Heartwarming...

This summer, the neighbor across the street asked me if I would like to care for her little son on Tuesday mornings come fall. She knew that I had done daycare in the past. More than that, she knows that I am a grandma and she thought Alastair and I would get along great.

Well, I thought, I really want to get a real job, with a salary. I am actively looking for a job like that and, if I find something, it might make it impossible for me to be available on Tuesday mornings. I am not a babysitter or daycare provider anymore. I have moved on. I’m a seminarian now, I should get a job that reflects my new goals in life.

August came and my neighbor asked again if I was available. “Sure,” I said. “I don’t have anything else going on yet.” And so it came to be that I began taking care of 14-month-old Alastair every Tuesday morning. He is a sweetheart and it’s really fun to spend four hours following him around the park, playing with toys and eating snacks. He loves reading the same books over and over. He tosses me his favorite ball like it is being fired from a slingshot. We continually press buttons and push levers to get sound effects out of his floor toys. It’s pretty relaxing to do these things four hours a week.

The first week, after I left and Alastair had his afternoon nap, he came outside to play in the front yard with his mom and brothers. Before Mom knew it, Alastair was toddling his way across the street toward my house, wanting to come over and say hello. She couldn’t dissuade him from this and soon he was patting my front door. When I opened it, there was an apologetic mother and a grinning baby on my doorstep. I was delighted to see them. We visited briefly and they went home.

This week, Alastair did the same thing. He insisted that he be allowed to come and “knock” at my door. This time when I opened the door, not only Alastair and his mom, but most of the other kids in the neighborhood were there. Everyone thinks it’s cute that Ali wants to go visiting, so they tagged along.

This morning I was in my front yard adjusting the sprinkler when the family across the street got into their car to drive to school. As they backed into the street their mom asked if I would say hi to Alastair in his car seat. I walked over and when the side door slid open, I also got to talk with his brothers who are very excited about what they are learning at school.

Caring for Ali has brought me wonderful new connections to my neighborhood. Today I am hurrying to get my work done so I can be free at 4:00 p.m. when the kids go out to play. I plan to take a lawn chair and join them all outside where we can visit without the hazard of Alastair trying to cross the road to get to my door. I will take my knitting, go hang out with the moms and watch the children play.

If anyone I know ever wonders whether a single, small life can have influence, I am going to have to sit them down and tell them all about Alastair.

A Poem for Monday

Otherwise
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise, I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

-Jane Kenyon-

___________________________________

Savor the gifts of each hour and each day of this week.

Even the most mundane experiences become significant

when they are properly noted and appreciated.

Live in love.

Festive Friday

Friday! It’s the most festive day of the week at our house. Work is DONE for the week and HOORAY! Saturday and Sunday are just ahead. Friday evening is our doorway to relaxation. I like to make it a mini-celebration if I can because I know my husband is tired and ready to put his cares behind him by the time he gets home.

When we had a houseful of young children, Friday was the night I had a fun meal for them. I would fix their dinner early so that by the time Dad got home they were contented and on their way to bed.

We called this “snacky supper” and it was a small smorgasbord of things they liked from popcorn to pancakes. I put out bowls of carrot sticks, apple slices, cheese sticks, raisins and something with a little protein like peanut butter crackers or pizza. Sometimes we had a pancake supper with a variety of toppings. They snacked away while we chatted or watched a video, then I gave them something for dessert and off they went to bed.

It isn’t hard to make a special evening for my husband on Friday nights. When he arrives home from work he is looking forward to some peace and quiet, a good meal and my companionship. He really doesn’t care if the house is perfect, but he also doesn’t want to hear any bad news from the home front. He looks forward to one evening of the week where things are light and relaxed. Any topic that causes concern or anxiety for either of us will keep until some other day of the week. Fridays are for fun.

Here is how I set the stage for a Festive Friday:

1. I tidy up the path from the front door to the bedroom and bathroom and back to the kitchen. At the very least, I get rid of the clutter. Vacuuming and dusting is a bonus. I also turn on lights so that people who are coming home don’t feel like they are entering a cave.

2. I get something going in the kitchen that will create an appealing aroma in the air. This could be a nice candle or some cinnamon sticks on the stove, or it might be dinner cooking. Along with aroma I may create a visible welcome with a plate of grapes and cheese that is ready for nibbling. The idea is to generate anticipation for the good things that are to come.

3. I plan a SIMPLE meal for Friday evenings. This is not the evening I want to make a five part recipe that uses all of my pots and pans.
* I get a steak to broil with some salt and pepper on top.
* I cook salmon fillets or bake seasoned chicken breasts.
* I use store-bought sauces or seasonings to dress things up and I steam a colorful collection of fresh vegetables to put on the plate.
* If I want something starchy, I roast some small red potatoes coated with olive oil and sprinkled with minced garlic at high heat in the oven.
* I open a bag of good salad and add some good fresh bread and butter or olive oil for dipping and I have a beautiful meal.
* If we want dessert, I put out some strawberries, a bar of dark chocolate and shortbread cookies.
* Sometimes I cheat all the way and buy dinner at a deli or supermarket. That works just as well.

4. Nothing beats candle-power for a festive evening. A candle at the dinner table makes even soup and crackers seem special. Sometimes I take dinner to the coffee table and we sit on cushions and eat by candlelight there. Candles in safe containers in various other places around the room also add to the calm and special mood of the evening.

5. Before my husband gets home I try take stock of whatever is irritating or upsetting me and make a plan to address it at another time. I dwell upon the joy of having such a good man in my life and I give thanks that he loves me and comes home to me on Friday nights. I get ready to greet him with enthusiasm.

I also remember that he will need at least fifteen minutes to transition at home before the festivities begin. I don’t expect him to comment upon how nice everything is. In fact, if it all goes so smoothly that he hardly notices my efforts, I pat myself on the back for doing a good job. This little weekly celebration is a gift for him and his appreciation in return is a bonus for me, not the reason I do what I do.

I am so blessed to have a home of my own. I am blessed to have a kitchen to cook in, a living room to sit in and a bedroom to sleep in. I love the fact that I have someone special to share my life with. It really doesn’t take very much thought to find a reason to celebrate every Friday night, and it really doesn’t take much effort either. Happy Festive Friday! I hope yours is wonderful.

Too Hard

Rule of Benedict, Chapter 68, Assignment of Impossible Tasks

“Monastics may be assigned a burdensome task or something they cannot do. If so, they should with complete gentleness and obedience, accept the order given them. Should they see, however, that the weight of the burden is altogether too much for their strength, then they should choose the appropriate moment and explain patiently to the prioress or abbot the reasons why they cannot perform the task. This they ought to do without pride, obstinacy, or refusal. If after the explanation the abbot or prioress is still determined to hold to their original order, then the junior must recognize that this is best. Trusting in God’s help, they must in love obey.”

