Can I tell you a secret? I am a very slow learner.

I am also a quick study — which is not the same thing at all. I can gather facts, read articles, enjoy rich and satisfying discussions, even occasionally try out a practical application of whatever it is I’m studying.

But to truly, deeply learn something?

It seems to take me a lifetime.

A case in point: over a decade ago, I actually preached an entire sermon on the topic of margin, creating white space at the edges of life, space for breathing and listening and looking. I read a book on the topic. In fact, I read two books on the topic, I wrote a decent sermon about it and I prepared a series of lessons, which I offered in several different settings over the next year or so.

And I meant every word, too. I believed then — and I believe now — that busyness is the biggest single scourge of the last 100 years. Over-scheduling, unrealistic expectations, the constant addition of just one more thing to an already well-scribbled calendar — these are the things that lead to death. Like a farmer’s field that is never allowed to lie fallow, a life lived without margin leads to total depletion of the good things that replenish the soil/soul.

Preach it, sister!

And I did.

But somehow, I didn’t manage to live it very well. Too many days pushed right to the edge, too many notes jotted on the calendar, too many obligations, expectations, commitments and appointments. Slowly but surely — and with alarming regularity! — that necessary white space began to shrink. And I began to fumble and flail and eventually, to crash and burn. Instead of a calendar and a life lived in balance, with sufficient margin for stillness, silence, gentle community with loved ones, reading, writing, bird-watching, sitting at the beach. . . whatever might help me create room for that margin of fallowness, I lived my life at full tilt pretty much 24/7.

I knew about margin in my head, but I hadn’t learned it in my heart. 

Please follow this link to read the rest of this post. I am so pleased and honored to be writing for the good people at SheLoves today. This month’s theme? MARGIN — and it’s been looked at and defined in such a rich and wide variety of ways. These are the ideas and memories that came to me when I pondered that word . . . 

How often, when push comes to shove, do I choose rightly? How consistently do I choose life?

We looked at John 6:15-71 this morning, a huge chunk of scripture, masterfully handled by Pastor Don Johnson, and as the familiar words rolled over me, I was struck by how often and how easily we choose to walk away from LIFE.

John 6 tells us that miraculous healing has happened over and over again, the swirling crowds have been fed, and the disciples have been comforted in the midst of a storm. 

But for so many who are watching, listening, hungering — what Jesus does is not enough. There is a greediness to human nature that impinges on so many of our life choices, a desire for more. And Jesus recognizes it, telling those who will listen that they need more than full bellies if they want to truly live: they need the bread of heaven, the BREAD OF LIFE.

Jesus invites them — and us — to go deeper, to grow in trust, to stop hunting for the next free meal. He pushes them, hard.

“Stop asking for more manna – I am not Moses. I am MORE than Moses. I am the Bread of Life.”

We were reminded this morning of the fluidity of the groups that clustered around Jesus – the crowds, the ‘Jews’ (or enemies — those who were vehemently opposed to Jesus and all that he did and taught) and the disciples, which was a larger and more diverse group than the 12. There were women disciples, too, there were old folk and young folk, there were people from all walks of life, there was a wide variety of people who listened and learned and changed. 

But at this point in his ministry, at this push-back point, some of that larger group of disciples melt back into the crowd, and they walk away. 

They walk away.

Why? Because of these words: 

For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Anyone who eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. I live because of the living Father who sent me; in the same way, anyone who feeds on me will live because of me. I am the true bread that came down from heaven. Anyone who eats this bread will not die as your ancestors did (even though they ate the manna) but will live forever.”

And the verb Jesus chooses to use to describe this ‘eating’ is the rough-around-the-edges one, the impolite one, the messy, noisy, colorful one: crunch, Jesus says. Chew, gnaw, masticate — make a mess and be enthusiastic about it. Give it your whole self.

Give it your whole self.

Choose life!

As he watches many of those who called themselves disciples exit the scene, he turns to that closest circle and asks, “You too?” Do they, too, find him too much, too embarrassing, too demanding? 

And Peter, bless him! — Peter says these words, which just may be my very favorite words in the entire New Testament:

“To whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

As I listen to Peter’s heart cry, I discover that I am encouraged. I am reminded to keep chewing. My heart is gladdened to know that Jesus invites me to be a bit messy, to listen well, to learn of him, and then to live and pray and serve and speak with passion and commitment.

I, like Peter, choose LIFE. I choose to eat the Bread of Life with thanksgiving and with gusto.

And this week, we looked for and chose life wherever and whenever we could find it.

