The #blessed, the righteous, the thankful

Deuteronomy 8:7-18 | Psalm 65 | 2 Corinthians 9:6-15 | Luke 17:11-19

The last time I stood in this pulpit to preach, Lowell spied my iPad at the ready and asked me just before the sermon if it received text messages. I wanted to say “no,” but I knew it could. Lucky for me, it wasn’t connected to the wi-fi, and I got his message that I was doing a good job after the service.

Cultivating a sense of humor, being able to take–or even play–a prank every now and then, and learning how to juggle many things at once are just some of the things I’m grateful to St. Paul’s for teaching me along my path of discernment and formation for ministry. When Suzanne asked if I would be willing and able to celebrate on Thanksgiving Day, my first thought was “of course!” What better way to express my gratitude for all St. Paul’s has been for me than to celebrate the Great Thanksgiving in this place at this time? Whether we’re familiar to one another or not, I’m sure we could agree on many things for which we are grateful to St. Paul’s and The Episcopal Church.

Like Psalm 65 offering thanksgiving for the earth’s bounty, we could count our many blessings, creating a beautiful, bountiful list. Many of us today will do this, likely go around our tables, sharing what we’re thankful for, and I heartily encourage you to do so. Share with family and friends your gratitude, your hopes. Perhaps we could also share our awareness of those less fortunate and what it looks like to take action on their behalf. Perhaps we could also consider our responsibility for the abundance we have and what we do as good stewards of our bounty. I make these suggestions because the Gospel never really tells us to sit around and linger in our comfort.

We could be tempted, of course, to count our blessings and marvel at how #blessed we are. All of us here this morning are definitely blessed. We don’t have work today (well, most of us, anyway; thanks, Jack!). We’re safe. Preparations for our feasts are made. If I could gaze into your hearts, I’m sure I would hear the sound of love coursing through your being: love of God, love of others, and hopefully love of yourself. We’re here offering thanks to God for the ultimate sacrifice. We are praying for those who are less fortunate. We’re living the good life.

When we’re feeling so grateful, why do we get the story of the ten lepers today? Leprosy, a disease that eats away at the flesh, is a most unappetizing sort of image. Could it be that we in blessed comfort, if we’re truly honest, have our own dis-ease eating away at us?

If the greatest self-help guru came to the Town Center, imagine the crowd that would gather. He might call to the crowd for ten volunteers, choosing from the multitude those waving their arms most frantically, desperately: “Pick me!” He calls to the stage those whom he chooses:
~A corporate woman always wanting the next bigger, better thing,
~A warehouse worker who just never has enough,
~A waitress who can’t get ahead and hoards every little thing she has,
~A struggling musician who just can’t get a break,
~A minister who knows he’s struggling to practice what he preaches,
~A stay-at-home mom wrestling with the super-mom syndrome,
~A doctor with a god-complex,
~An entrepreneur who just lost his savings,
~A teacher whose voice is never heard,
~An undocumented day laborer who sends most of his money to his family out of country.

To this group he tells them simply to go somewhere safe, to someone they trust, and to tell that person the truth of their discomfort, their dis-ease. “Go! Go now!” he says. So they run off stage, rushing on their way. He smiles after them, knowingly.

The one most used to being pushed aside and left behind, the one used to waiting for the chance to do a bit of work for a bit of cash, finally makes it to the doors at the back but pauses. He feels it. What has ailed him has left him. The burden he has been carrying has been lifted. Instead of dis-ease, he feels a tingling of . . . Light? Joy? Love? With tears in his eyes, he returns to the guru, falling at his feet, making a complete scene and everyone else incredibly uncomfortable, but he can’t stop thanking this person.

Everyone else is looking on, confused.

“Better already?” the guru asks the laborer. He showingly spans the crowd. “Is this the only person made well? Where’s everyone else?” He helps the laborer to his feet and looks into the questioning eyes with all wisdom and love. “Faith,” he says. “Carry on and keep the faith.” He sends him on his way.

All ten came to the guru believing something could be done to make them well.

But only one had the presence, the awareness to realize that the healing wasn’t necessarily a result of an action he himself had to do.

How beautiful it is to me that seeking healing with an honest, humble, helpless heart puts us in a unique position to be most fully restored to wholeness by “the surpassing grace of God,” “an indescribable gift” (2 Cor 9:15).

Even as we are counting our blessings, giving thanks for our blessedness, what eats away at our joy? What prevents us from living into the fullness of love of Christ? What blinds us to the truth of reality that we are in community with one another, no matter how different we think we are from everyone else?

What is our dis-ease?

Our current and present hardships are real. I affirm and validate your struggles because I know each and every one of us has more than one we’re dealing with. And I hope you can go to a safe place, a trusted person–and maybe that’s a paid professional–to help you figure out what your next steps are. But spiritually, from a place of faith, you bear God’s favor. The very image of you from your DNA to the reflection you see in the mirror bears God’s blessing.

Because God made a covenant. God promised to see the people to the Promised Land. God promised abundance upon abundance, plenty of everything, wealth and health, and all things delicious. There seems to be this condition, though, that our being #blessed is conditional upon our giving thanks to God, not forgetting that all things come from God, remembering to uphold God’s commandments, ordinances, and statutes. Putting God first above myself and all else

That’s where righteousness comes in. Ps. 112 describes the blessings of the righteous, those who are gracious, merciful, and just. Generous. Steady of heart. Unafraid of evil. They rise like light in the darkness. Yes, they, too, have a rich and wealthy house, are blessed and honored, but their homes might look more like a one-bedroom apartment than a mansion complex. Just because people are struggling doesn’t mean we aren’t blessed. Just because we’re going through hardships doesn’t mean we aren’t righteous. Like the ten bridesmaids from last Sunday where the only reason we know five were wise and five were foolish is because we’re told, we know that all the lepers are healed because we’re told. If we were only going by what we saw, we’d only think that one was healed. But only one was aware enough to turn back to the one who showed mercy and healed fully then and there. The rest thought they had to go someplace and do something special. We can go seeking grace and find it in unexpected places, but the most astonishing discovery of all is when we realize it’s right where we are. Because God made a new covenant, one of unconditional love and mercy and grace, through Jesus Christ.

Right here where we are, we practice remembering all gifts come from God. Right here where we are, we bring our dis-ease before God, allowing grace to fill our spirit with renewed seeds faith and hope and especially love, that we might sow them bountifully wherever we go from here. We do go from here, to love and serve the Lord, but first we acknowledge our faith, pray for all, confess our sins, make peace with one another, and, of course, give thanks to God.

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The Work We Must Do

Exodus 17:1-7 | Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16 | Philippians 2:1-13 | Matthew 21:23-32

Saturday night marks the end of Yom Kippur or the Day of Atonement, one of if not the most important day in the Jewish calendar. A day of prayer and fasting begun at sundown Friday evening, it’s not only a time of acknowledging one’s own wrongdoing, such as unfulfilled vows to God, but also a time to seek forgiveness. Every time we come together for corporate worship–whether it’s the Daily Office or the Holy Eucharist–we can pray our general confession as well as the Lord’s prayer. Twice in our worship today, we ask forgiveness not only for what we’ve done in thought, word, and deed but also for what we’ve left undone and for forgiveness of our trespasses, where we’ve crossed a line or committed an offense against someone else . . . as well as forgiving their trespasses toward us. We do this not to live in perpetual guilt but so we remain awake, fully aware of what is going on in our whole lives, mind, body, and spirit. We do this because when we make our baptismal vows, we promise that when we sin (not if but when), we will repent; we will re-orient ourselves toward God. We do this because we are not perfect, because on our own, we don’t have the ability to fulfill the yearning for a life lived fully, authentically, rich with wonder and purpose.

Throughout Scripture, time and time again, we get the message that it’s not us who can solve things alone.

In Exodus, again we hear the people raising their voices at Moses. They “quarreled” with him. If they didn’t have water to drink–in the desert of all places–I cannot imagine this is a lighthearted disagreement, and we get clarification when Moses tells the Lord that the people “are almost ready to stone (him).” Not only are they quarreling with Moses, but Moses says they are testing the LORD. All the things the LORD has done, now they test Him again, questioning as Moses said, “Is the LORD among us or not?” Yet God provides. Here in Exodus, Moses and Aaron do what the LORD says. The same story in Numbers (Chapter 20) has Moses strike the rock and take credit for what God has provided, receiving the promise that he will not make it to the promised land. It wasn’t Moses alone who provided water for the people of God.

In the Gospel according to Matthew, the chief priests and elders deceitfully prompt Jesus with a trick question, one they hope will incriminate himself. Jesus, however, turns the table with full transparency, unveiling the very criteria to which they themselves are held accountable. In their unwillingness to state their own position about where John the Baptist came from, they showed themselves unworthy before Jesus to receive the Truth. How different the moment in the gospel would have been if the elders had been honest about their struggle, given ear to Jesus as the Philippians did to Paul about what constituted righteousness, about what mattered. If they had, Jesus could have shared with them what Paul shares to the Philippians, what Jesus shared with his disciples: that there is complete joy to be had in love of one another through Christ who comes from the Father, that abiding in love with love of God is the utmost fulfillment we can attain this side of Glory.

Presumably written from prison, Paul shares his letter to the Philippians with love and affection, including in our reading today what may have been a “Christ hymn,” something familiar to the community. What truly matters to the welfare of the people is having the same mind, love, and agreement–rooted in Christ. This was to be their work, to “work out (their) own salvation with fear and trembling” since it “is God who is at work in you.” Reading this correspondence, it doesn’t take a great stretch of imagination to hear how the Holy Spirit might speak to us from the Word. Are we as a people of one mind? Are we willing to let God work through us, in us, for the sake of love of God alone? For love? For joy?

There’s an article titled “America Wasn’t Built for Humans” by Andrew Sullivan, noted to be a conservative political commentator. In it, the whole premise is that because humans are tribal creatures, America isn’t the best set-up. From the beginning of humanity, tribalism was a good thing, necessary for survival. You know who your people are, you’re working toward the same goals, you share the same myths to understand the world and the supernatural. I want nothing more for my daughter at college than for her to find her tribe, because our tribes can be a good thing. But tribes of around 50 are quite different than a tribe of 323 million. Naturally, we have many tribes within America, and we want to sort and classify everyone so we can understand not only others but also ourselves. From the beginning of our nation, Sullivan figures, “Tribalism was an urge our Founding Fathers assumed we could overcome. And so it has become our greatest vulnerability.” Surely they must have thought that common values rooted in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness would be enough to keep us united. Sullivan himself hopes that America can find common ground under one president.

But I warrant that placing our hopes upon any one person or even a group of persons alone is not enough. This is hard work, this working out of our survival, especially our salvation. It’s okay for it to be a struggle. Our tradition provides many examples of people wrestling physically, verbally, and emotionally with God or God’s messengers. Think of Jacob, Jonah, and Paul. Like them, if we truly engage, we are not the same person after a genuine encounter with God. Most of the time, if our endeavor is entered whole-heartedly, we are transformed by the experience because the struggle moves us deeper into relationship with God. The closer we are to God, the clearer it can be to see how we’ve lost our way, how much we need God and one another to be fully restored.

The key to a full restoration, the hope for us all is that our humanity can be transformed by the life of Christ, by an understanding and practice of life that restores us to unity in God.

It’s true that we don’t have to be Christian to be good people, but as Christians, we have a unique responsibility to bring about reconciliation and restoration to unity to God through Jesus Christ. How do we do that? As Paul told the Philippians, we have to be of one mind in Christ. This might sound idealistic, but I believe it gets at the core of what a Beloved Community is. It’s neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female: it’s here and now, inclusive of all. But it’s going to be hard, admitting when we’re wrong and losing our lives–especially losing perceived control of our lives–for the sake of true salvation in God. If we can make this sacrifice, then we might be able to taste the exquisite beauty and ultimate freedom in a life given over to God . . . our best opportunity to experience joy made complete.

All this is easy to talk about, especially in context of characters of the past. But the Holy Spirit speaks to us through our Scripture now as then. The clarion call for us all to have the mind of Christ rings loudly and earnestly today, but how do we get it? As Episcopalians, we do engage in Scripture; we have Bible studies. I challenge you to take this reading from Philippians, to take it and read it at least two to three times per day this week. When the Bishop comes next week, see how you hear his message, notice how you welcome our newly confirmed and received, observe how you listen to the news. Will it have changed with a constant focus on who Christ is? Can we put on the mind of Christ and “be the change we wish to see in the world” (to borrow a quote from Gandhi)? We won’t know if we don’t try, and this is the work we must do.

 

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Jesus Was Amazed

1 Kings 18:20-39 | Psalm 96 | Galatians 1:1-12 | Luke 7:1-10

It occurs to me that to get our attention these days, things are either all or nothing, really bad or really good. The news tends toward the overly dramatic, creating sound bytes or headlines that grab our attention or get our adrenaline pumping. How often do we think or say “That’s horrible!” or “That’s amazing!” Perhaps like me, you’ve become a little numb to all the drama, especially when it’s mostly horrible. Maybe we’ve forgotten what it’s like or how to be amazed.

