Scale: January's Zero Spending Challenge

I keep ruminating on one of my guiding words for the new year:  Scale.  Into my head pops the image of my ever friend and foe, the bathroom scale, and then an image of an old-fashioned balancing scale, and then a photo that illustrates proper balance and scale from my how-to photography book.

After the images, come the words:  scale back.  The practical side of me (and my husband's gentle admonishments) point to the need to have a January spending freeze after a couple of months of loose spending.  Ruth at Living Well Spending Less blog has a 31 day challenge with lots of ideas and encouragement. It's not exactly zero spending, but the ground rules are to only spend money on essentials.  

Today I'm starting with Day 2:  Inventory the Pantry and Freezer.  The calendar is clear, I've printed her cute inventory sheets, and I'm ready to see what is hiding in the hinterlands of my 3 pantries and 2 freezers!  The real challenge will be creating meal plans using only what I have, instead of my recipe caches.  

Another challenge will be resisting temptation in the stores.  My children all received multiple gift cards to mall stores, Kohls, and (oh dear) Savers.  They will want to go shopping and they will need an escort.  I will have to think of willpower like a muscle that gets stronger the more you use it.  That concept comes from a self-help book I listened to on a long drive to see family over Christmas called The Willpower Instinct by Kelly McDonigal, PhD.  It contained many ideas to help develop focus and restraint based on current brain research.  I'm a sucker for books about brain research, even though I realize it is a new frontier and all science is tentative (thank you for that reminder, Apologia Science!)

Time to get to work.  Let me know if any of you want to take the Zero Spending Challenge with me.  See you next year!

Covenants and Vultures

Several of my friends have been choosing words to guide their new year.  One of my favorites is Kathy's word:  Sabbath.  Chris chose one word:  Dance.  I continue to reflect on my 3 words:  frame, scale, and aperture.  

This morning, as I read the story of Abram's aching heart in Genesis 15, I realized something.  Vultures await.  Abram was desperate for a son and scratching his head that God had not given him one yet.  

God said: You WILL have a son.  Now make a covenant with me. 

So in bloody Israelite-style, Abram carved some creatures in half as a sign that he would trust and honor God with his hopes and dreams.  

Then the vultures came...  Gen 15:11

We split open our hearts in an attempt to trust God with our deepest desires, and the scent of covenant draws the vultures.

Vultures will scavenge from Kathy's Sabbath rest.  Vultures' slow-winged descent will keep Chris from dancing.  Their hunger will keep me from living in the spirit of my three words.  They will gather and circle above us as soon as they see opportunity.  They are carrion-eaters disguised as negative voices, unchecked appetites, over-scheduled days, fatigue, illness, apathy.  

But they can be chased away.  They must.  

Then the vultures came, and Abram chased them away.  Gen 15:11

My prayer for the covenant-makers, for those of us who are always striving to live holier lives, is this:  that we will spot the vultures gathering, and we will chase them away.  

My Three Words for 2014

December is always the pinnacle of juxtaposition for me.  My right hand indulges in too many sweets, too much spending, too much activity penned on the calendar, and too little Bible page-turning.  My left hand stretches toward God in a long, sorry reach.  I read the Christmas Scriptures and wonder how this simple story came to revolve around my own appetites and priorities.  Mea culpa.

Every December I pause to meditate and select three guiding words for the new year, while evaluating my three words for the past year. 

My words for the new year all pertain to photography, and the interests of the photographer.  She is not primarily concerned with her own needs.  She is outward focused, looking for beauty and a meaningful story to tell, bringing things into balance, determining correct speed, and always searching for Light.

Frame prompts me to savor moments and capture them in words or photos.  It is a reminder to blog regularly, keep in the creative song writing mode, make intentional memories with the family (both special and daily,) and carefully say what I mean, framing my words in love and earnestness.  It regards being intentional with my time, and organizing my day with borders and margins, while not expecting to control everything within the frame.   Tools:  prayer, camera, blog, google calendar, parenting, homeschooling, and marriage resources

Scale emphasizes regular evaluation of the quantity and balance of things in my life.  I want to be aware of my unhealthy appetites, both for food, activity, and other indulgences, and bring them back to their proper scale.  I will be mindful that exercise is the counterbalance to eating, and giving is the counterbalance to greed.  I will weigh the needs of each person in my family and other circles of concern, and make adjustments as needed. Tools:  prayer, scale, health club, menu planning, family meetings, good communication with Dave

Aperture means letting in light.  I want to be Light-sensitive and keenly aware of the Holy Spirit’s guidance.  I want to see people through God’s lens of love, concern, and discernment, and to move when the Spirit says move.  Tools:  prayer, daily Bible reading, church, small group, community service opportunities

Anyone interested in selecting three of your own words?

