Because I Don't Want To Go Back To Life As Usual

I confessed my sin on a lavender piece of paper and it went into a tall glass vase with all the others. On Easter, the papers will be burned to ashes.

When I got myself settled on the end of the soft, green cushion in the pew, I thought I might start sobbing right then and there because love had wrapped itself around my shoulders and filled the air with a scent that was open and light. It was stunningly beautiful. But I had just gotten there, and it didn't seem the place for sobbing, so I swallowed against the lump in my throat and kept myself from blinking, even though the music made my heart weep.

This was no quiet, stuffy service. The place was filled with children who were beautiful in all their restless energy. They skipped up the aisle and they wore jeans, or fancy dresses and hair bows, or Spiderman t-shirts. Babies on hips and toddlers toddling. Cool teenagers who are way beyond the emotion of the day. Grown ups who have done this for as long as they can remember. And the whole thing printed out in bulletins we held in our hands or smoothed across our laps so we didn't get lost along the way - all 1,000 of us, turning pages at the same time.

Even now, when I think about the way Pastor Sara just about skipped across the stage in white robes and a lavender and pink stole and how I knew she is someone I might run into at Target - it makes me smile and I have to keep my eyes from blinking so I can see the page.

A different pastor dipped his thumb in the small glass filled with ashes, and then imposed them on my forehead in the shape of a cross and said, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." I closed my eyes. I know he'd said those very same words exactly the same way to hundreds of others that very same day, but it was as if the words had been spoken just for me in that moment, and not a moment sooner, and not ever before.

Later, when I received the body of Christ in the palm of my hand, that same pastor smiled at me and looked into my soul. I know he's just a man, but in that moment, he was the man God used to meet me in the crowd. The taste of wine was perfectly sweet in my mouth, and warm going down and I received it as the gift it was, because I'd expected dry with a bitter finish. But instead it was grace, and not at all what I deserve.

Postscript: Michelle didn't hesitate when I sent her an email that said, "Do they give ashes at your church? And if they do, can anyone get them?" She - in the midst of a whirlwind of life's hard places - welcomed me to join her for Ash Wednesday services at her church. My very first Ash Wednesday service. Ever. Thank you, Michelle.

How's Your Focus?

This has nothing to do with anything, but may I just say how much I loved Viola Davis' look last night at the Oscars? Oh. My. Goodness! So elegant! So beautiful! It made me smile to see her there in all of her natural glory.


Remember that post I wrote over at The High Calling about my hair? Well, when I saw Viola Davis on television in her smashing green dress and stunning hair, it stirred up so many emotions in me. We need more women like Viola Davis on the red carpet. We really do. 

~~~

A few months ago, I heard about a study whose results determined all of this social media stuff is messing with our minds. I wish I could tell you where I heard about it. But I can't remember. And that proves the point of the study.

According to the study, those of us who spend time on social media have attention spans that are getting shorter and shorter. We're running out of patience and our ability to focus is steadily shrinking.

This month, my Kindle wouldn't charge, so I read books on my laptop, in The Cloud. Often, while reading, I'd have other tabs open in my browser, which meant I received notifications when someone posted something on my Facebook wall, or sent me an email, or pinned something new on Pinterest. That little notification would pop up and off I'd go to see what was going on elsewhere. Then, I'd click back to The Cloud and try to remember where I'd left off.

I started to worry that perhaps the study is right. What if my focus has gotten diluted by 140 character Twitter posts and instant Facebook updates that refresh every minute or so?

And then I started reading "The Hunger Games." That book grabbed me from the very first page.

I could not put that book down. I didn't click away. I didn't do laundry. I didn't cook. I didn't move from the love seat in my living room, and I read the entire book in one day. Which made me think perhaps what social media has actually done is to make so much information available all at once, that my brain has been trained to skip quickly from one source to another, in search of the information that's most compelling. Yeah. I like that idea better.

How about you? Have you noticed a difference in your focus since you've been using social media? And what great books did you read this month?

