community — Page 7

A Lenten Journey: The Wilderness Trail — Day Five, First Sunday

February 22, 2015 By Diana

1 Peter 3:18-22, The Message

That’s what Christ did definitively: suffered because of others’ sins, the Righteous One for the unrighteous ones. He went through it all—was put to death and then made alive—to bring us to God.

He went and proclaimed God’s salvation to earlier generations who ended up in the prison of judgment because they wouldn’t listen. You know, even though God waited patiently all the days that Noah built his ship, only a few were saved then, eight to be exact—saved from the water by the water. The waters of baptism do that for you, not by washing away dirt from your skin but by presenting you through Jesus’ resurrection before God with a clear conscience.

Jesus has the last word on everything and everyone, from angels to armies. He’s standing right alongside God, and what he says goes.

Here’s a powerful word:
baptism.
No, I’m not a Baptist,
but I am a big believer in
baptism.
For any age, stage, situation.

It is a picture for me,
a powerful,
tactile,
incarnational
picture.

When the babe is doused,
or the youth immersed,
or the old man sprinkled,
we are offering our
own bodies
to the story-telling
we all do.

We tell our story with our bodies,
you see.
We eat and drink,
and we get wet.
We celebrate Truth
with all of who we are.
There is a dying,
and there is a rising.
There is darkness,
there is light.
And so we keep
the story going,
we tell it in our way,
in our time,
in our selves.

Please consider subscribing to this series by subscribing to the blog — the box is in the right sidebar. That way, these daily devotionals will show up in your inbox each day of Lent, right up until Easter.

Filed Under: Baptism, biblical reflection, Blessings, church year, community, daily devo, Encouragement, God's gifts, Lent, Lenten Journey

Book Review Tuesday: “The Fringe Hours” by Jessica Turner AND a GIVEAWAY!!

February 17, 2015 By Diana

There are a lot of blogs that are written by and for young moms. A LOT. But a few of those rise to the top of the popularity heap, for a variety of reasons. Jessica Turner’s blog, “The Creative Mom,” is consistently at the tippy-top of that heap.

For good reason.

Jessica is lovely in every way I can think of and she manages to do a whole lot of livin’ within a tightly constricted lifestyle – constricted in the most joyful and meaningful of ways (she is raising three tiny children with her husband, Matthew Paul Turner, and she works full time at a job she loves and is good at) – but constricted nonetheless.

When I was a young mom . . . back in the days of covered wagons and ornery cattle . . . I would have deeply appreciated this book, these words. I never had a paying job outside my home until my kids were raised and gone, but I had three babies in four years, was an active volunteer at our church and in the broader community, tried to have a healthy marriage and was layered with local family commitments on all sides. The beautiful little book she has written would have found a most welcome place in my life back then and I highly recommend it to anyone with young children. It’s called The Fringe Hours: Making Time for You.

I know what she means when she writes about finding ‘fringe hours’ to spend on ourselves, making and taking time to honor the person God has created and gifted each one of us to be before we are friend, wife, mom, daughter, sister. There is a whole, complete person inside every mom who needs tending from time to time. But too often, women in general — and women who are moms in particular — put themselves at the very bottom of the list, most often trailing off into the dust, never to be seen or acknowledged again until all the kids are out of the house.

And that is not right. Nor is it healthy – for anybody in our homes. The old saying about giving as good as you get can be applied in all kinds of ways, and one of the truest is the one that Jessica writes about in the pages of this encouraging book. Unless moms figure out ways to give to themselves, they will have very little left to give to anyone else.

This little blue book is full of helpful hints and good reasons why finding those fringe hours is so important. Jessica surveyed a couple of thousand other mothers and weaves her findings throughout these chapters. (She also details those findings at the end of the story and those are fun to read through!)

And she looks squarely at some of the biggest obstacles to doing fringe hours well: guilt, procrastination, self-imposed expectations, comparison and stubbornness. That last one involves the willingness to admit when help is needed and the wisdom and humility to ask for it, something that seems to be exceedingly difficult for most women I know.

