Category: Uncategorized

Because You Never Know Where You’ll Find Jesus

Is that Jesus? I wondered, peering at a small mini-figure face down among the decaying leaves on the side of a hiking and biking trail. It’s a spot I pass nearly every day, but I’d never seen Jesus here before. In truth, he was easy to miss…a small flash of white amidst the brown leaves and chalky dust that covers everything in the vicinity of a nearby gravel road. Had the dog and I not stopped to let a bike pass by, I wouldn’t have noticed it at all…but here we were and here it was, and so, I stooped down and picked the tiny figurine up between two fingers, holding it out to the dog so she could sniff. While Roxie was disinterested in this bit of weather-worn hard plastic that was neither good for eating or chewing, I was in wonder. How did Jesus get here? And why hadn’t I seen him before?

Sometimes it’s hard to see Jesus, isn’t it? We get so caught up in our own lives, focus so much on our own struggles, our own worries, our own plans, that we miss him, or simply leave him behind. Fortunately, Luke reminds us that Jesus is never really far from any of us–we just need to look more closely and reconnect.

Jesus is always on the move, and it’s often through his people that he makes his presence known. He’s there in the phone call or text that lets someone know they matter. He’s there in the soup kitchens and shelters where the vulnerable gather to partake of a warm meal and get some rest. He’s there in the hospital waiting rooms where a fellow traveler offers a Kleenex and a teary smile. He’s there in the countless hams and casseroles that come to your door when the world falls apart. He’s there when a teacher takes time to check in on a struggling student. He’s there when a coach encourages young players after a heartbreaking defeat. He’s there when someone receives life-saving blood donated by a stranger. He’s there when communities come together to make a difference for their neighbors. He’s there when a customer goes out of their way to let a check-out clerk or server know they matter. He’s there when people in leadership positions make decisions to improve the lives of their employees or constituents, and when they take action to help the most vulnerable members of society. He’s there when churches reach out to others in their communities, seeking to make a difference through acts of love and care. He’s there…always…and everywhere…calling his people to join him in building God’s kingdom here on earth.

As I held tiny Jesus in my hand on the trail, I wondered what I should do with him. Should I put him in my pocket and carry him home? Was this find a gift for me on a beautiful October day?

Or, should I put him back where I found him…facedown on the ground waiting for some other soul to find?

In the end, I placed Jesus on a rickety wooden fence facing the trail. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that Jesus would stand there, heart open to welcome all those who will pass by on their journeys along the trail. And maybe a few will stop, drawn to his inexplicable presence, and find their hearts warmed by the knowledge that they are not alone.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Cutting The Slack

Recently, I’ve been rereading some posts from several years ago, and it’s been a joy to see how God has worked in the intervening years. This is one from 2018. While my then ten-year-old is now 18, he still sometimes eats cookies for breakfast. And honestly, I don’t care, because I know that just as God was with him then, he’s still with him now. Enjoy!

A couple of years ago, my husband, parents and I took a trip to London. It was amazing. We fell gloriously and unabashedly in love with this vibrant, diverse, historic city. The sounds, the smells, the tastes, the sights…it was a feast for the senses. I wanted to bottle it up and carry it home with me, but there’s no way to bottle up a city like London. You can’t ship it home in a box, or fold it into your suitcase. It’s impermeable. However, that doesn’t mean I didn’t try to take some piece of the city back.

I like necklaces–not the shiny, polished, gem-encrusted pendants you find in jewelry stores, but the simple, enameled, stamped, or even carved necklaces that represent a specific time, place, or opportunity. In London, at a gift shop in Buckingham Palace, I found a necklace that symbolized just a tiny fraction  of our magnificent London adventure–a crimson, enameled English rose locket.

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I scooped it up as quickly as possible and snuggled it deep into my overflowing suitcase for the long flight home. I’ve worn the locket several times since I first bought it, and each time the clasp on the back of the necklace slides closer and closer to the pendant itself. In most necklaces, this is an easy fix. One simply pulls the chain through a loop at the top of the pendant until the clasp and pendant form a perfect, parallel line. Yet, the chain links on my crimson English rose are completely dysfunctional. Instead of slipping easily through the loop at the top of the pendant, they get stuck inside. It’s infuriating. No matter how hard I pull on the chain, the links stubbornly refuse to dislodge themselves from the pendant’s upper loop. Finally, I released the slack on the chain, and with the pressure lifted, the link collapsed and flowed easily through the loop, link after link after link. I pulled the chain taut once again.

