Sometimes it’s not the well-planned words of a pastor at a church service, but the things going on on the sidelines that bring the impact. Such was the case when I attended an Ash Wednesday service one year.

As part of the service, the pastors had set up several “stations” in the narthex. Each station had a verse to read, an action to perform, and an application point. We were asked to go through it methodically and not to rush. We were also asked to try to keep our voices low…if we had to speak at all.

We began the process, spreading out evenly amongst the five stations. It was quiet…but not completely quiet, as one mom was reading the instructions at each place to her son, who was a new reader. He had many questions as they went along and it was sweet hearing their interactions when I took a moment to listen - it was hard not to in the quiet room!

At one station, you were asked to write down something that you’re holding on to - like a hurt from someone in the past - and crumple up the paper and throw it away symbolizing that you’re done with it and have forgiven them. I finished that station and moved on to another one and as I began reading the new instructions, the mom and her young son reached the station I had just left. I wasn’t paying too much attention but she must have said something like, “Can you think of something that someone did to you that was mean and we’ll write it down for you to forgive them.” I didn’t hear his response but  it was very obvious what he said because his mom replied, “Well, right down your sister‘s name…”

I almost  laughed out loud.

It was a nice counterpoint to the solemnity of the service. A service where we’re encouraged, traditionally, to contemplate our sin and to keep doing so throughout the seven weeks of Lent until we rejoice in the truth of our forgiveness in the gift of the Resurrection on Easter morning.

Oh, the beauty of that day when we can rejoice! We were lost and now we’re saved!

It's a little bit dark to spend the month and a half of Lent - smack dab in the cold and darkness of winter, too - thinking about why Jesus had to do what he did. Thinking about the fact that, because of us, he had to suffer and die. It’s a bit dreary, really.

But that’s the point. Or, rather, that’s the counterpoint. The whole purpose of the one is for the other to shine all the brighter. The purpose of Lent isn’t to feel discouraged and lost in our sin…the purpose is to get us to think about how badly we need the gift of Easter. To see, in light of our inadequacies, how brightly shines the sacrifice of Jesus. When he, the perfect sacrificial lamb as per the Old Testament’s requirements, did what we could never do.

 Pay the price of our sins.  

So that we may live together eternally!

And so we rejoice! And we forgive - as did our wee friend that Ash Wednesday night - because we, too, have been forgiven.

Amen and amen!

"God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." 2 Corinthians 5:21

I love Christmas trees. I love their cozy glow when the other lights are off. I love their cheerful promise of fun surprises wrapped beneath. And I love the scent of resin that fills the room in the days when the tree is new and fresh off the lot.

In other words, I always have real trees. When I was growing up, my dad would cut our tree down from some random place on the island where we lived. Sometimes he had permission. Other times he pushed his way through the forest and found a likely tree and assumed that no one would notice. It never occurred to me until years later that he was technically stealing. It seemed more like he was helping to thin out the overwhelming Pacific Northwest verdancy where blackberry vines are prone to overtake a parked car by the close of the day if you park too near a bramble when you come to work.

Not even kidding. Well, not very much.

Occasionally the trees were beautifully formed, with nice spaces to hang ornaments and a lovely, conical shape. But mostly they were airy island trees, impacted by years of drought or swamped by too much rain, making them nothing like typical Christmas trees but rather like something resembling a 17-foot tall Dr. Seussian cartoon. But we loved them, tied them to the cross-beams of our cathedral ceiling for stability and jammed them into a five-gallon bucket filled with dampened sand. Grandma’s felt and sequined tree skirt jollied up the bucket and added the perfect touch of hominess and love.

Many of our ornaments were made by Grandma. How she didn’t go blind from sewing thousands of those sequins onto ornaments year after year was a Christmas miracle. Those are among my most cherished decorations now, hanging side-by-side with puzzle-piece Christmas trees made by my kids and a myriad of wooden Swedish Tomptes and Dala horses, not because I’m Swedish but because I love the color red. Ours is an eclectic mix of ornaments and I love it. None of this perfectly-hung, themed, color-coordinated decorating for me. Give me the memories and the cuteness any day.

It was the memories that really got to me this year as I opened boxes of ornaments that came from my mom and dad’s house last summer. These ornaments were the origins of my love of all things Christmastree. These ornaments were hung by my mother with care. These ornaments were held by her. Loved by her.

As I decorated the tree, the movie Little Women playing on the TV in the background, I grew more and more despondent. Why wasn’t I excited about this? Why wasn’t I feeling all the feels?
 
I finished and sat down to look at the final product. Granted, it looks a little weird, given that the bottom third of the tree is bare due to our year-old cat being on the naughty list, but even overlooking that, it just looked…sad. Wrong. Unhappy.

I went to bed shortly thereafter, and as I lay awake praying, as I always try to do when I first climb into bed, it dawned on me what was wrong.

I missed my mom.

I wanted to talk to her about the ornaments. I wanted to laugh with her at the children’s ones and smile with her at the Grandma ones. I wanted to hear her laughter and see her sitting by the tree on Christmas morning, always up before me reading her Bible even when I was up early on that exciting day. I wanted to hear her calling my dad “Davey” and watch her while she brought him coffee.

I prayed, right then, for the day that Mom and Dad are together again. When that day comes, she’ll tilt her head up for a kiss as he steps into Glory and the joy that has been missing in his heart these past three years come Christmas day when she went away, will surge in like the tide as she leads him to meet Jesus face-to-face.

It’s a hard time of year. And it’s a glorious time of year. May it be, for you, a time of happy memories and an opportunity for new ones. Whether they’re on your tree or in your heart.

“‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” 1 Corinthians 15:55-57

Merry Christmas, my friends.
Soli Deo Gloria

I’ve had two giant smiley face balloons floating in my office since September 5th. When I bought them I asked how long they would remain filled with helium. “Will they last ok until Sunday?” “Yes, they assured me, “they’ll last a good two weeks!”

They’ve lasted almost nine and counting.

It doesn’t always go that way, does it? At the ladies’ coffee fellowship time at HyVee this morning, the subject of the poor quality of modern appliances came up. One person had had a deep freeze for close to fifty years and it still deeply froze, as promised. We recently had a refrigerator/freezer for about four years before it stopped refrigerating and freezing.

“They don’t make ‘em like they used to” is all too true.

Kinda makes a person want to turn their smile upside down.

But that, in and of itself, is an upside down idea, isn’t it? We’re supposed to “turn your frown upside down”, right? But what about when we don’t feel like smiling? What about when we truly can’t?

There’s a lot of hard stuff going on in the world today. Things feel chaotic. People are ill. Money is tight. Doesn’t really make me want to grin. Maybe we don’t feel good, or our kids are struggling, or the car is out of gas and payday is still three days away. Sometimes smiling simply isn’t on our Bingo card. Does that mean we’re “unchristian” or “dragging others down”? Should we fake a smile and pretend that everything is hunky dory?

Before I answer that, I need to point something out. I am a smiley person. I’m an optimist. I like to laugh and I do so a lot. It’s my default mode. If I don’t know how to respond, I laugh. If I am nervous, I laugh. If I didn’t quite hear what you said, I laugh and hope that wasn’t an inappropriate response.

That being said, more than once I’ve been walking in the grocery store, for example, and concentrating on the task at hand. I’ve not been smiling and I’ve not been laughing. But nor have I been grumpy; I’ve simply been focused. In those times I’ve had people I know come up to me and say things like, “Smile! Things can’t be that bad!”

This makes me cross. For goodness sake! Simply because I’m not smiling doesn’t mean I’m not content.

And I think that’s the answer to my question.

We don’t have to pretend that everything is perfect. Sometimes we’re focused on shopping, not on smiling. Maybe our grocery list has made us think about stressful things. Maybe we have a headache. Do I have to smile when a person (rather rudely) tells me to “turn my frown upside down”?

No, no I don’t.

But what that demanding person needs to realize is that a smile proves nothing. Smiles can be faked, and pretty much anything fake is not ideal.

What matters is what’s genuinely going on on the inside. What matters is contentment. Peace in the midst of the storm; even without a smile to show for it.

In the middle of the unsmiling thoughts about bills or illness or politics, are we still content? Are we still resting in the knowledge that God is in control (thankfully) and he is unphased by the chaos? Are we finding the “fullness of joy in his presence” that Psalm 16:11 talks about?

It doesn’t say that God’s presence brings smiles and grins. “Fullness of joy” means, I believe, fully accepting that God is sovereign over everything and we can trust him and that trust brings us profound rest and happiness.

"There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance" (Ecclesiastes 3).

And he has made everything beautiful in its time.

Everything. Even a face that isn’t perpetually smiling.