She also encourages moms to build and maintain community as an effective means of finding ways to delight and encourage ourselves. Sometimes the very best medicine for a tired mommy is a coffee date with a good girlfriend. And then again, sometimes it’s doing something we love all.by.ourselves when the house is quiet. Jessica finds those hours in the early morning — I found them late at night. Whatever works, DO IT.

This book is written for a very specific audience — mothers of young children — so it doesn’t directly apply to me at the stage of life I am currently enjoying. Nonetheless, this is a book I would happily give to every young mother I know. In fact, I HAVE A COPY TO GIVE AWAY THIS WEEK!!

SO, leave me a comment and let me know if you’d like to be entered in the drawing and I’ll pick a winner and announce it one week from today.

Please hurry on over to your favorite bookseller and order a copy for yourself or a good friend. This one’s a keeper.

I received an advance copy of this book to read early, but no other compensation for this review.

FRIENDS, THIS DRAWING WAS CLOSED ON MONDAY EVENING, FEBRUARY 23RD AND THE WINNER IS CAROL J. GARVIN. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR PARTICIPATION.

Filed Under: Book Review, community, Confession, Delight!, Encouragement, Enough, God's gifts, hope

A Prayer for Disciples Who Struggle . . .

February 10, 2015 By Diana

A continuing series of public prayers, offered in worship at Montecito Covenant Church during the years I was an Associate Pastor there. This one was written for worship of September of 2010, the last year I was there before retirement. But I need this one today. Maybe you do, too?

That song we’ve just sung together, Lord – it’s a really great song.

The words are strong and compelling and on my best days,

in my better moments –

when I’m feeling well and hopeful and grateful –

those words are truly the prayer of my heart:

“Send me out to the world. I want to be your hands and feet…

I want to give my life away, all for your kingdom’s sake.”

All of us who love you want that to be the deepest desire of our hearts,

to pass along to others the great good news of your love and mercy.

So, I begin this morning by saying thank you for that news,

for that love,

for that mercy.

The good news of Jesus is truly what gives our lives meaning and purpose and we are grateful.

But I also have to admit that there’s another side to me,

and I’m sure to everyone else in this room, too.

There’s the side that gets tired,

that gets distracted,

that gets sideswiped instead of sent,

that gets waylaid instead of led,

that gets lost on the way —

mired in the demands of daily life.

We are your fickle people, Lord, too ready to give up the best

for the good enough,

to substitute busyness for purpose,

to listen to the desires of our own hearts

rather than to the desires of yours.

Forgive us.

Cleanse us.

Help us to turn around and begin again,

with you in the lead this time,

with you in the lead.

And we know that you will lead us in two distinctly different

but equally important directions –

you’ve shown us this in the life of Jesus,

you’ve taught us this in the words of scripture:

you will lead us out, and you will lead us in –

out to the world in love and service,

but also, also,

in to the center of ourselves,

where, as the prophet Isaiah reminds us so beautifully,

“In repentance and rest is our salvation,

in quietness and trust is our strength…”

Repentance, rest, quietness, trust…

these are what lead to salvation and strength;

these are what prepare us and position us to

be sent, to be led, to be disciples.

So…help us, one and all, right now, right here – to repent,

to rest, to be quiet, to trust.

To take the heaviest thoughts on our hearts right this minute –

that person we love who is dying,

that child who is straying,

that marriage that is foundering,

that divorce that is looming,

that illness that is threatening,

that paycheck that is missing,

that project that is falling apart,

that relationship that is churning,

that school assignment that is overwhelming –

whatever it is that is heavy and worrisome and scary –

help us to hold it before you with trembling hands and say…

“thy will be done…thy will be done.”

And then help us to open our hands

and let…it…go.

Fill us with your peace,

free us from our chains,

feed us from your word,

empower us to do your work.

For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Filed Under: Blessings, community, Confession, Encouragement, prayer

Gathering the Pieces – SheLoves

January 24, 2015 By Diana

A new year, a return to a loved and familiar place. It’s the fourth Saturday of the month, and I’m up. When you read this, I will be away from home, celebrating a milestone birthday with my family gathered round. It was their idea, and I am blessed to be with them. I’ll try to sneak back here and interact with anyone who wishes in the comment section over at SheLoves. You can get there by clicking here.

Some ‘gathering’ friends of the mind I’ve met online and IRL.

“She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.” — Toni Morrison, Beloved

Who do you know that ‘gathers you?’ Who are the women in your life who see you, all of you, the pieces of you? The ones who can help you gather them up, the ones that help you to stand straighter, walk smarter? Who are the women who are ‘friends of your mind?’

We all need friends like that, don’t we? But man, they are hard to come by. I’ve been pondering why that is true and have built quite a little list of probable contributing factors. But at the bottom of it all, I keep coming back to this one: we are in a perpetual hurry. And friendships-of-the-mind require time, intention and attention.

But we’re so busy, aren’t we?We’ve got so much to do, so many people to see (very briefly, of course!), and an unending list of things to see/do/make/find/improve/ change/understand/ begin/finish. Am I right?

All of which leads to one central truth: we are habitually tired. And in the midst of chronic fatigue, who has the internal space or the emotional energy to build relationships that gather us, especially when there are deadlines to be met, crying babies to be tended, demanding bosses to be dealt with, and astronomically high expectations to be realized?Those expectation, I might add, are almost always self-imposed.

I am writing this in the middle of December, smack dab in the clutches of all things crazy. And I am feeling a sense of loss in the center of me as I try to navigate it all. My husband was sick last week and I found myself in possession of two tickets to a Christmas concert. And I could not, for the life of me, come up with someone to call and say, “Hey, can you join me?”

So now, as I carve out a few hours to be quiet and attentive to this particular writing deadline, I am wondering: how can I do my life differently in the year that is rising before us? How can I become a woman who ‘gathers the pieces’ of others and who finds friends who can gather the pieces of me?

Please join me over at SheLoves Magazine – one of my favorite spaces out here in cyberville.

Filed Under: Blessings, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, Laity Lodge, personal journey, SheLoves

A Prayer for the Weekend — and for this year

January 18, 2015 By Diana

I am blessed to be part of worshipping community that I love, where the music is varied, the preaching is solid, and the lay leadership is invited to participate. Each week, our community prayer time is led by a member of the congregation — old, young, male, female, erudite, humble — we get a rich variety. And each one is a blessing, an invitation to remember that we belong together, as different as we are. That we stand together, in the presence of a Holy God who chooses us, over and over and over again.

Our pray-er this morning was Dr. Richard Pointer, Professor of History at Westmont College and an all-around great guy — known to us all as Rick. He took the three scripture passages for the morning – Psalm 139:1-18, John 1:43-51, and Philippians 2:1-11, plus some words from a favorite old hymn, and wove them together into a beautiful tapestry of petition and praise. It is with his permission that I post it for you tonight. (May I humbly suggest that you pray it aloud? Speech that is written feels different when we hear it than it does when we read it, don’t you think?)

Lord God, the Psalmist tells us that you search us and know us. You know all about us — that’s very good news. You knew us from before we were conceived; you will know us to our final breath; you will know us for all eternity. You knew Nathanael enough to call him into discipleship.

Lord you are acquainted with all our ways and with all of our needs. You know I.J. in his need right now for healing from cancer surgery.

You know A. and A.B. in their need right now for a new measure of strength to face a third round of cancer.

You know dozens of hospice patients across Santa Barbara right now in their need for mercy and peace.

You know thousands of beautiful kids and teenagers in Uganda and Kenya right now in their youthful exuberance and promise but also in their poverty and need for hope.

You know the Christian believers in Niger whose churches have been burned in the last few days and their need for courage and perseverance.

