Tag Archives: blessing

Wonder Is Love

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Wonder Is Love

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for invitations to wonder.

I used to think
wonder was reserved
for sunsets and lady bugs,
snowflakes and perfect chocolate truffles.

I didn’t know wonder
as universal curiosity,
toward fear and anger,
panic and distrust,
burning bushes and lepers,
temper tantrums and love notes,
and my daughter who talks. so. much.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for wonder as a portal to love,
to see and hear,
to be amazed,
to join hands with the “other,”
whether it be the rejected parts of myself
or the unwrapped person in front of me.

Notice of God

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Notice of God

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for noticing us.
You see the accomplished professional
behind the messy-bun and pajamas
shopping for milk and cereal, 6am.
You see the tense heart
inside a trendy business suit and shoes,
man who feels like an imposter
and wonders if anyone notices.

Blessed are You for seeing—
the weary emptiness of a single father,
alone in all the ways he never wanted to be;
the perfectly broken heart of a young girl
who carries a secret in her abused body,
but a smile on her face.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for seeing little me under my big personality,
for seeing fear drenched in shame
because it wanted to be faith,
for seeing wholeness in me,
for covering everything in tenderness:
Your glance, grin, gaze,
tears on crumpled face,
a wink, smile, laugh—
all my depths
reflected on Your face,
consecrated by Your notice.

Color Changing Faith

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Color Changing Faith

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for changing light, reminding me that what I see
is both an object, and the light that shines on it.

Blessed are You for trees
green at midday, black at dusk;
for mountains like theater backdrops—
textureless gray, lively blues and browns,
white, or black—a daily show.

Blessed are You for shadows
dividing our world into darks and lights,
for rain that paints everything shiny,
and sun that re-paints with a matte finish.

Blessed are You for shifting colors,
reminding us that what we see—
of You and ourselves, scripture and stories,
human words and action—
changes with the light, allowing nuance
or even black and white.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for a physical world of changing appearances,
allowing us to release the need
for a spiritual world of unchanging appearance,
to embrace shadows
or the shock of seeing the same thing
in a quite different color,
the beauty of unfolding life.

Insides Wiggle Out

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Insides Wiggle Out

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for wiggles—
unrefined thrusts of a baby’s arms and legs,
tapping of my husband’s foot at the dinner table,
juvenile explosion of motion in the back seat
on the drive home from school.

Blessed are You for gifting us movement,
a continuous giving—
our muscles and limbs expressing
anxiety, desire, welcome, fear,
the literal shaking of sorrow.

Blessed are You
for leaves that twist back and forth on repeat
like my leg when I’m sitting in church;
for dogs that wiggle joy from end to end
like I do when hubby—still cold from outside—
picks me up in a tight squeeze;
for pond ripples that ceaselessly distort
the surface of the water,
like my anxiety, insisting I cannot be still.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for giving me a body to invite my insides out,
to hug and kiss, tap and wiggle,
jump and shiver,
curl into fetal position, or sprawl in sunshine—
movement that both affirms and releases
my inner world.

Time Unmeasured

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Time Unmeasured

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for the times when we forget time—
that endless measuring
of eggs boiling
and appointments approaching,
fevers and heartbeats,
days away from home.

Blessed are You
for sacred moments—
talking long into the night,
time interrupted by friendship;
for routines interrupted by joy,
or sorrow
or sudden awareness of a bird
on the windowsill.

Blessed are You
for the impromptu dance party
and the phone call
I didn’t have time for,
that slipped past
the measuring of time,
and became my favorite
moments of the day.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for the smell of a freshly peeled orange,
giggles in the kids’ bedroom,
kisses,
which abruptly align me
with the moment I’m in—
evidence that being alive is timeless.

Books I read in 2022

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Favorite new-to-me Author: Barbara Brown Taylor

  • Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
  • An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith
  • Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others

As I review the list of books I read last year, I am reminded of God’s propensity to show up with impeccable timing. My introduction to Barbara Brown Taylor was one such instance. Last year my sister connected me with Writing for Your Life, and I considered attending one of their conferences featuring Barbara Brown Taylor as a speaker. I wasn’t familiar with her so I decided to order one of her books—see if I might like (or dislike) her writing. The book I ordered was Leaving Church, an appropriate title, given that our family had recently stepped down from six years in house church leadership.

When I start writing quotes on note cards, I know I’ve found a favorite new author. I felt seen and affirmed as I read Barbara’s story. Here are samples from my note cards:

“I had kept my soul so hitched to the plow that it stood between the traces even after the harness was off, oiled, and hung on the wall.”

“If you decide to live on the fire that God has kindled inside of you instead of rushing out to find some sticks to rub together, then it does not take long for all sorts of feelings to come out of hiding.”

“I decided to take a rest from trying to be Jesus … Today I will take a break from trying to save the world and enjoy my blessed swath of it instead. I will give thanks for what is instead of withholding my praise until all is as it should be. If I get good enough at this, I may even be able to include my sorry self in the bargain.”

So good.