I am closely related to eight wonderful young people, my children and their spouses, and I also know a lot of other young folks who are raising families. They are trying to make ends meet in a rough economy, pressed for time and worried about the future. My heart goes out to them.

I remember the early days of family life when my husband and I felt so overwhelmed and exhausted that we thought we couldn’t go one step further. We lived with chronic sleepless nights, too little money and too little strength for the needs of four little ones. Often, just when we felt we had reached the end of our rope, an illness would sweep through the family or an unexpected expense would arise. We were sure that at some point we would run completely out of resources.

Sometimes we wanted to run away, but we knew that wouldn’t help. We knew the only alternative for us was to turn to the foundations of our faith and cry out to God for help. We always hoped that he would answer with an abundance of resources to give us relief, but usually he sent only enough to get us through the current moment. He gave us enough strength for one more day and enough money for one more bill. We wanted security, but he wanted us to learn how to depend upon him.

The truth is that only the Lord knows how much we can take. We may bargain or plead with him, explaining that we really can’t go on any further. We may even ask him how it looks to the rest of the world to see his children experience so much stress and worry. Is this how we are supposed live as children of the King? He is unmoved by all of that. He is not worried about his reputation as a provider, he concerned about shaping the character of his people.

Yesterday I talked with one of the precious young women in my life. She has faced great stresses in the past year including becoming a first-time mother, losing cherished loved ones to death, tight finances and unrelenting demands of the ministry she and her husband are in. They have often come to end of their resources and we have often prayed together for God’s provision. He has never failed, but usually he has not given them more than just what they needed for the moment.

She told me that these circumstances have grown her up. Things that would have upset her in the past now roll right off her shoulders. She doesn’t complain and she doesn’t fret as she might have in the past. She has more peace about the future, knowing how God has shown himself to be faithful in the past.

Our friend Benedict of Nursia understood how hard a life of obedience could be. In his Rule for a Christian community he assumed that every member would be asked to do the impossible sometimes. He allowed members to appeal to the authorities who assigned such difficult tasks. He also knew that none of us really knows ourselves and what we are capable of doing so he encourages us to trust the wisdom of the community when our appeal is denied. His rule states that after we have made our case, if the task still remains, we should give up our complaints and turn our hearts to loving what is before us.

This rule is laced with the language of humility and Christ-like character:

Patience, gentleness, obedience, love.

That is what God is working to create in us and He isn’t bothered by our fussing and fuming in the process.

It does not come naturally to face impossible tasks with these qualities of patience, gentleness, obedience and love, but we are not limited to what comes naturally. We have the power of God to transform us into people who are able to do the impossible. Nothing is too hard for him...nothing is too hard for us.

Shabby Chic in the Garden

Rainy day in February

In my imagination my garden is always a little earthly paradise where I can sit and talk with friends and family, enjoy good food, read good books and listen to good music. I love it any time of day, but especially in the early morning and early evening when sun sends dappled shadows skittering through the trees and across the faces of the flowers. The air is cool and fresh and everything is quiet.

It is always on my mind. In the summer it's a cool, serene retreat. In the fall it's bright, cheerful and picturesque. When the winter weather arrives and the rains begin, I gaze meditatively upon the dormant flower beds and dream of spring. We don’t have a front window in our house, so the back garden is my window on the world. It’s my special place of dreams. Often I go there to pray and think things through.

My husband, who was born in England and was raised in New Zealand, recently told me that my garden has a real English cottage feel. I thanked him! What higher praise could there be? He went on to say, “Yes, it has that familiar, slightly shabby, overgrown aspect to it.”

My spirits flagged a little, but I understood what he meant. He feels at home in my garden. It isn’t a showplace that inspires awe, it’s a cozy little work in progress. There is always something that needs trimming or transplanting, but that is part of its charm.

The saddest part of my garden has always been the little strip of Bermuda grass that bends around our brick patio. This past spring I seeded in new grass and covered it with topsoil, then I watered it faithfully and in two or three weeks was rewarded with clumps of tender green shoots coming up everywhere. Hooray! I was so happy the first time I mowed it and created an even swath of green grass all around the patio.

I waited a couple of months and then fertilized the new lawn with good stuff that would also kill any weeds that were growing. Within days all of my new grass died. I had burned my tender, baby grass with too much fertilizer. Since the end of May I have been watering a desolate patch of dirt laced with stringy Bermuda grass that apparently even too much fertilizer could not kill.

This fall I am going to try again. I am thinking of killing off the rest of the Bermuda grass with Roundup, tilling the ground and putting out new seed and topsoil. This time I am going to ask my husband to help me. I think that a missing ingredient in my gardening has been enlisting his good mind and skills to help me do it right.

By the way, here is a free gardening tip: One of the secrets of developing good soil is to find and employ the resources of a pet rabbit. My goddaughter has a bunny named Apricot that produces lovely droppings, full of nitrogen. Once a week or so, we dump a pail full of that stuff into my compost bin where it turns into magic fertilizer that my plants just love. It also attracts earthworms for some reason and they contribute their castings to the richness of the soil.

A garden is mostly dirt, green stuff and water, but it is also a canvas for the imagination. Some days it is perfect; everything is blooming and the herbs are fragrant in the warm sunshine. A week later it needs weeding and I have to cut away the finished blooms. But it’s those moments of perfection that keep me going...that, and knowing that I will get to start over in the next season.

E. B. White once wrote a posthumous introduction to a collection of articles written by his wife Katharine White for the New Yorker magazine. She was an editor and writer at the New Yorker, but also an avid gardener. He delighted in her passion for growing things and she constantly amazed him with the myriad ways she had for displaying her flowers. Here is what he said about her, looking back upon their life together:

“Armed with a diagram and a clipboard, Katharine would get into a shabby old Brooks raincoat much too long for her, put on a little round wool hat, pull on a pair of overshoes, and proceed to the director’s chair—a folding canvas thing—that had been placed for her at the edge of the plot. There she would sit, hour after hour, in the wind and the weather, while Henry Allen [their gardener] produced dozens of brown paper packages of new bulbs and a basketful of old ones, ready for the intricate interment. As the years went by and age overtook her, there was something comical yet touching in her bedraggled appearance on this awesome occasion—the small, hunched-over figure, her studied absorption in the implausible notion that there would be yet another spring, oblivious to the ending of her own days, which she knew perfectly well was near at hand, sitting there with her detailed chart under those dark skies in the dying October, calmly plotting the resurrection.” ( From Onward and Upward in the Garden by Katharine S. White.)

