Wasn't it only yesterday it was summer? Wow, the last year passed in a blur. Summer came again suddenly, early, hot. Overnight, it seems, everyone was back in their yards working up a sweat. We closed our windows to the weather again, succumbing to the temptation of humidity-free air.
It's bittersweet for me. Last summer I was lighter, physically. Clothes I liked fit well. Last summer, I biked to the ballpark and felt confident in front of people. Thanks to a lethargic winter, I've gained part of the weight back that I was so proud to lose. Not all, but enough to be unhappy with myself.
That's not the real loss, though. If I'm not careful, I can see I will lose this summer in looking back at the last one.
It's a humbling lesson, just when I thought (proudly) I had made such strides in humility. Back to the beginning, to learn the same lessons, the lessons of taking up the cross, of admitting I've failed, of baby steps and turning my thoughts toward Jesus. Of laughing at myself and carrying on, trusting that this, this, this is the day that the Lord has made.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Blue Hair
I have blue hair, thanks to a challenge to the kids and youth of our church. We said, 'Raise $600 for camp and Pastor Lore will dye her hair a crazy color.' They raised over $1000. What else could I do?
With deep thanks to Craig, my hair stylist and fellow Christ-follower, who donated time and hair dye to the cause, I can only describe what happened after the goo was rinsed out. It came out sort of black with bright blue and purple highlights. Definitely not the most attractive look. To me, I look like an Osborne. Or a goth with brown roots. My son said, "Mommy, don't come to my class and volunteer this week."
I wonder if other people look at me differently. Do they think I'm wilder, crazier, or just a sad middle-aged woman trying to recapture her youth?
On a walk with the dog, coming through an opening in the trees onto the busy road, it occurred to me that I might be a little more threatening. Would someone call the cops on me for trespassing? I didn't worry about it at all when my hair was brown.
At the restaurant on Mothers' Day, the young hostess complimented me sincerely. But the father of my son's friend looked at me oddly when he stopped to help me with a flat tire. Another friend asked, 'Did you lose a bet?' and took my picture with her cell phone.
Funny. All I did was dye my hair blue. I'm the same person, right? It's only hair, right? It doesn't reflect what's inside, right?
So why the sudden urge to go buy a motorcycle and sing 'Born to Be Wild' at the top of my lungs?
Some things mystify me, even about myself.
With deep thanks to Craig, my hair stylist and fellow Christ-follower, who donated time and hair dye to the cause, I can only describe what happened after the goo was rinsed out. It came out sort of black with bright blue and purple highlights. Definitely not the most attractive look. To me, I look like an Osborne. Or a goth with brown roots. My son said, "Mommy, don't come to my class and volunteer this week."
I wonder if other people look at me differently. Do they think I'm wilder, crazier, or just a sad middle-aged woman trying to recapture her youth?
On a walk with the dog, coming through an opening in the trees onto the busy road, it occurred to me that I might be a little more threatening. Would someone call the cops on me for trespassing? I didn't worry about it at all when my hair was brown.
At the restaurant on Mothers' Day, the young hostess complimented me sincerely. But the father of my son's friend looked at me oddly when he stopped to help me with a flat tire. Another friend asked, 'Did you lose a bet?' and took my picture with her cell phone.
Funny. All I did was dye my hair blue. I'm the same person, right? It's only hair, right? It doesn't reflect what's inside, right?
So why the sudden urge to go buy a motorcycle and sing 'Born to Be Wild' at the top of my lungs?
Some things mystify me, even about myself.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A Message from God?
My mom used to singsong a rhyme to us whenever there was a rainbow.
"Rainbow in the morning, sailors take warning.
Rainbow at night, sailors delight."
I know now that my farmer family probably got the rhyme wrong. It had more to do with red skies. It's the rainbow rhyme that stuck, though, because it was my mom who taught it to me.
We saw lots of afternoon rainbows growing up, the result of breaks in afternoon thunderstorms so common in our part of the world. Never, not one time, did I see a rainbow in the morning. They were always in the east, always after lunch, always after a storm. Once I learned the science behind it, the possibility of a morning rainbow seemed slim. Red skies before breakfast, sure. Rainbows, hardly.
This morning, there was a rainbow. 6:55 a.m. High in the western sky, almost overhead, a bright and clear arc of color glowed against the steel-gray clouds. My ancestors would have tried to read meaning into it. It is a portent, an omen, a thing to make warning rhymes about. We moderns are less personal about such things. It was merely a break in morning storms, the pale eastern sun beaming enough light through thin clouds to create the phenomenon.
I'd rather have an ancient mind today. It is my daughter's Confirmation Day. She will make her public profession of faith in Jesus, receive the oil on her forehead, be sealed for the kingdom of good and light. Did God send it just for her, so on this morning of mornings she would wake to a reminder of his promise? I want that personal message, that bright and glorious word to be for her, for us.
I am not ancient-minded, though. If we interpret the rainbow as a blessing, would we have to interpret the rain as a bad sign? In parts of Africa, rain on the day of an event is looked on as a sign of God's blessing, but not here. I am not likely to attribute disasters in Creation to God's wrath. Why would I see a personal message in a rainbow?
We can look for curses or blessings in the created order. People do it all the time. We can attribute to God things like earthquakes and floods, equally to him the lovely signs like rainbows and sunny skies. Or we can know that earth itself is a gift, and it is full of opportunities to connect with the Creator, if we are paying attention.
