The Wellspring

Lent: The Sky Speaks Scripture

2012-02-25T07:33:00.000-05:00

I watch theclouds

give birthto sky

and thisswirling,

shiftingmass of mist

and lightthat grows

from within

becomes life;

beomes prayer:

make mesmall—

enough toenter,

a secondtime, my

mother’swomb. let

Spirit givebirth to

spirit. and then stretch

me out, growme wider;

give mebreath and

eyes.

shared with nancy and the gang.

Listen to it:

Red Sky in the Morning...

2012-02-22T21:41:00.001-05:00

The dawn blooms red on Fat Tuesday—the sky unfolding likepetals and light spills slow over our world. I stand by the window wringing myhands.

Could it really be time already? Didn’t I just find thosereindeer last week—the ones I missed when packing up the Christmas decorations?How can it be Lent already? I sit down on the steps, try to gather up time.

Teddy slips past me and stops by the window—studies the redgiving way to pinks and blues.

“Oh, wow,” he says. “Look at that.”

His words make me stare. He never notices these things. Butthere he is, face pressed to the window.

“Look, mom,” he says, not taking his eyes off the sky.

I riseand stand beside him—shoulder to shoulder. But it’s not the sky that holds myeyes and this new side of my son only serves to confirm how the time slipsthrough my fingers.

These liturgical seasons have a way of naming my lack. Thisis when I long for rich family traditions or a strong youth pastor to invest inmy boys. This is when I long to have the tools to open up their heads—open uptheir hearts—and pour it all in. And I can’t help but to ask, am Idoing enough?

And I wonder if they are really getting it—do they reallyknow what it means to be loved by Christ and to follow him? Do I?

A mamma wants so much for her children—she wants to give themeverything. But perhaps one of the best gifts she can give is space for their faithto become their own.

I shift my eyes to the horizon and it takes my breath away.And I remember what Amy Sherman said in her workshop at Jubilee this pastweekend. She had a slide that was a jumble of words: Joy, Peace, Hope,Wholeness, Reconciliation, Shalom, Justice, Charity, and…and Beauty and so on.Ms. Sherman called these things foretastesof the Kingdom of God. Jesus is in this tired world, she said. And He ispressing these things into our lives. Joining Him in Kingdom work means to makethese things a greater reality. Right now.

I think of these things as I look at that slow moving redacross the morning sky. And I know this moment is enough. I lean into my boywho is now taller than I.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just look at that.”

With my sweet friend Jennifer today:

And with kd:

Live Radical...Pick the Flowers

2012-02-21T20:42:00.000-05:00

“It’s really a radical thing in today’s world,” he says.“Every day we are inundated with tons of information and we can becomedesensitized in our relationship with Jesus.”

We are in a classroom just off the rotunda in this hotel inPittsburgh—a rag-tag bunch—coffee cups cradled just under our chins. His hairis all standing up in the back but something in his voice…in his eyes…speakscalm.

We’ve come to read scripture together. It’s a workshop onLectio Divina and it’s the only one held at 8:00 A.M. While most of theconference attendees sleep in or laugh over coffee in the hotel café, we pullinward…quiet our thoughts.

“Lectio Divina,” he says. “It means sacred reading. We arenot deconstructing or analyzing. We are enjoying the beauty of the words forthemselves…”

He gives us a handout and we take it in turns to readthrough the description he has put together from this book. When we get to thelast step, he says it again.

“This is a deeply counter cultural activity we are engagingin today,” he says.

He tells us a story about a friend who is in medical school.

“As an exercise to deepen compassion, one of his professorsmade the students go to an art museum and stand in front of a painting for anhour. They had to study it…notice all the details they could. For an hour.”

He smiles at me. I smile back—thinking how it would be tostand in front of this painting…let its colors and story and light draw me in,become part of the compassion in my soul. Let its beauty become part of theframework that I live my life through.

We come to the last step on the handout—Contemplatio—and beside the word he has simply typed “Be”.

“Think of having a great meal with a great friend and thensitting in silence after wards…”

I silently re-read the last lines of the description hegives of Contemplatio.

Facilitate yourre-entry to your day by using a florilegium,a notebook used by monks to record what God said to them through that day’spassages. In Latin, it means “picking flowers”—preserving the beauty of whatGod gave you that day.