“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing.” Romans 15:13

A few years ago it occurred to me that I’d be 55 years old the year our youngest graduates from high school. That felt significant, somehow. We like celebrating fives and tens in our society, don’t we? 55! What a great age to…

to…

…to what? 

Begin again? I don’t like feeling like my previous life has ended. Move on? Worse. Reinvent myself? I mean, I kinda thought I was okay as I was? 

Be mildly depressed and wonder what my purpose is?

Sure. Let’s go with that.

I Googled “empty nest books”. I got about a hundred options. Overwhelming. Didn’t want to look at even one. 

I tried to write down my own thoughts and insights but I have surprisingly few thoughts and zero insights at this point, three weeks into this process.

Only three weeks? It feels like it’s been three months.

We’ve kept her bedroom door closed because the cats like to go in there and who knows what they’re up to. My childhood cat had kittens under the bed once, so yeah. I’ve learned. 

Has it helped to keep her door shut? Possibly. At least I don’t see a perpetually tidy room and empty chair every time I walk past her door. But it does feel a bit like a symbol of what’s happening: 

A door has shut. An ending has occurred. A nest has been emptied.

So what’s next? What new doors? What new beginnings? What fills the Lucy-shaped emptiness?

Well, for her, as they say, the possibilities are endless. Who knows where she’ll go from here? That remains to be seen but I’m excited to see it play out.

But for me? For us? The ones left in the hollowed-out nest? 

I’ve always loved the movie The Sound of Music. One memorable line is, “When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.” 

I know. Perhaps a bit cliche. But nevertheless true, I think. Doors close. And windows open. Things end. And new things begin. And when the one is over we don’t always necessarily know what the new one will look like. 

And so we wait. And we grieve what is gone. And we anticipate what is to come. We know this is good and right and best. But if one more person comments on the fact that I’m an empty nester now, I think I shall be forced to feign a broken shoelace to hide the fact that I’m either going to burst into tears or scream at the top of my lungs.

I don’t like this. But I want this for her. I don’t like this. But I will learn to adjust. I don’t like this.

I don’t like this.

But

...I’ll keep looking for that open window.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18

I recently spent a pleasant few hours at the Como Zoo in St. Paul. It was a warm day, but with a breeze, and we wandered around seeing the giraffes and zebra and ostrich and many primates all enjoying the afternoon sunshine. I especially love the polar bears, who swim and dive and play around paying no attention to the gawking people nearby.

I found myself tucked into a corner of the interior of the polar bear house. I was hoping that one of the white bears would lumber outside near my window when suddenly one did, appearing faster than I could believe, about three feet from where I was standing behind the safety glass. I snapped a photo as he leaped into the water and was in utter awe at the sheer size of him. (Or her?!) I felt perfectly safe, but couldn't help but look at those enormous paws and his gigantic head and imagine his powerful teeth.

I felt little and insignificant at that moment! Just a tiny bit of the wide, wide universe.

It makes me think of The Hobbit, when, at the conclusion of his journey, Bilbo is almost home again and Gandolf says to him, "You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you, but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all."

Bilbo's reply, at least in the old animated movie, is, "Thank goodness."

I can relate. Thank goodness that none of the wide world issues of the day are impacted by me. Thank goodness that I am just a tiny cog in the massive machine that is the world we live in. Oh, sure, I have my place, but I'm okay with my influence being limited in its power!

We are all small bits in a big world. But that doesn't mean we're insignificant. After all, Jesus said, "...even the very hairs of your head are all numbered" (Matthew 10:30).

He says this in the context of talking about being fearless when doing the things he calls us to do. "Don't be afraid," he repeats several times. Don't be afraid even though it's not going to be easy. Don't be afraid even though it's actually going to be quite tough. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. The Holy Spirit will be with you.

We may be insignificant to the world, but we are not insignificant to Jesus. We are not alone in this great big world, no matter what bears we face - polar or otherwise.

We are not ever alone.

Thanks be to God.

There is nothing that prepares you for the emotions you face as your last child graduates from high school. It doesn’t matter how many people say things like, “Just be happy for her.” Or, “Don’t cry, it’s a great milestone.” Or, “Think of all the places you can travel as empty nesters!” Or, the worst, “Don’t keep focusing on these ‘lasts’”.

I will focus on these lasts if I want to focus on these lasts. I want and need to cherish these moments and not forget what it feels like to be a mother of a high school senior.

To be a mother of a high schooler.

To be a mother.

And actually, I think that’s okay.

When our first child graduated, seven years ago, I don’t recall being a total wreck. He was so ready to go off to college. So excited to see new things and be done with the old.

When senior year began for our middle child two years later, I warned the remaining family that September, “You know I’ll be crying off and on all year, right?”

“Yeah, Mom, we know.”

But then along came Covid 19 and the entire second half of her year was so unusual that when we walked, masked-up, into her high school to record her commencement speech, it felt so joyful that at least she could do this little thing that the tears were weirdly absent - I just couldn’t stop smiling.

Now it’s five years later and I’ve been cherishing the lasts all the more because our middle child missed so many of them. She missed prom. She missed her last orchestra, band, and choir concerts. She missed graduation with its parties and ceremonies and public awards.

This third time around, each one of these events feels precious - almost sacred - and I am not taking them for granted.

Please understand, I am not using that word sacrilegiously. If something is “sacred” or “holy” in the Bible, it means that thing is set apart. Sure, generally we use these words in a religious context, but we also speak of “sacred spaces”, a room or building or outdoor location that is “set apart” in purpose and feeling. It is held as a special place that one can go in order to, ideally, commune with God or nature or even one’s own self.

Well, I do believe that these “lasts” are set apart, cherished moments, not only for my graduate, but for me. Set apart for me to breathe it all in. The recognitions, sure, the proud moments, yes, but also just set apart to bathe in the sheer ecstasy of being a mother.

Are all mothering moments ecstatic? Ummm…in the understatement of eternity…no. No, they are not. And that’s why I choose to revel in the ones that are.

I choose to celebrate with tears and smiles and Facebook posts and phone calls and texts and more tears. I choose to brag about my child. I choose to invite friends to rejoice with me. I choose to cherish every. Single. Moment.

Because being a mother is hard stinkin’ work. And I deserve this sacred time as much as my daughter does.

So if you see me crying at this event or that, if you’re talking to me and I suddenly burst into tears, if you question why I skipped a meeting or chose not to go to work one day, please understand this:

I'm cherishing all these moments and it's rather overwhelming.

But in a good way. In a marvelous, heart-bursting-with pride, wonderful kind of way.

Pastor John is preaching about prayer all month. This got me thinking about prayer, too, so I thought I’d share a few things I’ve been thinking about.

Prayer is such a privilege. We get to talk to the Creator of the Universe any time we want to! That’s truly mind-blowing. But prayer is also misunderstood. Manipulated. Misused and, to stick with the “M” theme, a complete mystery.

I like that Pastor John said prayer is “Just talking with God”. That’s my favorite definition of prayer. Prayer is simply a conversation. It’s just talking to God and telling Him your heart, your concerns, your requests. It’s a conversation. And yes, I mean that in the truest form of the word “to converse”. Prayer is us telling stuff to God. Then, in the quiet spaces between our words, when we close our mouths and open our hearts to listen, it’s also God talking back to us.

Sometimes, I admit, that part of prayer is hard. It’s sometimes tough to hear God’s non-audible words.

But God does talk to us. Through His Word, Scripture. Through people, giving us sound, godly advice, and through the nudging of the Holy Spirit. When you feel an urge to call someone you haven’t thought about in a long time just to say hello…that’s quite possibly the Holy Spirit wanting you to reach out with kindness. When you’re tempted to respond in anger to someone who frustrated you and you know, you just know, that you need to keep your mouth shut…well, that’s the Holy Spirit, too. He’s an equal opportunity nudger, telling us things to do and things not to do!

Prayer is manipulated when we use it like the hypocrites in Jesus’ example in Matthew 6, verse 5. “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others.” In that case, prayer is being used to show off. I know I’ve been in group prayers in the past when, instead of listening to others praying (and therefore being respectful and unified) I’ve been sitting there thinking of the right words to say when it’s my turn. Prayer ought not to be a chance to show one’s spiritual depth, but rather a chance to show one’s dependence on God and His Spirit.

The misuse of prayer happens when we say things like, “How can I be praying for you?” as a way to get the gossip or to curry favor. Again, I’ve been guilty of this. It’s all about motivation. Am I wanting to pray for someone to impress them? Or do I want to pray for them because I care for them as a fellow-sojourner in this thing we call our Spiritual journey.

