Lenten Thoughts - Day 2: Falling Away

"Let the things of this world fall away so the soul can fall in love with God. God only comes to fill the empty places and kenosis is necessary – to empty the soul to know the filling of God." Anne Voskamp

I've never observed Lent other than recognizing the 40 days prior to Easter as something that exists. I used to harken from "big church" in a primarily evangelical world and that's how we handled it. Nothing wrong with that. It just was.

In the wee Lutheran church we've been attending for about six months, Lent is more than a topic, it's a practice. A focus on the liturgical calendar has been interesting. Heart-warming. And instead of talking about Lent, I'm participating in it.

I gave up something that I knew would free up some time, put my focus on something other than my own time and something that I would miss after I made it through the week.

Goodbye, television. I made it through Day 1, but I missed it. The winding down of it. The noise of it in the background after my people are asleep. Falling asleep to it. I replaced it with reading, and study and prayer.

Heading into Day 2. Loving this devotional on Lent from one of my favorites. Ann Voskamp.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/02/what-lent-really-means-free-easter-devotional-book-to-make-a-jesus-easter-tree/

Lenten Thoughts - Day 1

Forgiveness as translated in the New Testament = aphiemi, meaning to send forth or away, let go from oneself. Forgiveness is our determined and deliberate willingness to let something go.

"Innumerable strongholds are connected to an unwillingness to forgive. Left untreated, unforgiveness becomes spiritual cancer. Bitterness takes root, and since the root feeds the rest of the tree, every branch of our lives and every fruit ultimately become poisoned. The bottom line is - unforgiveness makes us sick. Always spiritually. Often emotionally. And, surprisingly often, physically." (Beth Moore)

God is not asking us to let "it" go back into the black hole of nonexistence. Forgiveness means letting it go TO God. Letting it go from our power to His.

Lord, Your Word tells me that when I stand praying, if I hold anything against anyone, I am to forgive him or her, so that You, my Father in heaven, may forgive me my sins. (Mark 11:25).

Lessons.

“You can either practice being right or practice being kind.” ― Anne Lamott

she rested in circles

She thought the sky was always dark. Ominous. Brooding.

One day she realized this wasn't true. The blue just hides. Often.

Brightness, she found, beckoned her.

Hues of periwinkle and silver and incandescent pearl. Sun streams of golden orange danced on her skin. Bounced off of the crumpling asphalt.

She felt the world breathe her in. The embrace of it constrained her fight, yet gave her strength. That day, she felt as if she could do anything.

She felt like she could fly.

And there she was. Soaring. High above the world she knew. The omnious layer of black far below her. The sun beating on her new glow. She was light. Lifted. Loved. She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but for now - it was everything.

Eventually the landing came. Like a piercing thud that threatened to tear her very marrow. Ripped in two. Words and shrieks and oppression. Squeezing the life out of who she was. Or who she knew she could become.

She wouldn't think of that for now.

So she soared. Alone--but embraced. Spun in silver and gossimer. Clouds of cashmere called her name. So softly. Not quite a whisper.

Anything was possible. She nearly believed it up there.

And then she heard.

Words beckoning.

Life calling.

The heaviness of the day.

Familiarity.

The mundane.

As she landed, she thought she might die. She stopped breathing -- just for a few minutes.

Holding her breath helped the impact. Helped her survive what she hated.

And there was her life. Waiting.

She tried to remember how she felt five minutes before.

Impossible. But she remembered warm colors.

She tried to rest. But she kept running in circles. Over and over and over again.

She felt something in her pocket. A piece of cashmere.

Glimmering like only hope could.

A treasure.

They told her there would be a next time.

She didn't remember why. She just simply believed it was true.

tragic things

After a long week of traveling to and from Chicago for work last week, I found myself jetlagged and asleep by 8 pm on Friday night - and subsequently, up at 6 am the next morning.

Nothing says "6 am" like a trip down the hill for coffee. And so I went.

Parked outside the mini-mart was an old Ford pickup - idling with no one inside. I had a "knock you down, bowl you over I miss my Dad" moment - right there in the parking lot. I burst into tears and didn't really know how to stop.

I collected myself and ventured into the mart. The owner of the pickup was about my Dad's age and was at the front counter purchasing cheetos and pepperoni sticks. Seriously? Two of my Dad's favorite things.

I miss my Dad. I miss my sisters. I miss my family. I could normally chalk this up to the pre-holiday chill in the air, but this year, it's something more. My Dad was in the hospital just a few weeks ago. It was very jarring to me. His health isn't great and it was truly an eye-opening moment for me.

Last week, while I was in Chicago, my Dad - who rarely calls - called. His sister has breast cancer. I haven't been able to get that one out of my brain. Results from her MRI will arrive tomorrow. My Aunt's daughter died 7 years ago from breast cancer. She was just 6 years older than me. I can't imagine what must be going through her head.

After arriving home from Chicago, my newly pregnant sister emailed us. She miscarried at 11 weeks.

Not one of these things is really about me, but it's affected me deeply. Life is so short. Too short. Health is a gift - a rare one. Family is not just important - they are life and breath wrapped up in one DNA-laden treasure. And my sisters are God's greatest gift to me. We laugh when we want to cry. We cry when we don't know what else to do. And we hold the key to a past that no one else will ever understand.

Live each breath as if it were your last and love as if your life depended on it.

she thought about things

She wasn't a fan of pain. Not really, anyhow. But she migrated to it every once in a while. Like a carribean vacation. Only without the sun.

She didn't love the past. It hurt with it's knots and twists. She left it miles and miles away.

The tangled mess didn't undo itself. The knots got tighter. Cords frayed.

So she went back. With dark glasses. She thought she could unravel the largest knot.

When she first arrived, she heard deep, cavernous sounds. Echos of nothing. Birds and trees didn't live here. Just darkness. And her jagged breath with sharp edges.

She tripped. And didn't get up. She could have. But she didn't. Being crazy made her tired.

The hours stopped, so did the years. There she lay in her past. Sometimes she heard footprints. And then nothing. She was used to the sounds of nothing.

Her skin had grown thick. The sharp edges only felt like pricks.

One day, she caught a glimmer of light through the bramble. Her memory was buried. It hurt too much to look. Did she even have eyes anymore?

She heard sounds. She thought of other things.

She felt the edges begin to prick. Just a bit. She'd felt worse.

She felt warmth. Then realized that she had begun to bleed. She wasn't squeamish anymore.

Still, the choice. Remain in the darkness and bleed a long slow death. Or stand up. And live.

Her head was pounding. Her stomach lurched. She hadn't eaten in years. Sharp edges had become her sustenance. Her comfort.

Little hands. A small voice.

The bleeding stopped. She didn't want to, but she got up. Sharp edges were everywhere. Something propelled her past them.

A young life. A new future. She had to look. Had to live. Had to heal.

People stared. Her scars were deep and painful. And visible to everyone. Shame followed her. Everywhere. She felt hideous.

No one understood. Not even her family. That was the knife wound.

Still, the young life. The blonde voice. Please, just stop.

The scars hurt. She healed slowly. And badly. She bled often. But not enough to make her lie down.

She had to live. Even when her past found her. It tried to kick her down. With images. And wickedness. Songs of remembrance. It was too much.

But still, her memories came with a soft voice. Please, just stop.

Instead, she stopped. Opened her hands. Pursed her lips. And pulled it all down. Every betrayal. Every untruth. Every misunderstanding. All of it.

Voices of love. Voices of young hearts.

Survival.

Masochism.

Rejection.

Abuse.

Abandonment.

She looked it square in the face. She remembered. All of it. She couldn't love it. But she didn't make it leave. Instead, it became small.

It couldn't stand to be stared at.

Was that the trick the entire time? In the land of sharp edges.

Some didn't believe her. Or her past. She didn't care. They were her tattered pages to tear up. It was her truth.

Sometimes she involved others. And sometimes, she regretted.

Sometimes, it was the best thing she ever did.

A boy with drums brought healing once. And truth. And some new pain.

But it was necessary.

She had to look at betrayal. With her sharp teeth and malicious lies and hatred.

Yet, she came from betrayal. She had to embrace her with boundaries.

The young life. The small voice. A new smile.

New thoughts. Possibilities. Flowers instead of sharp edges.

Pain? Yes. Devastating and life-altering? No.

She needed to pay attention to the young life. She had shoulders now that could carry her. And give the small voice a microphone with big feet.

She would love it and give it something she never had.

Hope. For a future. And the promise of different days than she had known.

She still has dark glasses. The little voice doesn't like them. So she only wears them once in a while.

The little voice often shrieks at the top of her lungs. And no one yells. Her young life stares wide-eyed at everything. And knows nothing of dark things.

The young life saved her. Hugged her. Delivered her. Softened sharp edges.

And somewhere in her world, this all makes sense.

Because her past is beautiful.

A Grief Observed

I just read the most beautiful piece. The story of a mom-to-be. Ripe with anticipation, love, birth songs and bursting hearts. The reality of delivering a baby with Down Syndrome wasn't part of their script. Traveling her journey of words made my heart full. Happy. Hopeful. Thoughtful.

The last 30 days have been the strangest of my life. While I didn't prepare for the birth of a baby or have Down Syndrome slice through my life, I have watched life break in half. I caught a very small, broken heart and did my best to stitch it back together. I shared tales of my own losses. My husband shared the same while his own heart ripped in two. I nursed bruises that weren't visible and wiped tears that wouldn't stop pouring. I made promises that things would get better. and that the human heart really couldn't break in half physically, even if it felt like it. I did my very best to weave something beautiful, believable and precious out of a situation that was none of those things.

Above all of that, I sought the Lord. Something I haven't done that fervently in a very long time. I didn't want to at first. I was so sad. Furious. Desperate. Annoyed.

The thing about God? He's there. Whether we acknowledge Him or not.

Almost one month has passed and I've realized a few things.

THE heart of a ten-year-old is resilient.

THREE are better than one

LOSING someone to cancer sucks today just as much as it did 12 years ago.

THE loss of a loved one is tragic-whether human or animal.

"PAT ANSWERS" don't work when death is imminent. Honesty is important

THE LORD is faithful - even when I am not.

FRIENDSHIP is an investment. I've never been more thankful for mine.

Life is fickle. Whether you're ready for it to move on or not, it simply does.

"He is my constant source of stability." Isaiah 33:6

Ladybug, we miss you, sweet kitty. Hope opened up her DSi today and was faced with reminder after reminder of your many photo sessions and how much she loved you. I don't know another cat who was so loyal - or who could rock a pink snow cap the way you did. Thank you for investing in our lives - and for allowing us to be your family. RIP, Ladybuggies. RIP.

10/96 - 2/27/10

Hope saying goodbye to her trusted companion and most loyal friend.

Our memorial to Ladybug - balloons with messages that we let loose to the heavens to meet Ladybug there.