Archive for February, 2010

by Jeffrey Dodson

So finally it happened.

I was caught.

I was sitting on the floor in my sunroom, practicing 10 minutes of silent meditation, and then in the midst of my Lenten practice I was caught. My roommate came home from running an early morning errand and my solitude in the apartment vanished. I heard Chris’s key rattle the door. The whole house is old, so the door, the walls, the stairs, and indeed the entire essence of the building creaked and groaned with his arrival.

I hadn’t told Chris that my Lenten practice this year was to meditate in the morning, and since this wasn’t a normal activity for me in the morning, I had some explaining to do.

I still had 5 minutes left in my practice. For the first time I found myself in an awkward situation. Should I abandon meditating and quickly clean up, pretending nothing was going on? Or should I push through the remainder of my time and then address the situation? I decided to just sit with myself, stick with the rest of my meditation and then offer an explanation to Chris.

After coming up the stairs, Chris set his stuff down on the floor and then turned and found me, sitting there on the floor with my legs crossed, silent in meditation, a burning candle and singing bowl sitting in front of me. He didn’t say anything, but continued to carry his things to the kitchen and unpack.

My aim of being silent and seeking inner peace during my meditation had been disrupted. It was hard to focus when Chris came through the door and up the stairs. All the noise of the house did very well to draw me out of my meditation, but I remembered to stick with the silence, to stay with myself. I understand that the goal of good mediation is to be able to say in a meditative state through all the chaos, to let the noise not disturb you.

I finished my meditation and rang my singing bowl three times – once for the Creator, twice for Christ, and three times for the Holy Spirit. I blew out the candle before me, stood up and put my things away. I found Chris in the kitchen and found myself trying to explain to him what he had seen, as if embarrassed. But really I should have done it to inform and educate him about what I was trying to do in my life with this Lenten practice.

To my surprise, he didn’t think it was strange, or weird, or that it even needed an explanation. He was supportive. It reminds me that so often in our lives we try to make an explanation for the many faith practices we hold, afraid that someone may judge us. But we may be surprised to discover who is supportive of our faith if we are willing to share. Even when caught in the act, we may discover something about ourselves, whether it be sticking with our practice when the world seeks to draw us out of it, or to find that others are more supportive of us than we would assume. Here’s to the journey inward.

Selah.

by Ronna Case

God: I wish you’d heard me earlier, about breathing out on the hard parts!

Ronna: When did you say that?

God: One of the times you weren’t listening!

Ronna: Oops!

God: Don’t get distracted. Now you know, Breathe Out On the Hard Parts.

I finally heard this advice in my Water Aerobics class. I was probably 58 years old at the time. Where was this essential information during all those devastating gym classes?! It is truly stunning how much difference it makes when I exhale while doing the things that take the most effort. Breathing out on the hard parts makes the difference between being able to move the same amount of water as the instructor can, and not being able to do it at all. I also have to remind myself to breathe when I am practicing my cello. Sometimes I catch myself doing as many yoga repetitions as I can, while holding my breath. I wear myself out when I do things while “waiting to exhale” – as Terry McMillan wrote. Divine wisdom says: “Breathe out on the hard parts.” When I do, I consistently feel as though I “come into myself,” and that I am “here now” in the midst of The Divine. I inhale God’s help and hope and brightness.

Breath seems like a big key for so many things. I think lots of us hold our breath on the hard parts, including the spiritually hard parts. When we’re afraid or sad or angry, or facing temptation or pain, or when we’re really concentrating on something, or hearing terrible news…we have to remember to exhale. My favorite sport, swimming, is all about breathing in order to be relaxed in the water. What we call Eastern religious practices focus more on the importance of breath than Western ones do. I’m so glad I found out about breathing in time!

So, while doing yoga, I breathe out when moving, and breathe in when I am expending less effort. I move slowly, compared to the other rhythms of my day. I do a sequence of stances and poses I’ve picked up here and there, beginning with Prayer and Warrior and ending in the Child, resting on the floor. Then I uncurl as I rise and do it again. I feel good that I have been doing 10 repetitions of the sequence, which is more than I have consistently done before. I confess to missing one day this week…it was a day off, when I just got busy with errands out of the house….I just forgot until late. The next morning, I got up earlier than usual to do yoga before leaving for work. (It was very dark outside!) Last night I did yoga late, after getting home from small group.