Often, in our own lives, we hold on too tightly. We rigidly refuse to bend our will, our wishes, our way of doing. Because of this, we get stuck in negative patterns of thinking and being, telling ourselves that if we work harder we’ll be able to put our lives back into balance. My friends, this is a lie. When we try to shape our lives by force, it often ends in dissatisfaction. This is because we’re relying on our own power, our own insight, and our own will rather than on God. Instead of pulling tighter, stretching ourselves thinner, and holding on for dear life, we need to cut ourselves some slack. We need to accept our own humanity, embrace the fact that life is messy, and look to God to order our days.

I know the one-3

Last week, I let my ten-year-old each chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. We had an abundance of them, I wanted them out of the house, and breakfast is not the time or place for a power struggle. He washed them down with skim milk, and I made sure his lunch included whole grains, fruit, and a veggie (like, one mini pepper). I could beat myself up about this. I could berate my parenting abilities, buckle down, and offer some sort of repentance to the faceless online parenting judges. But instead, I cut myself some slack. I accepted the fact that sometimes, the day-to-day minutae of parenting is going to be messy. I’m not always going to make the right decisions, and my kids will sometimes eat cookies for breakfast. However, I trust that God and I are working through this parenting thing together. I lean on him when I don’t know the answers, and he helps me see the path to take.

Just as we need to cut ourselves some slack, we also need to extend that slack to others.  Everyone deserves grace, and we need to engage in the practice of offering it. If we want balance in our lives, we need to seek peace in our interactions and relationships with others. We need to follow Jesus’ example of love and hospitality. And we need to accept the fact that others are human, too. That’s so much easier said than done sometimes. We can’t love as God loves on our own, but only as an outpouring of God’s Spirit within us. When we are focused on God, when we trust and rely on him, his Spirit fills us up from the inside, so that we may share his love and grace with others.

When we let go of our own need to control and perfect, we are better able to focus on God. God is able to bring our lives into balance, but we have to cut the slack and let him have control.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Dandelion Pulling

I wrote this in 2018…and I still can’t get rid of the dandelions in the garden beds! But I think I’m doing better with the inner pruning, because God is a much better gardener than I am.

On a sunny, muggy, Monday morning, I looked out over our front gardens. The flowers were blooming nicely…vibrant purple, orange, white, and green. However, the weeds were growing nicely, too. They tend to do that, especially around our yard, as neither my husband nor I possess much gardening ability. Every so often, we go out and work for a few hours digging up weeds so that the plants have more room to grow and shine. But, inevitably, the weeds return.

As I looked at the weeds eclipsing the flowers, I decided it was time to pull. Most weeds come out with a firm twist and tug around the base of the stalk. But dandelion roots…they grow deep. Dandelions are the perennial flower of spring and summer. They’re pretty and colorful, but they’re also invasive and pernicious. They grow over, under, and through other plants that were intentionally placed within a garden bed until they’ve overtaken the entire garden. In a sense, dandelions are the schoolyard bullies of flower beds.

Dandelion roots are also impossible to pull by hand. They are too deep and too strong. Usually, I have to dig them out, either by hand or with a small trowel. (Okay, I don’t have a small trowel because I’m not really a gardener. I just get the big shovel from the garage to dig them out.) Dandelion roots are very resistant to removal, and they always find a way to come back.

As I was hacking away at dandelion roots, it occurred to me that we all carry dandelions within our being. You know, those anxieties, hurts, insecurities, or even negative patterns of behavior that persist even after we’ve pruned our hearts and grown as human beings. Our personal dandelion weeds are rooted so deeply within us that sometimes, we don’t even remember how they got there. And, removing them requires so much time, strength, and energy we sometimes feel it’s easier to just let them be. However, letting our personal dandelions continue to grow and fester can suffocate the good fruit God is trying to grow in us.

For instance, one of my oldest and most stubborn dandelions roots is insecurity. I’m constantly battling a litany of negative thoughts and feelings telling me that I’m not good enough. Some days, it’s body image. Other days, it’s decision-making skills. Still other days it’s worry that my own failures as a human being are going to somehow negatively influence my husband and children. These weeds wreck havoc in my life, causing me to feel anxious and depressed, and tempting me to just withdraw from the world around me.