“Plotting the resurrection.” Maybe that is why working in the garden is such a joy to me. It may become shabby and things may die off, but it is awesome to start over each season and watch the garden grow into paradise once again. For me it's a little bit of heaven on earth.

Baby Love!

Creek walking with my little Grand Girl

This is Susannah, my sweet, first granddaughter. She lives in another state so I don't get to see her nearly enough, but she just spent five days with her Granddad and me. So did her mommy and daddy, but somehow we didn't get as many pictures of them as we did of her.

Their visit was a busy time with lots of friends and family coming by to say hello. I was in the kitchen for hours, making meals, fixing coffee and baking treats while people came and went. It was satisfying to hear the sound of laughter ringing through the house as people visited with each other. When I finally sat down in the living room at the end of the day, I found the conversation taking a quieter and more serious turn. It was wonderful to hear my kids talking about their lives and sharing their hearts with us.

Jonathan and Kristin are gracefully dealing with the challenges of raising Susannah. She is a very happy toddler, but she gets restless and wakes them up many nights. She is delightful to watch and fun to play with, but she needs lots and lots of that kind of attention. There is nothing they would rather do than love on their little girl, but sometimes they wish they could do other things as well. They hope to expand their family, but they are sobered by the responsibility of bringing children into the world.

These are the paradoxes of parenthood. Bern and I faced them when we raised our own brood and we remember the exhaustion and the expense, the fears and joys of raising four children to adulthood. So how should we advise these young parents now?

Here is what we say: Go for it! Enjoy those children and trust God to provide. There will never be a better way to invest your time and your life. It is the best thing in the world to end up with a house full of family, laughter and sharing.

Climbing Empty Nest Mountain

I have been an empty-nester for almost five years now and have finally nearly made it to the top of that emotional mountain. As much as I tried to get ready for this part of my life, I was bowled over by its actual impact when it happened. The days of coming to terms with the end of child-rearing brought me a lot of unexpected feelings. Sometimes I turned into a woman I hardly recognized, I was so overwhelmed with emotion.

I thought I had done a great job of preparing for the day that all of my children left home. My husband and I kept our marriage central to our lives; we kept the romance alive and developed common interests that we could continue to share when we no longer had the kids to focus upon. We looked forward to eating whatever we wanted, going wherever we wanted and doing whatever we wanted in peace and quiet in our own home.

In the early days, all of that freedom was not as cool as I had imagined it would be. Our home was too, too quiet. We didn’t feel like going anywhere without the kids and we couldn’t remember what it was that we were going to do with all of that free time. I had to battle mild depression that made me want to hole up every weekend and not do anything.

However, the eating-whatever-we-want part was actually pretty great. In a way it became our ticket out of being stuck at home. I began to try new recipes that I had not considered while we had so many hungry mouths to feed. Bern and I went to new restaurants and dined with friends. At home I launched into picturesque adventures in good eating. You may think I am kidding, but on my husband’s Facebook page you will occasionally find pictures of food I have prepared for him. He loves a good meal.

I am pleased with my life now, but there were a lot of switch-backs on the way to get where I am today. It was a challenge, but each turn along the way brought me closer to the goal, which was empty nest contentment.

Here is one of the things I faced and what I did to get through it. I call it The Identity Crisis:

After twenty-seven years of investing everything I had in our children, I experienced a loss of identity when they became independent. I applauded their success, but where did that leave me? In a very short period of time my husband I went from being their primary support and number one counselors to being distant voices on the sidelines of their lives. We felt forgotten--or at least I did. I am now convinced that mothers feel much more deeply than fathers the effects of releasing their kids to the world.

This was the hardest switchback for me in my emotional climb, my loss of identity as a full-time mother. For a couple of years I felt hollow inside. No amount of self-talk and working on life plans could quell that emptiness. I had to get through it as if I were going through a grief experience...which I was. It was not a death, but it was the end of a huge part of my life. People assured me that I had not lost my kids, but had achieved the goal of parenting which is to see them become successful adults. I agreed, but how I missed the relationship I had with them for so many years! I felt lost without them.

After a couple of years, I finally gave myself permission to let my grief run its course. I quit trying to manage my feelings and I quit apologizing for feeling sad. I began to recognize that there were parts of me that were never going to respond to rational thought. I treated myself with gentleness and kindness and if anyone asked, I decided to tell the truth: I was having some very sad days and trying to talk me out of that wasn’t going to work.

Doing this got me unstuck emotionally. I was able to let the “mommy” in me fade gently into the past as I honored my feelings about who she had been. I sympathized with my mommy-self and once I had run the gamut of her emotions, I found there was a new woman emerging to take her place. This was the creative, restless woman who had been waiting for decades to express herself, the part of me that remained dormant while I devoted myself to child-rearing. The woman that is emerging now is a seminary student, writer and teacher. She is also a grateful woman, thankful for the wealth of life experience she has to draw upon.

There have been many other switchbacks. One was learning how to communicate with my adult children without being annoying. That one took me about 4.75 years to traverse. I don’t think my kids thought I was particularly annoying during that time, but I was constantly watchful, learning how to ask questions, express concern or participate in their lives without stepping on their toes.

Another was Dealing with Holidays, which actually resolved itself pretty quickly. I just told all of my kids that I would never struggle with them over the holidays; I would trust them to do what was best for all concerned when they made their plans. The first Christmas that no one came home I was frantically re-thinking that, but it is still my policy and I think it is a good one.

Sometime I will share how I beat a path over the switchback of family jealousy. It was tough to traverse that one because I was carrying a huge pack of resentment at the time, but it was probably my final switchback, the one that brought me to the top of the mountain and the place of contentment where I live now.

Yes, I think there may be some more blog entries inside me on this subject of Climbing Empty Nest Mountain.

Uncomfortable...but Safe

It took 13 hours to travel home on Monday after the conference in North Carolina. That included one delay on the ground in Charlotte while we waited for a flight attendant to sprint across the terminal and join us, and another while we waited for the windshield wipers to get fixed. I was thinking Jiffy Lube could have done it faster if we had just wheeled the plane over to one of its stations.

We arrived in Chicago and I boarded my next flight, taking my seat next to the window. I love watching out the window when I fly because I always hope the clouds will part and let me see something amazing on the ground. It's a little like looking at the world from God’s point of view.

