I have this book that Sean’s grandfather gave me. It’s from 1930. Well-loved, pages creased, spine weak. And it is one of my favorite books.
It’s called Songs for Courage. Written by a woman living through some very dark days, it is dedicated to “those who are walking, for a while, through the dark.”
I took it to Africa with me, and have carried it and flipped through it many times when I approach a day or a task that I don’t want to face. It’s a short book. Only 30 pages or so. But it often has something meaningful to remind me of.
This morning was no different. It caught my eye as I was walking out the door, and I grabbed it. Looking for some courage for the task ahead, I came upon this prayer.
I don’t know, anymore, where each day is leading. If I’m honest, I never did. And I will not pretend there is ease in the steady journey forward. Especially since the crowd I used to journey with now often feels like the current against which I move.
“I only know that I may go
Unquestioningly with Thee,
Remembering that what Thou wilt
Is best for me.”
Each new day, each new task, each new experience brings with it a chance to grow. And swimming against the current is not pleasant, but the longer I do it, the stronger I am.
I’m preaching today. And the pulpit is not where I choose to be. But I go where I’m told. And I go believing that God will be there first, will speak through me, and will do a much greater work far longer afterward than I will even be alive. There are nerves, and old tapes playing that I have to record over… but overall, there is peace.
And when I am still… when I stop to listen… I hear the far of voices from the cloud cheering me on. It’s only a whisper. Today, it is enough.
I’m cheering for you today. Whatever it holds, I believe in you. And if you’re also in a place that feels a bit unsteady, wondering what the long hours may hold…
Last week I was in Phoenix. Part ministry, part work, part personal therapeutic time… it was a long hard week. I got home late Monday night after a long day of travel and a lot of emotions.
Sean’s grandfather had been steadily declining since Wednesday, but it sounded like he had somewhat stabilized. I was going to go see him Monday night, but felt like I needed to sleep first.
Bright and early Tuesday morning, I went to pick up a rental to replace the van that’s having major warranty work done and went to see Richard. He was sleeping when I arrived but looked much frailer than when I left. I sat down in his living room and worked for a while until I heard him stirring.
I went in to see if he needed help getting around, and he looked up at me as if he were looking beyond…
Just a few minutes later, all was quiet, and he was gone.
It didn’t seem like he saw me Tuesday morning. If I had to guess, I would say he was seeing a lifetime of friendly faces welcoming him to a place we can only dream of.
Today, we finished cleaning out his apartment here. Three months ago, we moved him into this place. My how life has changed since then.
Thanks to family for hauling me around, helping care for kiddos, for rescuing Ean while we finished up, and to everyone for holding us up as we adjust again suddenly.
Richard will be greatly missed. I learned a lot from him about life, love, and family. Getting to really know him these last couple of years gave me a much better window into who Sean is and where he came from. And I am thankful to have been gifted such an amazing lineage through marriage to support my given family.
I found myself contemplating life this week. Coming to a place where I’ve worked hard to speak truth and find myself, there was very much a sense that I had more to do when I arrived.
Having the opportunity to reflect on the doors that have opened and closed to get me here, this sculpture near Old Town Scottsdale gave me a practical place to sit in that reflection this morning.
I sat with the uncomfortable reality that I still don’t want to consider all of the doors. There were things I thought had been dealt with that were knocking at the door from the past and things I was terrified to admit knocking at the door to the future.
The doors to the past, present, and future all looked the same, which is a scary thought on its own. I had to trust that I was able to stand firmly in the present, acknowledge the past, and walk toward the future.
I had to be able to see with clarity how I am impacted by triggers and choose to encounter the painful things as an avenue of healing.
I had to lean into the balance and make a choice… because doors can become walls if they are never opened. And learning how and when to walk through them is an important part of the journey.
In choosing to move through them, I was greeted by the beauty within. There are things that I may have to push back out the doors, things that belong in the past or the future and are not to be dealt with today. But in learning to live in the balance, I am able to center myself in who I am, surrounded by the doors that look so tenuously placed, and look up.
The reflection of heaven awaits… and in that reflection is hope.
Hope that the balance of the past, present, and future will have meaning.
Hope that the blood, sweat, and tears poured into this life will have eternal meaning.
Hope that me, myself, and I will be strong enough to continue to stand in the center of the circle of life with the God of community who planted us there with them…
I attended Ash Wednesday mass today. That was a new experience. When I realized I would miss the service with my church family this week because I was out of town, I determined to find somewhere to gather with the body.
And the time there, the whole experience… it was another new way to encounter the God of healing in the middle of a desert.
Trusting the gathered body isn’t always something I would choose to do alone. But intentionally seeking it out and choosing to sit quietly in my discomfort created space to meet God in a whole new way today.
I came to quiet the voices today.
Voices that tell me that the dust
is evidence of needing more work.
Divinity met me there,
whispering sacred words of welcome.
I sought out the stillness today.
Stillness that is often hurried away
in the rush of “normal” life.
Productivity came along in the
business of rest.
I prayed for energy today.
Energy to press on
through endeavors that shout loudly of past failures.
As I admitted exhaustion,
God granted the deep longing of my heart,
fostering connection and removing shame.
I went this morning searching for hope.
Hope that the grief, the loss,
the feeling of complete emptiness would pass.
Instead, grief greeted me like an old friend,
reminding me that pain is not hopeless.
Today, I felt the weight of the ashes on my forehead,
The revival at Asbury has been at the forefront of my mind these last few days. With such recent memories, my mind’s eye can see the happenings in a way that makes them far more real than they could have been otherwise. When I close my eyes, my senses snap back to that place, and I am there again.
These last few days have been a journey of coming to know that the revival I have spoken prayers for in recent years is not the one happening across the country… Though I thought I was praying for something to happen in general, quiet time spent in reflection this afternoon has shown me that God has a far more specific plan than I could have ever dreamed.
Just as I couldn’t have foreseen the impact of my time at the Abbey a few weeks ago, leaning into the hope of experiencing God’s presence in my recliner, in a quiet house, on an ordinary Saturday was not where I thought he would make himself known. I wanted to drive to the revival, to feel the wind that people are speaking of, to see the crowd, and know that God was there.
Instead, a still, small voice beckoned me into a private knowledge of the same. I spent time with God in a very tangible way today. My heart knew the same presence that I encountered at the Abbey, and nothing pressing was pulling me away this time. So, I stayed. I read and prayed. I wept and sat quietly. I believed that God could meet me here… and he did.
Learning to lean in is hard work. Trusting that he is in both the silence and the sound is a process… but God showed up, and I am changed.
What a day…
I love you, friends! 💜💜💜
Love never stops loving.
It extends beyond the gift of prophecy, which eventually fades away.
It is more enduring than tongues, which will one day fall silent.
Love remains long after words of knowledge are forgotten.
Our present knowledge and our prophecies are but partial,
but when love’s perfection arrives, the partial will fade away.
…
Until then, there are three things that remain:
faith, hope, and love—yet love surpasses them all.
So above all else, let love be the beautiful prize for which you run.
It’s been a little over a week since I was at the Abbey. After brunch with my cousin, I went to Wilmore, Kentucky, to visit a friend at Asbury Theological Seminary. We walked around the campus there, then crossed over to the campus of Asbury University. She took me to the chapel and told me about the revival that happened in 1970 and to the alumni space sharing with me the incredible history of the schools. We talked about many things; past, present, and future.
Coming home was a long drive with a lot to think about.
I contemplated the journey into the woods, remembering how often I thought I wouldn’t make it, how many times my hope faltered when the statue wasn’t there… Over and over, I replayed the journey, thinking of how many times I was tempted to just give up.
In the last week, I have come to believe that I needed that journey through the woods to prepare for things I didn’t even know were happening. Arriving home to a crisis was off-putting, and I just wanted to run back to the woods, back to Kentucky, back to the dream of what could be. But I quit running years ago.
Facing what was in front of me, I spent several days putting one foot in front of the other. Determining to trust my God and myself when I wasn’t sure who else was trustworthy, I further resolved to continue the work laid before me when I accepted the call to ministry. And then I found myself remembering who I am… who I have worked hard to get to know…
Heading into meetings this past weekend was a lot like that hike through the woods. My heart was racing, I was out of breath, and most of the day, I wasn’t sure I would make it… I kept pushing, though. Something inside told me that a breakthrough was coming… that Jesus was just around the next corner. Near the end of the day, two paths showed up. Neither looked terribly hopeful.
But my gut told me I needed to try.
It was so much different than in the woods. This kind of trying required me to trust someone… to trust that past experiences do not dictate future outcomes. And so I leaned into the uncomfortable because how can I ask others to do it if I don’t myself.