Eyes Wide Something

Ever since Adam and Eve sampled the fruit and their eyes grew horror-movie wide with everything they never wanted to know, altering the future for us all, we have tried to clamp ours shut.  

When I read news articles, I often find my eyes literally, compulsively closing.  If they are closed, then God's definition of marriage will not morph into the new word I learned today:  polymory.  AKA:  anything goes.  It's coming, people.  And historically no nation has survived it.  Chuckle if you want, but then read your history.

If I close my eyes, Mr. Duck Dynasty would not have to crudely express God's thoughts on matters of homosexuality and the media would not have to take up arms, while TV execs rub their hands together in delight.

Babies would be valued.  Slavery would be abolished.  Cancer would be eradicated.  

The curse, though, was that our eyes would be wide open.  Evil would enter the world, and we would have to see it, live it, breathe it.  It would touch each and everyone of us.  Some of us would embrace it.  Some would resist.  Some would ignore.  All of us would long for something else.  

I read recently that "God does not have a wonderful plan for our lives."  What?  But, but...that's what I've heard ever since I was a baby Christian.  It sounds so...wonderful.  I mean, Jeremiah 29:11, right?

No, the truth is, God has a wonderful plan for our eternity.  We can live pleasing and holy-ish lives, but we still reside East of Eden for now.  We might as well keep our eyes wide open, speak truth in love, and celebrate the hope of the final garden.  We will be laughed at, criticized, and persecuted for this hope.  But it is ours.    

2 Corinthians 4:16-18  So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

Shaking the Dinner Table

I love hearing my husband's family talk about their family table.  It's a round, oak antique table with mismatched chairs, which stretches to a giant oval for large gatherings. I guess it would literally gyrate, as those around it burst into laughter over delicious, nourishing meals prepared by my mother-in-law, Beth.

My husband, being the youngest child of four, remembers experiencing a bit of angst over not comprehending many of the jokes that inspired so much hilarity.  I recall countless card games, mounds of food, and being warmly invited into the circle of love and acceptance over these last 20 years at this illustrious table.

Beth eyed the table wistfully this past Thanksgiving.  She and her husband are preparing to move to a retirement community in Colorado next spring.  The table won't be coming with them;  it will be going to live with my brother-in-law, where it can be a hub of new memories.  

At my home, our family table is a big kitchen island.  We do have a nice Amish-made oak dining table, but it seems to be the landing pad for an archipelago of half-done projects and various items to sort and put away.  And it is more than a few steps from the stove, so there is the convenience factor.  So, the kitchen island is where we congregate for most meals. 

Last night at the island, the kids were lightheartedly listing ways I've recently embarrassed them.  What?  Moi?  What is wrong with reading a Scottish love poem with a proper Scottish accent in front of your friends in literature class?  Oh, you mean pointing out your blushing cheeks is what really embarrassed you?  Sorry!  

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 

O my Luve's like the melodie, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

(I sounded just like Sean Connery...or maybe Shrek. I was brilliant!)

Between bites of chicken burrito and homemade guacamole, I recounted ways THEY had embarrassed ME.  Let's see, do you know, young lady, that you once pointed at a man and loudly proclaimed, "I don't like his face!"  And do you, other young lady, remember bursting into tears at your 7th birthday party because you lost the game?   And young man, can you imagine how uncomfortable I felt when you first started experimenting with your hair gel and wearing skinny jeans and leather jackets?  I think I'll wear skinny jeans with boxers hanging out the top to our next literature class!  How about that, eh?!?

Back and forth we went, in a great feat of one-upsmanship.  The table would have been shaking had it not been bolted to the floor.  And someday, when I have to part ways with this beloved island of memories, I shall be wistful, too.

