the song's finish

 2/8/24

He’s wearing a suit and tie for the recital; he asked her to come, and her whole family. He started out sitting with us; in our normal pew, next to his younger brother.  It’s his turn to play, my heart is carried away by the music, the tender joy he spills into it. I am a little boat and his music is the river and I'm along for a glorious ride. I close my eyes to better feel the rhythm and the tears stream and I don't care. I feel like I could stay here forever, just listening, in awe of the beauty spilling out right here in this moment.  

I settle in deep-- for minutes or hours? I can’t say. 

But then my heart jolts- wait, the song is about to end, I can feel it coming but i’m not ready. I’m not done, keep playing, don't stop…
There is no sign that he hears my panic as I grope for an anchor for this moment.
He slows, gently, and glides into the harbor with a perfect finish.

When he’s done, he looks for her, he takes a seat by her, in the other pew, with her family. And I am watching his family double before my eyes.

It’s a sad and joyful resignation: The song has to finish for the next one to begin.

2025 attune

Will we get to see our stats in heaven?

If we do, I can imagine myself cringing, 

when the angel walks me to the giant pile of dusty papers

and I slowly realize what they are…

Lists, abandoned
Spreadsheets, forgotten

Plans to Tackle the Problem

Records of Motivation Bursts to meet the Goals

The commitment to, this time, for REAL, get it TOGETHER

I really like coming up with the plans
It gives me delight to stare at a problem and hypothetically dissect it, then plan the approach for dismantling it piece by piece in steady dedication. 

It’s the steady dedication part that trips me up.

My engine revs really high on New Year's Eve.

I like to imagine if I just sit for a minute, I will find the right direction to point that energy, and then I can spend the rest of the year zealously chasing down that shiney goal. One night of reflection, the rest of the year for steady progress.

Except that, so far, it has never worked that way. 

Life gets in the way, kids get in the way, I get in the way.. 

Honestly, God gets in the way, too.

If I had the map for the year, I’d feel a bit more in control.

But God and the universe seem to be conspiring to teach me that I’m not. 

What if I’m not supposed to feel in control? 

What if long-term-goals are not mine to define?
What if I don't get to know what God has on my syllabus for the year?

What if my revving engine needs daily direction and redirection?

This year I’m ditching the long-term list.

Instead, I’m looking at my little daily rhythms and asking my new favorite question:

What helps me stay attuned to God, myself, and others?

Instead of Big Plans,
I’m tweaking little habits, 

and trying to hold it all loosely

one day at a time. 

2025 my word for the year is Attune

---------

If you choose a word for the year, I’d love to hear about it!

 

Christmas in the house of the Lord

 I heard her voice in the choir on Christmas-

but that can’t be right, she lives in another state

And I could feel the giant tree hanging from the ceiling

but wait no, that tradition was in Michigan, not here

But sometimes in the sanctuary of God

it seems that time and space are bent, folded into one

How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts (Ps 84:1)

I think of all the places God has met me over the years-

so many places,

one in presence before God

one God uniting all of them

and the people in them, too.

As I sang on Christmas eve with my family, my daughter in Wisconsin and her church family seemed present to me, and St Peters with its giant tree, and my Indiana friends, too- I could almost feel their children crawling under pews (wait, are they grown now?)

The voices and faces of the saints who have gone before

moved in and out of my memory

present, too.

I am truly rich in mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, as I remember all the people I have known and loved in the churches where we have served.

Merry Christmas

to those near

and far

yet near in the Lord

-------

Blessed are those who dwell in your house,

ever singing your praise

Psalm 84:4

call

 There is a question sitting stubbornly in our living room

and you know what?

sometimes it's hard to be married to a man who lets it stay there

who believes he is a servant of the Capital C- Church

and stays still long enough to ask 

God, what would you have me do with this question? 

who says things like
“God will take care of us no matter where we serve.”

and “I don’t like this either”

and “I don’t know what’s next.” 

who watches the kids get quiet and wide-eyed with their questions

and doesn’t smooth them over with platitudes

but invites them into prayer and tension

and waiting.

Please pray for us as we deliberate a call to St. Louis at CPH.

another launch

 I didn’t get a goodnight hug on the last night he slept at home

but I didn’t even notice

we dropped that ritual years ago

we traded it in for long walks through the neighborhood and talks about life

and the way he’d refill my coffee cup when he’d come to say hello in the morning

his car won’t be leaving oil stains on our street anymore

his boots are not on the stairs

he took his piano books

and I took his name off the chore list

his brothers are all upgrading their bedrooms

and everything is being cleaned, reimagined, rearranged.

it’s that familiar dance: 

releasing what was

embracing what has come

letting the world shift and expand

“thank you for your service” we say to the clothes we have outgrown

send them off- let them bless someone else.

“thank you for your service” to the season that is ending

send him off- let him bless someone else. 

i send him off with more tenderness

and an expectation of meeting up again. 

we will schedule time for walks through the neighborhood

and he will refill her coffee cup in the morning.

come see this

 Col 3: 2 Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. Yesterday I carried the question: what lasts? what will remain ‘above’ when there is no more ‘on earth?’

“Mom you have GOT to come outside right now” my17yr old insisted as he was about to drive his brother to a thing for me. GLORY- sunset- bright pink skies and a son who KNEW i would appreciate just staring at it. He makes a goofy face while I take the photo; I pray for their safety as they drive off and I keep staring at the clouds.

That sunset didn’t last. Fear in watching kids drive away, flashes of accidents and broken bodies? That won't last either- part of the dying earth and will someday be totally gone.

But God displaying beauty? Definitely part of eternal life together with him. There will be more sunsets. Enjoying beauty with others- telling each other “you have got to see this!” I expect that will be part of the praise and glory as well- likely with more singing, and maybe even some skipping or even dancing about it.

potholders

I scoffed at the raggedy old potholder you could see through, “Mom why in the world do you still use this?”

“It was my moms,” she said.

I teased her. “Does getting burned every time you use the oven help you honor grandma somehow? I’ll buy you a new potholder, for heaven’s sake.”

I didn’t get it, but I'm starting to. 

I feel small these days, with these blooming young adults around me,  all healthy and beautiful, eyes looking outside of this house where all the life is…

the anticipation of launching is just so loud, the futures are so bright

I don’t want to add even a little gray cloud with my unspoken question 

(what about me?)

so I cheer them and i smile

and I feel a little threadbare, 

like a used up old dish towel

(Am I still precious? in this state even?)

and l know in my teenage life

I’d walk past my mom like she was a potted plant 

with my eyes out towards the future

and one day as I’m folding socks and heavy with thoughts of change and shifting seasons of laundry I suddenly understand why the see-through potholder kept its place of honor in the drawer.

we love our people

and time gets used up

and we miss so much of it while we live our own lives

so we keep the potholder

and we hold it tenderly when we can’t hold them

because worn out, worn through 

any little thread of connection 

any tangible memory we can hold

is loved, 

precious, 

because they still are

and they always were

Lorraine has that silly picture I painted years ago hanging in her living room. And this year I hung up their old thanksgiving decorations in the hallway, construction paper crafts and finger paintings, remembering when they were bursting with pride over these offerings. They roll their eyes now, and that’s ok. 

Seth wanted to go to coffee with me and as he talked I couldn’t stop seeing the way his jacket brings out the green in his eyes full of hope, and the way he’s nervous and ready and asking “do I have what it takes?” and he let me see the fear and the weight for just a tiny beautiful second. I want to pause this whole thing before I have to see those eyes cry when he says goodbye to a grandparent (or to me.)

and today everything is lit up with glowing preciousness, 

every human around me

the new and the shiny ones with the future all ahead

and the quieter threadbare ones too

I saved the box with grandpa's handwriting for as long as i could, 

and I still have grandma’s tea set.

The teacup burns my hand when I use it 

but I use it anyway. 

--------

Will the potholders and the people be made new, reborn in the way of Jesus?
Is there hope down this way, down through the tunnel of stripping and letting go and getting smaller? 

Is there more life down here, down this way that feels like death?

Could it be that these joys, released with tears, are like seeds planted that will grow into more beautiful fruit than we can imagine?

I hold both memory and hope in my burning hands.

For now, we wait. 

rest, softly.

The first time I took a personal retreat I was falling apart; the duct tape I had been using to uphold the pace of my life was no longer working- so at my husband’s urging, I headed to the woods. I packed a small library, all the comfort things, and determined,  “I’m going to rest SO hard!”

The hours went quickly; I sensed them passing the whole time as I read and walked and wrote and prayed; I did everything with an awareness of the clock ticking, a subtle urgency to get it all in so I could be put back together again, patched up in a way that would LAST as I returned to my busy life.

I learned a ton. I stared at the water. I cried and let God see all my sore spots. 

And I let him see my fear that it wouldn’t be enough. 

- So what if it isn’t? 

What if you have to go forward, still fragile? 

What if it’s time to hang up the super-suit and accept that you have limits? 

What if it’s time to set down the hustle and learn a new, gentle way? 

This year, when i took my (now) annual trip to the woods, I packed less. 

I still brought questions and sore spots and unfinished work,

but I asked Urgency to stay home this time.

I didn’t go to “stock up” on extra peace and grace, with the illusion I could come home stuffed and sail through December without needing more. 

I went so I could breathe, and look up. 

Rest, softly.

I learned a ton. I stared at the water. I cried and let God see all my sore spots. 

And I let his presence, for a moment, be enough. 

- Thanks, Father.

- Anytime.

false shelter

 She heard the call:

Let your false shelter fall

but she’d lived in it so long-
the walls bore witness to her story, her pain
they held up her medals, her lists
and the scores she’d kept all her life;
they kept out the cold fears (did they?)

And the outside, carefully painted
“she has it all together”
and “everything’s fine here”

plus, all the people like her like this
there is a seat for everyone on her porch
and all their drinks of choice in her fridge

yet in the wind she heard: “YOU, come- take and drink…”

out there? How could she leave?
she needed
the walls, with reinforcements
to keep out the ugly, the evil (did they?) 

she needed

it’s scary and unpredictable out there, after all.
She closed the shutters against the wind,
Leaned on her wall to steady herself
against the holy threat

she needed

And Jesus, looking at her, loved her.
“Leave all that you have and follow me.”
he said, with gentle eyes and an extended hand

And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.