At the end of the day, I found myself back at home, sitting in a comfortable chair, wondering how the whole day had gone by without anything horrific happening. I had to will my body to stop vibrating, to release the anxious tears that hadn’t been needed… to remind my physical body, my intellectual mind, my emotional heart, and my spiritual being that sometimes good things happen… and that I can survive those, too.
I’m a whole mess of a person some days. Over and over, I keep reminding myself that it’s okay to not be done becoming yet. And it is… because I’m still going. Maybe I’m doing it scared, maybe I think I’m going to die on the way, maybe the path is way longer than I planned it to be. But I’m still moving; the signs keep appearing, and I believe a Savior is waiting in a clearing not far ahead.
I went to the Abbey of Gethsemani in Trappist, Kentucky, yesterday. I heard about it from a musician that I have listened to for a long time by way of a song that has really resonated in recent years. Since I would be traveling right by there anyway, I planned a visit.
The song talks about a statue of Jesus on a knoll in the hills, and I thought I had done enough research to be able to find it. There were signs and paths, and surely it wouldn’t take too long. I was supposed to meet my cousin for brunch afterward, and I didn’t want to be late.
So, I got to the Abbey and parked at the trailhead. One sign, one trail, and pavers to mark the way. I walked into the woods, determined to find that statue. The first indication I might not have known what I was getting into was a footbridge across a small ditch. Not so small that I could jump it. Deep enough and muddy enough that I would have to trust this bridge. But it was so narrow… and there was only a rail on one side. I was not at all confident that I would make it across, but I had to try. Setting one foot on it initially, I found it quite sturdy, and I went quickly across.
I made it to a clearing with a lake in it and took a deep breath. I love water. There was runoff from the lake, making a small stream that created a soothing trickling sound. The sky was bright blue. Ice crystals formed beautiful patterns on the surface of the water. If I didn’t have somewhere to be, this would have been a perfect place to spend a morning. But the statues beckoned… and beyond them, brunch. I had to keep moving.
Across the small dam, there was a sudden rise. Stairs were provided, but they were steep and intimidating. At the bottom of them was another sign, though, telling me that what I sought was that direction. Having survived the bridge, I resolved that they were likely safe and set off, believing with all my heart that I would find the statue I was looking for at the top of them.
But, alas… at the top were more trees, another path, and in the distance… another sign. I walked on, seeing other statues along the way. There were a variety of them… different subjects, sizes, and materials. But nothing even remotely what I was looking for.
Periodically, the trail would turn, and I would hope against hope that I was about to find the right knoll. Time was getting short, and I was no longer sure I could get to the statue and still get back to my van in time to get to brunch. Having missed so many years with my cousin, I did not want to be late and miss even one more minute.
I wrestled with my mind at every sign, every incline… I was tired and out of breath… And the statue was nowhere to be found. More than once, I stopped to breathe and wondered if I was really even in the right place. Maybe this wasn’t the right monastery or the right trail… maybe I was all wrong, and this was a waste of time.
Continuing to climb, my mind tried and tried to tell me that I wasn’t going to make it, that I was too out of shape, that I had slept in too late, that it was silly to keep pushing just to see a statue. I just kept walking. I had to believe that I could get there…
Finally, ahead there was a break in the trees. Another statue, this time of Mary, with a small sign beside her that said, “Pray, pray, pray.” This time two paths were going from the clearing. And the sign that told me to continue to the statues was between them. No arrows. Just an indication that I was still not there.
Looking down both paths, I couldn’t see anything that told me which way to go. No statues. Dwindling hope. Tolling cloister bells from the monastery told me that my time was up. I had to leave to be able to get to brunch… and I figured the cause was lost. I turned back the way I came, but something stopped me.
I could hear the song in my head. I’d been singing it under my breath as I hiked through the forest. I just knew I would regret it if I gave up. Choosing a path, I set off again, almost running to see if I could still find the statue and make it back to the van in time.
Just a few steps down the path, though, something stopped me. I looked around and looked back. Nothing was different. I still didn’t know where to go. But something told me this was wrong. Trusting my gut, I jogged back to the split and turned in the other direction.
Moving quickly up another hill, I came to a bench looking out into a clearing. The sun had just risen above the trees, and a frosty sheen was on the open field. In the distance I could just see the tops of the monastery buildings. At any other time, I would have stopped to sit and be still. Today, though, I had to press on.
As I walked past the bench, the trail turned back into the trees. I looked in to see if it was even worth continuing, and I caught my breath.
There in front of me was a statue. Larger than any of the ones that had come before. Not Jesus, but the disciples, lying asleep just inside the tree line. My heart was racing as my eyes looked farther in, wondering if I was finally coming to the place I had been seeking.