~~~

This post is the second in a series of monthly updates, chronicling my attempt to read 25 more books this year than I did last year. I'm doing this with help from The List - a list of book recommendations from readers of Jumping Tandem. Feel free to join in! Click here for all the details. And then click the tab at the top of this page to find The List.


These are the other truly wonderful books I'm reading this month:


   

Sunday

"For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust."

~Psalm 103:14, NRSV

~~~

Welcome to Sundays. Join us! Please, use this as a space to let the Word speak, and let's keep our own words small today. Link up with a photo and just a few, brief words of inspiration. Then, grab the Sunday button from the tab at the top of the page to post over on your page. Please be sure to take a minute or two to visit the others who've linked up here. Trust me. You will be blessed. It happens every week.

For Real

The best part of blogging is the in-real-life part. The days when the words you write become flesh and sit across from me at the coffee shop. Or when we walk together beside the surf with sand under our feet.

It's when we have to fight to keep our eyes open because we just don't want this day to end. The best part is when I can hear the voice behind the words and can squeeze your hand for real and not just type it out in a comment on your Facebook status.

God knew we'd need each other. He knew your words would stir things up in me and move me to live this life in a different way. And He knew you'd write your words out just the way you feel them, so that - when we finally get to meet in person - you are just the way I imagined you would be.

The best part of blogging is the in-real-life part. It's when you're passing through town on your way to a marathon, or a conference, or a business meeting and we steal one hour in the hotel lobby to chat. And we don't have to explain the blogging thing to each other.

The in-real-life part is the best part, and on April 28, real-life meetups will happen all around the globe. It's called (in)RL, and you're invited. You wouldn't want to miss it. Michelle and Erin and I are hosting a meetup here in Nebraska. If you're in the area, we'd love it if you'd join us. Starting at 11:00 AM, we'll be hanging out at Michelle's house, and I'd love to sit next to you on her red velvet couch.

The in-real-life meetups are sponsored by (in)courage. To register for our meetup, or for one in your neighborhood, just click here. The registration fee is $10, and includes a t-shirt. And, if the whole (in)RL thing confuses you, just shoot me an email and I'll walk you through it. You can reach me at jumpingtandem@gmail.com. Because we really want to meet you. In real life.

But don't just take my word for it. Stop by and see what Erin and Michelle have to say.

Things I Know Nothing About

I've got more questions than answers.

In the car the other day, I tried to wrap my head around Lent. I was asking H where it came from and who invented it and if it's in the bible and why it lasts forty days.

And why is it called Lent?

Obviously, Lent is not something I learned about in church.

So it's a bit funny to me that the very first time I have something published in a book real live people can purchase from Amazon and load onto their Kindles for $3.99, it's two essays in a book of meditations. For Lent.

More and more I'm learning, that's the way God operates. So, I'm praying He uses my weakness to show us all just how fantastic He is.

The two essays I wrote for the book are about meekness and mercy - two of the characteristics Jesus talks about in the beatitudes. I talk about H and horses in one of the essays. In the other, I confess about a bitterly cold day in a hospital lobby, where I completely and totally passed up a chance to show mercy, even though it was so obvious I was God's go-to girl for that particular day. Marcus Goodyear, Kelly Sauer, Charity Singleton, Glynn Young, and Sam Van Eman - my friends and colleagues from The High Calling - also have essays in this book. The book is a project sponsored by the church Sam attends, and I am grateful to have been invited to participate.

For those who may be curious, here's how the book is described on Amazon:

In the sixth century, a monk named Benedict devised the “Daily Office” as a way of encouraging the members of his community to focus on God during their regular routine. Since then, many have discovered the value of such ‘interruptions’ for enjoying God’s beautiful, life-giving presence. 

This book offers a series of Daily Offices based on the Beatitudes of Jesus, those timeless words that inspire, comfort, and challenge all who hear them. Over the course of eight weeks, the Scripture readings, devotionals, reflective questions, and prayers in Blessed Are You will help readers slow down and draw near to God—so that souls might experience what they most deeply want and need.

To purchase the book for Kindle, click here. Or, pre-order a printed copy here. And tell me, where did you learn about Lent?

50 Over 95

In yesterday's closing session at the conference in Arizona, Tony Campolo hit it out of the park. Naturally. It's what he does. He stands there in front of the audience with a few notes scratched on pages from the notepad in his hotel room. He's been doing this for decades, and he's not so concerned with what people think of him anymore. He just tells it like it is.

Yesterday, he shared with us the results of a study in which fifty people over the age of ninety-five were asked, "If you had it do over again, what would you do differently?"

Those fifty people gave three answers. If they had it to do over again, they said, they would risk more, reflect more, and do more things that would live on after they're gone.

Tony took those three answers and wove tough and gritty stories for us of how it would look to live like that and - I've got to be honest - I've gotten stuck in a rut of American Dreams and safety nets and comfortable living.

When my life is done and the funeral service is over, I don't want the people sitting in fellowship hall after my ashes have been scattered to look at each other over their fried chicken and potato salad and say, "She sure lived a safe and comfortable life." But that's exactly where I'm headed. If I'm not careful, that's the legacy I'll leave behind.

The last words Tony Campolo said yesterday, before he shuffled back to his chair in the corner of the ballroom at The Boulders were these: "If you can't learn anything from fifty people over the age of ninety-five, then you can't learn anything from anyone."

~~~

With Michelle...

Sunday

Fill in the valleys, 
level off the hills,

Smooth out the ruts, 

   clear out the rocks.

Then God's bright glory will shine 

   and everyone will see it. 

~Isaiah 40:4, The Message

~~~

Welcome to Sunday. Feel free to link up your Sunday post below. We like to keep it simple, so just link up a photo, along with a few simple words of encouragement. Then, visit the others who've linked up here in this quiet community. To get all the details, click the Sunday tab at the top of the page and - while you're there - grab the Sunday button to post over at your place.

Join Me?

I'm at a conference in Arizona. I got up in the dark yesterday morning, caught a flight out of Omaha, and stumbled my way through the day in a sleep deprived fog of bliss. I'm in the desert just north of Phoenix, along with a wonderful group of people from an organization called City Impact.

Last night, Ken Medema sang and then a comedian - Dr. Dennis Swanberg - had me laughing until I thought they'd have to take me away on a stretcher. Over the next few days, we'll hear from my very own H, and Dr. Tony Campolo. But this morning, at about 8:15 Central Time, I'll be speaking.

Today, I'd love it if you'd join me. I'll be telling my Jumping Tandem story. Would you join me by praying? Pray that my words point straight to God, and that what I say blesses the ones who hear. I've gotten to know you over the years here in this space, and I am confident that if you pray, your prayers will make a difference.

I haven't talked much about it here, but I speak for groups and retreats a few times each year, and when H is away, I preach the sermon some Sunday mornings. If you'd like to have me speak for your group, I'd love to hear from you. 

Across The Dark

Last weekend, H and I spent one night away. A couples retreat. It was so cold when we walked outside, I thought my face had fallen off. We ran together in the dark, hoping bits of sand and gravel strewn across the path would keep our feet beneath us. He ran ahead of me and I used his body like a shield against the wind - one hand gripping his arm, the other hand squeezing a wad of his jacket. Tight.


We sat around a fire in the dark and told our "how we met each other" stories while our shadows danced behind us on the wall. When there were only embers in the fireplace, we bundled up and stepped outside again to run back down the hill. I looked up at stars that had been broadcast overhead with wild abandon. "Look up!" I cried to whoever might hear me. "Look up!" And I felt his hand strong beneath my arm, because my feet had gotten all mixed up - not sure whether I'd decided to run down the hill, or stand still to gaze at embers burning in the sky.

Later, I would tell the story of our seventh year of marriage, and how I knew my words might tear it all apart. I only gave the overview - not much detail at all. Because the sensational part can sometimes cloud the part I want them to hear. I want them to know that he has always done this. H has always held me strong when I get all mixed up. Even when he's had every right to just let go and let me fall. 

In our seventh year, when H chose not to let me fall, he chose forgiveness instead, and he taught me something spectacular about God. It was the first time I knew - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that forgiveness is for real, and forgiveness is not cheap, and it is a rare and magnificent thing to have it strewn across the dark with wild abandon, so your feet find solid ground when there is really no place left to stand at all.

Tears Fall Down