I was just getting settled in and beginning to read when there was a flutter of activity on my right and a lovely young lady with big brown eyes sat down next to me. She was as slim as a model and had a cute, 60’s-style Piccadilly cap pulled down over her hair. She buckled herself into her seat and immediately started tapping both of her feet at such a rate I thought the whole plane would soon be rocking in rhythm to it.

Without bothering to introduce herself, she looked at me with those wide eyes and said, “I just got off the worst flight! The whole plane was shaking like this...” and she waved her hands wildly from side to side. Then she made them bob up and down and I got the picture; it had been a bad one. She was not ready to fly again at that moment and was debating whether or not to bolt for the cabin door.

I told her, “You know, planes are built to handle that kind of thing.” She looked at me in disbelief and said, “Do you really think so?” I assured I knew it was true. I told her my daughter-in-law’s dad is a pilot and one of the most cautious people on the planet. He wouldn’t have flown for thousands of hours all over the world unless the equipment was safe in all kinds of weather and conditions. My seat mate relaxed a little, and although she did white-knuckle her way through take-off, once we were cruising she began to enjoy the flight a little bit.

Then we entered the airspace over Colorado and met one of those summer afternoon thunder-boomers the state is famous for. Our plane began to dance through the turbulent clouds and buck on the updrafts. We looked out the window and saw lightning strike the ground just south of us. My seat mate looked at me in terror and asked, “Are you sure planes are built to handle this?” Once again I assured her they are.

Then I said, “This is uncomfortable, but it isn’t dangerous. Your stomach is jumping and your brain is firing off alarms, but you are safe. The pilot does this everyday. The plane is built to fly right through this storm and soon we will be safe on the ground. It’s uncomfortable, but you are safe.”

She began to repeat the words “I’m uncomfortable, but I’m safe” quietly, like a mantra.

I pointed out to her that the airline made a promise to get her safely to her destination and intended to keep it. Pilots are trained to know what to do in a storm. Everyone in a position of responsibility had already done all they should to guarantee a safe trip and a safe landing, and the odds were very high that we were going to land gently and safely in a few minutes...which, of course, we did.

The narrative running in the back of my mind during this conversation had to do with larger circumstances than a rocky plane ride. I was thinking of friends, neighbors and family members who are dealing with storms of illness, financial stress and uncertainty about the future. Most of these people have faith in God, but some of them don’t.

It occurred to me that those of us who have put our faith in God have boarded a “plane” that is built to deal with the storms of life. I thought of a friend who is undergoing physical pain following surgery right now and yet who has inner peace. My friend is uncomfortable, even suffering from pain, but she believes she is safe. She believes her “pilot” knows how to get her through this and that her ultimate landing will be gentle and pain-free. That kind of peace will see a person through anything. It is peace that is connected to hope.

On the other hand, I recently read the account of a famous writer’s death. She pursued every possible avenue of medical intervention to delay her death from cancer, including traveling all over the country to try experimental drugs. She consumed special diets and practiced obscure therapies. She kept her body and spirit tensed against the looming prospect of death until it was useless and then, in her final days, she turned inward and died silently and in despair. For her the pain of illness and death held no place for peace; she did not believe she was safe.

We don’t know what storms we will face in life. Some of them will be painful and others will push all of our internal panic buttons. Whatever happens, if you are a person of faith remember this: Your circumstances may get uncomfortable, but in the Lord you will always be safe.

Veni, Vidi, Humidity

This past weekend I joined 599 other women (they told us the total was 600 so, not counting me, there must have been 599) at a conference in North Carolina called She Speaks. I went with fear and trembling in my heart because the purpose of the conference was to learn how to speak and write for public consumption.

Now, I like to speak and write as much as anyone, but I tend to speak in small intimate settings like Starbucks and what I write has mostly ended up in a big box under my bed. This has been true for years. Despite writing dramatically in my journals more times than I can count "I waaannnnt to be a writer" and "I waaannnnt to teach", I have never ventured outside my home to find out how one actually becomes a good writer or teacher. I guess I thought that eventually the people of the world would look around and say to each other, "Where is that woman we have been waiting to hear from? Let's go find her!"

Then, late last year I held my breath, took a giant leap and landed in my first class at Fuller Theological Seminary. The landing wasn't too big a jolt because it was an online class, so I was still communicating and writing from home. My classmates were interesting but faceless people in other places. My professor was a kindly email presence who generously gave me my first graduate school "A". Yay!

That first class was really great, but it didn't help with my need to break on out of this house and get into the real world. So, to overcome my fear of live responses from real people to my feeble attempts at communication, I accepted my friend Barb's invitation (or dare?) and went with her to She Speaks.

Last Thursday we flew into the steamy, big-hair world of the South in Charlotte, NC. If I learned nothing else this past weekend, I did learn why southern women (and men) have big hair. It's the heat and humidity. Anyone who steps outside in that southern climate returns with hair twice the size it was when they got up that morning. They have all had to learn how to work with that. Forget any hope of silky strands of shining hair blowing in the wind---hand me that big can of hairspray!

The conference was an overwhelming experience on every level. First, there were so many women and they all looked so nice, so young and so thin--or maybe those were just the ones that stood out to me. I saw a lot of great outfits, nice jewelry and cool handbags, not to mention the latest in hairstyles and makeup. Eventually, after I had been there for a while, I also saw women who looked like me.

The speakers were AMAZING!--but after the first evening of listening to them I despaired of ever becoming a real public speaker. They were all so polished, funny and able to drive home memorable points. Of course, those great speakers are also successful authors so I began to wonder what ever made me think I could write.

The workshops were fire hoses of information and I could hardly write fast enough to get all the notes. I ordered eight CD's of workshops I missed. The workshop leaders did not waste a minute of our time--everything counted.

I was assigned to a speaker evaluation group where we presented 3 minute and 5 minute talks and critiqued each other...exactly what I dreaded most when I signed up for the conference. I survived the critiques, but as my friend Barb said, it was like bringing my baby to the group and hearing them say it was ugly. I decided to tell myself that these two little talks were not my real babies. My real babies are yet to be born and next year maybe I will go again and show the speaker group how good one or two of them can look.

So, what did I learn that I can use right away? I learned the power of a good story in communicating a message. I learned how to pace and organize a talk so it will be more memorable.

I also learned not to be so danged serious all of the time. This descendant of Puritan/Mennonite/Baptist/FrozenChosenPresbyterian stock needed to be shaken up a little with some southern attitude and southern vittles. Actually, the vittles may not have contributed much, but I hope that a little of that Southern warmth and friendly good humor stays with me from now on, 'cause, honey, I do love me some of that southern charm.