So that’s what I’ve been doing in my old yellow notebook. Ifeel a bit of awe inside as I think of words as flowers—as I think of mybouquet.

And when we go through the exercise…I pick a couple more. Andas I turn them around and around in the light of my mind, I feel it:

Radical.

And here are a few more flowers I've picked...this week's memory verses. You can download this James scripture memory card here. Last week's scripture memory card is here. You will find a link on this post for a complete set of scripture memory cards of the book of James.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Playdates with God: Hunger

2012-02-20T08:00:00.000-05:00

I left hungry.

I was up early to finish the book club article, butbetween checking out of the hotel and Lectio Divina…there isn’t time forbreakfast. In Marcus’ workshop, Nancy tries to give me a trail mix bar, but I am thinking about yogurt so I decline. But then there is morning worship andthe last two speakers and time to say goodbye comes too soon. I drive out ofPittsburgh at 12:45 p.m. with a hunger that food will not fill.

It’s always this way after the mountain top, this I know,but at Jubilee I worship and learn with over 2000 college students and theenergy along those corridors and in those rooms is a living thing. I amreminded what it is to be young and have your entire life before you. It doesn’tmake me feel old—it makes me want to live deeper and when I feel a pang ofregret—only once—I remember what my spiritual director said just last week aboutGod’s timing always being perfect. After all, I have more life before me too.

So I drive down I-79 with this aching hunger keeping mecompany and my Lord and I—we feast. All of the little pieces of heaven thatwere sprinkled down over the weekend flood the space of my minivan and it’s notuntil four hours later when I pull in my driveway that I remember I am hungry.

And then the fullness of family grips me and wraps me in itswarm embrace. And going away is all the sweeter for the coming home.

How this fills. How this fills…

How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Permission [not] to Waste Time

2012-02-15T16:31:00.000-05:00

I have become a master of time.

Over the months and years of mothering and working andsearching for beauty, I’ve developed little tricks to accomplish the thingsthat must be done. For instance, I can unload the dryer, re-load it with freshsoggies AND put a new load of dirty clothes in the washer all in the twominutes it takes my oatmeal to cook in the microwave (folding is another story).I usually scrub down the shower while I’m taking mine. I have all manner ofdisinfectant wipes and cleaners tucked away in the nearest drawers…everyavailable surface is always an arm’s length away from a quick scrub down.

When a girl has dreams, for Pete’s sake, she finds a way tofit it all in. She gets up at 5 a.m. to write a blog post; she skips lunch togo for a run; she stays up way too late leaving traces of her DNA all about thehouse and into the never-realm of cyberspace.

The problem? These past couple weeks I haven’t felt likemastering time. These past couple weeks I have wanted to savor it instead.

In church on Sunday, my pastor preached about Naaman. Naamanwas a master of many things—one of which, I suspect, was time. I’m guessingNaaman did not like to waste time. But after hearing about the prophet Elisha’smiracles, Naaman rode a long way to ask if the man of God would cure him of hisleprosy. When Elisha told Naaman—the great commander of armies—to wash in theriver Jordan seven times and he would be cured…well, Naaman was angry. Hethought it would be a waste of time.

When I read Naaman’s story, I started thinking about all thethings I have seen as a waste of time. How, these past couple weeks, thesetime-wasters are the only things that seem to make sense. It’s the long walksunder the moon, the whispers under the covers at night, the looking him in theeye when we say goodbye in the morning. It’s the sitting with, and the slowtouch, and the taste of chocolate. And it’s how I’ve been thinking about what makes people happy and knowing it’s not sterile countertops and two-minutelaundry marathons. And I think about the boy who left us and I look at mine andit’s the way they still let me rub their backs, pull them close when we sit inthe pew at church.

And I think about Naaman dipping seven times in the river Jordanand I know. It’s the dipping into these things, seven times, seventy times, amillion times…this dipping into the things that feels like a waste of time—if weare willing—that usher us into the presence of God.

It’s all these things that seem like a waste of timethat make us clean.

For who, when these things are taken away, wouldn’t tradeall that she has to have them back again? To fold the socks, to wash the bowl,to tuck the covers in tight around the sleepyhead?