And as for prayer being a mystery, I think that’s just basic to the whole concept. Why God even wants to hear from us, can hear us all at once and is impacted by our words is a mystery to me! But he does desire that we talk to him. There are so many verses, but 1 Peter 5:7 comes to mind, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” And Romans 8:16 tells us that he even helps us to pray.  “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

He listens to us when we pray, he helps us to pray when we don’t have the words, and he even is swayed, sometimes, by our prayers. There are several instances we see in the Old Testament of God changing his mind. For example, when Lot and Moses petitioned him to relent and not send the calamities he had planned.

And even in the New Testament, Jesus relents when he doesn’t seem to be planning to help the demon-possessed daughter in Mark 7 until her mother petitions him and he does as she asks.

Prayer, no matter how mysterious, works. One of my biggest changes in the way I pray these days is that instead of praying, “Lord, please be with so-and-so in this situation” I’m saying, “Lord, thank you that you’re with so-and-so in this situation.” That awareness of His presence feels so good to me! To acknowledge that He is with us…not to ask that he be with us because I know He already is. That’s been a huge encouragement to me as a pray-er.

So there you go. A few thoughts on prayer as I look out at the snow this morning and fervently hope (pray!?) that we’re all safe out there on the roads in this wintery weather.

So this is a little longer than usual, but I wanted to put this out there. This is what I spoke on at our Women's Christmas Party last week. I hope that it's inspiring for you.


I love Christmas. I love the carols and the lights. I love the food. I love the gifts - I mean…who doesn’t…and I love the anticipation.

The expectation.

When I was a kid I loved really loved the Advent calendars. Still do. They built up the anticipation so much - all those little doors, counting down the days!

I also love the decorations. I have told my husband that, should we ever have a fire in our house, get the boxes of ornaments before anything else! That’s how much they mean to me. And there’s like 10, 18 gallon Rubbermade tubs, so that fire better hold off.

This year, sadly, my expectations for my tree had to be downsized because we have a kitten. A naughty, leapy, climby kitten.

And there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to risk my precious ornaments being broken!

The kitten has already knocked it down…twice.

My expectations had to be curtailed.

Expectations are a huge part of Christmas.

In December of 2022, I first picked up a book titled, Emmanuel, by Ruth Chou Simons. This is now my third year reading it.

It’s beautiful, which is a bonus, but I especially love it because it helps me rethink my expectations for the holidays.

We always have expectations, don’t we? Whether big or small.

When we were little our expectations of Christmas were enormous! There’s going to be gifts! With my name on them! And they’re gonna be great! And there’s gonna be a ton of them! And they’re gonna be exactly what I want! And Mom is gonna love the present I made her in school! With paste and sequins and a paper plate.

We make lists. Perhaps, like my daughter, we illustrate them. We drop hints. We point things out in the store windows. Or aisles. Or, these days, we send links.

We plan. We expect happiness. We expect surprises. We expect yummy things to eat.

Then again, maybe your childhood Christmases were more like my husband’s. His father left them at Christmastime. He came back months later. But it marred Christmas for Colin for years. It wasn’t until we’d been married like maybe ten years that I realized that Colin finally enjoyed Christmas.

His expectations of Christmas were very, very small. His expectations were that it would disappoint.

I remember being disappointed because of my expectations once or twice at Christmas. My mom worked at a bookstore and she got a great employee discount. So year after year, we received book after book.

Now don’t get me wrong: I love books. But when you’re 13 and you want new clothes…books don’t always cut it.

“Great…” you say, being handed a gift to unwrap and feeling the telltale edges of a hardback book. “Thanks, Mom.”

I know this makes me sound terribly greedy and ungrateful. But there it is. We didn’t have a lot of money, growing up. And Mom was doing her best and sometimes I didn’t appreciate that very much.

Expectations can ruin our attitudes.

Kinda like when I was expecting my first child - literally “expecting”, right? The due date came and went and even though I knew perfectly well that babies rarely show up on their due date…I felt like Christmas had come and Santa had forgotten me.
Our expectations can lead to dis-satisfaction.

And that brings me back to the book.

Simons writes, “Our problem is that we replace expectancy with expectations.”

To have “expectations” is to expect things of people, places, things, toys, events. We have unrealistic presumptions and impossible standards.

But to live with “expectancy” is to set our sights on God’s promises - rather than the empty pursuit of all that cannot truly satisfy.

I remember one Thanksgiving maybe ten years ago - I decided we’d eat at the big table downstairs where all the food could be brought to the table on Colin’s great aunt’s serving dishes and we’d pass the potatoes in a traditional kind of way, rather than use our too-small usual dining table where we have to serve buffet-style.

That table is right by the kitchen. Where everything is baked. And everything is washed. Nice. And. Close.

And so we tromped the dishes downstairs and set a beautiful table and then we chowed down and then we were done.

And then we had to bring everything upstairs again.

My husband told me to sit down and rest a little. “Let us know when you need help”.

But I couldn’t rest. There were things that had to be done and if I sat too long I’d never get up again, right? So I began tromping up and down the stairs with dishes while the others played a game. I made loud dish-clanging type sounds (but it was my good china, so not too many.) I probably coughed. But they didn’t notice. So finally, exhausted and feeling ignored, I hollered. And then I burst into tears.

Colin, non-plussed, said, “I told you to tell us when you needed help!”

I thought they’d be able to see what was happening ten feet away. I EXPECTED them to notice. To read my mind, perhaps?

My expectations were wrong.

Kinda like with Mary and Martha. Martha got cross when the expectations she had of her sister were unmet. Martha was sitting there fixing the “Thanksgiving” meal and cleaning it up afterward, and Mary was sitting at the feet of Jesus.

And Martha had had enough.

But do you remember what Jesus said?

“Martha, Martha. You are worried about many things. But Mary has chosen the good part.” Sitting at the feet of Jesus. Listening to him talk. Basking in his Jesus-ness.

That’s the good stuff.

Now hear me: It doesn’t mean that what Martha was doing was wrong! What it means is that stressing and having unrealistic expectations of those around you - and of yourself  isn’t the best thing for you. Or anyone.

The author continues: “If you expect Christmastime to make you feel good about your family relationships, you will be disappointed. If you expect your spouse to read your mind about what makes a holiday season special, you will be disappointed. If you expect gifts from others to make you feel loved and remembered, you will be disappointed. You see, what we believe we are waiting for in this season…determines the difference between whether we are overjoyed or overwhelmed.”

I mentioned that this is my third year reading this book. The first year was 2022. By Thanksgiving of that year I had, to quote Charles Dickens, “Great Expectations” of getting everything right, having perfect gifts, wrapping, meals, interactions, etc. etc.

But then I began to read this book and I began, slowly, to set those expectations aside. My daughter and I talked about it, as I’d given her the book, too. I was open to the theoretical idea that an “imperfect” Christmas would not mean the end of the world as I knew it.

On December 18th of that year my husband and I flew to NYC. We had a great time. In the meantime, back at the ranch, a blizzard was approaching Minnesota. My son and oldest daughter begged off of work early and both drove down from northern Minnesota to be home in time for Christmas, should the storm interrupt their travels.

Just in case the worst happened and I got back a day or so late, I told them where to find my grocery shopping list - which I’d left ready for the day I got home.  As we rode in a taxi from Midtown to JFK airport to head home on the 21st, I was talking through the list with the girls as they shopped.

I even lined them up to wrap gifts - which I had separated out already into each person’s bags to make things easier for me when I got home.

I wanted everything to be ready and perfect for baking and all of those last-minute details when I arrived home. I could almost smell the baking cookies, taste the bread, hear the perfect music, see the gifts piling up beneath the tree.

Yes, I’d embraced the theory that having an “imperfect” Christmas was ok. I was not about to take any risks.

We arrived in Minneapolis. Almost home!

We didn’t leave MInneapolis for  three days.

I texted my sisters in Washington State. “Why don’t you just rent a car and drive home?” one of them asked.

Clearly she has never experienced a Minnesota Blizzard.

There was no driving home. There was no flying home.

We did, at least, manage to get a hotel room. Twice, due to the fact that we went through airport security three times. Expecting each time to be THE time!

Over the course of the three days I accidentally dumped my husband’s contacts down the drain. I broke a toe. The airline lost our luggage. And my husband couldn’t sleep because he’d unthinkingly packed his meds in said luggage.

We also almost witnessed a shooting at the Mall of America.

Finally, mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve, after landing in Sioux Falls that morning and waiting for the highway to open up for traffic, we got home.

My expectations?
Completely annihilated.
But we were home. And that was all that mattered.

Some people from church here had brought the kids some Christmas treats. Sausage and crackers and banana bread. That was what we had in liu of the long list of things I’d planned to bake. The things I’d imagined. The things I thought a “perfect” Christmas required.

We were so grateful for that banana bread!