After so much sadness last week, it was sweet to remember that the goodness of the Lord can be found in the land of the living.

So we happily watched a grandson play basketball.

We enjoyed the beauty of a California sky after rain, as we sat at a school playground,
as we drove along the ocean’s edge,

as we enjoyed the view from our favorite cliffside vantage point,

as we walked along our favorite sidewalk.

We found and relished LIFE in the faces of our dear ones, old and young,
in the littlest pilgrim, at her Thanksgiving feast and program,

and in the joyous discovery of a friend’s new book, lining the shelves of my favorite book store in the world, Vroman’s in Pasadena.

I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting that friend — and taking my daughter to hear her speak — and to be reminded by both Sarah and my girl that God’s creation design is for men and women to work together, side by side, under the leadership of God alone. 

We joined two dozen of our friends at church to offer an evening of beauty and food and friendship to 180 international students in our Family Life Center, enjoying the up-front goodies,

and the behind-the-scenes scrambling.

These are small things, spots of light amid much darkness. But they are filled with life, with the goodness and faithfulness of God, with the beauty of creation and the joy of family and community.

Sometimes, I can too easily feel buried by the pain, by the loss, by the darkness. But if I will remember to keep chewing, to let go of fear and embarrassment and laziness — then I discover again that I am full, filled to overflowing with the Bread of Heaven.

I am ALIVE, and I am grateful.

Joining this with Michelle, Laura, Jen, Jennifer and Ann this week:

It’s time for my monthly post over at A Deeper Family – I hope you’ll follow this link over there to read the rest of this story. Our agreed upon theme for this month (a first, for us) was to write a narrative reflection on a holiday song. This is the one that came to me – a song I only sang once in my life and can no longer find, despite extensive google searching!

It’s true — I sang in a women’s trio in the 1980s. Very much restricted to our local church, but yes — I stood in front of the mic, in front of the congregation, and I belted out the low alto part whenever I got the chance.

My kids were elementary and middle school age, and I was trying to find my way to whatever might be next in my life — which, now that I think about it, seems to be a recurring theme for me.  At that point in time, the search led to both women’s ministries and worship ministries, teaching and organizing events for younger moms, and assisting with musical production and worship planning.

I’d done the mommy thing for a long time by then — my eldest was an early teen — and I was itching to get out of the house, out of what sometimes felt like the constraining role of caring for children, running a home. Our mid-sized congregation had a wide swath of artists of all stripes – graphic designers, writers, actors, musicians — and it felt great to re-discover gifts I hadn’t used in a long while. It was intoxicating and exciting and fun.

This particular performance experience began on December 18th, our 16th wedding anniversary. I had a rehearsal at church that morning for a song and slide show to be offered the following Sunday. Our 9-year-old son had complained of a sore foot for several days — two nights before, he’d played his French horn in a school concert and limped as he walked off the stage.

“What’s with the foot, Eric?” I asked, a bit skeptically. We actually owned a pair of crutches from someone’s sprained ankle and I assumed this was more of the same — no big deal.

“I dunno, Mom. It just hurts to walk.”

Please come on over to A Deeper Family to see how this one turns out . . .

 It’s Saturday, friends.
If you’ve been racing down the highway of life this week,
traveling at 70 to 80 miles per hour,
can I encourage you to just take your foot off the gas? 

That’s right, just slow that car right on down.
In fact, why don’t you pull over to the side of the road,
for just a minute or two? 

 Now. Step outside the vehicle.
That’s right, just climb on out of the car.
And take a look around,
really look at your surroundings. 

Find a focal point of some kind,
something that stands out in your field of view.
For the next five to ten minutes,
just look at it, all right? 

And, while you’re looking,

B R E A T H E.

Just BREATHE, deeply.
In and out, in and out.
Yes, that’s it!
You’ve got it! 

 I promise you, the more deeply you breathe,
the more you’ll see. 

 And the more you see,
the more you’ll relax. 

And the more you relax,
the more you will find yourself in tune —
in tune with life,
in tune with yourself,
in tune with the God who made you. 

Who knew just B R E A T H I N G could reap such rich rewards?

We were barreling down the road to get from Maine to New Hampshire on the first
day of this wild month,
when we spied something pretty off on the other side of the road.
We turned the car around and stopped.
And we looked. And we breathed it all in, deeply.
And the rest of that trip just flew by! 

For the first time in many, many weeks – joining this with Sandy King’s Still Saturday group, hosted this month by the fabulous Patricia Hunter: