“Reminders of home,” she called them. I looked up from my coffee and out the window as my friend casually gestured to the seagulls outside. Seeing that I wore confusion on my face, she elaborated. “Seagulls, anywhere but the sea are reminders that we are travelers on the way; that we will always be foreigners until we are home.” 

I was reminded of her observation on the way to the grocery store this week as, you guessed it, I watched the seagulls (Gulls! My high school biology teacher would be sure to correct me) circling the parking lot. Why they do this, I will never understand. I will be forever grateful for her insight because of their ever-present company circling above the parking lot light posts and unintentionally calling me out of myself. 

We are approaching Holy Week once again, and although I tell myself we listen to the story for my children, I suspect I will always go back to C.S. Lewis this time of year, allowing fauns, beavers, and Aslan, to guide me out of the season of ‘eternal winter.’ Because good children’s stories are timeless and communicate important truths, I am paying attention to light posts. This delicious ritual alongside Madeline L’Engle’s encouragement (Walking on Water) to tesseract our way to places, uninhibited by time and space, as we are in art.

And so we all do, as we navigate Passiontide, becoming pilgrims, having our feet washed after the last supper on Holy Thursday, venerating the Cross on Good Friday, feeling the ache of the tomb on Holy Saturday, and rejoicing on Easter Sunday. 

In the same way, passing gulls remind me of the eventual hope of heaven; entering into Holy Week puts into practice our ability to be present in the Paschal Mystery right now. 

Whether with Aslan, Mrs. Whatsit, Mary, Simon, Mary Magdalene, or the Crucified Lord, I pray that you are accompanied through this holiest of weeks and that it is deeply meaningful. I’ve included a variety of reflections from previous years if you are looking for ways to enter more deeply into Holy week:

Maundy Thursday, Lodgepoles

Holy Thursday & an invitation, if you didn’t get to join the Catholic Social Teaching Spotlight last year, you can find it all here.

Good Friday, I hear you, Mary

Holy Saturday, see below for a reflection I shared for a local volunteer group this week

Easter Sunday, Scripture verses about Resurrection

Be on the lookout for a prayer I’m sharing with Mothering Spirit this week, for when we cannot afford the luxury of Lent.

Holy Saturday

A reading from the Gospel according to Luke:

It was the day of preparation, and the sabbath was about to begin. The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind, and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which his body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spiced and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the sabbath according to the commandment.

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It had been a long day.

Take a minute to imagine how these women must have been feeling.

Luke, always sure to include detail about the presence of women, describes that it was Jesus’ friends Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary who stayed until the bitter end of the longest day. Long enough to see where it was that Jesus’ body would be laid because, in all practicality, they were preparing to do what came next: anoint him. His friends were preparing themselves to prepare his body for burial in the Jewish tradition. Not only that, but they were in a hurry because it was nearly dusk, and as faithful Jews themselves, they would have been going home to observe Shabbat.

Perhaps you have found yourself in a similar position. A place where your heart hasn’t had time to catch up to what is being asked of your hands. Your head is not processing, and your heart has not accepted the truth of what is plainly before you. 

This experience is one of shock, grief, and disbelief, all co-mingling and taking up residence. Most are familiar with the stages of grief, which begin with denial. Instinctive or otherwise, denial numbs us from the whiplash of what was true and isn’t any longer because we simply cannot catch up, emotionally. 

Think about what these women, all of the disciples, must have been trying to reconcile: Jesus was not who he said he was.

Just hours earlier, they were eagerly watching to see how their friend Jesus, Son of God was going to be made known to the world. Their friend, the One they had come to know as the miracle worker and Messiah, had come to set Israel free and reign, victorious. But…

Imagine their confusion when Jesus does not approach the Sanhedrin with force or might. Imagine their humiliation as the One they had come to believe would be their Savior, is mocked, spit upon, and stripped of his clothing in front of the jeering crowd. Jesus was not the heavenly King they expected–he was all too human, and his crucifixion proved it.

We have to begin here, in this place of deep desolation, and in the context of previous days’ events, to fully appreciate what the women were about to undertake as they made preparations to bury Jesus, alongside their hopes of a Savior.

Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Joanna showed up at the place of pain and humiliation–their beloved Jesus’, and their own (how could they have gotten it so wrong?!). The very tactile act of mixing burial spices, making tangible again the truth they hoped not to believe.

They didn’t have to show up–in fact, most didn’t. It’s not clear where the rest of Jesus’ disciples spent ‘holy Saturday.’ After all, purity laws being what they were, being in contact with the dead at the dawn of Shabbat would have made them ritually unclean, and Jesus appeared to be a fraud. But, despite their deep grief, and out of love for their friend, they rolled up their sleeves and took on this work of mercy to dignify their beloved.

There is wisdom for us here, of course. 

The women in Luke’s Gospel are small figures in the greater Easter story, but we find them giving, digging in when the world appeared not to be watching. Disillusioned as they may have been, they showed up, imperfectly carrying out the next step on a journey they couldn’t understand or predict. Not so different from us on any given day.

In the same way that we venerate the Cross and acknowledge Jesus’ agony on Good Friday, we might do well to spend some time in prayer with the faithfulness of Jesus’ friends on Holy Saturday.

-Who do you love that has disillusioned you, and what is your posture toward them?

-Which of your hopes have gone unfulfilled? How do you choose to move forward?

-Have you left room in the space between your head and your heart for the Christ to do something illogical, unpredictable, and unimaginable?

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I don’t mean to brag, but we eat a lot of leftovers in this house. Don’t get me wrong, none of them are Pinterest-worthy. I blame it on my work-study job in the school cafeteria, and my days of ‘gleaning’ groceries at their pull date to feed a large volunteer group. I can work with just about anything in our refrigerator that will nourish us for another day.

This is not always popular, but it is economic, and I do rest in the relief of having saved something from being needlessly thrown away.

Actually, I thrive on it.

Compost. Seeds. Leftovers. (Lent)

Just Wednesday, we stood in  line once again, reminded of our finiteness. Somber for sure, especially as I watch my children’s ash-smudged faces before me, over our soup supper. Such a striking contrast: Life & death. And yet, I have come to rely on these images of resurrection that remind me that even when all appears futile, lost, broken, and bruised, God is not in the business of letting our fragments go to waste. (John 6: 1-12). 

Word and sacrament–Scripture and Eucharist–transform my midweek leftovers. They transform me from a mindless consumer into someone capable of Eucharistic interdependence and gratitude. They teach me to receive these leftovers–and all of life–as a gift.

And yet they also serve as a judgement on my meal, a call to repentance for the systems of scarcity and injustice that I perpetuate in my average day. They call me to work toward a new way of being–and eating–that allows me to better know, love and serve my neighbors. They challenge me to empty myself for others, knowing that I will be filled to the brim over and over again in the abundant economy of worship. In Christ there will always be,enough for us, with so much left over.

We are endlessness in need of nourishment, and nourishment comes, usually, like taco soup. Abundant and overlooked. -Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary

Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary

In this spirit, we imitate Love itself. This paradoxical living invites us to add chairs to the table, a little more broth to the pot. We are reminded in a thousand little ways, like the Gospel reading for today when St. Matthew tells his disciples, ‘For I was hungry and you gave me food,I was thirsty and you gave me drink,a stranger and you welcomed me,naked and you clothed me,ill and you cared for me,in prison and you visited me.’ 

Seen in this way, the sacrifices we offer this season feel more like opportunities to glimpse once again, the ways in which our meager offerings are anything but wasted. How important it is to be reminded of this! Bring all that you can offer, and it will be more than enough.

Our call to share faith is not limited to our physical address.

Speaking of Lenten practices, I’m sharing on the Blessed Is She blog today, on opportunities to share our faith with our own children, and all children of God.

“Whether you read this as a brand new God-mama to your infant nephew, as a mother of a lapsed Catholic, child caretaker of an agnostic parent, spouse of a non-believer, grandmother to a child(ren) growing up in a home that is no longer practicing their Faith, or the lone holdout of your “cradle Catholic” family…it is important.I’ve been giving this a lot of thought because there is so much to know about our Faith and Tradition. It is simultaneously simple and mind-bendingly complex…” keep reading.

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Happy New Year!

I hope this finds you adjusting to writing 20 instead of 19—or 2020 as my oldest warned me, so that time travelers do not come in and try to re-write history by post-dating my entries.

Food for thought, anyway.

It seems books are the way that I often choose to get my footing in a new year. I load up my library cart and hope that they popular books get delivered to me at a pace with which I can keep up (this is never how it works). I love making lists of the books I didn’t get to last year, suggestions I’ve received, or things I hope to learn about in the coming year—so if you have some recommendations, please share!

My top five books from 2019 include:

Island of Sea Women, The Nightingale, Educated, Everything Happens for a Reason & Other Lies I’ve Loved, Where the Crawdads Sing

In this library cart stuffing-frenzy, I also added Miss. Rumphius for our kiddos and was delighted by her message which I haven’t heard in ages:

Essentially when Alice Rumphius tells her artist grandfather her plans for her life she describes going to faraway places, and growing old beside the sea. He tells her that there is a third thing she must do: ‘Make the world more beautiful.’ She agrees, but has no idea what that might mean and the story ensues.

Like any good book reading mama, I asked the girls what they thought they might like to do to make the world more beautiful. Just like Alice, they sort of shrugged and said they couldn’t think of anything. As I closed the book, my oldest asked what I am doing to make the world more beautiful…

Funny how often we assume children’s books are for children.

I haven’t given her my answer yet, but I am savoring the question. The timing is ripe with possibility. Whether or not I’ve started with the task, it is liberating because we can start anytime, or every year–every day, even.

The short list for today includes:

           -Raising kiddos

           -Raising bees/flowers (as a side, here is a really thought-provoking article about modern           beekeeping)

          – On good days, sharing words in hopes that they land where they’re most needed

How about you? What beautiful thing(s) would you choose to leave as your legacy?

*For Miss. Rumphius, it’s lupines.

Prayer pledge

The image that has had my attention lately, is the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Admittedly it isn’t one I have spent a great deal of time with before, which is perhaps why I’ve been captivated. This is the theme for the 2020 prayer pledge for the month of January, put on through Blessed Is She. I am excited to share with you that I was able to contribute the reflections for the final week of January. It has been a real gift to read other writer’s insights on the same theme, which helps to broaden my own awareness of Christ’s penetrating love. (It’s not too late to sign up if you’d like to follow along! Subscribe here for daily prayer pledge reflections).

Whether you are seeking beauty in book lists, seed catalogs, cherished photographs, prayer, music,  dear friends; I pray that the New Year will provide a foundation for those things, and an invitation for new ideas!

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

-John Muir

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Lastly, if you’re already looking ahead to Lent next month and would like to participate in the Lenten journal through Blessed Is She, my friend Laura Kelly Fanucci is the reflection writer, and if you have read her work, you know it is soul-stirring. Orders fill up fast, so don’t wait. If you order, please consider using my affiliate link—thanks!

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If there is one subject I could spend a lot of time talking about, it would be children’s books. Maybe when I’m at a different stage in life, I will become a librarian. Until then, I’m content burning up my library card to discover new children’s books. And, truth be told, I often gravitate toward books as gifts, too. If you’re looking for new reading for littles, or gift ideas for kids in your world, read on. *I’d love your endorsements as well!

Board Book Favorites for Littles

Counting Kisses, Karen Katz

God Gave Us You, Lisa Tawn Bergren

Barnyard Dance, Sandra Boynton

Moo, Baa, La La La, Sandra Boynton

What’s Wrong Little Pookie, Sandra Boynton

Along Came You, Karona Drummand

How Many Kisses Do You Want Tonight?, Varsha Bajaj

1-2-3 Peas, Keith Baker

Jamberry, Bruce Degen

Goodnight Gorilla, Peggy Rathmann

The Snowy Day, Ezra Jack Keats

All Creatures Great & Small, illustrated by Naoko Stoop

Favorite Baptism/First Communion Gift Books

Look & Find Bible:  Gill Guile (Illustrator), B&H Editorial Staff (Editor)

Images of God for Young Children, Marie-Helene Delval and Barbara Nascimbeni

Psalms for Young Children,  Marie-Helene Delval (Author), Arno (Illustrator)

You Are Special, Max Lucado

Favorite Picture Books

The Mitten, Jan Brett

Hedgie’s Surprise, Jan Brett (anything by Jan Brett)

Mountain Day, Mountain Night, Anthony D. Fredericks

Sleep Tight, Farm,Eugene Doyle

Cowpoke Clyde Rides the Range, Lori Mortensen

Cowpoke Clyde and the Dirty Dog, Lori Mortensen

The Lorax, Dr. Suess

Pete the Cat, Eric Litwin

Can You Canoe, The OkeeDokee Brothers

Whose Tail on the Trail?, Midji Stephenson

Thunder Cake, Patricia Polacco

Ernestine’s Milky Way (Great gift for a 5 year old), Kerry Madden-Lundsford

The Song and Dance Man,Karen Ackerman

Guess How Much I Love You,Sam McBratney

Up the Creek, Nicholas Oldland

This Old Band, Tamera Will Wissinger (Hilarious western story-song to the tune of This old Man).

Tiki Tiki Tembo, re-told by Arlene Mosel

Blueberries for Sal, Robert McCloskey

The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams

Berlioz the Bear, Jan Brett

Mother Bruce,Ryan T.Higgins (about a bear who accidentally adopts 4 goslings while trying to cook them)

The Gingerbread Cowboy, Janet Squires

Search & Find:

Around the Town All Year ‘Round, Rotraut Susanne

New Readers

Usborne Phonics Readers (It’s likely you already know an Usborne representative)

I Can Read Series

Bernstein Bears

The Big Blue Book of Beginners Books

Next Steps

Magic Tree House Series, Mary Pope Osborne

Junie B. Jones series, Barbara Park

Nancy Clancy series, Jane O’Connor

Amelia Bedelia, Herman Parish

Older grades 3+

American Girls collections

Roald Dahl–particularly the BFG

Romona Quimby series, Beverly Cleary

Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder

Boxcar Children, Gertrude Chandler Warner

Fudge/Superfudge/Fudge-a-mania, Judy Blume’s

Read Aloud stories:

Charlotte’s Webb, E.B. White

The Trumpet and the Swan, E.B. White

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, & Chronicals of Narnia, CS Lewis

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Christmas Stories

Who’s that Knocking on Christmas Eve?, Jan Brett

The Cobweb Christmas, Shirley Climo

Pippin the Christmas Pig, Jean Little

How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Suess

Christmas Tree Ship, Carol Crane

The Elves & the Shoemaker,  Tiger Tales , Erica-Jane Waters 

Brigid’s Cloak, Bryce Milligan

Christmas Farm, Mary Lyn Ray

The Candymaker’s Gift, Helen Haidle

The Country Angel Christmas, Tomie de Paola

The Legend of the Poinsettia, Tomie de Paola

Cobweb Christmas, Shirley Climo

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Funny story. 

My daughter’s teacher sent out a request for family members to come in and talk about their holiday traditions. I mentioned that I’d be interested in reading my favorite book, Pippin the Christmas Pig, and like any good teacher who knows the value of volunteers, she graciously encouraged me to come.

I did a test-run last night, mostly to make sure that the story held the same appeal for my kids that it does for me–and I choked. I mean, couldn’t speak-tears-in-my-eyes kind of attempt reading aloud the simple truth of the Incarnation in the book is so profoundly beautiful. So my task before next week is to be able to make it through the darn book with some level of composure. [This remains a life goal as I listen to Paul Harvey’s “The Man and the Birds,” Johnny Cash’s Christmas Guest,  Danielle Rose’s Let Me Be Your Bethlehem, The Gift by Aselin Debison…the list goes on.]

It won’t surprise you then, to know that I feel pretty passionately about the importance of hearing the name Emmanuel and calling God by the name Emmanuel, God With Us. As someone who has gone by a nickname for most of her life, it is the difference of being addressed in the casualness of a nickname, compared to the core feeling of being called by my given name that more deeply names who I am. I hear it and feel it differently. I hear and feel Emmanuel more intimately than I hear Jesus. 

I have not found a name that compares to the comfort Emmanuel brings my heart. So, obviously this season has my full attention as the time where we hear again, God’s desire to be near us…in flesh, even.

In a nutshell,  I’m delighting in this season.

Paradox

On this sunny December morning, I’m also sharing about the Advent practice of waiting in the darkness, a practice of anticipation that is slow in coming. What I envisioned in my mind’s eye was an overcast, wintry morning, with pink and purple sky to accompany these thoughts. I should have known. What’s the expression?…’We make plans. God laughs.’

But maybe there is some new shaft of illumination for you and I in this season that we can only see when looking with eyes that have adjusted to the dark; adjusted to the wait. What growth, what peace, what mystery might we encounter if we have the courage to wait it out in the dark—not out of allegiance to what was last year, or anticipation of what is coming soon? [Read more here.]

Missing the point.

I should know this by now, of course–not to be surprised, I mean, by the ways my own plans do not amount to what I expect they might. And this is the point! At least that’s what I read in the foreword of the Advent journal I’m using this year. Fr. John Parks compares the ways that people have historically wandered: through the wilderness, through the desert, away from God,even. Then, and now, like a GPS, God seemingly ‘recalculates’ a return route to himself–a million new ways the story could end.  

The same can be true of Advent. In our mind’s eye, don’t we see the candles, tree, cookies, calendar, gifts, and gatherings in their pristine, glistening goodness? When in fact, there’s a chance our tree has tipped at least once, most of the chocolates have been eaten from the calendars, and the gifts are somewhere in our carts and might as well just remain there if you’ve seen the line at the post office lately.

But Christ shows up here, too. 

Not because Christmas is coming, but because God is always with us;  pursuing us. He will continue to do it again and again, despite our laughable expectations and detours.

Christmas currency

Around here, I’m attempting to put a new approach to Advent into practice. It’s something that is working for me, not  anything I’d prescribe for anyone else. I took my friend Laura’s advice to pretend that Christmas is at the end of November, and decided to find as many gifts as possible second-hand. In doing these two things, I am not shopping in December, and I am not spending money like a zealot.  I can appreciate the smaller impact this has on the environment, and it has freed up time for me to serve others by stepping into roles I typically would avoid or not have time for– making stockings for the 2nd graders, driving to the nearest mountain ranger station to purchase tree-cutting permits, allowing my children to attend their friend’s birthdays which happen to fall in December. *In other words, time has become my Christmas currency, in this single income household.

I hesitate to pile on any other ideas or experiences of how-to anything because who has time or patience for that at this point? This is an unpracticed new tradition which has me in my neighborhood talking to my neighbors, in thrift stores learning about the ways they serve our community, and trying to keep the spirit of the season simple and joyful. Happily, I think it is working.

I’ll close with a note I  found that I had written myself and posted in my kitchen cabinet. I have no recollection of doing it and taping it up there–but it’s my handwriting and it’s a perfect inspiration for the season–my prayer is that it whispers the peace you might be searching for, today. Enjoy!

The Incarnation began with Jesus and it has never stopped…God takes on flesh so that every home becomes a church, every child becomes the Christ-child, and all food and drink become a sacrament. God’s many faces are now everywhere in flesh, tempered and turned down so that our human eyes can see him.

-Ronald Rolheiser, OMI

Abundant Advent blessings–whatever expectations you have, or detours you may find yourself on this season.

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This month, I get to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, a funeral, and a Baptism. Four distinct snapshots of a life—my own and others’.

Birthday

It’s no secret that July is my favorite month: watermelon, sweet corn, sunflowers, bees, books, writing, hikes, pools—and very little structure on the calendar. What’s not to love?! In a way I don’t feel I’m able in other months, it’s fair to say I savor the long-lit, days. It also holds the tension of the very fleeting present in which I know these days don’t last and the knowledge that I have to enjoy while it’s here—the academic calendar rolls out, and once again our time feels as though it’s not our own. Not that it ever was, but isn’t it delightful to imagine that we have any effect on time?

I just finished another of Shannan Martin’s books, Falling Free (which was fabulous!). In it, she describes her rocky (and providential?) transition from hobby-farm-mama to industrial city-living neighbor, married to the chaplain of the local jail; where her neighbors often wear their lives on their sleeves and call her to solidarity with them in a way that offers a more beautiful view than she had hoped for. She describes this process in humble detail of the ways that God had seemingly called her down, and simultaneously picked her up.

“Living small is not about having less, but being less– less respected in the eyes of the world, less successful, less wealthy, less esteemed, less you. Less me. And more Jesus. Here, in this abundance of less, where more of us is stripped away, we’ll uncover the person we were made to be, the one created in the image of a God who sank holy feet in to our human mess.”

― Shannan Martin, Falling Free: Rescued from the Life I Always Wanted

Funeral

Last week we attended a funeral for a man who had adopted—and been adopted by–the organization where I used to work. Of all things, one of my kiddos had requested attending a funeral because she had no memory of having ever attended one. The man whose life we celebrated had no family to speak of, only friends and acquaintances from over the years. His funeral was held in the orphanage where he had grown up.

I was struck by the simplicity of the service, and his life all around. He was poor, absolutely. And yet, his life was rich in many ways. His days were often scheduled by meals and Bible studies going on around town. He got around on foot and public transportation. Given the amount of time he spent in churches and Bible studies, he had a love for Jesus and a pretty unfiltered commentary on the services he attended. He held in high esteem the restaurants and organizations that put on holiday meals for those who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford them. He was a loyal friend and completely himself.

Anniversary

In light of Shannan’s reflections and our friend’s funeral, I cannot help but wonder if the edges of my favorite month are perhaps a bit too, shiny? Where is there room for surprises beyond reveling in what I know? Do I allow God to come along side of me with hidden gems, or am I satisfied with my own, curated life in which I know what to expect and what I deem as lovely?

Maybe that is the challenge for my next trip around the sun, our next year of marriage—to savor each season, even those I’ve written off as mundane, dark, structured, or generally less glossy, so that I might be delighted in ways that I don’t expect.

Baptism

Recently I’ve been reading through the Catholic Spiritual Gifts Inventory, by Sherry Weddell and marveling over her explanation of Baptism—and all Sacraments of initiation– and how we are explicitly given the very particular charisms and gifts of the Holy Spirit that we will most need in our lifetime on these occasions. As I look ahead toward my nephew’s Baptism this weekend, I wonder how God will surprise and delight him with over the years.  Specifically, what charism awaits only him, that he might be equipped to offer his best self to God and to the world?

Whether extraordinary or simple and humble, charisms are graces of the Holy Spirit which directly or indirectly benefit the Church, ordered as they are to her building up, to the good of men, and to the needs of the world.

–CCC, 799

Sneaky Truth

This is phenomenal news and this angle has evaded me until this summer.

These perspectives are enhancing my own right now. I’m grateful for the space to mull them over in my heart and mind this month. I wish the same nourishment for you. Here’s to calling deep upon the particular gifts that we might build up the people of God all who surround us, and that we might be also be rescued from the lives we always wanted.

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There’s been a long radio silence on my end—not for any particular reason, just the ebb and flow of the end of the school year and change of seasons that make a gal’s creative juices available at all times to all people and my words don’t always make it out onto the keyboard.

I hope this finds you well and easing into June—the way I suspect June is supposed to be entered into.

Rested

May has held a long list of guests in our humble abode, and it’s been a treat. As much as I would like to change some of the dimensions of our space, I keep hearing from the people we invite under this roof, that they’re comfortable and rested when they leave, and there’s not much of a higher compliment I can think to receive. Fresh eggs, honey, and couches go a long way, apparently. So, when the itch to look at bigger spaces, or more updated floor plans strikes, I’m trying to remind myself of the gaggle of folks who have commented (without prompting) that they aren’t coming to see our home, anyway.

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• We split our bee hive in May—which means we now have two (!), and they still swarmed –so we were busy with our busy bees for a few days.
• We’re in the throes of Vacation Bible School, which packs a punch for being a morning camp!
• I’m sticking to my first ever, self-imposed summer schedule to coordinate our comings/goings, as opposed to my own free spirit that doesn’t mind the daily question: What are we going to do today?
• Doing hard things

One of the things on our list is Mass one day each week—not because it comes naturally, but because Mass is actually still a challenge for our gang. Mostly this has been successful, as our parish has a beautiful chapel where we celebrate weekday Masses, and the shorter version of Sunday helps, too (most of the time).

Community

Last week we walked in during the opening song, as usual. Breezing by families with many (more) children who seem capable of gauging time—unlike the mother of my children. Frustrated as I was by our inability to arrive promptly, I was touched by the community we found gathered that day: A lady in my Bible study, with a wonderful Polish accent, pulled out chairs for us to sit with her; my kids exchanged the sign of peace with my good friend’s parents, a woman from my bee club caught me to talk bees over donuts; ladies in line for donuts caught wind of our plan to play at the park, and gave us directions, since it was right behind her home.

Nothing groundbreaking or spectacular, but I think what I was struck by was a deep sense of place. It has taken a long time to notice this feeling, and I’m not sure it’s a permanent fixture, but I noticed it, and I liked it, and I hope that from time to time, I contribute to it.

Pentecost always comes at a such a timely place in the year, doesn’t it? It’s the literal breath of fresh air that pushes us into a new opportunity and pace.

Recommended Reading

In other news, I am part of a launch team for a new book by Shannon Evans, an author I really enjoy. It’s called,Embracing Weakness: The Unlikely Secret to Changing the World.  She writes from her own experience as a protestant missionary turned Catholic Worker, and includes insights from wisdom figures like Jean Vanier, Fr. Greg Boyle and Brene’ Brown. Beautiful, introspective thoughts and questions worth sitting with, so add it to your summer reading list. *As a side, I’ve discovered my library has a ‘Suggested for Purchase’ page on their website. I have requested A LOT of titles for purchase and have never been turned down, so even if your book budget is low, consider requesting from your library so you (and others) still get a chance to enjoy.

That’s all I’ve got. Happy June. Happy reading & (hopeful) slowing down.

Cheers to unannounced visits and backyard iced tea.

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Happy Feast of the Epiphany—the day we commemorate the arrival of the Magi at the birthplace of the Christ child, by way of a star. It is also the day our Eastern brothers and sisters celebrate their Christmas feast.

The Magi have always held a particular place of intrigue in my heart.  No doubt this is a lingering effect of the family heirloom wise men we set out each year as a child, painted by my great aunt.

Without fail, these characters are the most interesting and ornate to arrive at the manger scene—riding camels by night and representing educated, foreign, seekers; they are often depicted wearing brightly-colored robes and turbans, with boxes of precious and symbolic gifts no one would have thought to bring a child born in a manger.

Gold: precious metal

Frankincense: fragrant perfume

Myrrh: oil of anointing

In Jesus’ case, it’s been speculated that the gift of gold would have implied his kingship, frankincense, Jesus’ priestly role, and myrrh a foretelling of his death and the anointing he would receive.

Attentiveness

Epiphany is one of those words that has somehow made its way it into the cultural vernacular and I love it—it implies a great revelation or discovery.  Best of all, we might hear this phrase casually in a business meeting or a brainstorming session! It continues to give a nod to the light that revealed the Light of the world at the manger as an experience accessible to anyone paying attention.

Outside of this day, the Magi don’t receive a lot of attention in the Nativity story. Yet, if it weren’t for their attentiveness to the stars, or the wisdom they received (and responded to) in the quiet of a dream to bypass King Herod, the story we have been celebrating these past twelve days might have been told differently.

Darkness

Providentially, my library request for Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark arrived during Advent, and I devoured it. I devoured it because of its beautiful metaphors for the Advent season, but the compelling way she describes our wonderment around the less-familiar world illuminated by stars. She speaks of our suspicion of what we don’t know, as well as our complete and utter dependence upon our time in the dark for any illumination we hope to find.

Instead, I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again,  so that there is really only one logical conclusion.  I need darkness as much as I need light.”

Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark 

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We in the northern hemisphere might be experts on this by now. This half of the year, with its fleeting daylight hours and lengthy evenings, offers us a necessary downbeat counterpart to the perky, staccato of summer hours. The land rests, and so too, do we. Rather than cookouts and softball, we’re called to quiet a bit. More often than not, this means a retreat inside, to catch up on a book, schedule a meeting, see a movie.But, what if our quiet invited us to step outside?

Owling

I took Barbara at her word over Christmas, inspired a little by Jane Yolen’s Owl Moon, and took our Christmas crew owling after dinner in the dark of the night—which is to say we went walking at night in hopes of spotting or listening to our neighboring great horned owls. It was cold and crisp and we didn’t spot any owls. What we did was venture into the mystery of the darkness outside of our front door and our routine that other nights is off-limits. We trekked over snow and bridge and trail together in silence and anticipation of what we might find.

We are not Magi, but as the familiar star over our garage came back into view upon our return, it felt good to be seeking and thrilling to be on the lookout. In the spirit of the wise men, may 2019 find us on the lookout for an epiphany or two of our own.

“…new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

Barbara Brown Taylor’s, Learning to Walk in the Dark 

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For those of you interested in other book suggestions for the New Year, hop on over to Blessed Is She for a month-by-month book list, paired with the twelve fruits of the Holy Spirit.

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Shannan Martin’s words have been speaking truth to my heart, lately. (*Excellent podcast, here, or put The Ministry of Ordinary Places on your hold list at the library), because she has this compelling way of making the truly mundane, shine with the light of the Incarnation and I need someone like that speaking this truth into my ear. Maybe you do, too.

Because I can feel that desire welling up inside of me as Advent approaches, as we plan to go and chop down our Christmas tree this weekend, that I want it to sparkle, to shine–to offer a peaceful place of respite. These desires are good on the whole. And yet, they fool me into thinking that I might have some semblance of control in this thing called life…Jesus himself didn’t wait for a time when the world was finally sparkly and ready; he simply entered the human story. He was born into the mess and beauty of it, which I suspect, is exactly where I am meant to spend my days.

As the images from the conflict at the border roll in, and we see more and more individuals and families seeking a place of safety and welcome while we’re on the lookout for the Christ child, I am humbled by the thought that my home should provide anything but an open door; Humbled by the privilege to hope for anything more than peace.

Simple gift

I’m trying to see this mundane week (the way Shannan describes) for what it is—for what God is inviting me into, for the privilege that it is, and the occasions that seemed unwelcome, but turned out to be gift.

-My daughter and I biffed it while holding hands (and missing the curb) on the way to the store—we have matching skinned knees and I’ve wrecked my second pair of jeans for the week—after my first one was painted the same color as my daughters’ pre-baby shower primping on Saturday.

I was still able to pull the wagon all the way to pre-school, despite my skinned up knee & we now have matching band aids.

-While hosting a family dinner, my daughter asked why our table is always so crowded–a characteristic I don’t always appreciate for the gift that it is. *To be fair, “always” is a stretch, but it does show signs of improvement.

-I made a trip to pick up something across town, only to realize when I got home, half of the contents were missing…and they’re being held for me until I can get back.

-On the way to first grade (after noticing my gas tank was on empty), I smelled something foul in the car, only to realize that the contents of our very rank, very full compost bin dripped down my pant leg while I took it outside.

-Another mom and I accidentally have meshed our volunteer days rather than alternating Tuesday math groups, and we keep showing up again for the same shift. And teachers got double help that day.

-The Kirby man, “needs to put food on the table,” so I sit through yet another demonstration of the latest model in my (apparently dusty) living room.

-I am now, sitting idle for hours while our car gets worked on—forcing me to write—stinky pants and all (*I’m hoping against hope that I don’t get dubbed ‘the stinky mom’ in my daughter’s class).

The car work is under warranty and my children are fed, and  in school today. So, at the end of the day, all will be well. These have been hiccups in an overall comical week.

Lofty expectations

The Bible study I’m in right now is working through the Gospel of John, and it has been striking how even in the first six chapters, the theme of expectation has been so prevalent. Over and over the crowd seeks to question–even kill Jesus, because he doesn’t meet their expectations of the Messiah.

…Can anything good come from Nazareth? –John 1: 43

…How can a person once grown old be born again? –John 3:4

…How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?… Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his children and his flock? –John 4:9

…Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph? Do we not know his father and mother? Then how can he say, ‘I have come down from heaven?’ –John 6: 42

It’s been a weekly reminder that there’s a long list of beliefs that I, too, have held with a white-knuckled grip, about the ways God ‘should’ behave, how I expect God to show up, or the acceptable places for God to enter into my life. Over and over this misguided understanding has been shattered by the God who is Mystery.

So, thank you Shannan for your words. Thank you to artists like Bro. Mickey McGrath, Heather Sleightholm, Michael Adams, for your images of the modern day Holy Family. Thank you God, for days that leave me laughing at myself and the desires I grip so tightly about how things should go. Thank you for the gift of being dropped into the middle of this imperfect place, armed with enough grace to match my own short-sightedness, and a sense of humor! Here’s to an Advent season with its peace and spirit of welcome, that leaves us in the wake of smoldering expectations.

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Bringing Light

“There is no “right” way to enter into the season of Advent. It remains an opportunity to be on the lookout for the shimmering light of Christ, like the Magi, even when it feels far-off. It is one of the few practices of waiting we afford ourselves at this point in time. Yet it can be cause for so much impatience when we look ahead to the celebration just around the corner. How do we contain ourselves?”

You can read the rest I shared on preparing for Advent  (which starts Sunday!) over at Blessed Is She. ..

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It’s been quiet in these parts lately. It seems fitting to return to this scene on the heels of the Feast of St. Benedict–the day, celebrated in part by the blessing of bee hives.

Friends, if summer is a feast for the senses, then July is my jam.

The following is a smattering of what I love about summer, and goodbye to 33.

With the 4th, my birthday and wedding anniversary in rapid succession, I’ve adopted the Secret Life of Bees‘ ‘calendar sisters’ mentality about this most coveted month. I feel the same affinity for July as August feels toward the month of her birth.

“August tore the July page from the wall calendar that hung by her desk in the honey house. I wanted to tell her that technically it was still July for five more days, but I figured she knew already. It was a simple case of her wanting July over with so she could start into August—her special month. Just like June was June’s month and May belonged to May.

August had explained to me how when they were children and their special month came around, their mother excused them from household chores and let them eat all their favorite foods—even if it wrecked their teeth–and stay up a full hour later at night doing whatever their heart desired. August said her heart desired to read books. So the whole month she got to prop herself up in the quiet of the living room and read after her sisters went to bed.

To listen to August talk, it had been the highlight of her childhood.”

-Sue Monk Kidd

I write less, stay up later, rotate between approximately three t-shirts and commit to as few responsibilities as possible, because August (AUGUST!) will come, regularly-scheduled life begins again and this time is no longer my own.

(A little dramatic, but mostly true).

I intended to come up with some reflective piece on this past trip around the sun, but wouldn’t you know, time got away from me and I’m already jumping into the next one–but in all the ways I want to. Here’s to keeping up with these truths that feed my soul–and maybe yours, too.

Being overtaken isn’t a bad thing

So, rather than committing to any sort of consistent practice (like, writing) I let myself be overtaken by the many beautiful little things as come along. Mostly this includes being very observant–like noticing our chickens have started laying eggs. Rather than instinctively laying in their nesting box, it has become like search and find to discover the creative places in our yard where eggs are left behind. Or, the beehive so full of honey that it’s surpassed the weight of my firstborn child; our apple trees that were untouched by spring frost this year and are–for the first time–bearing fruit! The zinnia seeds that we plucked and dried last fall, are blooming again in bright red, golds, pinks and oranges.

Making beauty is intentional and strenuous work

Making beauty, like jam out of fresh strawberries is steamy, sticky, messy work. It is also worth it. And, finally putting those gifted patio stones to use (and perhaps working off some time in purgatory) by digging out our old patio in preparation for the beauty that will be when we finish this project during this record-setting heat, is at its core, an attempt to bloom where we are planted. Given that this effort has been one we’ve taken on as a couple, there is a lot to be said about the gift of doing hard things, together, and enjoying the fruits of those labors in tandem as well. 

Always be reading

July has also meant reading. I have re-visited Anne of Green Gables this summer, along with my annual trek through the Secret Life of Bees, and I’m currently nurturing my introverted heart by reading, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking.  This and participating in a Novena for Faithful Citizenship as the horrors of current events threaten to overwhelm my beating heart, have been nurturing and reinforcing what is good in the world and the possibility of distinct goodness each life is to the world.

So, thank you for bearing with me in the silence as I re-fuel–whether or not July is your particular jam, I hope you are finding joy in it and passing it on.

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