My daughter Katie said, “It’s kinda like that book you gave me, Mom! Saying that everything will be okay in Jesus even if our expectations aren’t met!”

I’d been thinking the same thing.

God knew we needed the wisdom of this author. He knew what was coming.

The next day, Christmas day, mere minutes after we finished opening gifts, we got a phone call from my nephew.

My mother had just passed away.

God knew we needed to change our expectations. He knew what was coming. He knew that I needed to realize that Christmas could still be Christmas without the usual accouterments. Without, even, the usual people.

Or, to quote Dr. Seuss, Christmas is still Christmas “without ribbons. Without tags. Without packages, boxes or bags.”

That night we sat around the dinner table, using, for the first time, Mom’s china that she’d handed down to me the previous summer. We ate and cried and smiled and remembered and none of the Christmas confections that didn’t get made mattered. It didn’t matter that I’d missed my favorite radio broadcast of the entire year (Christmas Eve from Kings College, Cambridge) or that the ham was dry because I’d been too distracted to pay it any attention.

What mattered was that we loved each other and, more importantly, that God loved us and we knew that Grandma was with her Savior.

Simons writes, “Expectations leave us weary and discontent. They leave us unfulfilled and doubtful about God…But expectancy is anticipation mingled with joy. It’s believing that God is who he says he is while waiting patiently for his good will to be revealed.

Expectancy remembers that we already have more than we deserve. Expectation demands more.”

Galatians 4:4 says, “But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman…”

No one expected the Messiah to be born in a stable to poor, barely-married parents, far from home. No one expected the shepherds to come rejoicing or the angels to keep showing up. No one looked in expectation for gifts and honor from foreign kings or a brilliant star to lead them.

Nothing worked out the way Mary must have expected.
Her Pinterest Board didn’t include any of this. ?

But none of it was a surprise to God. He does things in his way. In his time. God looked down upon the world and said…“NOW”

I’ve been reading the book, This is Happiness, by Niall Williams. Williams is an Irish author - hilariously dry humor - the kind where you have to read a sentence twice, sometimes, to get the subtleties.

In describing the grandmother he writes, “As a shield against despair she had decided early on to live with the expectation of doom, an inspired tactic, because, by expecting it, it never fully arrived.”

Expectations, right? Whether of doom or of joy! Whether pessimism or optimism.

Expectations leave us hanging. But when we live expectantly, believing that God will show up in the midst of even our greatest sorrows and disappointments, then we are able to handle whatever crazy comes our way.

When we live expectantly, we’re on the lookout for the amazing.

May your Christmas season be filled with expectant joy!

Do you ever have soul-crushing days? Days when everything goes wrong - or at least feels like it does. Days when you just want to go home, make a cup of tea, crawl into bed, and lose yourself in a well-loved book because therein lies comfort. Therein lies safety. Therein lies known outcomes and satisfying conclusions.

I don’t have days like that too often, honestly. I’m an optimist and I have a large capacity to banish worries to the back of my mind until I can think about them without crying.

But there are some days…days which Anne of Green Gables called “Jonah days” - when even my capacity for looking on the bright side is challenged.

I won’t list the things that set me off. That won’t help anyone. But I will admit that I have yelled at the television news more than once lately when hearing political claptrap from the candidate I don’t like so much.

‘Nuff said about that.

I dare not say more because even saying that is enough to raise my blood pressure. It’s stressful. It’s frustrating. It’s irritating. 

It’s pulling me away from God.

I read a verse this morning that I haven’t paid a whole lot of attention to. It’s in the Old Testament. I love the Old Testament - mostly - but I admit that sometimes I brush off OT verses as hard-to-understand. Not-applicable. Odd.

But this one. Oh, my. This one.

Isaiah 55:3

“Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live.”

The Living Bible translates it as:

“Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen, for the life of your soul is at stake.”

The life of your soul is at stake!

Hear, that your soul may live!

Oh, my goodness.

Who am I listening to? What am I focused on?

The news? The state of our nation and world? The weather? My doctor? The state of my checkbook?

Let it go. 

I’m not saying I should ignore it entirely. But to not focus on it. 

I’ve got to listen to God, come and sit at his feet like Mary before us. Mary, who chose to sit at Jesus’ feet rather than do her hostess duties, much to her sister’s dismay. Mary, who chose “the good part” - that of sitting with, and listening to, her Savior.

And when I do that…when you do that…our souls will live.

What might that look like?

Don’t put that thought on the back burner, my friends. 

Listen. Really, truly, listen. Draw near. Sit in the silence and peace that Jesus offers you. 

“And when you draw close to God, God will draw close to you.” James 4:8

9/13/24 I received a phone call a few minutes ago. Someone was calling to tell us that something we’d been given annually, here at church, was no longer going to be free for us because the person who has been giving it has passed away.

Are you seeing what I’m seeing here?

It’s like reverse salvation!

We now need to pay, because the person who paid has died…

As opposed to Jesus, who paid when he died…so that we don’t have to pay after his death.

I love when little things - simple things - cause me to sit up and notice.

Notice the good things God has done for us. Notice the ways that he speaks to us through everyday occurrences. Notice the gifts he gives us all the time that are so easy to miss.

It is especially important to notice in a time when I really need to depend on him. Like right now. I mean, I always should be depending on him…but right now it just feels so obvious. So clear.

I need to trust him. To really see things. To keep my eyes open to the ways he’s working.

“Trust me,”. He’s saying. “Just as you did when you did that big thing last month.”

Why is it so much easier to trust in the big things?

It’s the daily stuff that gets us down.

Please, God…I am expectant. I am excited to see how you work. Please help me to leave it at that and not start in with the “yes, buts…”

Just leave them be. Set them aside. Let them go.

Keep on being excited for what he’s going to do. Keep on trusting that he is, indeed, working.

“But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.” Micah 7:7.

You know how people ask questions that are pertinent to the season?

“What are you planning to do after graduation?” they’ll ask 12th grade kids, who either shrug off the question irritably or smile as they were taught and spout off a pat answer.  Or “How was your vacation?” they’ll ask after a tickle at the back of their minds reminds them that their friends recently posted something about eating Spaghetti Eis in Germany. Or perhaps “When’s the baby due” (A tricky question that should never be asked unless one is 100% certain that there is, indeed, new life growing inside that lady’s tummy.)

Or, of course, there are always holiday-related questions like “How was your Christmas / Spring Break / Summer?”
It’s that last one that’s got me hot and bothered right now.
“How was my summer?”
More like “Where was my summer?!”

And I’m not even talking about the weather, which was kind of odd this year. Nor am I talking about the usual “Gosh, it was  just so busy” kind of answer. No, where I lost my summer vacation was when suddenly it was filled with lots of things that required brainpower. In other words, there was a total lack of any vacationing…or even any “staycationing”.

Summer is supposed to be about slowing down, they say. “Sit back and relax,” they say. “Put your feet up. Lounge around the pool. Pour yourself a tall glass of [insert the drink of your choice. I’ll take strawberry lemonade, please.]”

I had none of that. Or almost none.

And it’s entirely my fault. Well, mostly, anyway. It’s a little bit the fault of the weather, giving us far too many cool and windy days to enjoy the hammock, where it has to be 80ish and no wind (or humidity, in my opinion) in order to be the right temp down at the point with the water on three sides and a breeze even when there isn’t a breeze anywhere else.

But back to it being my fault.

I took on a lot. I preached four times, I spoke at a Bible camp for 3rd-5th graders - meaning speaking 5 times in as many days - and I officiated at a memorial service.

Would I have traded any of it? No. Not one iota.

Told you it was my fault that I’m worn out.

Let me backtrack a little. I rarely preach. Usually only once or twice a year. But the summer began with three scheduled times to preach in six weeks. Which was a lot. But when you work at a church and your pastor retires, well, you need to fill the pulpit for a month and a half. Besides, I said yes to that months ago, thinking that I would commit to that and be done. And another besides: I enjoy preaching.

Then came the camp, asking me to speak. I’m on the board there. My son was working there and my daughter would be there as well. How could I say no? And besides, camp is relaxing.
Uh huh.
It’s far more relaxing when you don’t have speaking engagements hanging over your head daily.

Then came a request to fill the pulpit at the church where I attend (as opposed to the church where I work.) One time deal. No problem, I’ll enjoy that.

Then came the biggest ask of my life. To officiate at the memorial service of two of my childhood classmates, who passed away in a plane crash in Alaska.

There was no way on God’s Green Earth I could say no to that when I was asked. Would it be incredibly hard and would I need more prayer than ever in my life and could I even make it though?
Good questions.

For four weeks I planned and prepared and wrote and erased and thought and scratched out and thought and prayed.
Lots and lots of prayer; lots and lots of asking friends to pray.
I flew out to Washington, took a ferry to the island where I grew up, and it was amazing and hard and wonderful and exhausting and I was so honored to be a part of it.