Contentment 1

Sea Ranch, April 2008

One of the hazards of sharing life with a family (or any group of people) is the little aggravations the accumulate over time. We get disappointed when our requests, desires or even our commands are not carried out. Promises get broken. People fail in their responsibilities and duties. We serve other people, but don't get the credit we deserve from those who benefit most from our service to them. Day by day our little grievances pile up.

***

Then there is the sheer "daily-ness" of life. A friend of mine used to say, "The problem with my life is that it is so DAILY". I used to tell my own husband, "I feel like one side of me is constantly being worn away by what I do all day long." I wished I could change my job or routine so that different sides of me could take the wear and tear for a while. Yet, there was no place I wanted to be more than I wanted to be in my own home, caring for our family. I couldn't even imagine walking away in the midst of this great investment of my life.

***

A couple of years after becoming a full-time mom and homemaker I found myself waiting everday for my husband to come home so that I could tell him all about my day. There were cute stories to tell about our son, but there was also an unhappy little list of grievances that I had carefully, if unconsciously, compiled to share with him:

*

"I am starved for adult conversation and I feel like the work I do all day is not appreciated."

*

"My brain is turning to jelly."

*

"My social life revolves around the playground where the other moms don't have a single stimulating or intelligent thing to say."

*

"My figure is shot, my wardrobe is frumpy and even if I had something great to wear, we could never afford to go out and have fun."

*

*I resented the fact that my husband got to do interesting things and hang out with interesting people all day at work. I remembered all of the things I meant to do before we had kids, but didn't get around to doing. I fretted about how long it would be before I got "my turn" again.

***

One evening, as I was waiting for him to come home, I realized that I had turned into a little pot of resentment. I suddenly wondered what it must be like for him to come home every evening to someone who met him at the door with the demand, "MAKE ME HAPPY!" I actually panicked for a moment and wondered how long he might be willing to go on doing that.

***

The next morning I prayed about what to do and the Lord brought the simple word "contentment" to my mind. Contentment was as far from my experience at that time as anything could be, but I resolved to find out how to get it. It seemed to me that feeling contented would be far superior to feeling resentful and fretful, and that it might be good for my marriage, too. I even thought it might add peace into my relationships with my children and give me more joy in the "daily-ness" of my life.

***

Here is how the dictionary defines contentment:

"A state of having or showing no desire for something more or different; satisfied."

*

"Satisfied" was really the state I wanted to enter into. I wanted to be satisfied with my life. That realization provoked a longing in my heart for change and I decided to go in search of the land of Contentment and Satisfaction. In the next few blog entries I will share my journey to that place, but in the meantime, I can tell you that Contentment has certainly lived up to its promise. It has brought me joy and satisfaction and benefitted all of my relationships. I recommend it to anyone who has to put up with the "daily-ness" of life.

Respite

May 22 my husband had surgery and we dug in at home for a few weeks of recovery time. Over the years I have often said, "I won't get sick because I just CAN'T." Homemakers and mothers often claim they "can't" get sick. Most of the time we fend off illness with some kind of miraculous inner defense system and go on doing whatever our home and family needs from us.

This time, a couple of weeks after surgery, just as my husband got a good report from his doctor on his recovery, I suddenly came down with the worst cold I have had in years. We spent the next two weeks sleeping as much as we could, eating light, healthy meals and gradually getting back on our feet. I am so grateful that it was just the two of us here, with no one else depending upon us for care and feeding during that time.

When I had a busy household with four little ones and a hard-working husband to care for, there were days when I felt I just couldn't go on. My sleep was interrupted night after night and the days were unpredictable. It took a lot of energy just to get up every morning. Sometimes I just wanted to check out and have a little "me time", but that was nearly impossible. The steady "snowfall" of housework, childcare and meal preparation kept me running.

That is when I discoverd I had to find moments of time and places to slip away to for prayer and a bit of respite during the day. In one of our homes there was a walk-in closet in our bedroom at the top of the stairs. I had a lamp in there. I would hurry in while the children were occupied, open my Bible to a short passage, get on my knees and pray and come out refreshed before they missed me. It didn't take away my tiredness, but it gave me a renewed mind and heart so that I could go on doing what needed to be done with grace.

Susannah Wesley, who raised 19 children, did something similar. She used to sit in her rocking chair and throw her big apron up over her head. When her children saw her do that, they knew they must not interrupt her because she was taking time to pray. They learned from her example and grew up to be people of prayer themselves.

Jesus cared about people who were burdened, tired and busy. He had some tender words for them and, among others, he may have had homemakers and moms in mind when he said,

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

Matt 11: 28-30 The Message

Lord, be with homemakers everywhere today. Call them to rest and find their strength in you. Amen.

Artistry in Homemaking

Tea cozy knitted for my dauther-in-law.

Sometimes housekeeping is like putting pearls on a string with no knot at the end...or shoveling snow while it is still snowing (thank you, Phyllis Diller). The tasks are repetitious and the results are often short-lived. Every homemaker knows what it is like to get the kitchen all cleaned up just in time to meet the next demand for snacks or a meal. The laundry hamper fills up again even as the dirty clothes are being carried out to the washing machine. Sometimes there isn’t time to fold and put away the clean clothes before someone is wearing them again.

I have used several books on housekeeping to learn what to do with these challenges over the years. I learned a 3X5 card system, a binder system and a simple list system. Once I got the hang of what needed to be done around the place, I settled for making simple lists that I use and toss. However, I could not have known all of the things that needed to be on those lists without the detailed information I found in a book like “Is there Life After Housework?” by Don Aslett.

Homemakers have to learn how to keep a house. Either we learn from someone who does it well or we educate ourselves. I had the advantage of a great mom and two grandmothers who taught me about keeping a home using the “learn by doing” method. I didn’t always appreciate those lessons at the time, but now I draw upon that knowledge with gratitude. They taught me the ways of the women in our family who have made homemaking into an art.

My female ancestors provided meals, clean clothes and a sheltering environment for their families, but they also brought beauty and joy into their homes. Some were fantastic bakers, some made quilts and clothes, one was a weaver and others put together tasty and healthful meals using the most ordinary ingredients. They let their creativity shine through so that their homes were fun, welcoming and beautiful.

Housework can be draining and can steal your joy—or you can make it into an art. Maybe you are a storyteller or you love nature. Maybe you love your friends and are a good neighbor, or perhaps you actually are an artist who makes beautiful things. Let the things that bring you joy enter into your homemaking and become your signature as a homemaker. Those who live with you will bless you for it.

State of the Art...State of Mind

I am the third homemaker to occupy the kitchen in my home. I don’t know much about the original owners, but I know the lady who was mistress of this space before I arrived spent 14 years in it, caring for a family of six. I took over in 1988 and fed my own family of six here until the last child left home in 2004.