All great change in America begins at the dinner table.  -Ronald Reagan

Mene Mene Tekel..Have You Weighed Yourself Lately?

"Mene mene tekel upharsin" were the mysteriously-written words on the wall in Daniel 5.  Daniel interpreted them to mean doom for the kingdom of Belshazzar.  

This morning I ponder the word tekel..."you are weighed in the scales and found wanting."  I'm not one to be gloomy or self-condemning.  I'm not one to forgo God's grace in exchange for weighing my good and bad deeds on some spiritual scale.  I know I'm lost in sin but found in Christ, and my heart sings a hearty HALLELUJAH at that!

 But it's fair and reasonable to ask the question, "Am I found wanting?"  in this season of self-examination, renewed goals, and fresh accounts.  I join the psalmist in saying, "Search me, O God, and try me."   

My kids have a plastic balance scale that we used to teach the math concepts of more, less, and equal when they were preschoolers.  We moved little blocks around to teeter the scale, then held our breath until we brought it back to even.  

I've been holding my proverbial breath lately because I know I've been teckeled.  I have traded the pursuit of God for a hundred other little things that throw the balance, but in God's goodness, He calls me back, inviting me to be again like the deer, panting for the Water.  

Let the oldest saint look well to the fundamentals of his piety, for grey heads may cover black hearts: and let not the young despise the word of warning, for the greenness of youth may be joined to the rottenness of hypocrisy...By the precious blood of Christ, which was not shed to make you a hypocrite, but that sincere souls might show forth his praise, I beseech you, search and look, lest at the last it be said of you, "Mene, Mene, Tekel: thou art weighted in the balances, and art found wanting." -Christian Classics Ethereal Library

Porch Memories

This is where I had sweet conversations with my kids and husband, swinging slow, feet dangling.  This is where I prayed with my sister-in-prayer and learned deep, soul-wrenching news from another, and another, and another.  

This is where I read chapter after chapter of summer books, waved to the neighbors, watched the cat play billiards with acorns, kept an eye on lemonade stands, and observed the daily ritual of watering the plants and pruning the voracious mint.  

I did yoga stretches behind the bushes, pulled a million weeds, and wondered why my hydrangea only produced one perfect bloom.  I talked to God.  I quieted my wandering, anxious thoughts with deep breaths and meditations on His creation.  

I co-existed with the bees and smiled wide at a thousand fireflies.  

I wrote a couple of songs while strumming my guitar on that swing. I sat in the theater of earth and sky and relished the shows.  

Now the steady click of falling acorns bouncing across the concrete signals the closing of porch days.  I will forget to go there.  I'll neglect the flowers and they will wither or freeze.  You'll find me in the kitchen or the car or at a meeting or under a blanket.  But life will circle back around to the porch.  Always does.

From Oswald's Mind to My Heart

I won't comment on this little treasure of a paragraph from My Utmost For His Highest, Aug. 3.    I have to go cut my hubby's hair and get on with the day.  Just know that it spoke deeply to me today and will perhaps resonate with you as well.

We have no conception of what God is aiming at, and as we go on it gets more and more vague. 

God's aim looks like missing the mark because we are too short-sighted to see what He is aiming at.

 At the beginning of the Christian life we have our own ideas as to what God's purpose is--"I am meant to go here or there,"  "God has called me to do this special work";  and we go and do the thing, and still the big compelling of God remains.  

The work we do is of no account, it is so much scaffolding compared with the big compelling of God.

whew.

When You're in Your Second Adolescence

After three days spent with my three best friends from high school and college, hopping from one Iowa home to another, I feel like I've run a verbal marathon, which is exhausting for this introvert who usually measures out her words in hour-long chats, not days-long.  

They wasted no time with shallow filler.  

"Becky, your new home is beautiful!"
"Thanks, what would you do if some of your close friends were in the middle of a nasty divorce?"

Seriously, we had only made it as far as her mudroom.  

The cathartic thing about this near-annual trip is stepping back from my year and trying to articulate it when they give me their "how are you, tell the truth" look.  At home in the dailiness, I move from one chore to another, from one shade of emotion to the next, quick prayers, brief conversations with in-and-out children, mealtime chats with my husband before we do our own thing in the evenings. Occasional heart to hearts, but not big summaries of my life.  