After Leaving Church, I read An Altar in the World, which again coincided with a turning point in my life—or maybe created that turning point. The final chapter is about blessing, a topic I had never heard of, despite the word’s frequent appearance in Scripture and around the dinner table. Barbara wrote, “The most ordinary things are drenched in divine possibility.” I was captivated. I began writing blessings, beginning each with the phrase, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe.” I have found joy as I discover the divine in dirt and desire, bodies and brokenness, tears and trees. I have written nearly thirty blessings, and post one to my blog and social media every Monday. This has been an exciting journey for me into the world of poetry. Even more amazing, it has opened my eyes to the wonders of the natural world and of daily experiences, in a way I never thought possible.

Next I read Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others, a continuation of Barbara’s personal faith story, and an invitation to God’s presence in the people and practices of faiths other than Christianity. An excellent read.

Fiction and Stories

  • Run To Overcome: The Inspiring Story of an American Champion’s Long-Distance Quest to Achieve a Big Dream, by Meb Keflezighi with Dick Patrick
  • Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, by Bryan Stevenson
  • Nobody Don’t Love Nobody: Lessons on Love from the School With No Name, by Stacey Bess
  • Overcomer, by Chris Fabry, a novelization based on the motion picture by Alex Kendrick and Stephen Kendrick
  • Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, by Glennon Doyle Melton

Short notes on these:

Run to Overcome My favorite part was the first couple of chapters, detailing the author’s early life in Eritrea, and the determination of his parents to seek out a new life for their large family.

Just Mercy This story demonstrates what compassion and empathy, justice and mercy look like with skin on. I highly recommend it. (The movie is good too).

Nobody Don’t Love Nobody Another flesh-and-blood illustration of compassion, this is a moving story that forever changed the way I view helping others.

Overcomer Enjoyable read. Based on the movie, which I also enjoyed.

Carry On, Warrior One of the qualities I most admire in writing is the ability to put one’s inner world into words. Glennon Doyle Melton has a gift for this. Carry On, Warrior was a funny, refreshing and personally challenging read.

Spiritual and Self-Help Books

  • Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship, by Gregory Boyle
  • Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion, by Gregory Boyle
  • Almost Everything: Notes on Hope, by Anne Lamott
  • Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott
  • The Making of a Mystic: My Journey With Mushrooms, My Life as a Pastor, and Why It’s Okay for Everyone to Relax, by Kevin Sweeney
  • Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, by Brené Brown
  • MOMumental: Adventures in the Messy Art of Raising a Family, by Jennifer Grant
  • The Hidden Half of the Gospel: How His Suffering Can Heal Yours, by Paul Coneff with Lindsey Gendke
  • No Cure for Being Human (and Other Truths I Need to Hear), by Kate Bowler
  • Free From Sin: The Audacious Claim of Gospel Freedom and What It Means for You, by Jonathan Leonardo
  • No Longer I: The Power of the Gospel Like You Have Never Heard It Before, by Jacob Hotchkiss
  • Grace Based Parenting: Set Your Family Free, by Tim Kimmel

I’ve ordered these books by how much I enjoyed them (starting with the most enjoyable). I won’t comment on every one.

Gregory Boyle and Anne Lamott were my favorite new authors in 2021. I continued reading them this year and was not disappointed.

The Making of a Mystic caught my eye because Gregory Boyle often quotes the great mystics, but I had no idea what a mystic is. When I watched this book interview with Kevin Sweeney, author of The Making of a Mystic, I was intrigued. I ordered the book and read with rapture. It is a fascinating personal story, and an invitation to a new way of seeing, well, everything.

Brené Brown is a longtime favorite author. I thoroughly enjoyed Braving the Wilderness. Here is one of my favorite passages, from the chapter titled, “Hold Hands. With Strangers.” (emphasis added)

While we may all be gathered behind the same bunkers of political or social belief and ideology, we’re still alone in them. And even worse, we’re constantly monitoring ourselves. The looming threat of blowback should we voice an opinion or idea that challenges our bunker mates keeps us anxious. When all that binds us is what we believe rather than who we are, changing our mind or challenging the collective ideology is risky.

When a group or community doesn’t tolerate dissent and disagreement, it forgoes any experience of inextricable connection. There is no true belonging, only an unspoken treaty to hate the same people. This fuels our spiritual crisis of disconnection.

MOMumental is a humble and humorous collection of stories about Jennifer Grant’s parenting adventures. It is encouraging, which every parenting book should be if at all possible. I fell in love with Jennifer’s children’s books—especially Maybe God Is Like That Too—which led me to try one of her books for women. This is one of those books I wish I’d read six or seven years ago, when I needed more moments of grace to survive preschool parenting.

The Hidden Half of the Gospel, Free From Sin, and No Longer I were theological reads, with which I developed a love-hate relationship. I found life-giving ideas that resonated with my personal journey. I also found a prescriptive way of speaking that triggered my shame-based, black-and-white patterns of thinking. I take full credit for this, as I would not say any of them endorse shame and legalism. It was simply a manner of speaking that was at times triggering for me.

