason instead of being repelled by this less than beautiful being, my heart broke. 

Why was a nocturnal, hibernating animal walking around in broad daylight on a winter's day? All afternoon we followed its progress from deck to snowy yard. Once on the frozen ground under our black walnut tree, it ate the left over bird seed that had been knocked to the ground. Two of the neighborhood children and I watched as it climbed a tree resting in the branches for some time, tired from either lack of sleep or too much. The only reason we could come up with for its presence was the warmer temperatures. It may have somehow been awakened prematurely. Its stunned and slow movements could have pointed to its being ill but I wanted to go with the warmer weather theory. The idea of having a sick, perhaps rabid, wild animal so close was a thought I did not want to entertain.

My heartbreak over this creature is that it brought to my consciousness all the other beings who find themselves misplaced, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Immigrants, wanderers made homeless by war, disaster, or a spiral of bad luck events like those we witness on the nightly news, those we read about in the morning newspaper.  The opossum's eyes had that same dazed and confused look seen in those of people I pass on the street holding signs that read:"Mother needs money to buy milk" or " Veteran, please help." People displaced, confused, lost most often through no fault of their own.  

This opossum no doubt lives under our deck and may have been there for longer than we know. And yet I had never encountered it before. It had been a silent part of our lives and yet I could not have anticipated how this wild creature helped me see once again the sacred nature of all Creation. Its eyes met mine and my heart was filled with compassion. Through this unexpected encounter I was reminded that the One who moves in the deepest winters and the abundance of spring cares for the least, the lost and the lonely. I am grateful for the reminder.

Have a blessed and warm weekend……………………..

"To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June."
-  Jean-Paul Sartre

Before it's too late and January is gone from us, I thought I would pass on this lovely quote I received from a friend and fellow lover of words. When I received this quote I believe we were in the deep freeze of early January with the bloom of Christmas and New Year's still hanging over our heads. But January can tarnish easily. All it takes is that January 'thaw' to turn our fickle hearts to things of spring. Yesterday the deep freeze returned with a vengeance and it can seem as if all hope is lost. Scarves are once again wrapped around fragile faces. Hats are pulled down over freshly coiffed hair. Any semblance of fashion has flown out the window. It is now about survival.

And so it is time to do what needs to be done. It is time to read poetry. It is time to pull down the books of limericks and haiku's that might give us a good belly laugh. It is time to search through the love poetry for the perfect addition to a Valentine. It is time to search the Book of Psalms for words that inspire and move us to praise. 

Poetry, like January, requires us to be expedient. The well chosen words, the short phrases crafted with brevity and care are like the energy needed to hop over the frozen snow bank and into the warm and humid car. Poetry warms the heart and sends the mind into the place of imagination. The cold cannot penetrate the spaces in between the lines so beautifully penned by the poet's hand.

Today might be a good day to bundle up……hats, mittens, down jacket, snow boots…..and take a book of poetry to your favorite outdoor spot. Allowing the gift of January sun(please!) to shine on your face, read the words of your favorite poet into the chilling wind. Who knows? Perhaps you'll draw a crowd that will warm you up while you all stand in the circle of well chosen words. Or if that sounds like too much trouble, snuggling up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and a collection of poems will do. But we must…..before it's too late. February is just around the corner and June is not far behind.