Phrases like "identity crisis" came out of my mouth.  Becky described it as a "second adolescence" without the pimples. Well, there are some pimples, too!  As I think about that more, I think she is right.  In my first adolescence, I was bucking for self-rule, trying to figure out my personal identity.  I figured it out, became a believer in Christ, then a wife, a teacher, then a mother. I relished being in charge of these little, impressionable lives.  

Now my teenager is bucking for self-rule, not in a disrespectful or destructive way, just not exactly what I would choose for him.  I find myself nitpicking and chiding him, knowing that is NOT the graceful way to parent a teenager.  I'm bucking for power again, when I need to be coaching and cheering.  

That's where Tracy, my oldest friend, who knew me through my first adolescence, says wryly, "He's just like you were."  

Gulp.  That's right.  And then she adds, "I always admired you for that independent streak."  Really?  Did my mom lay awake at night worrying that I would choose the hard path and suffer for it? Probably.  I'll have to ask her.  

If the first adolescence is about finding your identity separate from your parents, is the second adolescence about finding your identity separate from your children?  

Mara, whose 17-year-old daughter runs the State Center, Iowa, farmer's market, and whose 14-year-old son has a blacksmithing forge in the garage, always inspires me with her choice of a simpler, non-materialistic life.  She is still the same girl who, as an RA in the dorms at Iowa State, put this sign on her door:

"I had no shoes and complained until I met a man who had no feet."

Being around her makes me not want to complain about the petty things but care about the important things.  That's what I have been trying to discern lately.  The petty versus the important.  

Old friends help you see the difference and accept you, pimples and all.  

The Elusive Finish Line

My two dearest friends blogged yesterday about elusive finish lines.  I was struck by how two divergent stories could be so similar. 

One feels like she is running a marathon in knee-deep mud while someone keeps moving the finish line farther out.  She is waiting to bring two daughters home from Haiti, and the loooooong process of adoption is laying her out flat.  

The other found out yesterday that her cancer has metastasized to several bones.  Her finish line seems too close.  She is trying to figure out how to make each day mean something.

I don't know what to do, what to say, how to pray, so I pray selfishly that God would move the finish lines closer, further.  That when my beautiful friends cross them, they would both receive a prize so glorious that the past suffering would melt away in four little black arms...in two loving, eternal, unfathomable arms.  

While my friends are in these epic races, I am plodding on in the "long obedience," trying to learn from their stories, trying to serve and love and fully live out my little days.  The next few will be spent laughing and breaking bread with 3 women who have left their indelible marks on me as we lived life together in my high school and college years.  I will visit Tracy, my high school friend who laid on the floor beside me at sleepovers and talked about the God who would eventually come into my life and turn it upside down, and Mara, who pulled me out of my small, self-centered thinking in college, and challenged me to think and love and live more deeply, and with  Becky, who befriended me in college and has never stopped being the cheerleader of my faith and endeavors.  

My finish lines this week will lead to their doorsteps and into their arms, and I suppose that is how we are to live, with daily finish lines, small, meaningful milestones, and much gratitude.  

Buying Vowels

I have a friend who recently made a humorous quip about hating when contestants on Wheel of Fortune buy vowels right before they solve the puzzle.  They are just throwing away money! she ranted.

I wonder if I would buy the vowels, just to know for sure it would all work out.  Pay for the guarantee.  God has a different economy for our lives, though.  He turns the letters as we need to know them. He leaves some blanks.  He occasionally gives us $1000 spins, where we must make a choice that is pivotal in our journey.  

Today, a $1000 letter was turned for me.  My daughter wandered over to me in the den, looking  a little sheepish.  "What's up?" I asked.

"I'm nervous to say this," she offered, wringing her hands.

"Just say it," I smiled, wondering what was going on.

Then the tears started and she became choked with emotion.  "I want to be baptized."  I felt my own heart rise to my throat and tears leak from my eyes, and in my mind, I jumped up and down and clapped while Pat Sajak gave a sideways grin at the camera and Vanna swished her pretty dress.

I wasn't expecting this.  We hadn't talked about baptism in ages.  It was clearly God's work, not mine, which is how I'd always prayed it would be.  

A feeling washed over me, like the gratification of solving the puzzle.  Like winning the jackpot.    

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap the harvest if we do not give up.  -Galations 6:9

In the Afterglow of a Mother-Daughter Trip (Passport to Purity)

My almost 13-yr-old spent yesterday with her sister and two friends in circa 1850's dresses and bonnets, sitting in the rain with "parasols" in a little fishing boat they pulled into our front yard. They called themselves Jo, Beth, Amy, and Meg (from Little Women) and designed many adventures.  Ginger the cat was in every scene.  

I don't think this is normal 2013 tween behavior.  I would have more likely been calling up boys with my friends and giggling uncontrollably at this age, so my heart was warmed by their wholesome, imaginative spirit of play. Just to bring it into the 21st century, there were several moments when their little bonneted heads were gathered around the laptop looking up vintage dresses on Etsy.  

Megan and I spent Thursday and Friday on our Passport to Purity Trip.  She navigated us to antique shops, thrift stores, and consignment shops in Minneapolis.  Her favorite was Steeple People thrift store because the price was right for her pocketbook.  She spent $2 on some soft fabric.  Her souvenir was a $5 rusty old horse bit from Art and Architecture.  She has a thing for horses and bits.  

I thought it might be fun to juxtapose the old with the new, so we stopped by the Walker Museum and sculpture garden.  

We liked the garden, but the museum was head-scratchingly modern and abstract, which led to comments like "I could paint that in the dark" and a very brief visit.  The Minnesota Institute of Arts is more our style.  Lunch was at the ultra modern Melting Pot fondue restaurant.  It was yummy and inspired me to almost buy a fondue pot at the Salvation Army.

The Pratt-Tabor Inn in Red Wing was a perfect ending for our day.  Its Italianate architecture and crystal chandeliers in every room mesmerized us.  

Deb, the owner, was delightful.  She line dries and irons all the sheets and linens, for pete sake.  Friday was mostly spent biking and thrifting in Red Wing and Lake City, and we ended with horse back riding with my friend Karen at River Road Riding.

All along the way I slipped her letters from women in her life.  She loved them all, basking in the glow of love and encouragement in each letter.  In the car, we listened to Barb and Dennis Rainey teach on everything from puberty changes to God's design for sex and dating.  I loved the interviews with teens.  We pulled off to the side of the road to complete object  lessons with water balloons, matches, and play dough.  We both now have a good definition of dating and a beautiful vision for purity.  It is a high calling in this sex-drenched culture, but it is not impossible.  

The message was simple.  "...that He might be preeminent."  That Christ might take first place in every area of our lives.  

What a sweet opportunity to bond and cover important topics in a fun way.  Highly recommended!

A Mother-Daughter Trip (Passport to Purity)

I often have an ache within that time with my children is slipping through my fingers like a kite string on its long ascent.  I can feel the friction of the string's momentum against my grasping hands.  It's vaguely painful, but the kite rising is glorious to watch, and truly there is no stopping it, so I might as well hold loosely and smile.

Hold loosely, but celebrate milestones.  Next month my daughter will be 13, and in our family, we mark this age by taking a trip using the Passport to Purity (P2P) curriculum, because here is what is important to us:

• That we set God's standard for purity before our children, giving them something to aspire to, while teaching them of grace and forgiveness
• That we open the doors of communication about awkward subjects like body fluids and sex
• That we begin to affirm who they are becoming and address character flaws before they become too ingrained
• That we show them they are worth the investment of time and money to take a trip together

My husband took my son on a long roadtrip to Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio, stopping along the way to do projects from P2P.  Dave still refers to some of the object lessons from that trip in conversations with Noah.

Megan and I will be staying closer to home.  The destinations are a surprise to her, but I tried to think about going places she would love, so here is our itinerary:

Minneapolis:

Art and Architecture

Steeple People Consignment

June Clothing Consignment

Melting Pot for lunch

Walker Art Center

Red Wing:

Pratt-Tabor Bed and Breakfast

Lake City

Bike Ride on trail

Zumbro Falls

Horseback Riding at Karen Whitaker's

In between our activities, we will listen to the P2P CDs and complete the projects and conversations.  For some development of life skills, Megan will navigate and will help keep a budget sheet.

What I'm most excited about is giving her a series of letters written by women in her life who took the time to  write down what they see in Megan and how they are praying for her.  I think this will be a watershed moment in her life.  

Honestly, my sweet girl is a little nervous about this trip and so am I.  There will be some awkward moments as we listen to frank teachings, but I want her to hear this stuff from me.  Homeschooling has kept her pretty insulated so far.  It's time to open the doors with truth from God's word so that she can be discerning and hopefully avoid some of the regrets I carry.  

I'll let you know next week how it went. 

The Spiritual Discipline of Painting

I have observed over the years a particular phenomenon.  Whenever I set out to go deeply spiritual, I seem to  become overly um, what's the right word...secular?  It happened again.  I recently completed reading Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster, thinking I would implement some new spiritual habits, feel God's overwhelming presence, and become this centered, holy soul overflowing with spiritual creativity and action.  

The book was SO VERY GOOD, and I marvel at Foster's way of translating the writings of the ancients into my heart language.  It will be a reference manual for the rest of my life, for it is very yellow with my highlighted lines.  

So what have I done with all this spiritual gleaning?  I have been obsessively painting and redecorating my house, sewing pillows and curtains, thrift shopping, reading shallow decorating blogs, pinning and pinning, driving inordinate distances to pick up Craigslist purchases, and studying my Benjamin Moore giant paint chip stack like it was a Bible.  Really?  Where's the fasting, the worship, the prayer, the study?  

I have been avoiding writing on this blog, because I had hoped to share some insights from the book, chapter by chapter, discipline by discipline.  I stopped at the early chapter on fasting.  I set a lofty fasting goal and quickly failed.  My dear friend reminded me that we successfully fasted a few years ago when we actually had a friend in crisis and were doing it together.  Doing it simply as a discipline is HARD, but even in failure I am drawn to a God who says, "Yep, this is why you are saved by grace, not by works."  

Since finishing Celebration of Disciplines, I have painted 6 rooms (can this count as a spiritual discipline,) sewn all kinds of pretties, read another book, watched innumerable episodes of The Voice on Hulu, wrapped up our school year, cooked some killer meals, gathered with friends, ran many miles, moved to the passenger seat so my son could drive, and have barely sat in my "quiet time" chair to study and pray.  

But perhaps there is not such a division between spiritual and secular as it seems.  This overflow of domestic energy and creativity emanates from me, a very spiritual being, who wants to add to the beauty of this world, within my home and without.  For now, I'm going with it, because I have a bunch more house projects on my list.  And I'm going to look for God in it all.

Celebration of Discipline: Prayer (for the right-brainer)

Confession time:  When I hear people say they experience "the power of prayer," I'm envious.  Most of the time, I feel like I'm talking to myself.  I try to devote part of my morning quiet time to prayer, but I rarely seem to get past, "Lord, thank you for this day."  Then my mind wanders to some lines from hymns or psalms, and then I'm officially distracted by "what should I do next?"  

Meditation and contemplation come more easily.  Praying with a friend or small group comes more easily, as does shooting up brief arrows of prayer in moments of need.  Is there something I am missing in personal prayer?  I suspect it is the discipline of it, like exercising a muscle that only becomes stronger with use.  

Richard Foster, in his chapter on the discipline of prayer, gives me two very useful tools for personal prayer.  First, he suggests engaging the imagination by asking God for pictures during prayer.  I'm guessing that Foster is a right-brainer, like me, opposed to prayer check lists and daily guides, and more inspired by art and metaphor.

I tried it out this week, and as I prayed for my son, God gave me a picture of a shield around this beloved young man.  I smiled, thinking of Noah's recent performance in Camelot as King Arthur, bearing a sword and shield.  This picture was further confirmed by my subsequent reading of Psalm 5 that morning, which ends with "For you bless the godly, O LORD, surrounding them with your shield of love."  Big smile!

This was a glimpse into the power of prayer.  A picture.  A scripture to confirm it.  A rush of gratitude in response.  The prayer muscle strengthened.  

The second tool is to pray expectantly.  I so often pray half-heartedly, using sacred powerful words like bless, help, protect, and guide in a routine way, as if I'm reciting from some bank of acceptable prayer words.  But if I slow down and picture an actual hand of blessing on a person, a literal grip of help, a strong shield of protection, and a guiding light upon a dark path, now there is something different.  If I become specific in my desires and as bold as the psalmists, now there is power.  If I devote myself to listening and watching for clues that God is working and answering the cries of my heart, now there is the key to unlock the mystery of the power of prayer.

Celebration of Discipline Part 1: My First Lesson

Discipline:  Meditation

"The history of religion is the story of an almost desperate scramble to have a king, a mediator, a priest, a pastor, a go-between.  In this way, we do not need to go to God ourselves."  

-Richard Foster

And I wonder, do I run to a go-between?  Ah, yes.  Books.  Blogs.  How much comfort and intrigue I find in reading other people's thoughts on spiritual matters.  Too much time with my head in their words, however, does not leave me much time to practice the Christian disciplines and make them my own.  

As I read Richard Foster's guiding words on the first inward discipline of meditation, I realize I need to close my books, switch off the computer, open the curtains to reveal a windowful of created inspiration, quiet my heart, center my prayer, and breathe. 

Unlike eastern meditation, in which the goal is detachment from the material world, Christian meditation is meant to form an attachment to God, to linger in the quiet space long enough to make that mental pilgrimage to the throne room.  

Pick a space.  Make it pretty and comfortable.  Tell the kids about it so they are thoughtful and gentle with their inevitable interruptions.  Better yet, rise before they awake.  Here is mine...

Employ the imagination.  Jesus made constant appeals to our imagination when he taught through image-driven parables.  One morning I pictured a shield around my son, who is often in my prayers as he navigates new territory.  I drew the image in my journal and found corresponding psalms to pray for him.  Oh, the fruit of meditation.

I am drawn to the art of lectio divina, or sacred reading, to guide my meditation.  Slow, deliberate, searching, reflective, responsive.  Some people are motivated by reading through their Bibles in a year, but I've found this disheartening and empty.  Others love inductive study, looking up word roots and cross-references.  I would rather approach my time in the Word like Bonhoeffer, completely enveloped in one verse for a week, over skimming four chapters a day or flipping around in my Bible.  But this is just a personal preference at this point in my life.  

Otium sanctum means holy leisure, and I've found that it can be employed in a busy life by first setting aside time to meditate and by cultivating an attitude of prayer throughout the day.

"There is a way of ordering our mental life on more than one level at once.  On one level we may be thinking, discussing, seeing, calculating, meeting all the demands of external affairs.  But deep within, behind the scenes, at a profounder level, we may also be in prayer and adoration, song and worship, and a gentle receptiveness to divine breathings."

-Thomas Kelly

Time for me to close the books, turn off the laptop, and practice.  

Discipline. A Celebration? Really?

As I grabbed books from boxes and speed sorted them like a librarian onto the rummage sale table, I paused when my hand held the book Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster.  I was working at a fundraising rummage sale sorting hundreds of donated books last Friday, chuckling at prizes like Wisdom for the 1987 Graduate, which was in a box with a half-opened package of male Depends (which promptly sold, by the way!) and not seeing much to capture my attention... until this moment.  

Richard Foster, the modern Quaker theologian contemplative, is a voice in the desert for me.  I've read his words just about every morning for months as I've worked my way through Classic Devotions and Spiritual Classics, books in which he has selected and commented on numerous classic writings.  Do you know when a voice is like a cold drink of water on a sweltering day?  That's how his voice is to me.  I drink it up as he introduces me to the writings of the classic saints and mystics and deep spiritual thinkers.  Sometimes I scratch my head and wonder what I just read from some 12th century monk, and then Foster sweeps in to illuminate the timeless heart of the message, and I say, "ohhhhhhh, I get it."

I've been wanting to read Celebration of Discipline for a long time, but frankly, the title scares me.  I am SO not disciplined.  I am creative, spontaneous, artistic (words I like) along with being a weak finisher of my grand ideas, a leaper from this to that, and an expert of nothing (words I dislike.)  But here was the book in my hand for a mere $1, and I thought...it's now or never.