For today, at least, a rainbow blessed our morning. I believe it is a sign that behind all things, there is Someone who loves beauty and surprises and a girl who is being confirmed and her friends and their parents. Perhaps the real miracle is that I noticed, in the early morning at the beginning of a busy day. I wonder what else I've been missing by not paying attention?
"Rainbow in the morning, sailors take warning.
Rainbow at night, sailors delight."
I know now that my farmer family probably got the rhyme wrong. It had more to do with red skies. It's the rainbow rhyme that stuck, though, because it was my mom who taught it to me.
We saw lots of afternoon rainbows growing up, the result of breaks in afternoon thunderstorms so common in our part of the world. Never, not one time, did I see a rainbow in the morning. They were always in the east, always after lunch, always after a storm. Once I learned the science behind it, the possibility of a morning rainbow seemed slim. Red skies before breakfast, sure. Rainbows, hardly.
This morning, there was a rainbow. 6:55 a.m. High in the western sky, almost overhead, a bright and clear arc of color glowed against the steel-gray clouds. My ancestors would have tried to read meaning into it. It is a portent, an omen, a thing to make warning rhymes about. We moderns are less personal about such things. It was merely a break in morning storms, the pale eastern sun beaming enough light through thin clouds to create the phenomenon.
I'd rather have an ancient mind today. It is my daughter's Confirmation Day. She will make her public profession of faith in Jesus, receive the oil on her forehead, be sealed for the kingdom of good and light. Did God send it just for her, so on this morning of mornings she would wake to a reminder of his promise? I want that personal message, that bright and glorious word to be for her, for us.
I am not ancient-minded, though. If we interpret the rainbow as a blessing, would we have to interpret the rain as a bad sign? In parts of Africa, rain on the day of an event is looked on as a sign of God's blessing, but not here. I am not likely to attribute disasters in Creation to God's wrath. Why would I see a personal message in a rainbow?
We can look for curses or blessings in the created order. People do it all the time. We can attribute to God things like earthquakes and floods, equally to him the lovely signs like rainbows and sunny skies. Or we can know that earth itself is a gift, and it is full of opportunities to connect with the Creator, if we are paying attention.
For today, at least, a rainbow blessed our morning. I believe it is a sign that behind all things, there is Someone who loves beauty and surprises and a girl who is being confirmed and her friends and their parents. Perhaps the real miracle is that I noticed, in the early morning at the beginning of a busy day. I wonder what else I've been missing by not paying attention?
Thursday, April 22, 2010
It was just yesterday. We handed our daughter, Maia, to my mentor and pastor for baptism. Inside, I was quaking with fear. Old images of God came pouring back, images of a harsh and demanding judge, someone who might harm my little one. I let go, and as I watched my friend gently trickle the water on her little brown head, I allowed the new images of God to rise to the surface. This God was the God I chose to worship, the God who was a kind Father, the God who was my companion, the God who revealed himself in Jesus. His strong love enveloped us all that morning, and the fear disappeared.
It was just yesterday. This weekend, that brown-eyed girl will kneel and let another mentor pastor of mine lay his hand on her head, confirming her and sealing the baptism God gave her almost 13 years ago. She makes her own decision this time. It's' her life and her faith. It's not up to me to let her go; she's walking into his arms of her own free will.
I know she will wrestle with her own understanding of who God is. She will have to learn to let the real, good God be her guide. She will have her own crosses to bear. I'm thankful, though, to be here to see what our kind Father has done with that little bundle of joy.
It was just yesterday. This weekend, that brown-eyed girl will kneel and let another mentor pastor of mine lay his hand on her head, confirming her and sealing the baptism God gave her almost 13 years ago. She makes her own decision this time. It's' her life and her faith. It's not up to me to let her go; she's walking into his arms of her own free will.
I know she will wrestle with her own understanding of who God is. She will have to learn to let the real, good God be her guide. She will have her own crosses to bear. I'm thankful, though, to be here to see what our kind Father has done with that little bundle of joy.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Blessed Birds
"Why are you up so early, baby, it's Spring Break!?"
"The birds woke me up, Mommy."
"They woke me up too!"
The birds are downright loud around our house. I don't know all their names, but I do know the male cardinals, the sparrows, the finches, the killdeer and redwings. Their songs echo in the woods every morning, rousing me from sleep better than any alarm. It's not a symphony, it's a cacophony, like the tuning before the music begins.
How can I complain? After winter's gray, muffling blanket silenced them or sent them away, how can I be upset that the birds are singing as loud as they can possibly sing? So they wake me up? Why would I want to sleep through spring?
True blessings seem to be those that wake me up a little. The peace they bring is beyond understanding, because it is peace that pushes and entices me into a new place. It's not the peace of complacency, it is the peace of growing things.
"The birds woke me up, Mommy."
"They woke me up too!"
The birds are downright loud around our house. I don't know all their names, but I do know the male cardinals, the sparrows, the finches, the killdeer and redwings. Their songs echo in the woods every morning, rousing me from sleep better than any alarm. It's not a symphony, it's a cacophony, like the tuning before the music begins.
How can I complain? After winter's gray, muffling blanket silenced them or sent them away, how can I be upset that the birds are singing as loud as they can possibly sing? So they wake me up? Why would I want to sleep through spring?
True blessings seem to be those that wake me up a little. The peace they bring is beyond understanding, because it is peace that pushes and entices me into a new place. It's not the peace of complacency, it is the peace of growing things.
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