There are things that need doing—why not dip in with love? I’mtrying to hold on to this, friends. Before it slips through my fingers like somuch muddy water from the Jordan River.

with the amazing Jen:

and dear Michelle too:

Let them Eat Cake and a Valentine's Gift

2012-02-14T05:32:00.004-05:00

After I read this study yesterday, guess what I had for breakfastthis morning? That’s right. Go ahead. Seems that having something sweet in themorning may help suppress similar cravings throughout the day. Who knew? Seemsan appropriate way to start this sweetest of days.

And speaking of temptation, how is your memorization going?I printed up this week’s memory verse on a carrying card with the image of myValentine’s sweet on the background because there is nothing sweeter than a love letter from the Lord. You are welcome to indulge in this sweettoo, just click here to download!

For a copy of scripture memory cards for the entire book of James.

The sweetest of all days to you, my friends!

Playdates with God: When Old Love is New

2012-02-13T09:05:00.000-05:00

I curled my hair and put on that red blouse. They weren’treal pearls, but their lustrous sheen in the light of my kitchen glowedtranslucent against their ivory frame. It was more than the situation calledfor, more than expected. And to a girl who’s always felt…less than, this was anew skin.

This can be ourValentine’s dinner, I whispered in his ear.

It was a crowded affair with hardly room to pirouette. Ididn’t try. Frocked tables and men in hats bumped together in narrowpassageways. At dinner, we sat with dear friends and made new ones. The clinkof glass and murmur of steady conversation were the music of the evening. Ileaned into his song—listened, rapt, to the voice I know so well become newagain.

And when his fingers found mine under that white tableclothI felt beautiful. I felt loved.

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Moonbeam Cascade: Poem Gift

2012-02-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

Sometimes light surprises in the midst of the dark...

chatoyant moon—round

pool of light, pour your

moonbeam cascade into

the dark sea of mourning.

I am water spilling over

each golden crevice—

my heart, a spoon,

scooping great folds and

waves.

Listen to it:

And with kd who is graciously filling in for Em:

Playdates with God: Rugged Landscape

2012-02-06T09:13:00.002-05:00

This morning our valley is laced with frost, and the hillsshed into an alabaster sky. When she awakens, the sun’s touch is like Midas andthe meadow shimmers with pearly gold.

How rich we are.

The hardest of things are just a wee bit easier to bear whenthe golden touch of love breaks through white grief. So we try to be goodfriends. And we open our arms and our doors and our hearts to help in thehefting.

And on a rainy day in February we stand in the garden withhe and his family and listen to the priest proclaim a life blessed, watch as helifts his arm to heaven and commits this soul to our good God.

I study the cluster of colorful umbrellas bundled close infront of me and I wonder how we navigate this thing. How I always say the wrongthe things and despite the tangled tongue how grief is a stitch that binds ustogether in the hem of life. The thread is pulled tighter here in the garden.

How do we do this? How do we journey over the ruggedlandscape of sorrow?

I remember David Brooks and the story he gives about the gobiid fish.

These tiny fish live in shallow tidal pools and they areknown for navigating during low tide by jumping from pool to pool. Scientistshave been amazed at the accuracy with which this little fish is able totraverse its environment. Their precision is astonishing considering they haveno way of seeing where each tidal pool is. What is happening, Brooks tells us, isthat during high tide the gobiid fishwander around absorbing the landscape and storing maps in their heads. Thenwhen the tide is low, they have a mental map of the landscape, and theyunconsciously know what ridges will be dry at low tide and what hollows will befull of water.

Human beings are goodat accumulating this sort of wanderer’s knowledge as well, Brooks says.

AndI think about the landscape of grief—how the touch of a hand, a cheek pressedagainst a cheek—how these things have traversed the long road of time.

And plunging into grief can feel like this faith-jumping—takingflight with only a memory to guide.

But the Lord inhabits the prayers of His people and we landin the soft water of His love.

And as we file back into the church—me, bare-headed in therain—I notice that the pointy finger of the daffodils are breaking through the wetsoil.

* Today I'm also reflecting on The Social Animal by David Brooks as part the book club at The High Calling.

The Playdates button:

Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:

Sunday: Dangerous

2012-02-05T07:47:00.000-05:00

Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.

--Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk

Joining Deidra in quiet worship today.