She's in third grade, and I sat on the end of the pew so I could look into her face while we talked about her new purse, and the water bottle she'd clipped to her belt loop, and the lipstick she was wearing that her mother didn't know about. Yet.

We talked about my bracelet and I noticed how long her hair had grown since the last time I saw her. "How's school going?" I asked.

"Better," she said.

"Better?" I asked. "Tell me about it."

She told me the story most of us girls could pull from the back pocket of our Jordache jeans, or pour from the water bottle clipped to our belt loop. The story about how the girl who used to be our best friend for life suddenly didn't want to be friends anymore. Wouldn't even look in our direction, and when she turned her back and whispered in the other girl's ear and giggled with her head thrown back, we knew the laughter was all about us. In third grade, stuff like that trumps any concerns about acing the math test or knowing the difference between a noun and a verb.

"It made my heart hurt and my tears fall down," she said. She looked down at the bows on the tips of her shoes and I tried not to let my own tears fall down, because her words described it exactly the way we've all felt it.

"It makes my heart hurt, too," I said.

"But a girl in my class," she answered, "a different girl. She saw my heart hurting and my tears falling down and she came over to me."

"She saw your heart hurting?" I asked.

"Yes. She could see it. And it's better." I thought I would come undone right there on the end of the pew.

I thought about you, and the ways you see so well and make hurting hearts better just by seeing. I thought about the way God is using the internet to build community, and the way He uses community to heal us and put us back together and make us stronger and better. I thought about us - all over the world - meeting up in real life and I could hardly keep my tears from falling down.

And I know your own stories of hurts gone unseen for far too many years could keep you from joining in, but I wanted to just whisper this invitation to you. The invitation to community - in real life. It's a chance to meet up with women, right in your own ZIP code. Women who know about Jordache jeans and water bottles and dreams that don't come true, or come unraveled at the seams. Women who see hearts that hurt and tears falling down. Women who know about chocolate and laughter and tea and coffee. Women who know about babies who won't sleep at night, and adult children who can't seem to find their way. Women just like you. Building community. In real life. Watch the video first, and then - for more information - click here. Or, visit Heather, who wrote about (in)RL last Friday, or Kristen, who will write about it tomorrow.

And in the comments? Well, in the comments, ask whatever questions you may have about (in)RL, or tell me where your heart hurts. I'd love to pray with you.

To register for (in)RL, click the button at the top of the page.

~~~

With Michelle...

Sunday

God can pour on the blessings in astonishing ways so that you're ready for anything and everything, more than just ready to do what needs to be done. 

As one psalmist puts it, He throws caution to the winds, giving to the needy in reckless abandon. His right-living, right-giving ways never run out, never wear out. This most generous God who gives seed to the farmer that becomes bread for your meals is more than extravagant with you. 

He gives you something you can then give away, which grows into full-formed lives, robust in God, wealthy in every way, so that you can be generous in every way, producing with us great praise to God.