And so, after all of that…summer is over and I feel like it never began.

It was - all of it was - amazing and hard and wonderful and exhausting. And I wouldn’t trade one bit of it.

Except maybe for the bit when I had Covid in the middle, causing me to have to cancel one of the preaching times.

So, where does this leave me now?
 
Expectant. Ready for more. Thankful. Trusting God to work in ways I never imagined.
And still a little bit tired. Still wanting that staycation.

But in the midst of the amazing and hard and wonderful and exhausting, I have found peace. Fulfillment. Joy. I have found tremendous strength in seeing how God has carried me through it all.

I have clung to the rock that is higher than I. And wow, have I found him faithful.

“Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.”
Psalm 61:1-4

"The 7:25 sailing for Shaw and Orcas Islands will be at least 40 minutes late..."

The announcement that came over the loudspeaker of the waiting room at the Anacortes ferry dock would have been almost comical had I not woken up at 2:30a.m. Central Time in Minnesota and it was now 7:15p.m. Pacific Time (9:15 Central) and I was weary after a full day of traveling, including driving through Seattle traffic - a big enough stress of its own! (But one which went very well, thankfully!)

Besides, it was blatantly clear that the ferry wouldn't be leaving on time as it hadn't even arrived yet, let alone unloaded any passengers or loaded up new ones. But there was nothing to be done about it, so I texted my sister that she needn't leave home yet to meet me at the Orcas Island ferry dock, and pulled out my book.

I didn't have to wait for long. Soon the boat arrived, disgorged its cars and walk-on passengers, and I eagerly boarded, found a seat towards the front, and felt that familiar excitement I always have when headed to my favorite place on earth: Orcas Island, WA, where I grew up.

Had the ferry been on time, the entire trip would have taken place in daylight, but since it was late, the sun soon sank behind the islands and my view of evergreens and rocky shores was replaced with...black. The pitch darkness of a cloudy night in sparsely populated islands.

But every so often, there was a light. Perhaps a window. Perhaps an antenna, perhaps a campfire. And those lights were all the brighter for the darkness that surrounded them.

I spoke about the darkness of that ferry ride several days later, when the purpose of my visit was fulfilled. I'd been asked to officiate at the memorial service of two of my classmates from the island who died in a plane crash in Alaska.

People sometimes use the term "tragedy" loosely. It is not a tragedy when an elderly person dies after a long and fulfilling life. It is a tragedy when two people (there were three people, actually, on the plane) in their early 50's die in a terrible and unexpected way. That is tragic, by definition. That kind of tragedy brings so many questions, so much unanticipated grief.

How we deal with that grief - with the sheer unfairness of what happened - can define who we are, or, rather, who we become as a result of tragedy.

I also spoke to that idea, that we should take the energy of our sorrow and use it for good in the world. Make, as it were, beauty from the ashes.

On the day that I was asked to do the service, the first thing my husband asked me was, "Can you do it?" As in, emotionally, would I be able to stand up front and lead such a heartbreaking event?

How could I say no? How could I say yes?

I knew I could not do it alone, and so I asked many friends to pray. When the moment came, I was completely at peace. In some ways it was the easiest thing I'd ever done, despite being the hardest. I was not alone, you see. I was upheld by so many behind the scenes. My words and my energy were not my own.

Interestingly, I was asked that the message I gave would not be about God or include prayer or Scripture. Bizarrely, that request was freeing. I always know that when I speak, it's not my words but that what I say is from God. Never before had that been so obvious. The whole event was out of my hands and into His. It was up to the Holy Spirit to shine between the lines of what I was able to say. As it always should be.

Afterall, Jesus came to be the light in the world.

"I have come as a light to shine in this dark world, so that all who put their trust in me will no longer remain in the dark." John 12:46

Be the light, my friends. Take the light you know of Jesus, and shine it out into the world, even without words. Leave the results to Him.

Every day - and that is no exaggeration - we are privy to a funny scene at our house. Right off of our deck we have several large maple trees. Somewhere nearby - I'm not exactly sure where - we also have a nest or two of squirrels.

These squirrels are, as you can probably imagine, movers and shakers. They consider a day spent at home to be a day wasted. Or course, it's also probably a day without food, so I don't blame them there. In their quest to find food (often found at our birdfeeder but I try not to mind) and recreation, the squirrels use what we fondly call, The Squirrel Superhighway, which runs from one of the maple trees to another.

Do the trees touch?

No.

But that doesn't stop the intrepid squirrels. They leap from tree to tree, sometimes barely making the jump, as if there is nothing easier in the world for them to do. And perhaps there isn't, come to think of it. I mean, that's how God made them, right, so they're just doing what comes naturally.

I am constantly amazed - though I suppose I shouldn't be by now - at their dexterity. Never have I seen one fall. NEVER. And we've lived here for almost eight years. They just go about their business, leaping and jumping and thinking nothing of it.

Kind of like the lame beggar healed by Peter and John in Acts chapter 3.

"And [Peter] took him by the right hand and raised him up, and immediately his feet and ankles were made strong. And leaping up, he stood and began to walk, and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. And all the people saw him walking and praising God, and recognized him as the one who sat at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, asking for alms. And they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him." Acts 3:7-10

I said "kind of like" but I think that the lame beggar probably was thinking A LOT of what had just happened as opposed to the squirrel's thoughtless leaping.

Isn't that story amazing? Don't you wish you could witness such a miracle? God, through Peter, instantly healed a man who could not walk and now he could leap and jump and do whatever things God called him to do.

Things that, perhaps, required the ability to leap and jump and praise God.

Kind of like those squirrels. They leap. They jump. And by so doing, they praise the God who made them to do those very things. Miraculously flying from tree to tree. And never falling. Not once.

God calls us all to do unique things for him. Possibly leaping and jumping. Possibly not. But whatever it is, he's got us. He's built us to do exactly whatever it is he's set on our path. On our Superhighway, as it may be. And he will be there to enable us to make those seemingly impossible leaps.

Trust in the Lord, my friends. Do the things he's called you to do. Take the leap.

I planted my amaryllis bulbs on Saturday. I'd kind of forgotten about them and suddenly realized that it's about time I do something with those bulbs down in the basement or it will be kinda past the point! (If the point is to have flowers blooming in winter I'm already past that point!)

So I pulled them out - I have about 20 - and now they're lining the living room windows looking a little bit sad and making me wonder if some of them are going to do anything at all, as they're looking, well...dead.

But therein lies the beauty of a bulb, eh?

My tulips and daffodils are popping up out of the ground outside already. They're not dead. And I guarantee you, that as they have every other year, my amaryllis bulbs aren't dead, either.

Despite their appearance. Despite how things look. Despite how things seem.

Despite the fact that Jesus had been crucified, killed, entombed.

Despite the appearance of the situation...everything was going to be okay.

Was he dead?

Yes.

Was he wrapped in cloth like a mummy and left in a sealed tomb?

Yes.

Had all hope fled for the disciples?

Well, a lot of it had, yes.

But Jesus did not disappoint.

Up from the grave he arose!

Hallelujah!!

Christ arose!

I can't even say how much I love today.

It's Ash Wednesday.

But it's also Valentine's Day. Apparently this conjunction of the holidays happened in 2018 (I vaguely remember that) and will again in 2029 and then won't again until we and possibly even our children are all long gone.

Now, I'm not a big proponent of Valentine's Day. It's overblown. There is too much pressure. Too much emphasis on "what I am doing for you; what I am saying to you; what I am expecting to receive from you..."

Ironically, I'm also not a big proponent of Ash Wednesday...or at least I wasn't until a few years ago. I didn't grow up celebrating Ash Wednesday. The community church we attended never talked about it - at least, not that I recall. I didn't know what Lent was, either. But I have enjoyed this added element to my faith as an adult.

And so along comes this year, a rare conjoining of two holidays, when the seven-week preparation of the ultimate gift of love meets the 24-hour celebration of the feeble (by comparison) love of humans.

Quite the mashup.

On the one hand: perfect love. On the other: fallible love.

On the one hand: Jesus. Fully God. Fully man.

On the other: Us. Made in the image of God, sure...but not able to live up to that ideal any more than we are able to sing the Hallelujah Chorus on the day we are born. We are "fully human". Period.

On the one hand: Looking to Easter as the ultimate fulfillment of our needs...

On the other hand: Looking to a person as the ultimate fulfillment of our desires.

Wow. When I put it that way, it really brings the picture into focus for me. If I come from the premise (and I do) that Jesus is God and his payment for our sins on the cross was the ultimate fulfillment of my needs (forgiveness of my sins), then to compare that to anything a human can offer by way of fulfilling another human's desires...there is a lot left to be, well, desired.