You know every one of us gathered here for worship today better than we know ourselves.

Lord God, you search us and know us, and know all about us – that’s very scary news. You know all our insecurities, all our anxieties, all our small jealousies and not-so-small prejudices.

We confess that we don’t always want to be known. Lots of times we just want to run and hide from you and ourselves. But this Psalm reminds us that we cannot go anywhere where you are not with us. Your love and grace and forgiveness pursue us even when we don’t want to be found – and then when we do, your love rescues us.

And then Lord, in this text from Philippians you audaciously ask us, command us to be like you – to have the mind of Christ. How is that possible when we are so broken – broken in spirit but even more broken by our sin?

Some of the time we think too little of ourselves; save us from forgetting that we are your beloved.

Much of the time we think too much of ourselves. We are swelled with foolish pride that we are better than others — better because of what we own, or where we live, or how we look, or what we’ve attained, or how much we know, or the color of our skin, or the national heritage of our family.

What could be more different from your example, Jesus, than us proud ones who have allowed our pride to make us so arrogant, so complacent, so silent, and even worse, who have created systems and structures of injustice that look to our interests and not the interests of others? Forgive us, Lord.

On this holiday weekend, may we be inspired anew by Dr. King and countless other believers who have cried out, “Let your justice roll down and let your glory and righteousness fill the earth as the waters cover the sea.”

And then like them, let us go and actually do something to bring about more of your kingdom reign on earth. Save us from our self-absorption, from our selfish ambitions, from our vain conceits – set us free from being captives to the trivialities of our lives, to the banalities of our culture, to the false idols of our age.

Instead, help us to put on your mind, the mind of Christ.

Re-shape our attitudes.
Purify our motives.
Teach us what to think.
Refine our beliefs.
Show us what to value.
Help us to know the truth.
Make us wise enough to obey.

Lord, we know we can’t do any of this on our own. I can’t do any of this on my own. So this morning I simply pray:

“May the mind of Christ, My Savior, live in me from day to day, by his love and power controlling, all I do and say.”

Amen.

The morning light blazes through our east-facing Holy Spirit window, creating a beautiful reflection on the wall. Yes, it’s distorted, wavy, not as crisp and sharp as the original. Yet, is still beautiful, in its own unique way. Every week when I see it, I am reminded that the Light shines through Jesus to us, and though our reflection is incomplete and inaccurate,
it is still lovely.

Do you know how lovely you look with Jesus shining through you?

Filed Under: Blessings, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, prayer

Everyone Has A Story

January 17, 2015 By Diana

Oh, man! I can so easily forget this truth. Yes, it’s very true — people do cruel things, betray others, or otherwise make me wish I weren’t human. And too often, my first response can be negative, judgmental, and critical; I can find myself making snap decisions about people based on a moment or two of difficult behavior.

But you know what? Everyone has a story that they carry around inside themselves. And some of those stories might help me to understand why a person is acting the way they are — if only I knew what they were.

Slowly, slowly I am learning that when I feel frustrated, impatient, even angry at someone’s behavior or their choice of words, saying this simple mantra inside my spirit somewhere can make a difference: everyone has a story. I’m finding that simple discipline to be both important and helpful — psychologically and philosophically profound on the one hand, and plain-ole practical, on the other. In my ongoing (and never-ending) journey away from reactivity and toward responsiveness, this simple 4-word phrase is slowly changing me from the inside out.

Two small examples:

Example Number One:

I meet with several people monthly for spiritual direction, some in person and some by Skype. All of them come with such rich stories, and many different life experiences. The discipline and training for becoming a director has helped enormously in my own journey as I learn how to listen prayerfully to each person I see.

Sometimes, it takes many months before the most important pieces click into place and light shines with fuller depth and beauty on who they are and how they’ve gotten to this point in life. Details rise with time, with prayer, with intentional listening and learning. Suddenly, perhaps many months into our relationship, there it is: the missing piece, the small story that helps me to see more fully who they are and where God is moving in them. I cannot tell you what a privilege it is to sit opposite these remarkable people, learning from each of them how to more fully inhabit my own story, my own life. “You never know,” I tell myself quietly. “You just never know.”