If we sort the information we receive into buckets we label either horrible or amazing, our “horrible” bucket is overflowing. Thanks to our ability to communicate instantly worldwide and distribute information nearly as quickly, we can know about almost anything anywhere, especially if it’s tragic. In the car in the mornings, I sometimes brace myself to listen to Morning Edition on NPR. I listen to the most recent bombings, conflicts, debates, crashes, market reports, and research–all in the matter of a few minutes. This past week there was a report released from the World Health Organization that in the past two years there have been 1,000 deaths in the Doctors Without Borders organization, 60% of which were intentional attacks on the medical facilities themselves. This statistic strikes particularly hard because we realize that the victims are medical professionals there to help the defenseless in the tumultuous and under-served regions…or are the defenseless themselves.

With this report lingering in my consciousness, I was looking forward in our church calendar, looking up readings in our lectionary for this next weekend’s Women’s Institute. We have lesser feasts that honor not only saints but also martyrs, those who have died in defense of the faith. Thursday and Friday this next week we commemorate martyrs of the church, people whose lives were cut short by others who were threatened by the faithful and their work, their mission to spread the gospel.

The way our minds work and make associations, I found myself making a connection between the victims of violence–those associated with Doctors Without Borders–and their desire to serve and heal those who otherwise wouldn’t have access to care. The techs, nurses, doctors, and others knew the risks of their assignment and went forth bravely, much like the fallen soldiers we remember on Monday. In this moment of connection, I get a sense of the courage, purpose, and determination that exists in the willingness to face whatever may come because there is something good at stake. There is liberty to defend. There is an orphaned child to be nursed in hope. There are traumatized men and women who need to be reminded that there is a future worth defending not just with military might but also with compassion. That good is worth our very life.

This connection, this bit of insight, doesn’t make the news less horrible, but it does allow me to contribute something unsaid yet understood toward the amazing side of things. The services contributed by Doctors Without Borders and other humanitarian organizations, let alone the services offered by our military are often, I’m sorry to say, taken for granted . . . until we meet someone or hear a story that reminds us how much is at stake when they commit to serve, especially in dangerous territory. Their willingness to serve, even to death, is truly amazing and worthy of every remembrance we can offer.

Another bit of news recently was something of a different nature, something that immediately came across as amazing: the laughing Chewbacca mom video that went viral on Facebook, watched by more than 151 million people. If you’re among the few that haven’t seen the video, I can tell you that it’s a phone video of a mom in her van in a Kohl’s parking lot. The mom wants to show off her birthday gift to her friends. She makes clear the gift is for herself and not her kids and then reveals her plastic Star Wars Chewbacca mask. The mask has this great feature that when you open your mouth or lower your jaw, it makes the Wookie talking sound. That doesn’t seem all that amazing, but what happens is that the woman gets tickled when she sees herself in the mask and hears the Wookie-speak. She laughs and laughs. Belly-shaking, tear-producing laughter. When she finally removes the mask, she wipes away her laughing tears and tells her viewers, “Have an incredible day; it’s the simple joys,” as she ends the recording laughing some more.

Her name is Candace, a mom squeezing in time to do something for herself before she picks up her kids from school. What’s amazing is that in just over a week, millions of people have laughed with her. For almost four minutes, they tasted her simple joy and were able to pause for a moment and delight in life. Not surprisingly, that’s something Candace intended. She also happens to be a worship leader and church volunteer in Texas and gives all thanks to God for the joy in her life. Maybe that’s what people tasted and shared so readily–so hungry are we for the amazingly good and joyful in life. Have we forgotten how simple it is to be joyful?

A willingness to serve and a joyful heart are undoubtedly significant ingredients in creating the amazing. With the upcoming music festival, I’m sure many will be amazed. Musicians pour their hearts and souls into hours of practice and rehearsal and attention to all the details that make for a memorable performance. (I’m sure Lynn might add that there’s sometimes blood, sweat, and tears, too.) I was listening to an interview with cellist Yo-Yo Ma the other day, and he shared that in his understanding of life, our role as humans is to participate fully, to show up and ask, “What can I do to help?” Because we often don’t know the answer, we’re in a vulnerable position. If we mean it, we’re asking selflessly, for a purpose greater than ourselves. If we mean it, we ask humbly because we’re not trying to prove anything. Yo-Yo Ma says later in the interview that we’re just showing that what we do makes us all better. Having an outlook that chooses joy and embodies hospitality, Yo-Yo Ma makes incredible music whether he plays solo or with others, music that inspires awe and wonder. That’s what he does to participate fully, to the benefit of us all.

A doctor’s service, a mother’s infectious laugh, a musician’s talent–however simple or profound–they are all amazing in their connection with others. Their dedication and joy reveals the beauty of what is readily available to us all when we reach beyond ourselves.

One man selflessly, vulnerably, and humbly sought out another’s help to heal his slave. Rather than ignore the slave or chalk it up as another tally in a list of horrible events, he recalled someone different, someone with power similar to but even greater than his own. For a moment he might have wondered, but so certain was the centurion in Jesus’ might and power, that he asked Jesus only to speak his word, and the centurion knew that it would be done.

Yet it was Jesus who was amazed.

To amaze someone doesn’t only mean to be surprised. It can mean to be filled with wonder. In our gospel today, the most amazing thing is not that the slave was healed–at a distance, even without a verbal command that we know of, as awesome as that is. What was most amazing–enough to amaze the Son of God–was the faith of one to come forward, respectfully and humbly, to petition on behalf of his slave. The faith of the centurion, one presumed to be an enemy to the Jews, amazed Jesus. Maybe in that moment when Jesus recognized the faith of the centurion, the truth of his heart, he recognized the opening of the hearts of those whom had previously seemed closed to following His way. Maybe Jesus was both surprised at the man’s turn toward God and filled with wonder at what it meant for the future of the God’s kingdom.

How often do we amaze the Divine?

How often do we move forward in the defense of our faith, in the defense of the good, for the benefit of our neighbor, a stranger, or our enemy? How often does our delight in God erupt as joy so as to transcend all barriers and kindle light and life and love where there had been an abundance of death and fear? My guess is that it happens way more often than we realize because we are preoccupied with protecting ourselves from what is horrible in this world. Being Christian, we didn’t sign up for a safe and easy way of life, nor did we sign up to be ignorant and oblivious. We signed up to follow Jesus, and today Jesus shows us that we are to be amazed–amazed at unexpected realizations, simple joys, beauty abundant, and the power of our faith in Christ. And all thanks be to God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we also signed up to be amazing.

 

 

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Present Joy

Today’s calendar presented an open slate, which then filled with the simple pleasures of keeping house and preparing an abundant lunch.  The next wave of thunderstorms has rolled in, just in time to go pick the kids up from school.

For this brief moment, I find myself sitting in a quiet house . . . well, maybe not completely quiet.  The thunder, rain, and dishwasher have their voices heard at the moment, along with the clicking of the keyboard.  It is, however, still — especially compared to what it’s usually like with four kids and two adults and a dog and cat running about.

Some days we just have to revel in what is, and I know that this is good.  I don’t know what the next hour or tomorrow or next year holds for us, but I do know that if I can remember the joy and gratitude I feel in my heart at this present moment, that all will be well.

Right now we also get to enjoy eating the few fresh strawberries we have from the garden, reminding us what a real strawberry tastes like, what a fruit of the earth carries in a perfectly packaged little bundle of tender juiciness.  Experiencing and tasting these delights, I know that what I buy in bulk from the store doesn’t even get close to the truly organic variety from the backyard.  Sometimes we just have to be reminded of how good it can be.  Sometimes we have to remind ourselves how sweet we really have it, fresh strawberries or no.

I consider myself delightfully spoiled today, and I give thanks to all that is.

(Cloudy skies today contrast with the sunny skies of yesterday morning, when we remembered to collect our first strawberries of the season. 🙂 )

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Indian Summer

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This whole week embodies an Indian summer.  We’ve had our first frost.  All the trees have come aglow, and most have dropped their leaves.  I chanced upon this ginko tree at the park the day before Halloween; they drop their leaves so quickly.  Their golden leaves must be too heavy to hold for long.

And this week (which happened to include my birthday) reminds me of the renewal I feel in the fall, the creativity, optimism and groundedness.  Quite simply, I give thanks.  My blessings abound.  My gifts continue to create a beautiful harvest and provide me with plenty of work to be joyfully busy.

Even when the sun hides behind the clouds, as it undoubtedly will sometime soon, and the nighttime increases, I’ll let the Light glow from within and cherish the time to let my hands create gifts for those I love.

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My First Homily

(Homily I offered on Sunday, April 26th, 2009, at the Time for JOY retreat, Camp Mitchell.  The theme of the weekend was “Birthing the Woman Within.”  I’m sorry that I can’t invoke the waves of emotion, the movement of Spirit here that was present at the mountain chapel.  Thanks be to all.)

I love that Time for JOY is during the Easter season.  Now is a time when we are still new in the remembered contemplation and sacrifice of Christ; our alleluias are still fresh.

