New Traditions

My Easter is going to look very different this year. No bunnies, eggs or baskets. My children are no longer really children at all. Only one (almost)teenager left at home too big for childish traditions. We will still come together but we will find new ways of celebration, new ways of remembrance.

No matter the changes life brings, God offers us each a new beginning in the promise of Easter. Hope finds us waiting at the cross and ushers us to the open tomb. Resurrection, life restored, in the garden where God makes all things new.

Share with me how God is making your life new.

Giving In, Not Giving Up

I didn't grow up in a church with a Lenten tradition. Lent was something mysterious that got my Catholic friends out of school early on a day that I didn't. I heard them talk about giving something up for Lent. Soda, candy or an activity that they really didn't like anyway. They ate fish on Fridays, but I didn't know why they did any of those things and truth be told, most of them didn't either. It just didn't seem to matter.

Now, I belong to a church that celebrates Lent and for the first time, I understand the beauty of this season. It's about giving in, not giving up. Giving in to the life God calls us to lead. Giving in to the love and grace that Jesus poured out from the cross. Exchanging the things that hold us back from real relationship with the One who asks us to walk with Him.

So, this year I'm doing something different. I'm not worried about giving up my Dr. Pepper or vowing not to eat chocolate til the bunny brings a basket. I'm giving Him something more important, my time. Time free from electronic distractions to dive deep into His Word and seek His will. Time in mindful worship at every opportunity breathing in His Spirit in new, refreshing ways. Time free from unnecessary drama in my own life to serve others in need.

Are you feeling God's pull to do something different? Join us on our journey to the cross. There's still time. Post a comment below to share the ways you're giving in.

Sorry, Pastor

I must admit to something on this Sunday morning. I usually pay attention in our worship service. I meditate on each word we repeat with our liturgist. I sing in praise and adoration if not completely on key. And, most importantly, I shut out any distractions around me to focus on what God would say through our Pastor's sermon. I know how hard she prepares. I know she prays over every word. But, on this day, I just couldn't do it.

You see, my son was sitting beside me holding my newborn grandson. My mind started to wander back in time. Back when my little guy was new and squishy. When I could snuggle his tiny head in the crook of my neck as he rested peacefully on my shoulder. Like most mothers, I wondered and worried as he grew. Am I doing things right? Will he ever know how much I love him? Do I pray with and over him enough? Have I taught him that God loves him and holds him in His Hands? Did I do a good job with the gift God gave me?

Today, I watched my son carry his child to the very altar where he was baptized and sit with the Pastor for children's time. While their little voices sang out "God is so Good", I received an unexpected answer. God whispered softly and simply "I am enough".

He is enough.

I can rest right there in those words assured in the knowledge that God is able. I don't need to worry. When I am weak, He is strong. When I stumble, He lifts me up. Whenever the enemy creeps in and I feel like I've utterly failed, I just need to remember...

He is enough.

Dust

I’ve always loved visiting monuments, ancient cathedrals, stopping by historical markers on the highway. I’ve spent countless hours marveling at places where wars were fought, saints prayed and peace quietly prevailed.

A friend of mine is making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land soon and I’ve felt a little twinge of jealousy creeping in. It would be really cool to touch stones that formed the gate where Jesus entered or step in the dust that covered the disciples’ sandals as Jesus washed their feet. But even if I never get to make that trip, God assures me that I don’t have to.

At our Ash Wednesday service last night, my pastor marked my forehead with ashes and said, "You are dust and to dust you will return." I am dust and to dust I will return. These words turned over and over in my head until I heard something I'd never heard before. It's not just the dust in Jerusalem that's special. I am made of dust way cooler than that. Dust that yielded to its Creator to become something more.

In Genesis, we read the creation story. God created heaven and earth. He lit the sky with brilliant stars for day and night. He covered the ground with a lush garden and made all manner of creatures to roam. Then, God scooped me up, carefully formed me in His perfect image and breathed life into me.

I am the dust of creation.

Drive Thru Grace

On my way to Bible study the other night, I did something that I do quite often. I decided to drive through a popular fast food restaurant for coffee, a large half-caf mocha with whipped cream. I had been feeling a little tired from my very long day and wanted a quick pick-me-up. I drove up to the speaker and gave my order. After paying for my purchase, I drove around to the window to wait.

Truth be told, I was also tired in my spirit. I had many issues from the day weighing heavy on my heart. Angry words with my husband, worries about my children, the gnawing feeling that I am woefully inadequate to be God's servant. I sat waiting close to tears when the lady came to the window and handed me my cup. But, this is where she did something unexpected. She held onto my cup for just a moment as I reached out touching her hand just above mine and with a bright smile said, “Have a great night, Enjoy!”

Just then, I felt God’s grace wash over me right there in the drive thru. My Heavenly Father knows my needs. He knew I needed more than just a little caffiene to bring my sprirt into balance. He used her ordinary words to remind me that just when I need Him, He's right here.

Friends and Missionaries

As a little girl, I had a friend named Rebecca Kaymeyer. We were best friends sharing secrets, exploring the neighborhood like detectives looking for a mystery to solve. I couldn't imagine life without her. But one day, she moved away. Not just to another town. She and her family moved to Africa. Her father was an optometrist and he felt called to serve in a clinic giving sight to Africans in need. They were going to be missionaries. I missed my friend but I loved the idea of going to help someone. I tucked her away in my heart and thought of her often. Rebecca, my friend, the real life missionary.

Maybe it was because of my experience with Rebecca, but until just a few years ago, I always thought that to be a missionary meant going someplace far away. I had been feeling a call to missions but I am a wife and mother, I can't go far away so how could I be a missionary? Then, God opened my eyes.

What about the little girl down the street who comes over to play with my children, have snacks and talk? She's been away in foster care several times, siblings in and out of her home, her mother away in rehab. Am I not ministering to her needs? Can I be a missionary too?