Example Number Two:

I’ve been going to the same nail salon each month for several years now, a place that is fully staffed by immigrants from Vietnam, many of them related to one another. Each and every person I’ve had the delight of working with fairly brims with story. This morning, I heard two — from people I’ve worked with before, and with whom I’m slowly building trust and confidence. Their life stories are so completely different from my own — except — they aren’t.

ALL of us come from families, some of them healthy and connected, some of them, not so much.

ALL of us deal with professional woes of one kind or another — even those who have never been paid for a job must learn to get along with those who are not related to us in some kind of ‘work’ setting.

ALL of us carry both pain and sorrow around in our bodies, our spirits. And it is when we find the courage to share some of those pieces with an empathetic other that we can begin to know who they are, and who we are. We can rehearse our own story as we listen to someone else telling theirs.

Today I spoke with a gentle young woman who is pursuing a PhD in depth psychology — yes, you read that right. She and I talked carefully as she did her best to help my feet look and feel better. I don’t have too many pieces of her story yet, but today she told me something, very quietly, that helped me begin to better understand her reserve, her cautiousness. She carries a wound, one that is not yet healed.

Don’t we all? And yet . . . we forget what we know so quickly!

The middle aged man who worked on these gnarled hands told me more of his own immigration journey today. He talked matter-of-factly about fleeing his home, landing in a refugee camp in Indonesia, going to Singapore when U.S. Immigration gave the green light, then flying across the Pacific with his younger sister at the age of 22.

He began college here, then returned to his homeland to find a wife. “How many kids do you have?” I asked. “Two,” he replied, “my son is 19 now and attends our local community college.” Something about him has always radiated competence and efficiency, the ability to quietly take charge and get things done. Now I have a little clearer understanding of how those qualities came to be.

Some of us can point to one or two defining moments in our lives that have permanently shaped and changed us; others of us have lived a life with a little less drama, but can talk about a steady accumulation of small things telling a story of movement and growth.

Some of us have gotten stuck along the way — maybe because of illness, or hardship or the untimely death of a loved one. And getting stuck is a story in and of itself! But how will we ever learn these things about one another if we don’t take the time to listen, to ask careful questions, to learn from each other?

This is one of the things I love about the internet, this blogging community we’re all a part of: we tell stories. And, believe it or not, the simple act of commenting, of offering encouragement to the storytellers we read, is a step in the direction of becoming a better listener. Taking the time to read carefully and then respond with a word of thanks and/or hope — this is good stuff. Important stuff.

Which is exactly why I do not have plans to close down my own blog (even if it might feel that way on occasion, when I take a L O N G break!) and why I hope the rumors of blog-death are exaggerated and misplaced. Yes, of course, it is important to be listening to one another IRL — in person, by telephone, in email conversations. But writing in these funny spaces called weblogs is a great start, filled with potential — if we take care with our words, tell the truth, and release expectations.

So, I hope you’ll continue to join me here. And though I won’t be reading as many blogs as I have in the past (got a bigger project or two that need more time), I fully intend to continue to read several and to engage in conversations when I do.

Because everyone has a story, right?

Filed Under: Blogging, community, Confession, Encouragement, hope, Listening, personal journey

An Advent Prayer: Week Four, 2014

December 21, 2014 By Diana

We were looking at Mary this morning in worship. A POWERFUL sermon by Pastor Jon Lemmond, and I was asked to lead in community prayer. I am out of practice, that is for sure! But I’m grateful for the opportunity to think through the text and then pray in light of it.

A Prayer for Advent 4 — 2014
written by Diana R.G. Trautwein
for worship at Montecito Covenant Church
December 21, 2014, 10:00 a.m.

We’re almost there, Lord.
Almost.

We’ve walked through this season of waiting,
this season of songs in a minor key,
and we’re grateful for it.

This year, more than many, feels heavy,
confusing, and terribly sad.
The world around us is rife with tension,
with pain and loss and too many people living with heartache and fear.

And some of those suffering are friends inside this circle,
sisters and brothers of our community.
Some of that heartache and fear are even inside of us.

So these four weeks that we set aside
to wait, to look for your coming,
to remember the story that centers us —
these four weeks are a gift
in the midst of all that is not right,
all that still needs the redeeming work
of a Savior.

But now the end of Advent is in sight,
just a few more days until Christmas
and oh! — we want to be ready this time.
We want to be ready
for that tiny baby,
for that holy family,
for those shepherds and wise men,
for those heavenly singers,
the ones that lit up the night sky
with a song of good news!

So on this day, Lord,
on this fourth Sunday in Advent,
as we wait here together,
in this space that is so lovely,
with these people whom we care about,
will you help us to look for that angelic light?
And to look for it with hope,
and with expectation,
and most of all, with grateful hearts.

Yes, Lord — in the midst of the busyness,
the gift-wrapping and the baking,
the family gatherings and the carol-singing,
in the midst of our own personal struggles and worries,
will you help us to
hang onto hope?
To grab hold of gratitude?

We confess that sometimes we forget.
We forget to say ‘thank you,’
to slow down,
to look up,
to look around
and tell you and one another
that we are grateful.
We are so very grateful for this story of ours.

We are thankful for its life-changing power,
and we are thankful for its grittiness.
For ours is a story that fairly reeks of
real life — life as we know it,
life as we live it,
and as we see it in the world around us:
families living under oppression,
poverty,
homelessness,
the murder of innocent children,
an unexpected, even scandalous pregnancy.

And this is the story that you — our Great God,
Creator of the Universe —
this is the story that you
deliberately chose
to step right into.

You chose to experience this life,
this human life here on planet earth,
in all its crazy mixed up-ness.

And you chose a girl like Mary,
and a man like Joseph to be the ones
who would help to tell the story,
to live the story.

So we thank you for these good people,
these good parents.
And we ask you to open our hearts,
settle our minds,
and learn what they have to teach us.

Today, we want to learn from Mother Mary,
from that wisp of a girl who
was braver than she knew,
that girl who was pleasing to you,
the one who lay on the straw
and pushed a King out into this world
on a dark and lonely night,
far from her home.

As we learn from her today,
help us to remember that Jesus learned from her, too.
She was his first teacher, after all,
the one who helped him to grow up,
the one who walked this earthly road with him, right to the end.
I think she has a lot to teach us.
Help us to be good learners today.

And help us to walk into Christmas with open hands and open hearts,
to follow Mary’s example,
and to let you be born in us,
again and again.
“Let it be unto us according to your word.”

Amen.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, Blessings, Christmas, Church, church year, community, Confession, Encouragement, prayer, Public Prayers, Storytelling, worship

An Advent Lament: SheLoves — Part Three

December 20, 2014 By Diana

This is the third post in a series of four that Kelley Johnson Nikondeha and I have been writing over at SheLoves this Advent season. We wanted to make space for lament during our waiting time this year, so each of us wrote a song of sadness. I began the series here, Kelley responded to that individual lament here. Today, and again next Tuesday, Kelley and I are writing laments. This one was written after I read the beautiful one by Kelley that you’ll see on Tuesday and is my attempt to make space for the sadness and brokenness that resides in our larger culture. You can read all of it over at SheLoves today.

Oh, I so don’t want to do this, Lord.
I want to sit in the back,
shut my eyes,
shutter my ears,
close my mouth,
still my voice.

And yet, I cannot.

You compel me, you urge me, you call me out.
You tell me, in no uncertain terms, to stand up.
To stand up and speak.

To stand beside the mothers whose brown boys have been
violently taken from them
To stand beside the Palestinians who come home
to find no home, only a bulldozer.
To stand beside the young ones in Africa,
the boys and the girls,
who are seen as bait or kindling or meat or slaves or
anything other than who they are:
your children, created in your image.

It is hard for me to face the ugliness in this world.
I can barely look at the ugliness in me.
It leaves me feeling
exhausted, frightened, frustrated, confused and angry.

Because here’s the truth, my truth, Lord:
I’ve made it my life’s work to look for the beauty.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing,
not at all.
In fact, I think it’s an act of obedience.

Some things are not beautiful;
they are hideous,
and they demand testimony, too. . .

Please click here and head over to SheLoves to finish reading this song. . .

Filed Under: Advent, Christmas, church year, community, Confession, grief, Lament, personal journey

A Prayer for the Second Sunday in Advent

December 14, 2014 By Diana

I wrote this prayer for community worship in 2009. And then I folded it into a small, home-copied book of community prayers that I gave as gifts to the members of our congregation when I retired at the end of 2010. Periodically, I am going to publish those prayers in this space. If anyone wishes to use any of them in worship, just let me know. Please do not print and distribute without written permission from me. Thank you.

We had just listened to the beautiful song about Joseph, “A Strange Way to Save the World,” written by Mark Harris.

“A strange way to save the world,” indeed.
If we’re really honest with you and with ourselves, Lord God, we don’t completely ‘get’ what you’ve done for us in the coming of Jesus.

We get pieces of the puzzle, and we celebrate joyously what our limited imaginations can grasp.

But we, too, can easily join the chorus of,

“Why him?” “Why here?” “Why her?”

And I, for one! (and probably many others in this room might join me in this) I am very often one to second-guess what angels have to say!

I try, and fail, to wrap my mind around

the mystery of the incarnation,

the mystery of salvation,

the mystery of faith itself,

and I second-guess everything … a lot!

It sometimes seems like a highly visible, high and mighty, fully-grown military leader extraordinaire might fill the bill as savior a whole lot better than a red-faced, squirming, squalling very needy, tiny baby,
who makes his grand entrance on the scene
with no one but animals and shepherds
and dirt-poor parents for company.

And when my second-guessing takes me down that particular road, it’s time for me…
to stop, to slow down, to step back,
to breathe in and breathe out, and be still.

Still enough to hear your voice of love through all the garbage in my head.

Still enough to allow your Holy Spirit to re-capture my imagination.

Still enough to remember that You are God and I am not.

To remember :

that you always do things in unexpected ways,
that you continually confound those who are wise in their own eyes,
that you choose to make yourself visible in
the weak, the lost, the little, the least;
that you are not in the business of taking over the world by force;

you are in the business
of wooing your human creatures
in ways that are subtle and strange, surprising and mysterious.

And for that, we most humbly say, “Thank you.”
And for that, we most humbly ask, “Woo us, O Lord.”

For we’re here in this place today, God, to say that
we need a Savior, we need a healer,
we need a companion on the way.

Many of us are dreading these days ahead –
we’re missing people from our family circle, through illness or death or divorce;
we’re struggling with illness and pain ourselves;
we’re tired of the overhype and the overkill;
we’re broke and we’re frightened about the future;
we’re struggling to find our place in the world and we don’t quite know where to put our feet next;
we’re facing into exams and papers due and not enough time or energy to do any of it;
we’re facing the harsh reality of aging, failing bodies and we yearn for heaven.

We’re a mixed up, crazy bunch here, Lord.
And we truly don’t ‘get it’ a lot of the time.
BUT – we deeply desire to get YOU.

Through all the questions and all the wrestling, and all the sighing and all the wondering – we want you.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who surprises people with grace.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who welcomes the stranger with words of hope and peace.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who comes to us as one of us, tiny and squalling, poor and needy.

The one who cries tears of compassion over our lost-ness.

The one who heals our diseases and feeds our souls.

