Pentecost

In my tradition, today, on the seventh Sunday after Easter, we celebrate Pentecost, remembering the story of the Holy Spirit descending on those gathered in the name of the Carpenter, to celebrate the Jewish festival of Shavuot. The Spirit sounded like a fierce wind, and looked like tongues of fire. According to the story, those there felt themselves so filled with the Spirit of the Holy that they were able to speak in new languages.

There are days when I long to speak in a new language. One that blesses those who hear it. One that reflects the image of the One in whom we are all created. One that offers the message that has been true since before the beginning of time. A language that says to all, you are loved, you are seen, and you belong.

But man is that hard some days.

It has been windy around our home this week, and the sound of the wind in the pines is nothing if not the Spirit of the Holy, reminding me that Pentecost isn’t a one-and-done deal, but an ongoing story that is meant to be lived again, and again, and again. Today as we head to our church wearing red to symbolize those flaming tongues of fire, to gather again in the name of the Carpenter, I want to remember that that new language isn’t new at all. Our first language, it is as old as the wind that blows through the pines, and it is right on the tip of my tongue waiting to be heard in a world more thirsty for the message than ever.

You are loved.

You are seen.

You belong.

The Architect’s Daughter

She knew how to bring out the best in him. Often exacting and distant as a dad in his earlier years, whenever he had the chance to spend time with this daughter of his, all of that seemed to melt away. She had a way of coaxing the boy, who never got to be a boy when he was a boy, to come out and play. Nothing made them happier than playing with materials that others saw as trash and transforming them into treasures. Together, heads bent over a drawing of some dreamed of project, their shared gift of exquisitely combining form and function came alive. A mistake that would once have brought his criticism and a list of what went wrong, became a chance to spend more time to together, covered in dust, figuring out how to get it right.  

The daughter loved the architect for who he was, and extended grace for who he was not, and the architect loved his daughter in all the ways in which he could, never fully understanding the ways in which he could not. In the end, she will remember her love for him, and his for her, as an imperfect thing of beauty and a joy forever.

 With deep gratitude to the architect for the gift of his daughter. 

Where’s My Towel?

This morning at my sister’s house, I stuck my head into the guest bathroom where I thought my husband Tom had already taken his shower, grabbed the unused bath towel on the rack, and headed to the other bathroom to take my own shower.  

I needed a towel.  

The towel was there.

Problem solved.

An hour later as we were packing up our things to load into the car Tom said So I was pretty resourceful this morning, don’t you think? From the quizzical look on my face he must have realized I wasn’t tracking with him. I got out of the shower only to find out that my towel was gone and had to make do with the hand towel. All I could do was laugh and think ‘that’s my girl’. 

Sometimes love just smacks you up side the head. 

AMOUR

My best friend gave me a pair of earrings a few years back, a simple design, embossed with what has to be the single most important word in any language.

I wore them almost every day.

Until I lost one of them.

I looked everywhere, scouring our home, the floor of my car, the post office, the driveway, the General Store, the school, our church, but it was nowhere to be found. It’s been more than three months, and yet still I held out hope, because as we all know, in the end, love will win out.

Today is the first day of spring, and the snow that has surrounded our home for the past couple of months has been melting away with the warming temperatures. Standing out on our deck, my eye caught a glint of gold. There is was.

Love is always waiting for us, even when we can’t see it.

Mission Accomplished

Everywhere I look people are going through hard things, and I am as well. These experiences are part of what it means to be human, and choosing to go through them rather than trying to go around them is how we find our way back home to ourselves. To our true self.

In the midst of a conversation the other day about such things, I suddenly recalled a scene from the movie Apollo 13. An explosion mid-flight had damaged the spacecraft which changed the mission from landing on the moon, to finding a way to bring astronauts Jim Lovell, Fred Haise, and Jack Swigert back home.

The heat shield on the Command Module had been damaged in the explosion, and it was not known whether it would be able to withstand the intense heat of reentry. There was no other way home but to ride it out, trusting that the heat shield would hold.

It did, and on April 17, 1970, at 1:07:41PM, the Command Module splashed into the Pacific Ocean, and they were home.

Mission accomplished.

It occurs to me that whenever we are engaged in the dangerous adventure of finding our way back home to ourselves, we too have to trust that there is a heat shield surrounding us. That we are protected by a love that wants us to be whole. A love that wants nothing in the world more than to bring us back home.

Mission accomplished.

https://airandspace.si.edu/collection-objects/command-module-apollo-13

Begetting

This morning I woke up to messages from two dear friends, each of whom had done something  incredibly courageous.

As a result, I am inspired to be more courageous.