No one would call this a “state of the art” kitchen. In 2004 I got a gas stove for it, which was a welcome improvement, but the rest of the appliances and the space itself are definitely showing their age. I wish there was more counter space, but here have always been more important things to spend money on than a new kitchen. On the other hand, the walls here resonate with happy memories and the space is so familiar I can move around in it with my eyes closed.

Homemaking is a state of mind that doesn’t really require state of the art anything. My kitchen has produced countless nourishing family meals, been the center of years of holiday celebrations and often been crowded with my daughter and daughters-in-law chatting and laughing as we prepared a meal together. We have served meals to as many as 30 people at tables in three rooms of the house at Thanksgiving. Lots of noise and lots of fun.

My mother-in-law once pointed out that all a good cook really needs is a good knife, a large fork and a big spoon to stir with. Of course, a cook also needs a few pots and pans, a big mixing bowl and a cutting board, but she knew what she was talking about, having made her first home as a bride in post-World War II England when even the most basic of kitchen equipment was hard to come by. She and my father-in-law didn’t go out for meals. She cooked and he joined her at the little table right next to the stove in their tiny kitchen where he gratefully ate what she prepared.

It’s not the gear in the kitchen, but the heart in the homemaker that makes for memorable meals. M.F.K Fisher summed it up this way:

“I, with my brain and my hands have nourished my beloved few.
I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish
to sustain them truly against the hunger of the world.”

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Wisdom from Yogurt

"Nothing in Creation is so like God as stillness."

~Meister Eckhart~

We recently decided to bring back the healthful benefits of live-culture yogurt to our home. Good yogurt helps repair sick tummies and it revives the natural little flora that make digestion so much easier. It is a dietary superstar after a round of antibiotics or the ravages of a virulent stomach bug, both of which we experienced in the past month.

I found this little yogurt maker at a local store and this morning I pressed it into service. First the milk had to be boiled and cooled to room temperature, a mildly fussy process that took about 45 minutes of intermittent attention as I tidied the kitchen from breakfast. Next, I stirred 6 oz. of live-culture yogurt into the milk, blending it well. I poured the mixture into the little glass jars and put the lid over it. The last step was to turn the maker on and set the timer. It takes about 11 hours in a still and warm environment for yogurt to develop. I glanced and the clock and was relieved to see that it will be done before bedtime tonight.

Meister Eckhart, a thirteenth century Christian mystic, furnished the quote I used with the picture above. I keep these words in a small frame in my kitchen to remind me that I need to cultivate stillness in my life so that God may speak to me. Each day, as I plan ahead and allow time for homemaking tasks, I create spaces in my life for encountering God, too. Part of that time is spent in spiritual practices and part of it is spent in letting my spiritual life grow quietly within me. When I am making yogurt, planting petunias, sweeping the floor or folding laundry, there is a kind of stillness I cultivate within that allows me to hear the voice of the Other who is always with me.

This practice of reflection and quietness does not take the place of Bible reading and study; it does not replace times that I set aside for ordered prayer; but these times of stillness are the moments that God uses to develop new life in me. Bible study and prayer are the times of preparation --the flurry of activity that gets the "culture" of spiritual life started in my heart and mind --the stillness is where it grows and becomes life-giving within me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Proverbs 20:27

"The lamp of the Lord searches the spirit of a man;

it searches his inmost being."

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Thinking about re-purposing this blog....

Pansies in the rain, my garden, February 2009

If I really, really wrote from my heart, this blog would be all about what it means to make a home for a family. I am now an empty-nester and I have been told all my adult life that I would lose interest in homemaking by the time the kids left home, but I find that I am more into it than ever.

After almost 35 years of experience in the fine art of making a home, I am delighted to discover that I finally have time to do it right. I can plan meals at leisure and surprise my husband with something nice to eat. After I spend the day cleaning the house I can go on an errand and come back to find it just the way I left it, tidy and welcoming. I have time to create things with my hands and time to organize the clutter of family mementos I have saved up in boxes. My garden is finally shaping up to be the little bit of paradise I always wanted it to be.

Maybe I will blog about home and family for a while.

#9 Compline and the Great Silence

I started this blog a year ago (it seems longer than that to me) because I was interested in sharing things that moved me spiritually. Before long I was writing about the Divine Hours of prayer because I had begun to practice them in my own haphazard way. I learned it is difficult to be consistent in practicing the Hours unless you live in a community where bells are rung and everyone stops where they are or hurries to the Chapel to pray together, but as I studied them I found they gave shape to my prayer life. I found it was good to learn about them and let them help me be more mindful about prayer.

In this final entry I am going to write about Compline and the Great Silence. This Hour is one of the sweetest and most weighty of them all and I am glad to finish these blog entries by writing about it.

Compline comes at bed time. It is the closing of the circle of the day, the end of the spoken prayers and chants that mark the other Hours. Compline is the doorway to the Great Silence, the time when the monks return to their own cells to sleep. Its hallmarks are confession, seeking forgiveness, facing fears and failures and, finally, putting our entire trust in God to carry us through the night and prepare us for a better tomorrow.

The darkness of nightfall may remind us of the darkness within ourselves, creating tension and disturbing our sleep. Compline is the opportunity to kneel and confess all of this to God. Before Him in prayer we can admit our failures and sins and ask for forgiveness and cleansing. We can tell Him about the things that trouble us and the things we want to change, and we can ask for His help.

God is interested in our peace and rest. He promises peace to His people and He promises to see us through the night when we are most defenseless and most subject to our fears. David said, with gratitude, in Psalm 139:17-18

"How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!

How vast the sum of them!

Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.

when I awake I am still with you."

Following Compline is the Great Silence. In the monastery this time is sacred and not to be interrupted by careless noise or unconcern for those who are sleeping. The community has entered the womb of the night and will rest until dawn gives birth to a new day at Vigils. Then the circle of Hours begins again.

_____________________________________________

One of the things I learned in my reading this past year is that in the ancient monasteries the day began and ended much differently than today. In those medieval days, before electric lights, people went to bed an hour or two after sunset. They could easily have eight hours of sleep before the birds and animals began to stir and wake them between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m., depending upon the time of year.

For them to rise and pray at Vigils, while it was still dark, was not difficult. It gave them time to pray, study, and pray again before the sun was high enough to light the work they had to do with their hands. The rhythm of monastic life closely paralelled the rhythms of nature and the seasons.