So I'm going to take you along on this journey and interpret what I read through the lens of a 21st century wife, mother, homeschooler, songwriter, comfort lover, sinner, quitter.  Here is your "I might quit half way through" warning.  If that's the case, I will make it through the #6 discipline of solitude and then just quietly disappear by some lake in Northern Minnesota, and you'll understand.  You can go get your own book at that point.

Will this really be a celebration?  Time will tell.

Spirituality and Service: Inseparable Twins

My friends and I often refer to Marys and Marthas.  In the well-known story from Luke 10, the sisters choose differently in responding to a visit from Jesus.  Mary sits with him and soaks in his presence.  Martha tends to everyone's physical needs.  

We sometimes debate who was right, which is silly, because both are right, both are needed, both are a sign of maturity.  Spirituality and service are inseparable twins that need to rest at the heart of each of us.  My best days are spent being Mary in the early morning hours and Martha the rest of the day.  If I sit in quietness and pray God will show me how to meet people's needs the rest of the day, I must be careful not to begrudge the opportunities to serve.  

And each thing is an opportunity:  to quiet the children's quarreling, to be the teacher and cab driver, the encourager of friends, the helping hands for those in physical need, the open purse for those in financial need.  The key is not to let the pendulum swing too far to either side so that we exhaust ourselves in service or cloister ourselves in self-care.

We need to teach and model this for our kids.  Some are natural servants, others must be forced into it.  Some are inclined toward spiritual things, others must be taught the discipline of it.  Both are rewarded in the end because they are taught what matters to God.  Growth in these areas is a process requiring much diligence and grace...for all of us.  Don't shame them for their perceived inadequacy in either area.  Always encourage!  (I'm telling this to myself, first!) 

Last week I had the privilege of serving my beautiful friend, Emma.  As I and many others painted walls in her new home, we talked about her vision for her home, where it could be a gathering place and a stop-by-anytime kind of home.  I know it will be like that.  She sits and listens to you like Mary, but she makes sure you have coffee in your cup like Martha.  She does all this while living with breast cancer's harsh effects on her mind and body.  

I love the bothness and oneness of God's design for our lives.  

Listen then to this wonder!  How wonderful it is to be both outside and inside, to seize and to be seized, to see and at the same time to be what is seen, to hold and to be held. 
-Meister Eckhart

The Great Divide

That is the greatest divide in life:  from the point where we either go toward a more dilatory and useless type of Christian life; or we become more and more ablaze for the glory of God.  

-Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

Photo by Dave Pearson, Colorado Rockies at sunrise

Our Easter Pictorial

Our Easter Devotional:  Each egg contains an icon from the Easter story.  We hung a new one each day as we read the Scriptures.

A sweet gift from a friend to remember Bullseye

Kool-Aid worked great this year.  For eggs and hair!

We made this Easter centerpiece for our lovely neighbor, Leanne.  We found the idea on Pinterest.

Homemade friend gifts.

Eye candy.  A live purple orchid.

On Teaching Children to Be Magnanimous

In our homeschool, we have spent much time discussing new words we encounter in books, reviewing science terms, and using vocabulary cartoons.  I encourage my kids to come up with better words than "that thing-y over there" and to name the emotions that they're feeling during some weeping and gnashing of teeth session.  In writing, we grab thesauruses.  In reading, we pull up online dictionaries.  

Every now and then I come upon a word that is so loaded with meaning and import that it becomes a devotional for the day.  Today the word is magnanimous.  We came across it as I read during lunch yesterday from Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court and I kind of stumbled over the pronunciation and skipped the discussion.  Today I plan to readdress it.  

A magnanimous person is high-minded and big-hearted.  He is chivalrous and generous of spirit.  She has a high moral code and is not easily offended.  Forgiveness comes quickly.  The word encompasses a sense of dignity, a delight in benevolence, a humility in victory, and a refusal to be petty. As I address character flaws in myself and my children, I think the quality of magnanimity is worthy of aspiration.  

And, of course, it is an excellent description of Christ.  

CS Lewis says the chest of a man is the seat of magnanimity.  

Now that just makes me breathe a little deeper and stand a little taller.