Courage begets courage

Yesterday I had the sacred privilege of witnessing, up close and personal, two acts of vulnerability.

As a result, I am inspired to be more vulnerable.

Vulnerability begets vulnerability.

This past weekend I was able to provide a safe space for a group of women, many of whom did not know one another, to risk connection and truth telling.

As a result, I am inspired to seek more connection, and speak more truth.

Connection and truth beget connection and truth.

This morning I had the opportunity to see what grace under fire looks like as someone moves forward with love and integrity, in spite of the odds.

As a result, I am inspired to act with more grace, love, and integrity, no matter the odds.

Grace, love, and integrity beget grace, love ,and integrity.

Onward.

Together.

Knowing Now What We Knew Then

I’ve written exactly two poems in my life, the first in 1973 when I was 20 years old. I know this because I came across it the other day in a manilla envelope with old photos and letters. It was fascinating to look back at what my twenty-year-old self already knew, and while it is clear to me why I haven’t, and never will, make my living as a poet, it is startlingly clear that even back then I had an inner developing wisdom about things I now know for sure.

The words of this young woman were often an inconvenient truth, as I stumbled in and out of love, but in the long run, it is a truth that has served me well.  What did you know when you were twenty that you now know for sure?

Pain and love go hand in hand

one often leading the other.

But the led need not struggle against the leader,

for they both travel to the same place;

They go to the clear, bittersweet pool

of human experience, where each

may drink freely and deeply of one cup.

The water is such that all who look in it

Can see themselves perfectly.

When two people gaze into its depths

They see themselves as they truly are.

Having once gazed into such a pool

One will never again desire to look into the cloudy, shallow pools of comfort,

which do not reflect, but merely swallow the reflection.

When you seek love, look also for pain, and welcome it,

That you too may drink deeply.

Molly Davis, December 6, 1973

Sisters

There’s just something about a sister.

My one and only sister Margie turns 73 today, and it’s safe to say that I can’t imagine walking the planet without her. She’s been in my corner from day one. Literally. When I was born prematurely, and it was uncertain that I would survive, she got on her little 8 year-old knees and prayed that I would stick around, and she’s stuck with me ever since.

We couldn’t be more different - her style is fancy, mine is simple; I tend to swear, she tries not to; I love to push myself when I exercise, she has to push herself to exercise in the first place; she’s a republican, ummmm...I’m not.

Different though we may be, we couldn’t be closer, more committed or connected, and her influence has profoundly shaped my life in so many ways.

Because of her, my faith is central to who I am and what I stand for. 

Because of her, I’ve learned to make friends with the truth, no matter how inconvenient. 

Because of her, I understand the importance of creating margins in my life.

Because of her, I am (slowly) learning to laugh at myself and my many foibles.

Because of her, I set the table the day before the party. 

Because of her, my daughters have a place other than me to go to for wisdom and insight.

Because of her, I know what it is to have a safe place to tell the truth.

Because of her, I know that laughter is some of the best good medicine. 

And, because of her, I know what it is like to have someone walk by my side, come what may.

Happy Birthday M. 

Our world and my heart are better because of you. 

Love, Actually.

“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…”

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ 

This is the first and greatest commandment. 

And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.”

JESUS

When it comes right down to it, if we are wondering WWJD?

It’s pretty straight forward…

Love, actually.

Merry Christmas from my heart to yours.

Tough Love

“What if love is the mightiest word?”

Praise Song for the Day by Elizabeth Alexander

(A poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration)

(Watch Elizabeth Alexander Video here)

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Love. A word so frequently and casually tossed around, it is in danger of losing its meaning.

In her book, Becoming Wise, Krista Tippet refers to love as something muscular. What if, as Elizabeth Alexander wonders in her poem, love is the mightiest word? And what would it mean if it is not only the mightiest word, but is also muscular and robust, tenacious and tough? It would mean that love isn’t just something we experience, but something we actively do. Something we work at, and like our muscles, the more we love, the stronger our love becomes.

For muscles to be strong and healthy we have to actively work them on a regular basis. We stretch them so that they remain supple and resilient. We strengthen them, adding more repetitions, weight, and resistance. We increase stamina by working them for longer periods of time, and at higher levels of intensity.

What if we approached love like that?

When we only love in ways that are easy and familiar, love that could be supple and resilient grows tight and constricted.

When we only hold affection for those who are easy to love, and for those who are like us, love that could be sturdy becomes soft.

When we only love when it doesn’t push us, love that could persevere over the long haul runs out of breath.

What if love is the mightiest word?

What would that mean for me? For you? For all of us?