Benedict provided for variations in the Divine Hours during the longer days of summer and at the time of harvest. He also provided for multiple festivals and celebrations throughout the year. Quite often the monastery was alive with anticipation of the next celebration in the liturgical calendar. Flowers, music and lights were changed and arranged especially for each new observance.

I have learned that monastic life was serious, but not sad. Every day there were many opportunities to do life over, correct what was wrong and rejoice in a new start. Every day the monks were encouraged to face their fears, to give thanks for their gifts an talents and find joy in service. In a well-run monastery, the members of the community had all they needed and were secure in their place in the community. They were cherished and cared for, especially those who became old and feeble or those who were sick or crippled. The highest task in the monastery was to care for needy members.

Benedict's Rule, which established the Divine Hours, was probably seldom fully observed; people are prone to all kinds of failings; but it was close to the ideal of what a community can be. In my own life, reading it daily over the past year has given me great peace and helped bring order to my life. I recommend Joan Chittister's volume, The Rule of Benedict, with her very helpful commentary in daily readings.

____________________________________________

I have recently come to understand that silence is a rich gift that gives to oneself and to others in the most unexpected ways. I have also learned that many times words lead to grief and misunderstanding. It is so easy to offend, to bore and to waste people's time with too many words. With that in mind, I am now bringing this blog to a quiet end. For those who had the fortitude to read its lengthy entries, thank you. I hope it was helpful. It brought me joy, as writing always does, but not everything that is thought or written is worth publishing. God bless all who, with me, love to pray and hope to do it a little better everyday.

Salaam...selah

Peace....pause

Amazing...please listen!

I went to Tigard, OR, over the weekend and spent some time with a friend who recommended this video to me. It is long, 35 minutes, but it is absolutely life-changing. It contains recordings of the sermons and teaching of six amazing men of God from the 20th century. I warn you, it pulls no punches. If you are comfortable in your Christianity and want to stay that way, don't watch this. It will upend your life.

Find a quiet half hour and listen to this. I almost guarantee that you will listen to it more than once because it is so moving and full of truth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwbps9k5Dj0&feature=PlayList&p=303D767C7A5261EE&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=10

The preachers are: Ian Paisley, Leonard Ravenhill, Paris Reidhead, Duncan Campbell, A.W. Tozer, and T. Austin Sparks.

Here's the breakdown of the music:-0.00 - 6.47 Last of the Mohicans6.47 - 12.11 Glory12.11 - 13.54 Obsession by Delirious13.54 - 18.49 Pachalbel18.49 - 21.52 No Soundtrack21.52 - 28.06 Last of the Mohicans28.06 - 35.52 No Soundtrack

Ironside

In the late 19th and early 20th century there was an evangelist named Harry A. Ironside. He preached in San Francisco and Oakland, but he was also on the early faculty of Dallas Theological Seminary and was pastor Moody Bible Church. Interestingly, he died and was buried in New Zealand while on a preaching tour there. His life has a lot of touchpoints with our family history.

I heard a story about him a couple of days ago that is worth passing on. Once he was challenged to a debate by an atheist. Ironside agreed to the debate on one condition. He asked the atheist to bring two particular people with him to help prove his argument that atheism is a worthwhile position. He asked him to produce a man who had left drunkenness and a woman who had left prostitution because of the power of atheism. They say that debate never took place.

This story made me stop and think about the countless people I have known in my life who have been changed completely by knowing the living God. I do know men who have left drunkenness and women who have left prostitution. I know people who have stopped being addicted to drugs and who have replaced rage with peace in their hearts. I have seen marriages saved and children restored to their parents. Isn't it miraculous that just by living this life of faith I have had the great privilege of knowing so many healed and restored people?

I honestly don't know of a single person whose testimony is that atheism changed their lives for the better. I have heard people say they found peace in resorting to atheism as a way to stop dealing with God, but I don't think they would say that atheism brought them deep, settled peace. At best, atheism is a wall behind which they hope to hide from God.

At this point in my life I have so much evidence that believing in God and living by the Bible brings success, peace and joy that I can never be convinced otherwise. If I had only the book of Proverbs to live by, my life would be richly rewarding, but I have all 66 books of the Bible from which to mine truth, comfort and wisdom. I have the stories and teachings of Jesus, the only perfect man, to guide me through life. I have a relationship with the author of the Bible, not because I made Him up, but because He made me and invited me into relationship with Himself.

If there truly is no God, there is no reason for atheism either. Atheism is denial of the existence of God and that in itself implies the possibility of His existence. Those who have sincerely sought to know Him, have known Him. Those who sincerely deny His existence, must go on day after day denying it, something that, ironically, is evidence of the possibility of His existence.

I doubt that miracles are very much a part of that journey, and I think it would take a lot of energy to live in resistance to God. He is everywhere. Where can anyone go and live with full assurance that there is no God? People are constantly testifying to His presence in their lives and the difference He has made to them. I am sad for those whose choice has been to live without the God of blessing and peace. I pray for them! In the end, we are all going to have to deal with God, even those of us who are trying to hide behind our walls of denial.

Brighter and Brighter

Yesterday I heard Beth Moore speaking from Deuteronomy 3, at our women's Bible study. That's the passage that tells how Israel finally crossed the Jordan River to get to the Promised Land, after forty years in the desert.

In those days the Jordan was a significant river and crossing it could be treacherous. God held back the waters upstream, and gave them dry land to walk on, but the people had to have courage and faith to cross on over. To make it more challenging, after the whole nation had crossed over, twelve men were told to go back into the middle of the river and collect a big rock to use in making a monument on the other side.

I was struck by the fact that the middle of the river is not only the deepest and most treacherous part, but also the farthest point from each shore. If the water suddenly rushed in at that point, it meant death for each man who had obediently picked up his rock. The twelve men, who had already crossed over once with their families, needed a lot of courage to go back and get those stones. They did it out of sheer obedience to God who wanted that memorial to stand forever as a testimony to what He had done for Israel.

Another thing that strikes me is that anyone in Israel who refused to cross the Jordan that day, on the dry river bottom, would never have that opportunity again. There was only one chance to cross under God's provision, and the crossing was necessary to get into the wonderful land that had been promised to them. I sure wouldn't want to have missed my opportunity to cross in the midst of the miracle of God's provision for me if I had been among them.

I kind of feel like I have come to my Jordan lately, moving from the first half to the second half of my life. I have crossed over from one big part of my journey into another. Now I can either stand on the shore looking back, lost in memories of what was, or I can step into the riverbed, gather up some memorial stones and set up a monument to how the Lord has led me until now.