I’m not consistent with time of day. Yet each time I yoga, I feel centered, connected, blessed with breath, even located. Sometimes I feel like I’ve docked with God and heard a word from God. Sometimes I am aware of my breath and body only. Sometimes I understand something in a new way. Sometimes I have to pull back from distractions time and again. Whatever comes, I go on breathing, moving slowly and smoothly and calmly. I feel more “in-tune” and more able to see that the glass is also half full. God wants me to remember about breath, the first divine gift to humanity, the essential practice for rest and renewal and for regaining strength for the journey.

Grateful for this Word, I breathe out on the hard parts.

by Dale Jones

It is sad to admit, but Lent might have been like any other 40-day period of my life were it not for this blogging effort. Since I could scarcely blog about blowing off Lent, knowing that blogging would mean instating some spiritual observance was, as I noted last week, a key reason to blog at all. Selecting a spiritual practice seemed a bit like raking leaves in the forest: opportunities were almost boundless. I could readily identify habits, behaviors, or attitudes to give up, and others I would do well to adopt. With such an abundance of possibilities, how should I hone in on some course that might actually make a difference in my Christian journey, yet was realistic enough I had a chance of adhering to it? Despite occasional wisecracks that I was giving up fasting for Lent, a strong sense emerged to take on something missing or delinquent in my life, rather than give something up. Two areas were obvious targets:

1) Devotional life. My daily prayer time, meditation, Bible study or anything similar had long fallen prey to schedule demands, lack of discipline, procrastination, and skill at rationalizing why I did not have time for regular pursuit of these activities.

2) Exercise. I know from experience that even a modest degree of regular aerobic exercise (usually jogging, for me) helps keep my energy level high, my mental outlook good, and my doctor from threatening to invoke cholesterol meds. While some may consider exercise a physical rather than spiritual practice, jogging can be for me as spiritual as praying or meditating – and sometimes my venue for both. Yet I was making full use of the same schedule, discipline, and rationalization deterrents to be nearly as slack in exercising as in devotional practice.

At Christmas, a friend gave me a little book of devotions titled 100 Days of Integrity for Men. I thanked her, acknowledged my need for some type of daily devotional practice, and put the book on a shelf. It resided there until last week when I decided to employ it for my Lenten practice. As I type this post, not quite a week into Lent, I have been using the book daily – almost. I am still discerning whether it is the right tool or the only tool for the spiritual progress I would like to achieve. Having tried both, I realize the greater value (for me, at least) of devotional moments early in the day rather than at day’s end. Setting aside these moments in the first part of the day, I must confess, has been a struggle.

Although never an exercise enthusiast, I can endure jogging and sometimes even enjoy it, especially in the right setting: the parks along the lakeshore in Evanston, or better, the wooded trails alongside the cypress lagoons of First Landing State Park when I am occasionally home in the Tidewater area of Virginia. I knew that jogging in daylight-shortened days of February in Chicago, however, would usually mean a treadmill in the fitness room in my apartment building. I do not enjoy treadmills. But so far, I have endured two treadmill sessions. Thanks to a weekend and slightly moderating temperatures, I also jogged along the lake – a welcome change despite the chill and some slush underfoot. For the time being, though, it’s back to the treadmill, with a prayer that longer days and warmer temps arrive before Lent departs.

by Maggie Roth

“Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work – you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it.” (Exodus 20: 8-11)

I remember reading a book by Anita Diamant, a Jewish author, who told of how preserving the Sabbath was an integral part of her week, how she looked forward to lighting the candles and stopping for a moment to reflect on her blessings, her struggles, and the relationships she held dear. Her words, far more beautiful than mine, touched me and I thought of them this weekend as our family began our own similar Lenten journey.

Last week, for the first time ever in my life, I preserved the seventh day — I kept Sabbath.

This small but powerful practice will repeat itself for the next six weeks, beginning every Saturday at sundown and ending the following evening. And you know what? I think I’m gonna like it. As a quick refresher, our Sabbath commitment entails joyful worship, refraining from the marketplace (i.e. buying stuff), reduced technology usage, and ceasing from work and worrying. Yep, just those little things…

I have to say, off the bat, some of it was easier than we thought it would be and some of it more difficult. Our Sabbath began on Saturday evening, we put the kids down to bed and awaited a visit from friends with whom we’d previously scheduled dinner plans. Given the need to avoid the marketplace, we ended up inviting them over for dinner instead. I served vegetable enchiladas and they brought dessert. Not a bad start. Great conversation and some much-needed catching up framed the start of our Sabbath in a wonderful way.

As our evening ended, I thought to myself that there really is something to having people over in your home, there’s some unspoken dynamic that occurs when you share a meal. I adore going to new restaurants, but all my deep abiding relationships are with folks who I would much rather share a pizza with on the floor of their condo than meeting up at the swanky new neighborhood bar. That’s where the real conversation happens, the real relationships begin.

How did our joyful worship go the next morning? Hmm… Can you hear the giant THUD of failure? I can.

Our joyful worship went kaput when, in the middle of the night, our daughter (almost three) woke up crying with a 103.3 fever. Turns out her little cold had turned into a big nasty cold and she spiked a very high fever. Motrin, cuddles, sleeping in our bed… by 5:30 a.m. you can imagine how exhausted we all were.

There would be no trip to Holy Covenant. No joyful worship for this family. Instead I ran to a quick early morning service at the local church in the suburb where we now live and returned home. This really bugged me. If we’re not worshipping as a family, what’s the point, I thought. By the end of the day I would think differently about the situation, but that was my mindset on Sunday morning.

Fortunately, the rest of our commitments were carefully planned out and arranged for ahead of time, untouched by the nasty respiratory virus that plagued our three year-old. We’d made a lot of arrangements beforehand so that we wouldn’t accidentally “mess up.” We moved our laptop out of the main area of our house; we bought bagels the day before so that we wouldn’t be tempted by Einstein’s as we walked out of church. I even did a bit of laundry so that I wouldn’t get caught without some kid items that I knew I’d need that day. With all those things in place, we were free to just be.

I wondered throughout the weekend what it would be like to be an Orthodox Jew, making arrangements each week in order to keep Sabbath. This is just a few weeks for us and we’re not nearly as strict as an Orthodox family. I recently read that Jewish migration patterns in suburbs are so distinct because families like to live within one mile of their synagogue. Why? No driving on the Sabbath. Now that’s a spiritual discipline. If we were to keep this up year-round, how would we change our life patterns to accommodate Sabbath? Would it affect our entire week? Our entire outlook? I can see how truly adopting a practice can change your attitudes toward faith. It requires something of you, time, energy, logistics and planning. How many of us do that? Sure, we get out of bed on Sunday and head to church, but is that sacrificial?

Anyway, back our Sabbath. Given our little one’s illness, our day was spent at home, just hanging out with one another. We played, we ate, we talked, and found ourselves with oodles and gobs of time together. Sundays typically go by so fast. We were amazed at how many hours in the day there are when you aren’t killing time on the internet or running errands. Sunday lasted forever!

It occurred to me that night that if we hadn’t already dedicated the day to keeping the Sabbath, we would have probably been really frustrated by our daughter’s illness. Dealing with her health would have messed up our plans, compromised our to-do list, and prevented us from feeling like we’d gotten a real day off. But somehow, because we’d already dedicated ourselves to just being, it was a really peaceful way to spend the day. Sure we were watching her like hawk and trying to get her to rest, but it didn’t matter. We were at home, we were with each other. We were wearing a more spiritual attitude already and so taking care of her was far less frustrating because we knew we were right where we were supposed to be. Home.

I guess the real question though, the deeper and more spiritual matter at hand, is whether or not we felt closer to God. Mike and I both discussed this Sunday night and came to the conclusion that we can’t honestly say we feel the spirit moving within us anymore than we had the previous weekend. Not yet anyway. But, we felt much more space in our lives. Space for each other. By the end of this journey we may feel the frustrations of not being able to use technology or not buying something we need, but right now we are just more fully aware of the extent to which we cloud our lives up.

Sabbath was less cloudy this week. We’re looking forward to the next one.

by Vicky Nabors

I was really excited when an old friend found me on Facebook this week. She has a unique connection to my life and my “herstory.” I first met Carol when I moved into an apartment over her in Evanston. She and I both attended the church that owned our building. And then, we quickly discovered that we attended the same Catholic school in Oak Lawn, IL during the 1960’s; she was in my older brother’s class, and her younger sister was in my class. My family was one of only three black families attending that school; we weren’t really welcome in that community during that time.

I’d lost contact with Carol in 2000 after I fled from that church community with a broken heart. You know the story: “no gays or lesbians affirmed here.” For eight years, all of my gifts and skills were constantly called upon at that church. I gave of myself gladly to the glory of God. Then everything changed when a lay minister friend became pastor, and she betrayed my trust. My value plummeted. Carol had no idea why I vanished, but I learned that she and other members also left that church shortly thereafter for the same reasons. (Bravo!)

The irony of my friend’s reappearance during this first week of Lent is nothing short of amazing. I was chugging through the first few days of my journey, and had given great thought to the “why’s” of my colorful language. (Of course, beyond what is already known; we curse when we’re frustrated, angry, or excited.) After my friend and I shared an in-depth conversation to catch up, I immediately understood God’s purpose for bringing her back into my life. She was the key that connected me to my past pains. Carol had ironically been present when two major events occurred in my life: racial violence and injustice during the 1960’s in Chicago, and my heart-breaking split with the church in 2000. For some strange reason, Carol revisited those painful moments during our conversation on Friday, and I’ve been an emotional mess ever since.

I sense my Lenten blogging project must now shift its focus from giving up profanity, to giving up all my pain – conscious and unconscious – to God. This means my blog participation has taken a very sensitive turn. I’ve tried to write this entry several times and trashed each one. It’s very personal and very painful; I don’t honestly want to share. But after talking to Pastor Kate on Sunday, I decided to step out on faith.

I realize that I have all the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, which fuels my colorful language. I had no idea I was still harboring the pain, fear, confusion, and anger from something that occurred over 40 years ago. You see, I was 8-years-old when I watched while my father and uncle were brutally beaten with billy clubs, and spit on by those who were sworn to protect them. Afterwards, they had black eyes and huge lumps all over their heads. I can still hear my mother and aunt’s screams and my sibling cries for help as we watched in horror. This scene was repeated two additional times with my father and uncles. It was a horrible scene to watch. My eight year old mind couldn’t under why the police kept beating my daddy and my uncles. We were concluding family outings, and my young father and uncle were laughing and rough housing in good humor when the police situation occurred. But then, it was an era of racial violence and police brutality.

A year later, my brothers, sister, and I were also beaten by our principal/nun, locked in dark closets by a teacher/nun, and had our lunch spit on by white classmates, all at a Catholic school in Oak Lawn. My parents were seeking a better life for us. They were “Chasers of the Great White Flight” in Chicago. I clearly remember the terror of the day MLK was murdered because all the black kids in my upper middle-class neighborhood were kept home from school. Our parents feared for our safety. I remember hiding with my brother in the stairway as we listened to the elders of my family discuss the potential dangers of being in public and traveling on the bus. I remember feeling confused and afraid for my grandmother when it was agreed that she could have safe passage because she was very fair in complexion with red hair (her father white Irish, her mother biracial Irish). But my other family members were advised to only travel by car in groups. I just couldn’t understand why white people hated me and my family because of our skin color. It was a lot for a little kid to digest.

Today, I understand this to be the core of my pain. And, this is also where feelings of unworthiness were first given birth. These feelings were later reinforced by a multitude of rejections over the course of my adult life such as having an eccentric personality (high IQ) and a homosexual orientation, among other things. As a result, my anger and pain is deeper than I could have ever imagined. I’ve always loved all people, but I have not always been loved. I must now give this pain to my Creator. Therefore, I will seek my Father’s guidance and comfort as I try to figure out how to achieve this end. It’s extremely difficult to “go there” as I’m reduced to tears each time.

This will be my re-focused Lenten journey.

“As I look across the rivers of my life,
where ever they may go, where ever they have been.
Lord I give them all to you, I place them at your feet.
I give them all to you;
I give them all to you.”

Amen

Dear Holy Covenant Community,

A week into Lent, I already find myself struggling to keep the covenants I made with God. The early resolve that marked the beginning days is giving way to temptation and frustration. It felt self-righteous and smug to deny sweets on Saturday, but last night I was grumpy and wanted some chocolate to fill me up. On Thursday and Friday I rose early for my prayer practice, eager to dive into Scripture, but today I’m straining to fit the Psalms into a busy schedule.

How’s your Lent going?

It’s easy to feel guilty or not religious enough when we are tempted to waiver, or do waiver, during this season of spiritual practice. But as I was reflecting on our theme this year, Search Me, Know Me: Practicing Intimacy with God, and my own practices, I reencountered an old book that has become my friend. Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming is a book I first read at 17, over 11 years ago. Each time I read it, in different stages of my life, the words speak fresh. I offer this excerpt from the book, in hopes that you will befriend the insights this Lent:

For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life-pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures-and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair.

Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not “How am I to find God?” but “How am I to let myself be found by God?” The question is not “How am I to know God?” but “How am I to let myself be known by God?” And, finally, the question is not “How am I to love God?” but “How am I to let myself be loved by God?” God is looking into the distance for me, trying to find me, and longing to bring me home.

As we practice intimacy with God, we can be assured that God desires intimacy with us. Lent is NOT a time to feel guilty; Lent is a time to open ourselves to God. So next time you are struggling with a practice or tempted to give in (or DO give in!), join me in stopping the self-criticism and asking yourself: How am I to let myself be found by God? How am I to let myself be known by God? How am I to let myself be loved by God?

For the remainder of Lent, let us practice intimacy, free of guilt and open to love.

See you Sunday and think about who you can bring with you to share the Lenten journey.

Grace and Peace,

Kate

1st Sunday in Lent
Holy Covenant UMC, February 21, 2010
Rev. Kate Hurst Floyd
Luke 4:1-13

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Today, the first Sunday of Lent, we step into the wilderness with Jesus, led by the Spirit. We feel the hot sand burning our toes, the unending light blinding our eyes, and we long for a cool, quenching drink.

This is a familiar feeling. A feeling that we’re not eager to summon. For we know what it’s like to be in the wilderness all too well. Though the wildernesses of our lives look different than the desert of Jesus….The wildernesses of our lives look less like sand and more like an empty seat around a holiday table, where your grandfather sat until Alzheimer’s took him away; a lonely Sunday morning at the park after being kicked out of a faith community you loved; an empty pillow next to your head where your lover used to sleep; the bottom of a bottle you swore you wouldn’t drink today. Wilderness appears in our lives in many forms. You know what your wilderness looks, smells, feels, sounds, and tastes like.

We know that life’s wildernesses are inevitable. Everybody in this room has journeyed through one; perhaps you’re in the middle of the wilderness now, feeling like you are crawling through sand; and the hard truth is, all of us will find ourselves in the desert in the future. Jesus, of all people, couldn’t escape the wilderness, and neither can we. We find ourselves with parched throats in the oppressive sun because of choices we’ve made, or choices that other people have made, or because of oppressive and unfair systems. Because of life’s brokenness. (more…)

by Carlos Rios

“[T]hen [God] said ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’” (Exodus 3:5)

What is sacred? According to Merriam-Webster, sacred is an adjective which can mean (among other things): (1) dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of a deity; (2) worthy of religious veneration, holy; (3) of or relating to religion. As you can see, key themes such as religion, holiness, worship, and deity all repeat themselves.

What is a space? It’s easy to think of space as a three-dimensional area in a room, but think about terms like public space, private space, personal space, social space, and finally, sacred space, to understand how the word “space” can really be loaded with meaning in our lives. All it takes is one little change, one slightly different way of looking at the word, to make all the difference.

A sacred space is a location where we can commune with the Divine. Moses encountered a sacred space in an unlikely place: a burning bush that was aflame yet not consumed by the fire. It is this passage in Exodus above that opened and inspired this entry. It was in this sacred space where Moses first encountered God and received his calling. Interestingly enough, Moses’ time with God focused more on listening (and, much to my delight, doubting) than speaking.

During our small group meeting last week, we discussed the idea of creating an altar in our homes for a sacred space, followed by a guided meditation. During the meditation, we were asked to consider the spaces that we live in and see if there was anywhere that we could place a sacred space. As I mentally rifled through my home I finally came upon a place where I too could commune with the Divine.

In my tiny glorified studio of an apartment, my sacred space is across from my bed, in an area that has been pretty under-furnished for the last six months. Coming soon is a little table with some items that help me feel closer to God: candles, a picture of my mother, certain notes of encouragement, etc. Although my spiritual practice is inward, this outward demonstration of it may require an uncomfortable conversation or two to explain to others. It is in this mixture of dedicated private, public, and sacred space that I am able to not just talk to God, but listen for the voice of God.

One thing I have learned, however, in creating this sacred space is that it isn’t just a physical location. Sacred space is indeed a condition of the heart. Creating a space in my being is part of the equation as well. With a sacred space that I can carry around wherever I go, I can have “sacred space” in some of the most unlikely places: stuck in traffic on the Kennedy, sitting on the bus or the train, running down the lakefront path, or whittling away on the keyboard at my desk. No place feels too off-limits to have conversations with God.

Amen.

by Rob Rawls

I am trying to correct my relationship with food.

I’m not talking about dieting or about understanding that an order of large fries and a pint of cookie dough ice cream won’t make me feel whole. I am talking about trying to correct my understanding of what food is, where it comes from, and how I should enjoy it. I want to remember that food isn’t just something that gets microwaved for three minutes or something that I ordered thirty minutes ago and where is that waiter anyway?…

It is easy for me to say that God gives us food to nourish us–physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s really hard to live that out, though. A few weeks ago, I realized that I never say a blessing before eating a meal. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to remember to thank God for the food–but I always forget. I don’t really think that it clicks in my head that each meal truly is a gift from God.

For Lent, I am taking on intentional eating. I will try to eat in such a way that I become aware of God’s presence in my life and in the lives of the people who played a part in getting that food to my plate.

In her book Mudhouse Sabbath, author Lauren Winner talks about missing kosher observance after converting to Christianity from Orthodox Judaism. She writes,

“Because I kept kosher (the word comes from the Hebrew for ‘fit’ or ‘appropriate’), I thought about the food I ate. I thought about what I was going to eat, and where I was going to procure it, and how I was going to prepare it. Eating was never obvious. Food required intention.”

That is what I want my Lenten journey to be…  I want food to require intention.

Because I enjoy a little legalism here and there, here are the parameters I’ve set for myself this Lent:

I want my food to be ethical. I don’t want the food I eat to come from the suffering of other people or animals. I have played at being a flexitarian before, but now I am trying not to eat any meat at all. I’m also looking for ways to buy food that doesn’t come from corporations that are careless about the environment or their employees.

I want my food to be real. I am trying to avoid processed food and to take a look at the ingredient list of everything I buy. (For Fat Tuesday, I bought a bottle of Coke and a bag of Doritos.)

I want my food to a pausing point in the day…not just another thing on my to do list. I am looking for vegetarian recipes and trying to plan out special meals with my partner and with friends.

Most of all, I’m just trying to remember to take a moment to be thankful for the nourishment that God provides.

by Kellee Eavenson

I’m trying to explain to my daughter Elinore about what it really means to “give something up” and why that matters. She tells me about her friends who are giving up chocolate….except on Sundays or Wednesdays or some sort of “opt out.”

For a child, it may be okay to take contemplation in small doses. But what I’m thinking about during this season is “GIVE.” Not “GIVE UP”….nope….I’m not giving up on anything or anyone. Giving up is tempting sometimes….in the face of challenge, don’t we all follow that fantasy of just giving up? Naturally in the season of Lent, “giving up” has a whole different context. We “give up” to remember the ultimate sacrifice of love for each of us. It doesn’t mean just taking the easy way out.

For me, I’m faced with some challenges….but my “challenges” really are those driven by luxury. I have a good job – a new job, but a good one. I have the food I need, the shelter to restore me, and the the gift of loving two of the most amazing people you’ll ever meet. So in this season, I’m contemplating what more can I give. Instead of looking at challenges from just my point of view, how can I give people what they need? How can I help those close to me?

There is so much suffering right now! Haiti, the economy, the oppressed, the losses and the illness….boy, am I lucky. I can give to the greater good, and my husband and I do. Still, I’d like to look at the gifts that I can spread right before me. I can’t solve all of these *big* problems of suffering…but what can I do right here and right now?

Today and in the week ahead I am going to GIVE patience. I’m working with a lot of bruised and battered people right now. Their instincts suggest suspicion and self-preservation. I’m going to focus on giving them the space to heal their wounds and decide what’s next….give UP the old hurts and “old tapes” running in their heads. Choose to give a second chance. Choose to give some time to LISTEN rather than speak. Choose to give benefit of the doubt.

I’m thinking about giving for Lent, and there is more to come.