And that's the problem with Valentine's Day. We're imperfect. We don't match up. We fail. We forget. We don't live up to expectations. We disappoint. Valentine's Day only seems to prove that we aren't everything we should be. We simply can't be everything that the object of our affections wishes we were.

We are, in short, human.

Ash Wednesday, however, is all about pointing us to the cross. Pointing us to the ultimate love. Pointing us to the One who Never Fails. The One who was the perfect sacrifice for our sins.

Perfection vrs. frailty.

All mashed into this one day. "Ashintine's Day". "Valinash Day". This day, when we celebrate the ones we love as fully as we possibly can despite our human weakness.

This day: when we look to the ideal love of Christ.

This day: when Jesus, the ultimate Valentine, reminds us that "when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy." (Titus 3:4,5)

God knows about our imperfections. He knows and he still loves us.

As any good Valentine will do.

Phew! I just got caught up on 4 days of our Through the Bible reading! Yes, I was behind and it took a while to catch up. I'll try to not let that happen again!

I have never before read through the Bible chronologically. I've read straight through a few times but not the chronological way, so that's interesting to me to be changing things up a bit. To be honest, I'm kinda glad that Job is done already! That doesn't sound very nice, but I admit that Job is a challenge for me to enjoy. That's why I was so glad to come across a resource that has helped me in understanding what we're reading! I wanted to share this with you all as this is something that might help you as well.

It's called The Bible Recap and, handily enough, it's also chronological. The readings aren't EXACTLY the same as the daily readings we've been doing, but just one chapter off, so far. So that's not a problem. And since it's chronological - ordered by the time of the Bible events, as is our reading program, it should be the same all along the way - and if not, one can just turn to the right section in one's book!

SO...there are several ways to get The Bible Recap or Bible Recap helps if you're interested, and Amazon has them all. (Not that I mean to promote a certain website, but it sure is handy. I'm sure you can find it other places as well.)

1) The Bible Recap: A One-Year Guide to Reading and Understanding the Entire Bible by Tara-Leigh Cobble. This is a short overview of each day's reading and ends with a very short look at how God is working in the situation covered by the reading. I've been using this all along and it actually helped me appreciate the book of Job more! My version is an e-book that I purchased but you can also get it as a free podcast called The Bible Recap.

2) The Bible Recap Study Guide: Daily Questions to Deepen Your Understanding of the Entire Bible. This has daily questions for you as you do your reading/listening. It's good for personal use/growth. I have not purchased this but it looks quite nice and helpful to keep you focused.

3) The Bible Recap Journal: Your Daily Companion to the Entire Bible. This looks like a useful tool if you're a journaler - which I am not, so haven't purchased it - but I can see that the daily questions would be good to keep you focused and thinking about how this applies to YOU.

SO... I hope that these resources might be helpful to you to at least look into - and the podcast is free, so why not?

I am glad that we're back into the story part of Genesis - I love these old stories and seeing how God used imperfect people to do His will...just as he can use us, imperfect as we are, to do his will in today's world! God is still working in the world, and I'm excited that we're going through his Word together this year to get to know and understand our father better than we've ever known him before!

Okay...back to my reading!

I've been attending Grief Share recently over at First Lutheran Church here in Worthington. It is held there, but it is open to anyone who would like to attend. It's been good for me to go. Not only am I with other people who can relate to recent loss, but it's been great at getting insight into how to handle grief, how to work through it, how to grow through it.

Last week one of the speakers (in the video we watch as part of the discussion) said something about how grief is like an unfinished puzzle. Or, rather, a messed-up puzzle. A puzzle that was complete and then was bumped into. Knocked over. Messed up.

Our lives were that completed puzzle. Sure, life changes. New family members or friends are added in, or we move or switch jobs, and each time those things happen, the puzzle picture morphs to accept them. But when a loss occurs - loss of life or, to extend the analogy, loss of job - the puzzle is joggled, spilled to the floor, and the completed picture will never be the same again.

It's impossible to be the same because the person who made you YOU, is out of the picture.

Literally.

The puzzle has been messed up and will never go back together as it was. Once a puzzle is knocked over, you risk the pieces being spread out, lost, bent, destroyed.

And that's kinda how you (or I) might feel after a loss. We're spread too thin. We're lost. We're twisted or folded or damaged.

We're not the same. And the picture of our lives will never look the same.

And yet.

And yet.

We're still here. We're hanging on. We're trying to make a new picture out of the scraps. Out of the bits and pieces that remain. Out of our memories and stories and things that our lost loved-ones brought to our lives.

And while the picture will never be the same, it can become something lovely again. But it takes a little time. A little TLC. A little patience and compassion and prayer.

Well, a lot of prayer.

We are all broken puzzles. Trying to fit our lives together as best we know how. May God show us  the beauty that is possible with our remaining bits.

I am not a journal-writer. My mom, on the other hand, wrote in a journal every day of her adult life. Or as close to every day as she could possibly get. We have journals that go back to the early days of their marriage. We can look back to see what was written when my sisters and I were born, when emotional events took place in our family, when world-events occurred.

It was my grandmother, Mom's mom, who encouraged her three girls to keep journals. We have her journals as well, though I understand that she didn't want them kept. In fact, she specifically asked that they be burned when she died. Mom did not obey that wish. Whether she ever read them, I don't know. I do know that as I was packing them up to send home with my Aunt Nancy after Mom's memorial service, I found the one from the year I was born. I opened to the correct page and sure enough, there I was mentioned for the first time. My brain was in too deep of a fog at that time to remember exactly what she said, but it was full of thanks and hope and joy.

How lovely to have her words about me, from day one.
 
I have not read any of Mom's journals. Not yet. I probably will someday, when I'm ready. Of course, that's if I can read her handwriting. She words were pretty wobbly for the last few years of her life.

I did, however, with Dad's permission, read what she wrote on the day she passed away:

12/25/22 Sun.
John 7:1-9
No time to write - later or tomorrow

Sadly for us, there was no later, nor was there a tomorrow. But that's ok. Because here's what she read that day, in her well-worn Bible:

"After this, Jesus went around in Galilee. He did not want to go about in Judea because the Jewish leaders there were looking for a way to kill him. But when the Jewish Festival of Tabernacles was near, Jesus’ brothers said to him, 'Leave Galilee and go to Judea, so that your disciples there may see the works you do. No one who wants to become a public figure acts in secret. Since you are doing these things, show yourself to the world.' For even his own brothers did not believe in him.
Therefore Jesus told them, 'My time is not yet here; for you any time will do. The world cannot hate you, but it hates me because I testify that its works are evil. You go to the festival. I am not going up to this festival, because my time has not yet fully come.' After he had said this, he stayed in Galilee." John 7:1-9

My time is not yet here...my time has not yet fully come...

Wow.

Jesus knows about timing. He's God, after all! God, who created time itself. God, who sees all of time at once. God, who knows what's coming and knows how things will work out and therefore never gets stressed out about current affairs the way we do because, quite frankly, "now" is just a drop in the bucket of time.

Jesus knew the time had not yet come for him to reveal himself to the world with multiple miracles and the like. He was biding his time. He waited patiently. He did not allow his human brothers to dictate his behavior. His time on earth had come...but his ministry on earth had not yet fully come.

Not yet. Not fully. 

The last sentence Mom wrote in her two-page journal entry on December 24th, the day before she died, was this: "I will come Lord. I will listen."

She was so ready to be with Jesus!

And God, being God, knew. He knew Mom's time had come. Fully. Completely. She was ready to see him and he was ready for her, too.

I cannot begin to say how comforting that is.

And comforting, too, that the last Scripture passage she read was about God's perfect timing. She, a huge bookworm, had read her last book.

I don't know the exact Scripture passage they read in church later that morning, but given that it was Christmas day, I can give a pretty good guess: Jesus. Born in God's perfect timing.

"But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son..." Galatians 4:4

Perfect timing.

Or what about this?

 "You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly." 
Romans 5:6

Perfect timing!

In birth.

In death.

Mom's time fully came.

Praise Jesus!

A few years ago I came across a quote by American theologian and writer, Frederick Buechner. Here it is, in context. (This is from his book, Wishful Thinking.

"The grace of God means something like: 'Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you.'"

Apart from Scripture, this is pretty much my favorite quote in the world. The part I italicized above, especially. I have an art print of it, hanging near my front door, with an arrow pointing out the window.

Here is the world. It's right there: out the window. But it's also right here, all around me. In the dirty laundry, waiting to be taken downstairs. In the groceries I just loaded into the fridge. In the mail, lying unopened on the kitchen counter. In the awkward and possibly misconstrued text conversation I've been avoiding all morning. In my car, in my work, in my friendships, in my church. In the news. In the books I read. In back-to-school sales and scheduled meetings and random meetings, too, on the sidewalk, in airplanes, in doctors offices and parks.

