Joy in the morning

There are those kind souls who bound out of bed in the morning filled with the zeal of a new day. They are radiant in the morning, they are bright and cheerful and are so painful to meet at the breakfast table.

I am so not a morning person. I got this honestly, my immediate family growing up were good sleepers. Few violations in my home were worse than getting up early on a Saturday morning. My brother was a cartoon lover and used to get up early to watch cartoons on Saturday morning, trying to keep the volume down so the folks would be clueless he was up. I came down stairs one morning early. He heard me coming, got panicky that it was my parents, turned off the television and went into the closet. I went in, turned on the television and sat down to watch when the closet door slowly starts creeping open. I started screaming and the parents rush downstairs. We were in big trouble and to this day my brother still carries a grudge, and I have a fear of closets.

The downside of having children is that few of them are sleepers. I was remarkably blessed with child number three as he likes to sleep too, but I had to survive his early rising brothers for many years before he graced us with his birth. They were up and running long before my mind was capable of thought. What a wonderful day when they could find their own breakfast. The bad news is that no sooner than I had gotten them to that stage, they had to go to school. That meant I had to get up again.

This has been a sore spot with child number three. These days the schools frown on children who arrive late, even five minutes late, it makes them very grouchy. I know this because Sam arrived late often. When this happens a nasty letter is generated to say you need to get your child here on time or we will tell on you. I took exception to this letter and told them so. I think there is now a poster in the office with my face on and a circle around it with a line through.

The symbol for hope remains morning. We have a number of scriptures that tell us so like: Psalm 30: 5 For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. Psalm 90:14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days. Jesus' resurrection is discovered early in the morning. Jesus is referred to as the bright morning star. Heck, just for chuckles, I did a search on Bible Gateway on the word morning and have 205 hits. It's all about those morning hours. It represent a new beginning, hope for the future, the promise of comfort.

I want all of that. I would just prefer it after 9:00.

Stitch Removal

Have you ever noticed that at times the smallest things pile up to become enormous situations? I mean little, piddly, insignificant things grow and blossom to become major events in ones life. This happened to me today. It all started because I have this stitch that needed to be removed from the side of my nose.

I did not wish to have a stitch there anymore. It had almost been a week and I was very over the stitch. It was not painful, it was inconvenient. It requires polysporin several times a day and a little band aid. I don't care how little a band aid you put on your face, it is a neon flashing light that says I HAVE AN INJURY. I have maxed out in creativity coming up with every reason I could invent for the band aid. I said my husband hit me. He found this annoying. I told him it made him sound macho. So he took to responding to people who asked if he had hit me,"No, you know it wouldn't do any good". I told a church group it is an injury related to my pastors reaction to a reduction in numbers for worship one week. I might have pulled that one off, but I tickled myself so much I gave it away.

But I digress. It was time for the stitch to go. I could easily drive 30 miles and keep my appointment to have the stitch removed. It seemed so silly to waste the gas and the time to have it pulled Instead l started with the husband and asked if he thought he could take it out. He looked at it with his glasses on, with his glasses off and with his glasses on again before he said "No" and went back to the paper. I went to investigate the possibilities of taking it out myself and since my vision is somewhat questionable, I vetoed that idea. Finally I had a light bulb moment, I would ask my nursing friend.

We have church programming on Wednesday nights. She has been helping with recreation and has a teenage daughter who participates so she is very faithful in attendance. I waited for a free moment and went to ask her if she thought she could take it out. She is such a sweet woman, she didn't even look, just asked me if I had the right supplies and off we went.

It turns out my right supplies and her right supplies are not necessarily the same right supplies. I produced my scissors and tweezers. She looked at them with some concern. She said she wanted a different kind of thingamajig (or some other technical term, don't bother me with details), but she would make do. This sort of made me nervous at the start. We get the equipment all alcoholed up (not liquored up, that's a different kind of story) and my nose all alcholoed up and then begin the proceedings. One minute in she says, I have to go get my glasses. Cold sweat now begins to form on my forehead. She leaves the building goes to get her glasses comes back, re-alcohols everything again and says, in an off hand kind of way, 'it's in there kind of deep, it might hurt a little'. Now I am thinking, can one get drunk from sucking alcohol from those little squares?

After a little pushing and pulling in one direction, she changes direction, puts the nose back on my face in more less the same location, and removed the stitch. When it was gone it was so anti climatic it's sad. I felt like we should at the very least get the alleluia chorus. She simply lays down the scissors. Doesn't even applaud. Zippo. Done.

Somehow this stitch reminds me of Christmas morning. I have usually spent months getting ready, shopping, wrapping, sneaking good stuff into the house to hide in deep, dark recesses, some of which consume the gifts and they are never discovered again. We are up when the boys are up and unless we exercise incredible discipline, we could be done in 30 minutes: presents unwrapped, stuff in rooms, Christmas in the bag for another year. Somehow for all that effort we ought to get a bigger bang for our buck.

So what's the point. I guess there isn't one, only I am wondering about how I focus my energies. How can I invest less time in stitch removal and more in growing in grace, furthering the kingdom, developing an impression on the world around me? How can I let go of those things that add little or nothing of importance and embrace those which make profound impressions on me and the things I value. I don't know. But I sure would like to know. How do I see through the activity to the purpose? How do I emphasize the gift given in Christmas without getting lost in the gift buying for Christmas.

My stitch is gone. My holidays are ahead of me but my heart is in the midst of searching for the way to celebrate with a deliberate joy that isn't over when the unwrapping is. And in coming up with more creative responses to band aid inquiries.

Back to the basics

I hate grammar. I have always hated grammar. I hate sentence diagramming, identifying the subject and the verb and the rules about never ending a sentence with a preposition. I can't remember what a preposition is so I live in constant fear of this rule in particular (particular isn't one, is it?).

I love to read. I love to curl up with a book and let an entire day go by lost in the pages. I like nothing better than reading inspirational books, instructional books, gripping novels, magazines, cereal boxes. I love a good murder mystery, not the gory ones but the ones where people pop off neatly and you get to figure out which one is the killer. I like those books when you fall in love with the hero or heroine and they win in the end. I like to read stories that are written with humor and wit so that I laugh out loud over a passage. I like to read books where the author shares a revelation with me that becomes part of my faith journey. I especially love those books where I am inspired enough to be rabid about sharing the new thought with someone. It's the teacher in me, I suppose. Or perhaps it's just my need to be bossy.

So what does the love for reading and the loathing for grammar add up to? I will tell you the truth, it makes no sense. I love a well written book, but I don't really know what makes for one. I love a phrase that is so delicious it just rolls off your lips, but I can't tell you what elements went into making that so. This is foolishness. I am fully capable of understanding, I have just chosen to find that part boring and skipped over it to the fun part.

I had a long meeting last night about a worship training event and I realized I have been guilty of the same thing in worship. Until I went on a church staff I paid no attention to the elements of worship, I just worshipped. When I enjoyed worship I really didn't know why I did, or why I didn't at other times. Being a part of making worship happen has been eye opening for me. I see the subject and predicate and adjectives so much better and can see how, when they are present in the right order, they make the sentence delightful, and the worship inspirational. That is the goal of worship after all, to bring all of us together into the presence of God. Each part should assist in the flow.

I am going back and picking up some grammar. I am going to figure out how to be a word craftsman and write as well as I read. And I am going to take the time to understand worship and teach it so we can honor not only the practice but the purpose in taking ourselves to the throne of God. I am finally learning (do you hear the retired faculty of William McKinley Elementary School cheering?) that it's not enough to do it, it matters that we know why we do it, the purpose in each element and how we can do it intentionally.

Intentionally wasn't a preposition, was it?

Mine, Mine Mine

We are a funny people. I am confident we amuse God a great deal. I think he chuckles a lot over us and our little kingdoms. I wish I were God, I would like to have the chance to be amused too. But I am not often amused when I wander into territorial disputes. I am often peeved and wish to smack heads together. I feel confident I inspire the same emotional response in the people around me. Mine Mine Mine. We say it better as adults, but it's the same line from toddler hood.

A few days ago a friend was at the church taking care of some business, her granddaughter happily playing in the nursery. It was time to go, but the granddaughter wasn't finished playing. Grandma tried everything, granddaughter fought back, finally granddaughter grabbed the stroller with the coveted baby and ran yelling over her shoulder, MINE!. It was so funny, mostly because it wasn't my child, that she, when left with no other weapon in her arsenal, claimed possession. I do that too! When in doubt and I can't make headway in getting what I want, I claim ownership. I am just like those silly seagulls in Finding Nemo. Mine Mine Mine.


While I understand it to be inappropriate in me, I find it infuriating in others. I am confident this is the speck in your brother's eye, log in my own kind of thing, but that doesn't seem to change my attitude much. I expect this is because I wish I was in charge and I could get people to behave. They they would all see there really is no such thing as Mine Mine Mine. It's all God's: the gifts, the talents, the resources, the stuff, even the church. Especially the church. Yet there we are like a bunch of seagulls yelling Mine Mine Mine.

Why do we behave this way? Which one of us really has the right to claim ownership of anything, church included? The pastors? I think not. I get that there is education and experience that helps mold them for ministry, but the church remains the bride of Christ. At best the clergy are the hired stewards, sent to take care of the flock until the Head Shepherd return. The laity? Nope. Certainly there is some sense of belonging in community, but belonging and ownership are not the same thing. We are a part but we are not the whole and we cannot begin to see the entire puzzle based on our picture. The conference, distinct, parish, diocese, whatever we call the organization our denomination claims? Absolutely not. That level of supervision and guidance are great for coordinating efforts to accomplish what individual church cannot do on it's own. But it also creates bureaucracy which has little connection and receives very little input from the churches that make up it's network. We are all yelling Mine Mine Mine, but it's really His His His.


I cant help but wonder what if I lived that way. What if I lived each day like I knew I have been given, for a short time, direction of all the gifts and talents and assets I have. What would I do differently. What if at the end of the day I raised my hands up over all my stuff and yelled Your, Yours, Yours. I think I shall try this. I might get arrested for disturbing the peace of course, but it could start a trend. Remember "I am as mad as hell and I am not going to take it any more"? You will have to agree this is certainly more upbeat,less words to remember and who knows, might actually change a heart or two.

Mine Mine Mine. Yours, Yours, Yours. Works for me. Only don't mess with my stuff.

Theological Confusion

I have entered the world of theological discourse against my better judgement. I have had the option to do this at numerous times in my life. I have shied away mostly because I hate all the intellectualizing faith. If it could be understood intellectually, I think it already would have been. I always come away from such discussions with the conviction that we are less interested in knowing more of God and more interested in proving our brilliance. I think I have also had the uneasy feeling that if I allowed my faith to become an academic exercise it would end up meaning little. It has been too valuable to me to take that risk.

I wont say that I went into class with an open mind, I did not. I went with the boundaries well set and my prejudice well established. I listened for trigger words and I had already made up my mind how I would respond. I knew the professor was a woman and I was ready for her to be a militant feminist and I was ready to discount that. I always pray before any class that I would learn something new of God in spite or because of those in charge. Confess freely that I was sure it would be in spite and I was right. It was in spite of me.

I was right, you know. We had much intellectual discussion, not with any destination in mind, just opening our minds to possibilities. The professor was a feminist and had an agenda, though not the agenda I anticipated. We discussed every reformer along the way and considered their theological positions. It was just exactly what I expected in just about every way. What I didn't expect was I would like it. But I did.

I liked the professor. She had a delightful voice, a great sense of humor and a deliberate way of pacing her class. The theological discussion helped me better verbalize my own beliefs and convictions and it gave me a more profound understanding of the blessings we receive from generations that have gone before us. I could almost hear Paul's great cloud of witnesses there cheering us on.

I think God's timing is truly divine. I think even a year ago this would have been a negative experience, and I would have missed the glories of God revealed beyond my own limitations. It is an awesome and overwhelming feeling to think that God in his immenseness should care enough about me that he would grow me up and patiently reveals himself in ways I am able to absorb. Lest one think I am self absorbed enough to think God does this just for me, I am confident that God does this for all his children. I am just incredibly grateful he has allowed me to see it from time to time.

I don't think there is really a lot in theology to be confused by. He is God, we are not. What we learn and believe by faith is limited to what those minds we are so impressed by can absorb. And we walk in the footsteps truly of all who have gone before. What a gift.