~II Corinthians 9:8-11, The Message

~~~

Welcome to Sunday. Feel free to link up your Sunday post below. We like to keep it simple, so just link up a photo, along with a few simple words of encouragement. Then, visit the others who've linked up here in this quiet community. To get all the details, click the Sunday tab at the top of the page and - while you're there - grab the Sunday button to post over at your place.

Hair-story

It's February, and feel as if I've gone out on a limb today. I've told a bit about this life I've lived, in this skin and hair that I wear, in the country where I live. It's just a peek behind a door I don't usually open too wide, because this world is changing so fast and - at the same time - it sometimes pulls itself up short.

So I wrote a bit about it the way I've sometimes felt it - the beauty and the frustration and the legacy and the confusion and the humor and the love. The editors at The High Calling decided to publish it. I'm grateful to them for hanging out on this limb with me.

To read Hair-story, click here.

Dance

The sun has hung itself in the low branches of the tree outside my window. It hangs there like a disco ball, and I can hardly bear it because this day has been one of the ones I'll always remember as perfect. Even this - the way the sun tucks itself between the branches at the end of the road. It rests at the perfect angle to slip itself in through the window. It warms my cheekbone and makes me squint as I type through light-diamonds glistening on the tips of my lashes.

Winter made a fashionably late appearance, her skirts twirling and bare shoulders glistening - mouth turned up in a smile. She laid out her finest and left us breathless and we have soaked it in and soaked it up and we can't stop singing and standing at the window, or pulling over to the side of the road to trudge (because skipping is impossible) through snow that comes up to my knees and tries to spill in over the tops of my boots. I trudge to take pictures of the celebration, and trees decked out in white jewels against a turquoise sky and I hope the trudging looks like dancing when you see me as you drive by. It's all so beautiful, I can bearly stand it.

Pictures cannot do it justice. And the songs I sing aren't nearly good enough to express just how much I thank God. He spent the weekend painting the world in beauty, and then extended his hand to invite us all to join the dance.

Can you hear the music?

~~~

With Michelle...

...and (on Wednesday) with Laura, too...

...and, in celebration of my One Word for 2012: 

Sunday

You've always given me breathing room,

a place to get away from it all,

A lifetime pass to your safe-house,

an open invitation as your guest.

~Psalm 61:3,4, The Message

Today, I'm also over at (in)courage. Come join the celebration!

~~~

Welcome to Sunday. Feel free to link up your Sunday post below. We like to keep it simple, so just link up a photo, along with a few simple words of encouragement. Then, visit the others who've linked up here in this quiet community. To get all the details, click the Sunday tab at the top of the page and - while you're there - grab the Sunday button to post over at your place.

Week End

I've got this long list of things to do today. And, because it's raining and the wind is blowing, our valiant watchdog is cowering in corners and walking on my heels whenever I get up to fill my cup. I am trying to meet deadlines and juggle things that cling around my ankles and try to make me think they're what's most important. Right in the middle of it all, I'm thinking of you and wondering if you're juggling, too. Or if you've found a quiet corner here at the end of the week.

May your weekend be filled with wonder, and with peace, and with shelter from the storms...

67%

"A significant portion of the bible was written by an inmate."

~Ruth Karlsson, Released and Restored

Nebraska has ten prisons, and four of them are in Lincoln - where I live. In those prisons are 4,500 men and women, and of those 4,500 people, 98% will be released. Eventually, 98% of all inmates in Nebraska will get out of prison, and they will go home. Every year, the state of Nebraska releases 2,100 inmates to return to their families, their neighborhoods, and their churches. Every week, someone is released from prison. Every inmate has parents, and most inmates have children.

67% of inmates released from prison or jail will re-offend and return to prison.

I listened to these statistics in church last Sunday, when Ruth Karlsson stood in the pulpit - a single braid down her back and a face that radiated something beautiful. Grace, I believe. 

I wrote down the statistics. Numbers don't lie. 

Scattered around the sanctuary - mixed right in with the retirees and the writers and the young couple keeping their baby entertained - were people who have had personal experiences with the prison system, and the truth of that 67%.

I think God meant for church to be a place that beats back that 67%. I think that's what grace looks like.