And suddenly… I saw Jesus.
The verse in the song that brought me to this place says:
There’s a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll
In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold
And He’s kneeling in the garden, as silent as a Stone
All His friends are sleeping, and He’s weeping all alone
It was exactly as described. Sunny but cold. So quiet. Only the sound of the leaves under my feet. And Jesus wasn’t weeping alone this day. I was so relieved to have found him that tears streamed down my face as I walked closer.
The next part of the song moved through my mind…
And the man of all sorrows, he never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that he bought
I hadn’t forgotten that I didn’t have long but to stop and recognize that this statue, this man, my God, already knew in that moment so very long ago what sorrows I would carry. He wept for them that night… and he was alone then so that I didn’t have to be alone here this morning.
I quickly took some pictures… recorded some video… I stored the moment up in my heart, hoping against hope that I could hold onto the truths I had learned on the journey.
And I turned to go meet my cousin… knowing that the aching of this life will never leave, but the breaking has ended.
On our last evening by the ocean, we managed to make it to the beach to see the end of the sunset.
I spent several hours by the water this morning, too. Just something about the sand underfoot and the waves crashing in brings peace. This trip has been full of time to reflect and contemplate what is next.
While I’m still not positive about that, this week has offered a new outlook with little glimpses of hope coming into view. Perspective has shifted…
As the world around me keeps moving, I feel more and more prepared to make decisions well. Not that I will always do so… but even in that knowledge, there is grace.
My prayer these days is that I will continue to grow in a healthier direction. That I will be confident in who I am now, able to respond from reality instead of history. And that I will love well, whether with boundaries or hugs.
I’ve been talking about the night sky and pinpoints of hope in several different circles lately… It’s been a recurring theme that has just kept coming up. So tonight’s excursions became a visual representation of hope to me.
I love the stars… and seeing how many there are while standing in the cold wind, smelling the ocean, and feeling like there is something bigger than me at work right now was an excellent way to end a not great day.
See, I love to travel. Being with people doing hard things all over the country (or on the other side of the world) and supporting them in whatever way I can is such an incredible experience. But it never fails that something at home will fall apart when I’m gone, causing me to consider whether I could have prevented it and where my responsibility really lies. It’s been a journey to come to a place where I can accept that I’m not a bad parent for leaving home sometimes. I’m not a bad wife for doing things beyond the house. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s wrong… often, it is just the opposite.
Breathing in the cold air, hearing the waves, feeling the spray, and looking up at the stars… I’m struck by the fact that the darkness connects the stars. They aren’t wired together behind the sky. It is just scattered light points out there in the blanket of night.
Hope feels like that to me. Random… Flung across the universe… with darkness seeming to be far more plentiful.
And yet, I will focus on hope. Because in those points are beautiful stories just waiting to be discovered.
This morning, I dropped Beverly off at her intensive and found a quiet beach.
Don’t worry… I didn’t fall in again.
I did spend a longer time than I planned to just watching the waves and listening to the silence that comes when the world around me stops. Nothing started playing in my mind. Not a to do list, or a voicemail, or even a song… it was just the wind and the waves stilling the internal noise.
From there, I went to see friends. Many who have become the family of my heart are on this side of the country and I was so thankful to get to see several at once before sneaking into an actual church service at New Season Church of Ventura… walking in just in time to catch Pastor Rafael preach.
Oof. What a word. God has certainly used pastor’s proclamations from pulpits to drive home his points lately. Pastor Tammy has left me rattling things around the last few weeks and today the call to extravagant love carried forward to my time here and Raf’s message this morning.
No matter how afraid I am, how unqualified I feel, or what might go wrong… I must choose to obey.
I left church and headed to Serra Cross Park. The waves that were big enough to pull me down yesterday looked much smaller from here… Time and perspective make a big difference. Funny how that works, huh?
Being removed enough to see the big picture makes it harder to shut out the extra noise, though… closer to the waves may be riskier, but being right there fosters a stillness that isn’t easily replicated from a distance. There’s a middle to be found, I think. Balance…
The Midwest has always been home, but the ocean beckons… the far edges of this country pull me toward the water to wrestle with the waves and find all that is worth fighting for.
I went to a very different kind of church today… Listening to the music of creation, joining with the family of God in fellowship, stretching to take in the challenge of the proclaimed Word…
This is what I believe heaven will be like. Creation. Connection. Communion.
