It’s been a long time since I sat down to write. That’s probably telling; a reminder that I need some quiet time, and a reflection of the pace of the day- to-day.
Sound familiar?
For whatever reason, February is jam-packed for us, annually. As a practice, this is not something I try brag about—actually it’s a bit of a phenomenon because we are pretty intentional about not overdoing the schedule business. However, this February has gotten my attention because of its richness, because of its shortness, because of its paradox:
-Ash Wednesday on Valentine’s Day
-Preparing a talk on (spiritual) blindness, while I have (physical) sight.
-Learning about baby sleep rhythms, while my kiddos sleep through the night
-Watching bees buzz in and out amidst the lingering snow on sunny afternoons
-Preparing for baby chickens, while we maintain our suburban address
-Finding myself captivated by the themes that have been hammered into my consciousness recently by news, or episodes (yes, I’m on the This Is Us, bandwagon), that this life is to be crumpled up, worn out and spent, because ‘we do not know the day or the hour.’
-Visible reminders by Burpee seed displays alongside of snow shovels, that death does indeed give way to new life
Shoots
The seasons are changing, and with them, the Liturgical season. Reminder upon reminder that however tightly we cling to what is, things change… and new shoots arise.
I have been sitting with the image of the shoot of Jesse (Is. 11:1)—an image used particularly during Advent readings, as well as some Lenten traditions. They derive from the once-vibrant kingdom of David, which was demolished and afterward referred to as a ‘stump’; a lifeless reminder of what once was. But what we hear during Advent and Lent is the geneology that led to the brave shoot– that what was prophesied will come to fruition, that even what was once unthinkable, will rise up with life.
Grace
We have had the privilege of celebrating both Confirmation and Baptism with dear family friends in the past couple of weeks. Each celebration has served as a reminder in different ways that we are ultimately intended to be transformed—both in God/prayer and God through the experiences or our lives. As a rule, these transformations rarely take place as we plan, and never seem to leave us in the place from which we begin. It is in these experiences that we receive the graces for this transformation. In other words, this internal tug-of-war is (I suspect) is an indicator of transformation—pulling between what we are comfortable with and what we are being called to become.
For more reading on paradox, head on over to Blessed Is She, where I am sharing a bit about St. Josephine Bahkita and the international day of prayer and awareness against human trafficking.