God and I have been working on this particular set of weeds for decades. It takes a lot of mental energy and emotional effort. It involves actively searching for the cause of my insecurity when I feel vulnerable, and making a conscious decision to either let the feeling go or do something about it. In other words, I have to actively burn the weed or turn it into something useful. Either option requires effort and a lot of help from God.

I share my own struggle with you not so that you’ll sympathize with me, but so that you’ll see we all have dandelions that impact how we think and act. We all struggle with things buried deep within our souls. But, continuing to let those things grow is detrimental to the work God has called us to do. We can’t do what God calls us to do when we’re weighted down with weeds. If our soul is rooted with weeds, there’s no room for God’s good fruit. And God’s fruit is SO good!!

Imagine a life where the above nine characteristics thrived within us. Imagine what we might do, what we might say, how our relationships might flourish, how much kingdom work might be done. This is what God wants to plant within us, but we have to make room. We have to prune. We have to self-assess. But, we can’t do it alone. We must ask for God’s guidance and revelation. We need to seek his wisdom and soul-tending expertise. And then, we need to use the tools he gives us to dig out those dandelion weeds so he can plant

the seeds of love,

the seeds of joy,

the seeds of peace,

the seeds of patience,

the seeds of kindness,

the seeds of goodness,

the seeds of faithfulness,

the seeds of gentleness,

the seeds of self-control.

This week, let’s commit do doing some soul-pruning. Together, let’s ask God to help us identify and begin the process of removing our dandelion roots. Then, let’s ask God to give us his fruit for the glory of his kingdom.

Blessing and Peace,

Sara

Stomping Into MidLife

In less than a month, I turn 50. This fact makes me really mad. 50 is not a number I expected to get to so soon. And while I’ve been working more on things like acceptance and letting go of control (skydiving helped), I have mostly been stomping my way into “mid-life” rather ungratefully…or maybe just ungraciously. The other day, as I was getting up from the floor where I had been stretching, I put my hand on the couch to help with momentum. The inner stomper in me was incensed. She yelled in her most gym-teacher like voice: “You have a core–engage it!” The inner monologues have not been pretty.

But recently, something is shifting. I can see it on the pages of my Bible journal–the words and prayers focused more on the present than on the past, more hopeful and curious, more open to new things. It seems that my stomping is slowly easing into a comfortable cadence, and sometimes, I even lose myself completely and take a tiny skip.

Don’t get me wrong…50 still seems like an absurd age for me to be…but for the first time in a long time, I’m looking toward the future with something akin to eagerness. And that’s a blessing. But it’s a blessing that comes with a lot of work.

Matthew 11 is an interesting chapter. It begins with John the Baptist hearing of Jesus in prison, and sending some of his disciples to find out if Jesus is truly who John thinks he is. Jesus tells John’s disciples to report back what they see and hear: The blind see, the lame walk, the sick are made well, the deaf hear, the dead live, the poor have been given good news. Once John’s disciples leave, Jesus turns his attention back to the waiting crowds. But his message is not easy. He condemns the peoples’ overwhelming lack of faithfulness and says that some communities will experience the same fate as Sodom and Gomorrah. Next, Jesus thanks God for showing himself to those who would be deemed unworthy to receive the gospel, and tells his listeners that he is, indeed, the son of God. Only then does he issue the invitation to come to him, to put on his yoke and learn from him with the assurance that his yoke is easy to bear.

It’s a weird sequence of events, but it begins and ends in the same place. People want to know who Jesus is. And he tells them, quite plainly. He is the Son of God. And anyone is welcome to a new life in him.

But while Jesus’ spiritual yoke might be easy, life on Earth, sometimes, is not. We struggle with grief and worry and anger and resentment. We question why God would allow terrible things to happen and wonder in our darkest moments if he’s really there at all. And personally, I don’t think that bothers God. Sometimes people get self-righteous about questioning God, but I’ve always thought that God would rather we bring our questions to him rather than bury them deep down inside. Because God wants to engage with us–at least, in my experience. And when we’re weary with the weight of our world, God wants to help.