Running with the Pack

I am a soccer mom. I never intended to be a soccer mom. In all my dreams of a wonderful life with happy, clean, well behaved off spring, I do not remember wishing that I would be a soccer mom. I figured my perfect children would read a lot, play outside and always smile when they said, "yes, ma'am". This didn't happen, and the soccer thing did.

I am actually in child three soccer. The third time through I begin to be knowledgeable enough to know what is going on most of the time. I am very helpful to the refs now. I know they love to know I on the sidelines. They are so pleased to have a wonderful parent like me who is so willing to help them. I tell them all the calls they have missed or called incorrectly. I know they must be relieved.

What I have discovered most about being a soccer mom is that kids are pretty much the same. There are a few kids on almost every team who get it and play well. There are a few who have no idea and pay very little attention. Every once in a great while they luck into a play. And then there is the vast majority, they get it enough to enjoy themselves tremendously. They have flashes of brilliance and fits of incompetence, but for the most part play with joy filled mediocrity. And in all of those kids there is a spark of wonder and delight when they run up and down the field, hoping this is the set up for the winning shot. It's fun.

Parents are also very much the same. There are the overly involved who yell helpful information continuously whether their child is playing or not. This information includes such insights as: run and kick the ball and that's not your goal. Then there are the uninvolved parents. They sit on the sideline, reading or talking on the phone, look up from time to time squinting and ask someone, is my child playing? The rest enjoy the game with great gusto. They laugh when their child trips over the ball, and groan when the perfect shoot just misses the goal. They cheer loudly when their team scores and sometimes when the other team does too. They shout encouragement for every child on the team, though seldom match the right name to the right child.


As different as we all are, there is a common thread that runs through. There is a recognition in us for those we have met in some form or another along the way: those we feel close to quickly because they remind us of someone, those we don't like at all for the same reason. I don't know why this is true, as God is vast enough to create an infinite variation, but it is true. It seems to my small mind it must then be intentional. Perhaps that common thread is the fingerprint of God. Perhaps it's the presence of the Spirit, or the absence as the case may be. Perhaps it's some intangible that we can't identify, but our souls can.

No wonder some folks believe in reincarnation. I think that's very much like me and geometry, taking all the raw data and coming up with the wrong answer, but I do see how they got there. One day the raw data will add up to revelation. Hope its sometime this season.

Oject Lessons

I have been slammed lately. That's just all that I can say about it, slammed. When I haven't been working, I have been getting ready to work. I am planned and studied and managed and organized and I have had no time to write.

This has been made even more frustrating by the number of great ideas that have run past my mind the last week. I think that's what happens to great ideas. If I don't act on them immediately they run right past. They do not run through or they might leave a trace I could draw from. But no, they flit up, catch my attention and I say something like. not now I am too busy, and off they go never to be heard from again. Gosh, it's frustrating. My life is so darn fascinating, why don't I have time to record it all. I once thought about a voice recorder where I could say, note to self , and have a place to store ideas. But I know I would never listen to it and if I did I would think it was stupid.

In addition to getting these great ideas I have become fascinated with object lessons. This was pointed out to me over the weekend. I took a flight home from a class and had a wonderful time watching the world outside the plane. A discussion about the clouds and how pretty they were followed the flight and my co-worker remarked that I was no doubt already thinking of an object lesson. I absolutely had been thinking the entire flight about object lessons. I didn't ever bother to pretend anything else. I have become a walking illustration. I am always looking for something that makes a point. I have become Andy Rooney or Andy Griffith or some Andy, always telling a story to make a point. I think this is scary.

I am very much afraid that one day I will end up on a porch, on a rocker, underneath a lap blanket, telling people object lessons. They will say nice things about me in my hearing and not so nice things outside of that. There will be a large path cut around my house by those who do not have an hour to come listen to me. Worse still I will become a repeater. I will tell the folks who stop the same object lessons over and over, sure I haven't told them yet. I will think I am profound only I will be superfluous. This must be avoided at all cost.

So I am going to try to stop looking at everything as a lesson in the making and just enjoy the moment. If something worth while occurs and it's useful we will just say thank you and move on. And if God in his infinite wisdom is sending me raw material to be used to further the kingdom, I am sure he will give me the opportunity to deliver the lesson without wondering what every thing that happens to me means.