The world is in the neighbor boys looking for the golf ball they say they lost in our yard but which would have taken a miracle of science to reach the area where they're looking. But I don't mind and I tell them to search all they want. They run and yell and jump around the point, but no golf ball is discovered. Not in this corner of the world, anyhow.

Beautiful and terrible things will happen. And they do. Beauty isn't only in a sunset. It's in the lacy, decaying leaf that floats to your feet as you sit on the deck on a chilly autumn evening. It's in an unlooked-for invitation, in 64 years of marriage, in patience from a harassed clerk, in a wave from a stranger on a gravel road. It's in kindness and gentleness at the vet's office when the news isn't good. It's in a donut, left on your desk at work. Or a note, slid under the door. It's in the stray cat that blinks at you through the window, the nest of eggs unexpectedly in your hanging flower basket. The smile from a child you feared may never smile again.

But yes, terrible things are around us, too. Fires. Storms. Earthquakes. Tornadoes. Broken hearts and accidents. Stolen things and stolen lives. Politics, wars, illness. Missed sleep upon sleep upon sleep. Unintentional hurts. Festering sores, real or imagined. Loss. Sorrow. Death. It's thing after thing after thing when you just can't get a break.

Don't be afraid. Really? After that terrible list? How can I not? How? Because of the next line.

I am with you. This line isn't included in the quote on my wall. But that's ok because I know it's there and I add its intent in my head whenever I read it. The world is out there, it says to me, the good and the bad of it. But that's ok. All that means is that in the midst of the beautiful, terrible world, fear doesn't need to be your first response because you are not alone in the beauty and the terror. You are loved. You are wanted. You are together with the God of the universe at your side, in your very heart.

And that, my friends, is grace.

Beautiful and terrible grace. Beautiful because you can't earn it. Terrible because you can't earn it.

No matter how hard you strive, no matter how often you go to church, no matter. God loves you, plain and simple. The grace - the gift, the beauty - of his salvation comes to us because Jesus died to cover over our iniquities. Our sins. Our terribleness. It is a gift and by definition, we don't earn gifts. We are handed gifts simply because we're loved. Simply because: beauty.

And so: we must respond. Take the gift we haven't earned. Or not.

Here is the grace. Beautiful and terrible grace. Don't be afraid.

I wrote this blog post in April. For some reason, I never posted it. Today, when I opened the webpage, there the photo of our cat, Zephyr, sound asleep in the sun, jumped out at me.

Zephyr knew how to just BE.

He died a month and a half after I wrote the draft for this post. The draft I closed and forgot all about until today.

And so, I give you a photo of sleepy Zephyr, and suggest even more strongly that we need, from time to time, to take a leaf from his playbook and simply BE.

Below is my original, finally published, post...

There are definitely days when I wish I could just take a leaf from my cat's playbook and lie around in the sunshine all day moving with the shifting sun, lounging, relaxing. That doesn't happen too often, in my world!

Or ever, really. Not literally, anyway.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the sunshine through the windows and extremely glad that the temperatures are above freezing and the winds are below 30 miles per hour! Somehow sunshine just makes a day feel happier. Indeed, "Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy..."

I do admit, however, that I don't like it when the temperatures get too high. Finicky as a cat, I know. (Somehow cats are on my mind, today.)

So what's my point in all of this cat-and-sunshine business? What am I getting at?

Simply this: sometimes I just need to be still. And so do you, I'd wager. Are you running from meeting to meeting, from commitment to commitment, from deadline to deadline? I'm not saying you should take a vacation - sometimes a person simply cannot make that happen - but, perhaps, you could find a moment or two to simply BE?

To sit in the sunshine with your eyes closed?

To breathe deep and put your feet up, even just for five minutes?

Grab a book.

Make a pot of tea.

Or coffee.

Or at least get a glass of cool water.

Without cell phone at the ready.

Without the television on.

Without interruption.

Simply exist for a few moments. Apart from duties. Apart from the crazy.

Just be still...and know that He is God. (Psalm 46:10)

I know. Easier said than done sometimes.

But give it a go. Just be still. Just know. Just bask in the sunshine of God's love for you.

This is the last picture I took of my mom from the last time I saw her last summer. She didn’t like smiling for photos since her stroke in 2007. When that happened we thought we might lose her, but thankfully we were given 15 more years to enjoy her sense of humor and her theological discussions.
The last time I spoke with her my husband and I were at JFK airport in New York. I decided to call from there as I thought my dad would get a kick out of it as that’s the airport he flew out of for several years as a pilot with Pan American World Airways. Mom didn’t remember that we’d gone to NYC and was confused by that, but we had a nice short talk and I’ll forever be thankful that I made that call.
She died four days later.
Do you ever have someone come to mind unexpectedly? Or feel a nudge to get in touch with someone even if it isn't, perhaps, the most convenient moment? I always feel like those are times that I can't ignore. If you feel there is someone you should call...please do so. Or at least text. If you normally wouldn't be  in touch with that person, it doesn't matter. That's better, even! Don't worry if they might find it surprising. Do it anyway. Just say hello. Nothing deep. Nothing difficult. Just hello. You never know what a difference it could make for them...or for you.
I know these aren't deep thoughts on this Mother's Day, but they're where my mind is going this morning. I mean, I could talk forever about my mom. But that's just too much today. So I just encourage you to be in touch. I'm forever grateful that I followed the nudge to call my parents from the airport. In the noise and the anxiety of such a place, it wasn't perhaps the more convenient time...but I did it and it turned out to be the last time I heard Mom's voice. And not only that, but it was a memorable call - normally my calls would just be typical weekly calls - but this was in the middle of the week, and from a special place.
And it will forever be cherished.
Make that call. To whomever it is on your mind and heart.
And then tell me if you do, and how it went. I'd love to hear about it.

Think back: you're small. Young. Impressionable. You're at church. A place you find acceptance. Kindness. Creativity.  It's summer. It's hot. It's boring.

And then, in the midst of your hot boredom, along comes Vacation Bible School. The ever-loving VBS!
 
The. Best. Week. Of. The. Year!!

Remember that feeling?! Not only were there stories, there were snacks. Not only were there songs, there were SHOUTED songs. Not only were there crafts, there were games. Not only were there old friends there were new ones, too. And not only were there challenges, there were contests. And there were prizes (pride of winning, mostly). And there were memory verses. And there were straight-up memories.

Which, clearly, I have never forgotten.

I am delighted to say that we are bringing all of that - mostly - here to Worthington this summer with our Community Kids' Camp!

June 5-8, from 5:30-8p.m., here at First United Methodist Church, we will host Community Kids' Camp, a joint effort between FUMC, Living Waters Covenant, American Lutheran and First Lutheran churches. There is a suggested donation of $5 per child with a $15 cap per family, which can be paid on the first night. We would love for people to sign up their kids - or grandkids or nieces and nephews - by May 21st, if possible, so that we can get the right number of supplies prepared. You can sign up by calling the church at 507.372-2939. There is also a QR code on the posters that you might see posted at church or around town.

We for sure will need volunteers! If you'd like to volunteer in any one of the following ways, please see me, Gretchen, or talk with Lori in the office or Pastor Daren. Here's a list of some of the ways you can volunteer:

Trail Guide: stays with the kids throughout the evening.
Kitchen leader: oversee the kitchen nightly - does not cook
Cooks - for one night only (the other churches take the other nights)
Game leader and assistant: nightly
Craft leader and assistant: nightly
Registration table: could be nightly or just one night
We also will need cookies (not bars), apples and carrots on June 5th.
There are some other volunteer opportunities, too, which we haven't figured out yet, so feel free to ask! Anyone from 6th grade on up is welcome to help.

Please consider volunteering with us for this memory-making opportunity! Even if just for one night, you will be so welcome and have fun seeing the kids as they have fun, I know. Thank you!

C. S. Lewis wrote a book titled, Surprised by Joy. I must admit, I've never read it. Only excerpts. I'm sure it's great. I mean, it's Lewis, right? I know I should read it...but the thing is, I'm an optimist. Joy never really surprises me; I expect it.

What surprises me is this grief.

I mean, okay, my mom died. I'm supposed to grieve. It's okay. It's normal. It would be bad to not grieve. On several levels. But what I wasn't ready for is this "hit-me-out-of-the-blue" grief. The concept is not new to me, that of grief hitting at unexpected moments. But the reality is rough.

I'll be going along, doing my own thing, and suddenly there it is: tears, welling up in my eyes. Maybe I saw a reference to Mother's Day. Or a recipe she would have clipped. Or heard a song she loved.

Or, as the last time this happened, simply being in church.

Thank goodness it was the Maundy Thursday service -- always a favorite of mine -- and the lighting was dim. Thank goodness I was in the back row. Thank goodness it was acceptable to have our eyes closed.

My grief built up as the service progressed. I mean, it was Easter week - so that's emotional right there. It's Jesus forgiving, dying, rising. How can I not get emotional about that?

Says the girl who cries at the drop of a hat.

But usually when I cry in church it's subtle. It's silent. It's perhaps even expected. Of me, anyway.

But this was different. As the service progressed, the emotions were building but still within acceptable levels and then there we were, singing My Jesus, I Love Thee and the dam that kept the waters at bay burst.

"My Jesus, I love thee, I know thou art mine / for three all the follies of sin I resign; / My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art thou: / I ever I loved three, my Jesus 'tis now. / I love thee because thou hast first loved me..."

CUE THE FIRST TEARS.

"and purchased my pardon on Calvary's tree; / I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow;"

CUE MORE TEARS

"If ever I loved three, my Jesus 'tis now."

CUE THROAT CLOSING UP AND TEARS STREAMING DOWN CHEEKS. I WON'T BE SINGING THIS SONG OUTLOUD ANY LONGER. I KEPT SINGING IT IN MY HEAD, THOUGH.

"I'll love thee in life, I will love three in death,"

CUE VISIONS OF MY MOM. IN DEATH.

"and praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath;"

CUE AGONIZED, DESPERATE WIPING OF EYES. COULDN'T YOU HAVE LENT HER BREATH A LITTLE WHILE LONGER, GOD?

"And say when the deathdew lies cold on my brow:"

CUE WONDERING WHAT DEATHDEW LOOKS LIKE. CUE WONDERING IF I WILL BE ABLE TO STOP THESE TEARS OR IF I'LL BURST INTO AUDIBLE SOBS AND VISIBLE SHAKING. CUE SPECTACULAR SELF CONTROL. CUE WONDERING IF I SHOULD GET UP AND WALK OUT. OR IF I SHOULD TAKE MY DAUGHTER'S HAND OR IF THAT WILL ONLY MAKE IT WORSE. CUE WISHING I COULD JUST LET GO AND WAIL. CUE THINKING THAT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D WANT TO WAIL IN PUBLIC BUT THIS MAY BE THE TIME. NOT SURE I CAN STOP IT. CUE WONDERING WHAT PEOPLE WOULD THINK IF I DID.

CUE NOT CARING.

CUE CARING.

CUE GASPING.

"If ever I loved thee, my Jesus 'tis now."

CUE WIPING MY EYES A FEW MORE TIMES. CUE HAVING NO IDEA WHAT THE PASTOR SAID NEXT. OR NEXT. OR NEXT.

CUE DEEP BREATHS. CUE REALIZING THAT I'VE SURVIVED.

CUE WONDERING, BRIEFLY, IF I WOULD HAVE BEEN HEALTHIER IF I'D JUST LET GO AND WAILED?

I was surprised by the extent, the moment, the depth of my grief. Cue wondering, now, in this moment, how long this will continue? If I haven't yet wept as I ought. If I will be like my mom herself, who, in the stress of Christmas Eve preparations 11 months and three weeks after her father died and approximately nine months after her mother died, when she fled the house in tears and wept to the heavens on the absent neighbor's deck because she'd kept the emotions in check for all those months. Being strong. Being brave. Behaving as a Christian ought, she thought, who knows that her parents are in heaven, who believes that worldly grief is wrong, who must set a good example for her girls, who does what's right. Always.

Always.

Oh, my dear mother.

Cue realizing that I'm more like my mother than I ever realized.

I think Micah 7:7 came as a gift to me today. I'd forgotten about this verse, but suddenly there it was, as I was looking for a photo. "But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me."

Yes. 

Yes!

God hears me. When I sob in public places. When I cry in the reaches of the night. When I contemplate the thought of Mother's Day. As I watch in hope for the Lord.

As I wait for God my Savior.

He hears his cue. And he never comes in late.

I'm a bit long-winded today, I admit. It's hard to pare down Salvation!

It's Holy Week. My favorite holiday approaches.

Now don't get me wrong: I love Christmas. It has gifts and cherished decorations and wonderful promises of good things to come. Not to mention the birth of the Savior of the World.

But as much as I love Christmas, I love Easter even more. Mostly because there's less stress, which is huge. All I have to do for Easter is cook one big meal and fill Easter baskets...as opposed to planning food for a week, filling giant stockings, wrapping (and mailing), decorating and baking, baking, baking.
 
Yes, Easter is less stressful and the promise of spring makes everything seem a little more light-hearted. Not to mention the death of the Savior of the World.

Ummm, excuse me? Death of the Savior is a good thing? That's not very Hollywood.

No, it's not.

Resurrection, now that's Hollywood!

But Good Friday is not a misnomer. Good Friday truly is good.

When I was a kid I didn't really understand that. How can you call it "good" when Jesus died, for goodness sake? Well...just that. He died, for GOODness sake. For the sake of goodness everywhere. For the sake of goodness for all time.

For the sake of us.

Even though we are far from good.

The thing is, if he hadn't died, we wouldn't have been saved from our sins.

And that's, unequivocally, good.

Yes, the birth of Jesus is fun. But it's the death of Jesus that was the point of the whole birth thing. He was born to die. Not many of us come into the world with a known purpose. A few do. Heirs to the throne. Perhaps siblings, born with the hope that their blood or bone marrow or other such thing can help a brother or sister. But most of us are born for the simple reason that, hopefully at least, our parents loved each other and we came as the result of that love.

John 1, however, points Jesus in another direction. He came "not of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God" (vrs. 10). God had a plan for Jesus from the start. A good plan. A plan for good. A plan, as Jeremiah 29:11 puts it, to bring hope for the future.

Without that good and hopeful plan, our world would be stuck. Stuck under the law. Stuck with the consequences of our sin.

Easter falls, always, on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the first day of Spring. Passover - bear with me, this does connect with God's good plan - falls on the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Nisan. This is always a full moon, but about 15 percent of the time, that full moon and the Easter full moon are not the same full moon.

Clear as mud?

Back in the year that Jesus died - 2023 years ago - Jesus was celebrating Passover on the weekend that he was arrested, crucified, buried and rose again. And so that first Holy Week was also Passover week.

What does this have to do with God's good plan for us? It's inextricably linked. Passover celebrates the exodus of the ancient Hebrews from their enslavement under Pharaoh in Egypt. Talk about a good - albeit convoluted - plan!  The Salvation that enabled their exit from Egypt was brought about by the death of a pure sacrificial lamb. Its blood protected them when the Angel of Death "passed over" their homes, ultimately leading to their escape, straight through the parted Red Sea.

It was entirely right that Jesus and his friends were celebrating this salvation, this most Holy of Holy holidays, at the time that he fulfilled our ultimate salvation. As they celebrated this ancient story of Exodus, Jesus wrote the next chapter of our salvific story. He became, for us, the sacrificial lamb. The perfect sacrifice. For all time and all people (Hebrews 10:10).

And that, my friends, is really why I like Easter better than Christmas. Yes, it took the death of Christ - which, at first blush, seems "bad" - but that death is the ultimate good in the world. Without that death we'd be dead, too. In our sins. Eternally. But because of that death - and the resurrection that followed - we live.

And that's, unequivocally, good.

It may be true that I have lived in the Midwest for 29 years and survived winter without too many scars and it may be true that I prefer Winter clothes to Summer ones and it may be even true that I kinda like a good snowstorm...but it is also true that I have never felt so ready for spring in my entire life.

This morning as I put on my mittens yet again and climbed into my cold car and punched on the heated seat button I couldn't help but think, "If I still lived in the state in which I was born (Florida) or even if I lived in the state in which I grew up (Washington) I wouldn't have to be doing these things at the end of March!" I mean honestly, the bulbs that my mom so happily planted last fall -  and for many falls prior - were already popping out of the ground when I was in Seattle in the end of January!

And yet here I am, along with so many others of you, facing snow in the forecast yet again. And frigid temps. And no flowers springing up in my garden.

Spring may have officially begun, but it hardly seems like it around here.

I wasn't too happy, driving to work.

But then, fast-forward a few hours to lunchtime. In my car yet again. Passing some geese in the park...can't complain about that! And then, low and behold, what to my wondering eyes did appear: a robin.

"What?" I exclaimed aloud. "Did I really just see that?" And then, yes, two more. Hopping along. Unmistakably.

Robins.

Praise Jesus!

Spring does exist.

"For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come..." Song of Solomon 2:11,12 NKJV

Quit your complaining, Gretchen. Spring is on its way!