I have always struggled with anxiety–not just everyday worry, but a soul-crushing fear that causes me to shiver and quiver and feel physically ill and absolutely consumes all of my thoughts and feelings. Disney Pixar’s Inside Out 2 characterizes it perfectly, by the way. Over many years, I’ve learned to manage my anxiety with a combination of medication and positive mental health practices, but several months ago, I realized I needed something more–another tool in my bag to help me navigate this new space in life. And so, I reached out to several therapists and found one I really like. She asks good questions, and she isn’t afraid to push me when I need to be pushed. Most importantly, she helps me see things in a new way, and she gives me homework and worksheets, which, as a nerd, I love.

And do you know what? I’m feeling a lot better. I have my Circle of Control taped to my wall in my office, and I tell myself things like: This is not my problem to fix. I’m asking my kids what they need from me, rather than just jumping in, and I’m trying to be more present, focusing on people rather than tasks.

We live in a world that is not okay. And lots of people walk around carrying heavy burdens, though they might now show it. Over the past several years, community health experts have talked about a mental health crisis in our country, but our culture, including our churches, have long ignored or disparaged it. That seems to be changing, but we have a long way to go.

I think that God wants each of us to live our best lives rooted in his love. But sometimes, that means asking for help. Sometimes, that means acknowledging that we’re not okay, that we don’t have it all together, that life is hard, and that we might need some extra support. Because, quite frankly, while you can and should pray through anxiety and depression, you’re not going to pray it away. Just as God endows doctors and nurses and researchers and physical therapists with gifts to help treat the body, so God endows mental health professionals with gifts to help treat the mind. The burden of our lives can be made lighter, but sometimes, we need to reach out and take the support God is offering through someone else.

Look, I don’t know if you’re stomping through life right now or if you’re skipping. But if, like me, you’re slamming your feet on the ground, maybe it’s time to try something different. Because life on this side of heaven matters, too, and God wants us to live it to the fullest.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Just Float

One of my favorite things on Saturday mornings (other than the farmer’s market) is sitting with my coffee and reading the weekly essay by Melissa Kirsch in the New York Times newsletter. I have no idea if she’s a spiritual person, but her writing always speaks to my soul. Though prose, it reads like a heart poem, as she explores themes of purpose, love, family, friendship, and the arc of time. Today, the focus was on the midpoint of the year, which coincided with the specific moment when the Earth reaches its greatest distance from the Sun. Yes, it happens in summer…you can look it up. As Kirsch pondered time and space, she wrote these words:

At aphelion, we’re about 94.5 million miles from the sun, a distance so vast as to be unfathomable. What we can fathom: our two feet pressing into Earth, taking up just inches of space. We’re here, now, in this room, in this house, in this town, a body and a mind and five senses taking in as much as we can. We’re so small, but so powerful that we can think and dream and fuss and project entire worlds into existence. And then we think those worlds are the entire universe. Meanwhile, the earth’s orbit continues, the sun goes on shining.

This year, I turn 50–it’s a number that is, quite frankly, freaking me out. I never really envisioned coming to the middle of my life, a time when there are probably fewer circles around the sun ahead than there are behind. It’s weird and unsettling. My kids are, according to the law, grown. One has started his own life away from us, and the other will soon follow. My perimenopausal body is sending all kinds of hormones careening wildly throughout my bloodstream and I can’t seem to regulate my temperature. I keep having this existential crisis of purpose, and my brain is on overdrive so that resting seems wrong because I have to make every moment of whatever time is left count. It’s at about this point that the anxiety spiral I have always struggled with kicks into overdrive and my brain becomes a ticking time bomb of doom. Everything seems fraught. Everything seems tilted. Everything seems wrong.

Fortunately, I have a great therapist who listens to my anxiety-fueled fears and asks challenging questions to help me reset and reframe and still the storm within–mostly by consistently pointing out that the things I get wound up about aren’t in my control and I need to let them go.

As Kirsch wrote, I think and dream and fuss and project entire worlds into existence and then think they’re the entire universe. But if I pause for a moment and look around, I realize that Earth keeps going and the Sun keeps shining. I can’t help but think of Job, sitting in the wreckage of his life and crying out for something, anything, to help alleviate his misery. But when God finally speaks, it’s not to assuage Job’s grief, but rather, it’s a reminder to look up and look around.

 God goes on in this vein for 4 more chapters! It’s incredibly beautiful, and you should read it. But God’s point, I think, is this: He is bigger than anything he created. And we are very small.