So even though the geese and the clouds and the topography of farm country is excellent materials, I am intentionally not giving you the object lesson. We will let that settle until it naturally evolves into a great piece or flits past leaving nothing behind. Patience is a virtue and all that other stuff. Let that be a lesson to you!

Bubbles Troubles

I took a bath in the jacuzzi last night. I hardly ever do that. It's in the bathroom downstairs and I just usually take a shower upstairs. But I wanted to soak a little and that sounded like a great idea to me. I was right, it was an awesome idea. The water was warm and I put in some delicious smelling bubble bath and turned on the jets. It really took less time than it will take for me to tell you about it to realize I had made a mistake. Those darling little bubbles took to the jet streams like fish to water and before long I had enough suds to do one of those 50's movies with Doris Day in the bathtub. They were several inches thick and I got so tickled I nearly drown. It did smell heavenly and I did have that one passing thought that if I drown I would be at least very clean when I was discovered

It is amazing to me how these great ideas I have sometimes go astray. There always seems to be something about whatever it is I am trying to do that I have failed to remember. Sometimes it's stuff that I never knew or thought to inquire. I am often astonished when information that would have changed everything comes to light, a day after it was needed. Someone is always saying something trite to me about hindsight is 20/20. Fat lot of good that does me. Why does this happen?!

I am a planner. I like a plan, an agenda, a list. I like people to behave as I have scheduled them to do so and I really think the world would be a much better place if everyone would just do what I tell them to do. I know that days when the plans work and the schedule goes according to the agenda, I am content. Days that don't upset me and I am forced to mutter to myself and think how fortunate it is for those who are blocking my progress that I am not really in charge.

Yet there is no doubt that quite often the bubbles get out of control. I wouldn't even insult your intelligence by telling you anything else. So why do I need to be in charge anyway?! Surely someone as bright and gifted as I am clearly should be able to look at column A, all my bright ideas and endless plans and need to organize and run everything, and add it to column B where I have failed to realize that bubbles and jets are not likely to co-exist peacefully and realize I might need to lay down the reigns and trust that God knows better.

I think God enjoyed the bubbles. Quite frankly, I adored them, and the tub was sparkling afterwards. Not all of my shortsightedness is as fun though. Sometimes the things I forget and don't know take more time to repair. I see no way around the problem though. I cannot make myself think better or remember more. But I can do this: I can remember that while I think God is fine with me planning and organizing, I may be asked to let go and let Him redirect me. I might be asked to lay down a schedule for a better way every now and then. And I think more than anything else, I will need to keep my humor intact. I think I will find lots of things to chuckle over.

Maybe no more bubbles in the jacuzzi. I don't know though, that was all kinds of fun. Maybe less bubbles and a mop.

20/20 Vision

I went to get my eyes examined today. I know, I should have had my head examined while I was there, but we stuck to the eyes. This is a horribly barbaric practice. You let a guy or gal you know nothing about drop nasty stuff into your eyes that burns so they can take a spotlight and put it a millimeter from your eye and turn it on full strength and then say don't blink. They click back and forth through countless slides that look exactly the same while they say is this one better or this one. I know it is the same doggone slide! For this they charge you $65. And worse, I wrote the check.

And do you know what he said when the torture was over? He said my vision was so bad he didn't think he could bring it completely to 20/20. My vision has been so bad for the last six months that where ever we did get was a vast improvement, so I am not complaining or at least not much! But it did make me think about how I see, and how I view things. I am aware I am a broken person and I see things from that perspective. And I am aware that as God bring healing and wholeness my vision improves. But do we ever get to 20/20 spiritual vision. Will I ever get so I see things truly as God does, or is my vision so bad that we only get back to 20/30 or so?

Paul writes in I Corinthians 13:12 Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. I think it's entirely possible that Paul and my evil scientist, err optometrist were saying the same thing. There is a point where vision is so bad it cannot be fully corrected in this life time. But praise God another one is coming where our vision will be perfect, where we will see as God sees, we will fully know all what we can only know in part now. Isn't that cool?!

