Even the hard parts

Daily Devotion - May 8

I will send a brief message each day
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

Good evening friends!

Today got away from me. I realized at noon I was still in pajamas, and hadn't yet brushed my teeth. I sat down at my computer at 8 am and didn't do all the things on my well-thought-out list, but did other things instead. Mostly stupid, pointless things.

But, as NVC (compassionate communication) teaches us, every No is a Yes to something else, so it's a chance to be curious about what I was saying Yes to. What was I needing? Spontaneity?  Freedom?  Rest?  Mourning? 

My daughter went outside (in the 30 degree weather) this morning to eat breakfast in the driveway so she could talk to the neighbors eating breakfast in their front yard.  They wore mittens and hats and wrapped their legs in blankets.  I just called her in at 4 pm.  Her seven hour breakfast tells me she may have been needing Connection. Freedom.  Hope.  Rest.  (Schoolwork is so secondary to those things right now).

It was a session (church council) member who helped me make a mental shift.  She issued a gentle invitation in a session email that maybe NVC can help us through this - feelings and needs, we're back at feelings and needs. She was not wrong. It is helping me.

I am grateful for you, today, Church. I got an envelope with the mail from church - a couple of lovely cards and notes.  I had several email messages this week from church folks.  Session is praying for each other.  We are all reminding each other we are here for each other when things get hard. We are all helping each other through this. We are being Church.  

Next week I will be taking a few days off.  One of you will lead coffee hour. Another will preach next weekend (I'll be there).  I am so grateful.  This meets my needs for rest and care, for freedom and space.

Today our our country's brokenness feels close at hand. Our deep sins of racism, self-righteousness, division, hatred and judgment are plastered all over social media today.  They're tangled up with our deep needs for mourning, and justice, for wrongs to be right, for humanity to be upheld, for our belonging to feel real and palpable, for ease, for hope.  Come to think of it, that crazy cocktail of high intensity might be part of what had me pinned to my chair in my pajamas til noon.  

But this day - like every day - had beauty and gifts too. The persistent sunshine. World's easiest peanut butter cookies.* A preschool moving forward into the future in our church basement.  Us - you -  praying for each other.  A youth group zoom meeting and a confirmation kick-off.   A child who remembers her belonging.  

Life is a gift- even the hard parts. God is with us - all the time. This is grace.

No matter what, we belong to God and we belong to each other. 

What are the feelings you've had today? What are you needing?

What beauty do you notice in your day as you look back? What gifts?

What do you need to mourn?  

What is giving you hope? 

*( 1 c peanut butter, 1 c brown sugar, 1 egg, 1 tsp baking soda, 1/2 c chocolate chips, 1/2 tsp vanilla  - optional little handful of oats - Bake 350 for 10 minutes)

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

We are singing this on Sunday, and it's a blessing for us all - read it through a couple times. 

We are held in God's grace.

Only Grace, by Hannah and Lenora Rand
Things are broken here
things are shared
things are carried here
hearts bowed in prayer
            It is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us together here
            it is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us all together here
            all together here
Things are dying here
things are torn
things are growing here
and burdens born
            It is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us together here
            it is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us all together here
            all together here
Amazing grace
hear the sound
here is where
hope is found
            It is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us together here
            it is grace, only grace
            that brings us here, holds us all together here

There are no "good" days

Daily Devotion - April 3

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays) while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

Today I woke up to the announcement that Minneapolis beaches and outdoor pools will be closed through the summer.
Through. The. Summer.
The City Pages headline read, "Summer is Cancelled."

It feels like too much to take in.
This thing is going to go on and on.

I am angry.
I am sad.

I have seen friends share, "I had a bad day yesterday."  And by "bad" they mean they had hard feelings to live with - sadness, anxiety, fear, anger.  By this measure, a "good" day is when we feel the easier feelings to live with, like happy, or grateful, or peaceful.

We tell ourselves we are supposed to be feeling the "good" feelings, at least most of the time.  And if we are feeling the "bad" ones, we should keep it to ourselves for the time being, and try to get over them quickly.  Once we move out of the discomfort and vulnerability, like maybe tomorrow, we can admit that we had those feelings today.

We used to measure our days by what we got accomplished. Did we get a lot of work done? Do we have a lot to show for our time? By that measure, right now every day is a "bad" day for many of us.  So we have shifted all the pressure of judging our days onto our emotions. But feelings aren't "good" or "bad."  Nor are they designed to be barometers of whether life is "good" or "bad" at the moment, or whether we are "doing good" or "bad," or our even whether our day has been "good" or "bad."

I have to keep remembering this: feelings are merely indicators that our needs are being met or unmet in the moment.  And right now is a weird, volatile, intense, rapidly changing and utterly standing still time, like nothing any of us have ever been through.  So it makes complete sense that our feelings would shift rapidly throughout the day, up and down, back and forth. And in the midst of all this, there are feelings I enjoy having, and those I'd prefer not to feel.  But they are all helpful. They are all informative.

My informative feelings are telling me that:
Right now, my needs for shelter and love are being met; my needs for hope and space are not being met.  That's happening at the same time. It's not "good" or "bad" - it just is.

Perhaps, if we insist on reaching a conclusion about how our day has been, "hard" or "easy" might be a more helpful way to label it. Or maybe we can begin to learn to inhabit our days as they are, resisting tallying them up on team "win" or "lose."  Just meet ourselves with gentleness and acceptance of the one life we are living in right now.

Just now, when I looked at the needs list to see what I might be needing, the one that screamed off the page at me was mourning.
So here I go again. 
I am sad.
I am angry.
I have a need to mourn what I wanted summer to be.
I have a need to mourn, again, all that this virus is taking from us all.
I can't receive the gifts in what life actually is, if I judge my feelings and don't recognize my needs.
The good news for me is, mourning is a need I can meet.

Circling back today to the Rumi poem is helping me.
So, here it is again:

The Guest House by Rumi
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, tonight before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pray this Psalm, and so join our hearts:

Prayer of Lament, (Psalm 130 paraphrased)
Out of the depths of my being I cry to you, my God;
Come near, hear my voice.
Listen to me! Turn your heart to hear
my cry for mercy.

If you, my God, kept a record
of the times we turn away from you
and reject your love,
God, who could stand?
But you restore us to our belonging in you,
so that we can, with clarity of purpose,
serve you and care for each other.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
 and in God's word I put my hope.
I wait for the One who comes in,
more than those who watch for the morning,
more than those who watch for the morning.

O beloved children,
put your hope in God,
for with our Source of being is unfailing love
and with Love incarnate is full redemption.
God who enters in, will redeem God's children,
from all that destroys.

This week, we are reading through the Gospel of John.  In my house, it is at the dinner table. Maybe for you, it will be when you wake up, or before bed, or over lunch.  It can be read in about 20 minutes a day, or by reading three chapters each day.  If this is your approach, today, we are reading Chapters 16-18.

Where the light is

Oh, friends. 

More death. More violence. And our tender hearts can barely take it.  Anger, sadness, confusion, despair.  It’s all swirly and urgent and raw.

But I want to tell you a story.

Yesterday was Maisy's Baptism Day.  The anniversary of the moment eight years ago when she grabbed the pastor's lapel mic in both chubby hands and wailed into it with gusto while water was poured over her and the truth about her was declared: Beloved. Child of God. 

All day yesterday she wore this awareness like a gossamer garment - regal and peaceful, a secret happiness.  Beloved. Child of God.  Slipping from my car and marching into school, she kept this reality inside, curled around it to warm her throughout the day.

When she got home that afternoon, she found a gift dropped off by her godmother sometime during the day.  It was a tiny fairy garden in a clear, glass basket, complete with a smiling gnome, a red, spotted mushroom and a miniature black horse, with a string of colorful prayer flags stretched between living plants, all nestled on a bed of soft moss and beautifully polished rocks. The note on it said, Happy Baptism Day, Maisy!  

She stood silently gazing at it, and finally whispered, "Oh! I LOVE it."

Upstairs she went, and clearing her bedside table of all accumulated detritus, she made a special place in her room for her new fairy garden.

While I watched the news.  And freebased Facebook. And fretted and raged and grieved. Again. And in between, I made dinner and helped with homework. It was a busy night. Daddy was out of town. We ate pulled up to the counter on stools and standing around the kitchen. I kept checking in on the noise. I kept pressing on the bruise inside to feel the ache.

But then her voice broke through my stewing.  

“Mommy, what about my baptism candle?"

So we lit it.  

And then she asked, “What about the water?”

And she guided me to the little bowls and watched while I took one down and filled it.  Then she dipped in her finger and raised it to her forehead, and nodded for me to do the same, tracing the mark of our baptism, the cross on our foreheads which the ashes will make visible not too far away from now.  

“What about a prayer, Mommy?”  

And she stood in front of me, the glow of the candle falling on us, and placed both her hands in mine. With absolute peace and confidence, she raised her face toward me, closed her eyes, and waited.

Thank you, oh, thank you, God, for this precious child.  She belongs to you forever and ever.  Today we celebrate. Today we remember. No matter what, and always, we belong to your love. Amen.

Then she nodded, satisfied, turned and blew out her candle, and scampered off to another room.

I sat down at the kitchen counter, grabbed my phone and sent this text to my friend Jodi, 

There is light in this world. And it’s busting inside my chest right now and leaking out my eyeballs.

Here’s what I want to say: A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not, cannot, will not, ever, overcome it. Remember. 

So listen to the wisdom of my friend Meta, who said to us all last night, Don't spend too long in the rabbit hole tonight, friends. Call someone to say "I love you". Make weekend plans to be in community. Prepare brave kindness for a stranger tomorrow. Then go to bed. We still belong to each other for the sake of the good.

Yes. This.

What about you? Where are you seeing the light?