The temptation is to stand on the new shore gazing back at what used to be. The Lord knows that. I think that is why He had Israel pause on that shore and build the monument. It was better to have the monument to look at than to keep trying to gaze back into the land from which they came.

I know that one of the promises of this life with the Lord is that it grows brighter and better each day, but also that my human mind is limited in its understanding of that. Transitions are hard--all of us know that. I think the thing we have to do is gather enough memorial stones from where we have been to build a monument that will tell of the great work of God in our lives until now.

Israel's monument was meant to provide answers to the generations that would follow. That's another thing I want to keep in mind. In case my children or grandchildren ever ask about my life, I want there to be a monument to God standing in the middle of the story.

Once that monument is in place I can turn toward the Promised Land. Who knows what is waiting for me on the next leg of the journey?

Proverbs 4:18

"The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn,

shining ever brighter till the full light of day."

Conversation in the virtual classroom

Last week I got the following message from a classmate in my class at Fuller. He is a Korean student who has been exploring his faith as an individual within his strongly group-oriented Christian culture.

"I want to know what my classmates think about what the true definition of "knowing God" is. It's something I've been meditating on for the last several weeks and I want to know what you think.

In Hosea 6:6 says, "For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings."

In John 17:3 says, "Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent."

For a Christian to just go to a church and to attend Sunday services, or just knowing that God exists somewhere is not truly knowing God. At the same time, as imperfect humans beings and as his creations, we cannot perfectly fathom everything about him. I find myself constantly asking God what it means to truly KNOW him.Tell us what you think, classmates."

Here is how I responded:

Cheryl Thompson
1 Mar 09 10:45 PM MST

My word, J., you ask deep questions! Of course, the quick answer is no one can ever really KNOW God, but I will try to move past that.

Speaking experientially, I believe that what I know of Him has come from progressively realizing how deeply I am known by Him. Maybe this is the advantage of having lived a pretty long life, but I have had many, many encounters with God where I was forced to confess my sin, my anxiety, confusion or broken dreams and plead for His help because I simply couldn't go on as I was. The relief I have experienced and the wisdom I have gained from the Lord following this kind of honesty has taught me much of what I know of Him.

I have also found that my knowledge of Him grows deeper each year simply because I continually read through my Bible. Reading and meditating upon scripture on a daily basis, and incorporating what I read into my prayer life, has enabled me to converse with God on His terms (remember "coming to terms with the author" [Adler/Van Doren]?).

I realized many years ago that the Holy Spirit attends each time I read the Bible and the comfort of that nearness has really blessed me. Whether I am up in the night because I am too troubled to sleep, or sitting peacefully in my backyard with a cup of tea, the Lord is always there with me. I know He is there because He speaks to me through His word and in the silence of my heart when I pray.

Years ago my dad showed me what Jeremiah 29:12-13 says, "Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." Dad said that was a promise from God and that He cannot lie. I have clung to that promise all of my life, and now I share it with you.

Seek Him. It takes years to know Him, but He will let Himself be known by you if you seek Him.

_________________________________________________________

"Then you will call upon me

and come and pray to me,

and I will listen to you.

You will seek me and find me

when you seek me with all your heart."

Jeremiah 29:12-13

So True

Last evening I was reading John 8 which has extensive quotes from Jesus. As I read, I was struck by the fact that everything he ever said was true. So I slowed down and read each word and phrase very carefully, isolating each part so I could see the truth in it. I found myself saying quietly, "That is absolutely true" after each phrase.

Jesus' words are like small earthquakes when read this way.

Wait for It

Poinsettia growing against a wall near Ensenada, Mexico

"...but they who put their hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint."

Isaiah 40:31

Yesterday I was reading a book about how to think theologically (ironically, it is titled, "How to Think Theologically"). It's about the nitty gritty of how a person's theology impacts decisions in real life.

We all do think theologically. We act upon our theological beliefs all the time. Mostly, we draw upon our "embedded" theology, the stuff we acquired growing up from the culture around us. If we are really interested in theology, at some point we pull out those embedded ideas and examine them. Then we may decide to develop and refine our theology to give it a foundation and substance. That's what I am doing in seminary right now.

Anyway, the question was: how does my theology work for me in a crisis? What about when I meet up with the unexpected, the sad or the frightening events of life?

The answer was illustrated by the story of a woman who came to stay with her mother in her last illness. She was overwhelmed at first and thought she could not face these last days with her mom. Then she told herself to wait a moment and let it all sink in.

She took in the scene in the hospital room, she allowed her feelings to fill her heart and she took full measure of the condition her mother was in. Then she considered what would be the right thing to do. What actions would match her actual theology of family?

In the moments of waiting she remembered who her mother really was to her and what her faith dictated in terms of caring for her. In her heart she had stored up biblical principles to guide her in the situation. With those principles in mind, she moved past all of her fears and sorrows and she spent the next few days ministering to her mother's needs, delighting in her and loving her until she passed into eternity.

That is theology in action, encountering a challenge and having your true beliefs rise to the surface to guide your actions. It's also the way that you find out whether you have a solid theology to rely upon. Theology can either be acquired haphazardly or systematically, but I think it is best to be proactive and build your theology. I could go into all the ways there are to do that, but my previous blog talks about one of the best ways. Meet God everyday and discuss life with Him.

Then wait for the testing that is sure to come. When it arrives, wait again until that theology you have built takes over and gives you the way to go forward.

Quiet Time To Go

What is a Quiet Time?

It's the time I spend with the Lord, usually first thing in the morning. It is my time to read the Bible and talk with the Lord in prayer. It's where He and I work out life together.

I keep my journal, One Year Bible and another devotional book in a ZipLoc bag. I started doing this when I wanted to throw them into my backpack to travel. The bag keeps them from getting all beaten up.

This is what it looks like when I get started. I have the basket tray on the sofa beside me so that I can keep my teacup within reach and not spill it.

My journal is a medium size spiral bound notebook with my favorite kind of pen clipped to it.

My Bible reading comes from the One Year Bible, with its cool bookmark picturing the Eagle Nebuli.

My devotional is "The Rule of Benedict" with commentary by Joan Chittester. (I'll tell you more about that another time.)

Outside of the picture is the bookcase where I can grab a dictionary, Bible dictionary, Bible atlas and Bible commentary when I need them.

A few feet away is a big basket with fleecy blankets in case I need to put one over my knees on chilly mornings. Sometimes I light a candle to warm up the space as well.

Those are the pratical elements of my Quiet Time habit. I didn't really plan it, it has just evolved over many years as I worked out how to make it more convenient to meet with the Lord.

I think simple solutions are the best.

It would be very nice to hear how other people have a Quiet Time.