So how does that relate to living now? I think it ought to be kept on the radar screen as we try to walk in faith together. So many endless arguments might have been avoided if we could all remember that much of what we see as true might only be true in part. God reveals himself to us through his Word, through his Spirit, through his Body as he has always done so. If we are wise we stand not only in our own revelation, but also in the revelation of the generations that have gone before us. Still, despite this and all the vast amounts of knowledge, we see dimly a poor reflection. Maybe I don't have quite the whole picture yet, the whole revelation, know quite all there is to know. I do know how the story ends, but only that God wins.

I also think remembering that we are fully known is a wonderful gift. It's more than any of us could ever wish for, someone who knows us through and through and loves us more than we can imagine anyway! Perhaps remembering that we are limited to knowing in part will help us extend some grace to those around us whose parts seem disjointed. They probably are.

The image of standing face to face with God is a delightful one to me these days, though I will admit it was not one I embraced for a long time. My vision of God was limited to an angry father who I could never please for long. I dreaded the day when we would square up and he would point out all my short comings. As I have grown in understanding, still very dimly, God has much more dimension, much more love, much more desire to have a relationship with me not to punish but to dance because for whatever reason, he made me to be his.

So while my vision is about to improve, it will never be perfect. I will try to remember that when I think the type is a just a little too small or the page just a little fuzzy. My spiritual vision is improving too. I see a little more clearly than I once did, but not perfectly. I pray to remember that too as I deal with minds that seem too small and faiths that are fuzzy. But one day, one day it's all 20/20!

Dancing Water

I have always loved the water. I don't necessarily love being in the water. It always seemed to me that if you put your body into water you cannot see through, you are just asking for trouble. There are all kinds of things in there, you know. Still, I love to watch the water. It dates back to my childhood I am sure. I can remember as a child going to Candidoda Lake with my family. We would go out on the lake in a row boat, fishing for sunfish. The water was beautiful and the sunlight made the water alive and shimmery, made it dance as the beams bounced. I don't know how many times I got to go, but it became the picture of joy and wonder that stayed with me into adulthood.

A number of years ago I was taught the practice of Centering Prayer. The purpose of Centering Prayer is to sit quietly in God's presence, emptying your mind of other thoughts and filling it with Him. It isn't a dialogue where you talk and get answers, it's intentionally listening and being fully present with God in the limited way that is possible for us. The suggestion, to help you empty your mind of day to day thought and fill it with God, is to use a word or a mental image that help you focus. I am a visual person so my initial choice a picture, the Lincoln Memorial. That is exactly how I saw God, sitting on a huge seat, massive hands and watching over things. I was sure this would be the perfect picture to focus my mind and I thought I was good. This was not a new thought to me, I think God has been the Lincoln Memorial to me forever. Lincoln and I share a birthday, though not, I hasten to add, a birth year. I dont have a clue how that made the Memorial a focal point, but for some things there are not words.

One day however, in a small group, my mental image was abused. Yes, it really was. In fact, it was mocked. When I was open enough to share my visual image my Lincoln Memorial was referred to as cold, unfeeling, unloving and uncaring. There were some allegations about my concept of God. This was all wrong and as I am not all that prone to accepting input from others, it had little effect on me. Only I noticed over the next week or so, I gradually began to find Old Abe less satisfying and less God like. Before long the Lincoln Memorial had become cold and unfeeling and I was in hot pursuit of a new image.

For several annoying weeks I tried one picture after another. Many were good but all of them served more as a distraction than focal points. It was New Years and I was at KenLake Lodge. It was a very mild winter and I sat outside with a clipboard in hand watching the water sparkle. Everywhere the water was touched by the sun's beams came alive and danced. In my mind I was back at Candidoda Lake and I remembered the joy and sense of wonder one more time. I was supposed to be creating only I was just mostly enjoying the temperature and watching the water. I did try hard to look creative when people walked by. I think it took some time before I was smart enough to realize I had stumbled across my new picture, and I have held it since.

Last fall I had an afternoon of water watching, not long but long enough to watch sunlight like diamonds ping cross the waves. There were dazzling rays that seemed to dance along the water's surface for no apparent reason. It was as if God, who loves us in ways we cannot fathom, put on a show just for me. It was a moment of divine confirmation that my mental image was an excellent choice.

The water is a symbol of God for me, and the sunlight is the gift of the Spirit that makes everything come to life. May the Spirit dance across your life today and dazzle you with the brilliance of God's mercy and love.