In conclusion, I am not the same person I was a year ago, and that is due in part to many of these books. Reading good writing is a thrill, as are the “me too” moments, and the “I’d never thought of it that way before” moments. Reading opens me, and oh, how I want to be open. Here’s to another year of reading, another year of intimacy with beautiful, broken people.

Holy Dirt

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Holy Dirt

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for dirt—
soft enough to nurture a seed,
yet strong enough to anchor a tree.

Blessed are You
for the ground we walk on,
blessed brown substance.
It holds water for growing things
or softens into luscious, liquidy magic,
perfect for pigs, or three-year-olds.
It holds fence posts and foundations,
or allows us to dig even deeper,
to bedrock or water or oil.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for children and gardeners,
builders and farmers,
whose hands and fingernails
bear evidence of the blessing
(even after a good washing)
and return day after day
to the soil, remembering
what the rest of us have forgotten—
that dirt is sacred.

Sacred Space-Holder

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Sacred Space-Holder

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for comforting me,
inviting me to find relief
in this mystery:
You are hidden in me,
and I am hidden in You.

Blessed are You
for holding open
a sacred space
big enough for me—
my loneliness and fear,
tiredness and anger,
sadness and failure—
all of this somehow fits
in Your embrace.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for being big enough
and small enough
to hold me.

It Is Finished

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It is finished

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for darkness—
daily invitation to rest—
to be quiet in ink-dark night
or a night moonlit and star-twinkled.

Blessed are You
for spirit rest,
my insides sitting down,
breathing deep,
inhaling Life.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for the authority of rest
to dethrone “right” and “wrong,”
straining and struggling,
worth by performance,
and value by others’ opinions of me.

Blessed are You
for this sacred act of resistance,
this radical move to stop moving,
this subversive whisper
suggesting that rest is a nap—
but also more—
a knowing
that what is most important
is already done.
“It is finished.”

“Overnight Success”

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“I wish someone had told me,” I said to my husband over lunch last week. “Not that I would have been able to hear it,” I admitted before continuing, “I had no idea that someday our kids would start doing all the things I’ve told them over and over. It’s like that saying, ‘An overnight success ten years in the making.’”

“Yes,” my husband, Michael, agreed. “I’ve noticed Kayt has been more independent and responsible. She told me the other day she wants to be more clean and proper when she eats.”

I laughed. It’s a well known fact in our family that Kayt’s place at the at the table (including the floor underneath) can be identified by the generous sprinkling and smearing of food after every meal.

I stood by the microwave heating my second serving of leftovers. “She keeps asking me if her face is clean, every time we go somewhere. She used to not care at all. And she seems more mature, calmer, kind of grown up. It’s so weird. It feels like it happened all of a sudden.”

It has been two months since our older daughter Kayt turned ten, and in many ways it seems she aged three years at once. I guess this makes up for the first year of her life, which felt like three. Lately she disappears to read a book for an hour, doesn’t come looking for me first thing in the morning, and takes on random projects like cleaning her drawer in the bathroom. She asked to decorate the mantle for Christmas, so I brought the bin of Christmas knick-knacks and (mostly) left her to it. She started with layers of wide holiday-colored cloth ribbon. Next she arranged snow globes toward one end, set up the nativity in the middle, and created a scene with a nutcracker pulling a Christmas tree on a sled at the other end. Then she added a string of tiny lights through it all. I’m prone to tweak things after my kids do them—straighten this, move that (I know, I know. I’m working on being less controlling). But I looked at that beautiful Christmassy spread and thought it turned out better than when I do it. Oh, and don’t forget she dusted the mantle before she started decorating (gasp).

After a decade of repeating myself until I lost two or three levels of sanity, this truly feels like a miracle. I wonder if my tone of voice would have been kinder for the past ten years if I had believed someday my kids would actually clear their dishes, close the back door, clean up after themselves, and respond with action when I say, “Please hang up your wet towel. It’s not good to leave it on the wood floor.”

Along with relief, joy, and pride, I feel a twinge of sadness. For too long Kayt’s dependance was so heavy on me all I wanted was to be alone—for as long as possible. Now that it has begun to melt away, I miss it. I feel like a crazy person, wishing for the very thing I found so loathsome. I find solace knowing that every generation before me has felt these same feelings.

I wonder what connection looks like now. We’ve connected over trimming fingernails and combing hair, reading story books and preparing snacks—and in the younger years, dressing and eating, zipping coats and tying shoes. When she doesn’t need me to process every emotion and supervise every activity, what will we do together? Have I been a safe enough person that she will continue to come to me even when she doesn’t have to?

If anything, parenting has taught me that life happens in seasons, and seasons change. I’ll probably get a good dose of clingyness from Kayt when I least want it, and I’m confident we have ahead of us many challenges to navigate together. Teenage years will come and I will be surprised by how they differ from my expectations, just as I have been surprised at every other stage. So for now I enjoy quieter days, smile when I notice the clean kitchen counter after Kayt baked scones, and shed a tear when I miss the terrifying blessing of being needed all the time.