This JOY weekend, I’ve talked mostly about the Yourself of J.O.Y.  For the full JOY, we also need Jesus and Others.  In our daily lives, we are pretty well-trained.  We’re good girls when it comes to helping out when needed . . . as long as it’s for someone else.  We focus so much on You here at JOY because you are more likely to neglect yourself than others, but you have to remember that the better cared-for you are, the better the quality of service you provide.

And Jesus?  Well, if we’re not likely to care for ourselves, how much more likely are we to spend precious time on someone who doesn’t seem to play an active role in daily life?

Therein lies the rub.

We are sisters in Christ.  We are daughters of God.  There’s a suffering Jesus endured for us to show us true peace.  There’s the spark within us that is also of God, of Christ.  Our seed of potential and purpose is none other than that which exists in Jesus, of God.  The potential remains in each of us to live fully as a child of God, but how willing are we to step forth and call God ours?  How willing are we to see the risen Christ in each other?  How willing are we to believe in miracles?   Would we have been any less disbelieving and wondering in the presence of the resurrected Lord?

The woman you’ve been coaxing out of hiding is “the deep root of your being,” your inner Jesus, the one willing to claim God, the one that is Whole, the One.  In our human form, our best is to love others as we love ourselves, but only if we know who we really are.  Given a purpose to Love, we are also given talents and gifts with which to do this.  There are ways our seemingly trivial work creates more positive energy in the Universe, thus creating more love.  Don’t ask me to explain it because I don’t understand it, but it works.  So what brings us joy is important.  We have our thread in the beautiful cosmic tapestry.  To know ourselves is crucial, tantamount to Love.  When we know, feel and trust the love of God within, then truthfully we can witness to others as we extend the blessing of Christ that “peace be with you.”  It’s not solely about the fact that Jesus died.  I tell my kids Jesus is in their heart.  He’s in mine and yours, too.  It’s about life — living and loving.

Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori reminds us of our responsibility.  “We’re meant to be heralds of resurrecion to a world that still thinks death is the last word.”

Birth is an everyday miracle.  I believe in miracles. 

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Enjoy!

That’s what I hope for this weekend — to enjoy myself and time with others.  I hope my dearest friend has a joyous birthday today, the merriment continuing throughout the weekend.  Yesterday was my brother-in-law’s birthday.  A healthy baby boy was born this week. . . . There is just so much to be grateful for.

I’m not under an illusion of security.  I hear the statistics.  I know the reality of suffering and its many faces. Yet each moment we choose whether we feed the fear or fuel the love.  Today, even in my complete spaced-out-ishness, I choose to love, to be loved.  Hopefully that choice will ease the suffering of someone in this world, even if it’s just my own.

I send love to you and yours, and I sincerely hope you do have a most wonderfully enjoyable weekend.

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Is there a merriment more pure than child-like enthusiasm?
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Receiving

As mothers we receive lots of things.  The bills, the colds, the art projects, our friends’ recipes, hugs and kisses and each other’s support, if we’re fortunate enough to have a network.  There are all kinds of material and immaterial “things” we take in all day long.  I wonder if that might be one reason moms are usually so generous, volunteering in multiple and diverse ways.

But think of a time when you were really looking forward to something.  A care package from a distant friend?  A tax refund?  Your kids from camp?  How about waiting for a baby’s conception?  News that the tumor was benign?

There’s a tremendous relief, joy and lightheartedness at the arrival, isn’t there?  I want to find a way to incorporate every part of my day as something to be received graciously.  I want to be joyful when I pick up my kids from school rather than seeing it as another errand.  Perhaps all I need to do is be mindfully present, and the joy will lie therein.  Easily said, right?

But what about receiving the overdrafts, the malignant tumor, the death we hadn’t prepared for?  Will receiving those mindfully make them less worse?  As humans, I suppose it’s our lot in life to “take the good, . . . take the bad.”  (My 80s-t.v.- influenced mind plays “The Facts of Life” theme song in my head.)  As mothers it seems we have a significant influence on how our family faces each moment.  How many of us have weathered the storm with an assuring hug and comforting words even as our own stomachs turned and hearts raced?  Of course, I don’t just mean thunderstorms.

Mother, father, man or woman, we don’t always have a choice about what we are receiving, but we can choose how we receive it.  We are, after all, setting an example for our children and all those in our presence.  I can’t help but think that we need to be humble and gracious when receiving life’s blessings, and when faced with tribulations, we can all hope to be honest and strong.  A network of support never hurts, either.

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