The one who lives a fully human life,

and dies a fully human death,

and who is resurrected by the power of Divine Spirit,

and who will come again to bring justice and mercy where justice and mercy are due.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus! Amen.

Filed Under: Advent, Aging, biblical reflection, Christmas, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, hope, Mystery, prayer, worship

Designed for Work: The High Calling Synchro Blog

October 31, 2014 By Diana

There are seasons in life, I am learning. And sometimes the rougher seasons are the very ones in which the work we do can be a source of inspiration and solace, a place of ministry and renewal. The details of this part of my story have been shared before, but it’s good for me to remember and to celebrate.

The six year stretch between 2005 and 2010 was a tough one for us. At times, it felt as though my family was riding a dangerously out of control roller coaster, careening from side to side, tilting on one very narrow edge as we rounded some treacherous turns and corners.

Here are a few ‘highlights’ from that season:

My dad died in February of 2005, leaving my mom both exhausted from care-giving and desperately lonely for her partner.

My husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer two months later, enduring painful and debilitating surgery and a long, rocky recovery.

Our son-in-law was applying for long-term disability, literally fading away before our eyes. His wife, our eldest daughter, was beginning an intensive 12-month master’s degree program in special ed — after almost 20 years of being an at-home mom. Their three boys were struggling to find their bearings in this new universe.

Our middle daughter’s 3rd boy was born in distress, tiny and in the NICU for 5 days.

Our daughter-in-law needed a slightly dicey C-section for her first-born, just weeks after her cousin’s difficult entry into the world.

Our son-in-law entered the last year of his life with multiple hospitalizations, and a miraculous six-month respite, giving us all some memories that were lovely and lasting. That year, 2008, ended with a devastating pneumonia that took his life in a matter of hours.

My youngest brother landed in the ER with a severe leg infection, requiring a long list of care-giving efforts from all of us.This began a hard, downward spiral of missed diagnoses, homelessness, sober living residences, heart surgery and eventually, sudden death in 2009.

The very next month, our beautiful town was hit by the first of two wildfires requiring evacuation from home and church, plunging our worshiping community into emergency mode for months on end.

As I said, it was a difficult few years.

And every week, except for vacations and emergencies, I went to work. Many people wondered why: why do you want to step into other people’s difficult situations? Why do you want to visit the sick? Why? Haven’t you got enough on your plate already?

I don’t know that I can fully answer that ‘why’ question, but I will try to write a coherent list of possible reasons here:

work grounded me;
work reminded me I was not alone;
work taught me about community;
work provided an external focus;
work brought at least the illusion of order to my terribly disordered world;
work brought relief from the weight of worry that
was a constant companion;
work allowed me to stay in touch with the
creative parts of me as well as the care-giving parts;
work gave me a different place to look,
a different place to reflect,
a different space in which to be me –
the me that was called and gifted and capable.
As opposed to the me that was helpless, impotent and
overwhelmed.

My life was spinning frantically out of control,
at least out of my control,
heading down deep and dark crevasses that terrified me.
Work was more easily containable,
expectations were clear,
contributions were valued.
Work was grace for me during that long,
long stretch of Job-like living.

Work was a gift,
a gift of God to a weary and worried woman.
And it brought me into contact with people
who could bear me up,
who could tend my gaping wounds,
who could be as Jesus to me,
even as I tried to be as Jesus to those
I loved most in this world.

I did not do any of it perfectly. Lord knows, that isn’t even possible and it surely wasn’t true.

The end of 2010 brought the end of my ‘official’ work life. I have missed it at times. But I am discovering that even in the different structure, schedule and, yes, ‘work’ of retirement, God is underneath. And around and in between. Just as God has always been. And somehow by the grace and goodness of God, we are still here, clinging to the sides of that coaster car, doing our very best to enjoy the ride.

I am linking this with The High Calling’s bi-weekly synchro blog, this time on the theme, “Designed to Work.” Please check out the other posts in this link-up, and while you’re at it, read the fine articles published by THC this past week. They do such good work there!