Some people might read God’s response to Job and think that he doesn’t care–that he’s some distant being looking down on humanity with dispassion, an omniscient narrator, if you will, passively watching events unfold. However, I don’t think that’s the case at all. God isn’t dismissing Job’s pain, he’s helping Job reframe it. He’s asking Job to consider the wonder and majesty of all creation–four chapters worth–so that Job not only sees the bigger picture, but finds his rightful place within it.

The other night, we had a church-wide pool party at our local aquatic center. I love swimming. There’s something about moving through water that calms me. The weather had been unpredictable all day, and huge mountains of clouds towered above us . And yet, the sun shone through from behind those clouds, illuminating them in the most brilliant peaches and pinks and golds I’d ever seen. It was stunning, and I took a moment to just float and marvel at God’s creation. When I finally went to bed later that night, I couldn’t stop smiling. The water, the cloud-show, the community reminded me that I am a very small part of something much bigger.

The world is not centered on me. I have no universes to create or order. I just have this day, this moment, this breath in which to be. And sometimes, that’s all God asks of us, to just float in this single moment while he does the hard work of creating and sustaining.

I don’t know what worlds you’re fussing to create right now, but I do know that it’s okay to pause from the strife and the fear and the compulsion to do and to just float and look at the sky and remind ourselves that we are connected to the God who created the universe and all that is in it. In doing so, we remember that God cares about us enough to reveal himself in those small moments of wonder and awe, and that he’s a much better architect than we will ever be.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Taste and See…

I woke up this morning with the following verse stuck in my head–weird, I know, but that’s life inside my brain.

I love eating good food. Eating is a sensory experience that combines taste, texture, smell, and even sound. I love leaning over a bowl of flour that’s co-mingling with yeast and breathing in that rich, warm…well…yeasty smell. And then there’s the satisfying smoothness of the sticky dough as it coalesces into one solid shape. I love the sound a loaf of bread makes when you thump it after it bakes–it’s like a timpani drum. And, of course, there’s the joy and wonder when you break through the crunchy outer crust to find the soft melt-in-your mouth center.

One of the most powerful qualities of food however, other than the fact that it keeps us alive, is that when we pay attention to eating, the experience sears itself in our memory, so that years later, you might find yourself suddenly transported through time and space with one bite of bread or pie or tomato, or watermelon to people and places that have long since gone, but that helped to shape who you have become.

I often think about my Grandma Ruth when I eat fresh strawberries. When I was a kid, we’d spend a few weeks each summer with my grandparents at their house in the Ozark Mountains. My grandma had a big strawberry patch, and each day, she’d dole out cooking pots to the grandkids and let us go gather the ripe berries, which we’d then wash and freeze for the winter. I must confess, I’m a bit of a strawberry fiend, and when I found a warm, ruby-red ripe berry nestled beneath the green leaves, I couldn’t resist popping it into my mouth. There’s a natural sweetness to home-grown strawberries that you never get with the store-bought ones. And to eat a fresh strawberry warmed by the sun is an almost sacred experience. On those berry picking days, my pot was always nearly empty when we came inside, but my grandma would just laugh and say, “Sara! You’re going to turn into a strawberry!” That was fine with me.

We picked blackberries, too–little round purplish-black fruits that grew wild next to the woods. You had to carefully work your way around the thorns, and I got pricked more than a time or two, but the end result was an explosion of flavor that was tart, with just enough sweet to keep you diving back into the thicket for more.

As I’ve been pondering Psalm 34:8, what I keep hearing is an invitation. It’s an invitation to experience God’s goodness by going out into the world and enjoying the things he has made. Taste, God says. Eat the good food. Savor the experience. Relish the fellowship of sharing a meal with friends and family. Taste, and in the tasting, see that I am good.

I don’t think that God wants us to shut ourselves away from life–to be dour and frumpy and self-righteous about everything. God didn’t create the world in shades of gray, rather, he painted in bold strokes of color and infused it with the most remarkable flavors from cinnamon to saffron and everything in between. Life can be delectable, and when we experience that burst of sweetness from a sun-ripened berry, it’s a reminder that God is good and that he loves us and that he wants to show that love to us in tangible ways. But more than that, tasting and seeing builds important connections in our brains that can sustain us as we continue to grow and change and work our way through the seasons of our lives. A blackberry bush reminds me of my grandma, who could, if I’m being honest, be both prickly and sweet herself. There’s power in those memories–a rootedness that I need–a reminder of who I am and where I come from.

And over it all I hear God saying, Taste and see that I AM good, and you are welcome to take shelter in me.

Of course, I am more than cognizant of the fact that there are millions around the world who have no access to good food, and for whom life holds little abundance. The sad truth about hunger is that there are more than enough resources to go around, we just need to do a better job of helping everyone thrive. For me, that includes supporting organizations, both local and global, that seek to ensure all people have food.

I have long contributed to the work of Heifer International, a group based out of Little Rock, Arkansas that seeks to end poverty and empower individuals by providing them opportunities to become self-sustaining through farming and livestock practices.

I also have been blessed to volunteer at Harvesters Community Food Network in Kansas City. This organization does SO much with their resources, working to ensure that all people in the KC area have access to good food.

There are so many organizations seeking to help others taste and see that the Lord is good, and they need our help now, more than ever. Together, as a people of faith, we can bring God’s love to people in real and tangible ways.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Unfolding

This past week, we lost one of our family dogs, Charlie. And while, at almost 12 years of age, I knew it was coming sooner rather than later, I didn’t know it would come now. I have felt an acute sense of loss over the passing of this cuddly, goofy, whiny, stinky, demanding old friend. He was love, in every sense of the word–always there, always joyful, always full of hope. But as the tears have fallen, I’ve realized that I’m not just mourning a dog. I’m mourning the end of a season–the closing of one more book in the series of my life.

Our boys were just 6 and 8 when we brought Charlie home. Next month, they will be 18 and 20. The dogs and the boys grew up together, and now that both old dogs are gone, I feel that the last link to the boys’ childhood has been severed. There’s a finality that I can’t quite wrap my head around, an understanding that a new season is unfolding. But it’s hard to let the past go.

I found a picture the other day of my oldest crouched over the dining room table with a fanny pack buckled around his waist and a silk band tied around his head ninja warrioring his way through 5th grade math problems. Then there were the plethora of pictures of my youngest, his impish grin ever present, eyes twinkling at the camera as he’s just finished some mischief I have yet to discover. Sometimes I find myself wondering where those boys went. It’s the same when I look at pictures of myself as a girl–the confidence, the optimism, the sense that the future is a long ribbon unfolding before you full of amazing stories to be written.

Now I sit at the precipice of 50. My boys are grown. Their dogs are gone. The generation that raised us and trained us is getting older. We’ve lost parents and mentors, teachers and friends. And Charlie’s passing seems to encapsulate all of that–all of the letting go beyond simply saying goodbye to a furry companion and friend.

But God reminds me that there’s a time for everything–a season for every purpose under heaven.

A few weeks ago, I went outside on a glorious Saturday morning. I was feeling sad, but the Sun beckoned me out of the darkness of my feelings and so I went to sit and read and pray and think. I took Charlie with me, and after he sniffed around the bushes for a bit, he did what he always loved to do and spread himself out in the sun to bask in its yellow warmth. It occurred to me that the world was incredibly green, as recent spring rains had brought all of nature out to play. I wrote a poem about spring green, marveling at God’s handiwork all around, before settling into the hard work of soul tending. And as my old dog lay in the achingly green grass soaking up the sunshine, I thought about time and change and seasons of life and I wrote these words on the inside cover of my book:

4/25/26

10-something A.M.

It’s occurred to me that, as I am sitting on the porch staring at the grass and trees and dog, that I am in a season of unfolding. I have no idea of summer plans, schedules are in flux, decisions yet to be made. People are in different places–how will it all unfold? How will I unfold? And so, I wait. I watch. I still the questions. I accept the unfolding.

Come back later, I feel God saying. Look back next year. We’re still in progress.

Of course, we’ll always be in progress. But, as God has shown me time and again, there is much to learn and love in the unfolding.

So, let’s go. Let’s sit. Let’s wait. Let’s unfold, God, you and I. Here I am–work away!

Changing seasons are hard, but they’re beautiful, too. Have you ever seen a green so bright, full, and all-consuming as the green that explodes forth in early Spring? It’s like being in the midst of the Emerald City, and it completely captivates me. It’s a promise that, no matter how our lives change, God isn’t going to abandon us in the loss of yesterday. Rather, he’s already at work in the future, adding color and beauty and joy and love to whatever will unfold as we write our next story.

And so, I’m working on letting go–of dogs, of boys, of halcyon memories that were only one part of this tale called Life, and I’m easing my way into the next part, opening myself to new understandings and experiences and challenges, and adventures. I have no idea what it will look like, but I know that God will exceed all my expectations.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

What’s the Value?

I recently read an article about the joys of spring cleaning and organizing. Then I looked around my house. At this moment, my craft table is covered with an assortment of items: hiking shoes (that the dog was chewing), dog leash, fabric cutting tools, ironing board, sewing machine, three books of poetry (two lying open), one biography, three calendars (one current), one glove (again, the dog), a Bible, a sewing box, two devotional books a friend gave me, a box of note cards, and a pair of socks my son got for Christmas and abandoned.

As I contemplate bringing order to this particular brand of chaos, I am not filled with joy. In fact, I’m more likely to just walk away and let it be, because honestly, when I want to read a poem, it’s really helpful to have some laid out and ready to go. But then that little wiggly, creepy-crawly uncomfortable feeling of judgement comes worming its way into my brain. You know what I’m talking about…that voice that says you’re obviously a bad person because you have clutter in your house. Because dust is a sign of shiftlessness, right?

I’ve been thinking lately about how we assign moral values to so many weird things in life. Culture tells us that a spotless and well-organized home is the marker of someone with strong moral fiber. It also tells us that if you’re not running around like a chicken with your head cut off, then you obviously are not using your time wisely, and that if your yard is a bit weedy then something is wrong with your overall character.

I could tell you stories of over 20 years in ministry about what this does to one’s soul…but I won’t. Suffice it to say, I have learned that when Paul said to forget what is behind and strain toward what is ahead, I think he meant leaving behind the judgements of the world, too. Instead, Paul says:

And what, pray tell, is that prize? In Philippians, Paul was specifically speaking about the resurrection of the dead–of attaining eternal life in Christ. And how do we do that? Jesus was pretty clear:

It’s interesting to me that so many of the things we assign moral value to aren’t things that Jesus talked about at all. Even when meeting with the woman at the well, who lived under such judgment that she had to draw water during the hottest part of the day, Jesus didn’t condemn. He offered her life instead. Jesus looked at people with compassion. He saw their needs. He saw their hurts. He saw their shortcomings. He saw their mistakes. And he said, “Come to me.”

Jesus didn’t assign moral values to things like organizing, ironing, and gardening. He didn’t look at those who were impoverished and tell them to work harder. He didn’t see children running about and tell their parents to get control, either. He didn’t review someone’s grades and say, “Well, I guess you’re out.” And he certainly didn’t open the door to a vehicle and go, “Bleuhhhhh!! What is wrong with you?!?!” (This, I do every time I get into my son’s car. But in my defense, I found an ossified half-eaten cheeseburger once.)

Instead, the people that Jesus mostly passed judgement on were the religious leaders who had invented so many rules for people to follow that they were bound to make mistakes. He also condemned them for being hypocrites and for not really loving God, as evidenced by their lack of justice and compassion. Jesus didn’t assign moral value to the things of this world, but rather, to the work of God’s kingdom. So why do we insist on assigning moral value to anything other than that?

If Jesus walked into my house and stood before my craft table today, I don’t think he’d purse his lips and give a stern, “Hmmm…” He might pick up a book of poetry and share some thoughts on a favorite verse. Or he might say, “If no one’s wearing those socks, I think I know someone who could use them.” But maybe he’d just smile and say, “I’ve always loved the way your brain works. Now, tell me what you need.”

What would it look like if we stopped assigning moral value to things that don’t really matter to Jesus and, instead, started focusing on the things that did? What would it feel like to let go of feeling judged and not good enough and, instead, to put our time and energy into doing the kingdom building work that Jesus actually called his followers to? What would the world be like if we spent our time and energy seeking justice, proclaiming the Gospel, making disciples, and bringing healing? Can you imagine living in a community where judgement was released and love was embraced? How beautiful and wonderful that would be!

As humans, we’re never going to get it completely right. Fortunately, God knows this and offers grace. And if God offers his grace so freely, who are we to withhold it from others…or even ourselves? Let’s be a people of grace, focused not on what the world values, but on what Jesus values. Love God. Love others. How hard can that be? 😉

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Zondervan NIV Artisan Collection Bible Review

Now that Spring is officially upon us, I’ve been enjoying the pops of color arising from the ground. It’s a reminder that there’s life in that dark earth, and that it will reveal itself when the time is right.

This past week, I’ve also been perusing a couple of new Bibles for review. Spring holidays are a great time to gift a Bible–from Mother’s Day to many graduations and weddings, Bibles are a lasting gift that invite loved ones to a deeper relationship with God.

The Zondervan NIV Artisan Collection Bible is perfect for gifting! The covers, designed by artists Kerry King, are absolutely beautiful and evoke all the hope and promise and whimsy of spring. But more than that, the simple text structure allows room for Bible journaling or drawing–whichever you prefer. There’s no commentary with this Bible, just the Word and ample space for contemplating using your own artistic gifts.

I actually think this would make a fantastic graduation gift. You can pair it with some colored pencils, a multi-colored gel pen set, some bookmarks, and even some stickers! This Bible is everything a student would need heading off to high school, college, or even into a career.

There is a simple beauty in the Zondervan Artisan Collection Bibles, and it’s a great invitation to experience God. Better yet, you can get one for yourself, journal/draw/paint your way through, then give it to a loved one so they can add to the story!

You can purchase here. It really is a beautiful book that opens doors to experiencing God in a deeply meaningful way.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara

Don’t Fight It

I like solving problems. It makes me feel productive–and useful. If there’s a situation that needs to be resolved and I am in the vicinity, then I act or speak. My husband is the exact opposite. If there is a problem, he thinks about it. And thinks about it. And thinks about it some more. I don’t understand this. While he’s thinking I’m chomping at the bit. I throw out one suggestion after another. I grab the car keys. I find the number for the plumber. I pull up a YouTube tutorial. But still, he thinks.

Though maddening in the moment, what I have come to realize over the years (and begrudgingly appreciate) is that my husband isn’t not doing something , he’s reasoning the problem out. He’s looking beyond the immediacy of the situation to find a long-term or lasting solution that is likely much more logical and practical than anything I would rush off to do. And while it’s infuriating, it also makes a lot of sense.

This morning, as we enter into the final stages of the Passion journey, I’m reflecting on Jesus’ measured approach to his arrest and subsequent trial. Jesus has shared Passover with his friends. He has announced that one will betray him, and given them a new covenant to observe. He has prayed alone and in anguish while the friends who have sworn to stand beside him fall asleep. And he has been filled by God’s spirit to finish what he was born to do. So when Judas brings a mob to arrest Jesus in the middle of the night, Jesus is calm and steady and focused on what he needs to do.

Surrounded by a group of angry people wielding weapons and intent on harm, Jesus doesn’t react in panic or fear. He doesn’t try to bolt. He doesn’t spit in Judas’s face and scream, “Over my dead body!” He doesn’t grab a sword and start swinging. Instead, he looks at Judas and simply says, “My friend, go ahead and do what you have come for.”

Jesus saw the big picture. He knew that he and God were rewriting history. And so, while it made absolutely no sense to those rash problem-solvers like Peter, Jesus went willingly and silently with his persecutors. And he changed the course of history in the process.

Instead of fighting the powers that be, Jesus followed THE power that is and was and is to come. And though the next few days would be awful and agonizing and astonishing, all of humankind would benefit. When I consider Jesus’s act of thoughtful love in the garden so long ago, all I can do is say, thank you, and then seek to share this story of amazing, life-changing love with others.

We live in a culture that feeds on rashness. We speak, act, and jump into the fray with little thought to the consequences or plan. Today, Jesus is reminding me that, sometimes, we need to think further ahead. We need to focus on the divine plan, and let God’s love lead us forward, even if it means not reacting in the moment. Even if it means giving up our own power and authority. Even if it means sacrificing our plan to follow God’s.

As we move toward Easter Sunday, I would encourage us all to pause from reacting in the face of whatever might come. Instead, seek the silence. Seek the garden. Seek the foot of the cross. Seek the tomb. Hold it all–the pain and sacrifice, the fear and confusion, the loneliness and abandonment, the weight of crushed dreams. Be still and wait before the Lord. Be still and know that he is God. And he has a better plan.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara