The Practice of Giving Up

I first heard of Lent when I was about 10 years old.

My older, wiser, much more mature cousin who was 17 had been on a student exchange with a Catholic girl from Germany who practiced Lent by giving up chocolate. I had never heard of such a thing, but even at that young age, I could see that giving up chocolate for any period of time would be a sacrifice.

This information seeped into my subconscious and I recalled it years later when I was in Bible college. I had dutifully gained my “freshman fifteen,” as those extra pounds were referred to, during months of eating cafeteria food. This was pretty serious for me and I figured perhaps if I threw some religion at the problem, it might be easier for me to rid myself of my extra baggage.

So, during Lent, I gave up all desserts and chocolate. I stuck to my commitment and I did lose some weight and I did gain some insight into sacrifice. However, I also gained a stockpile of goodies for as soon as Lent was over: Easter chocolates my unit mates gave me, white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies and a huge piece of Black forest chocolate cake saved from supper trips to my roommate's house in town, treats from care packages from far-away family members. Good Friday came and I shoveled in chocolate and sweets with relish – until I was sick. And I thought that was about the dumbest way ever to celebrate Good Friday.

In the following years, I continued the practice of giving up something for Lent as a way to purposely consider what Christ had sacrificed in order to spend time on earth, including his ultimate sacrifice of life. I found this a helpful discipline and often a startling wake-up call to realize what a hold minor vices, like chocolate, had on me.

And then came the year when I gave up misery for Lent.

This was a life-changing experience for me. My husband and I had moved to a community in the States to work with Mennonite Central Committee. It was a community far from family, far from familiar, far from “comfortable” for me. It had grocery stores that stocked self-rising flour and cornmeal and grits and hominy, but not one small bag of bran could I find to make plain old bran muffins. The bank in town refused to cash perfectly good Canadian cheques. Community suppers consisted of soupbeans and cornbread instead of chili and buns. I had neighbours I hadn't met; I went to work at a job where it felt like there was nothing to do; and I was terrified of driving around curves where one wrong move would send you careening over the edge of a mountain. I was unhappy. No, I was miserable. I didn't see how I was going to survive the remaining 18 months of our term. I didn't see how I could give up chocolate for Lent under these circumstances.

So I decided to give up misery instead. Each day I purposely let go of my resistance to the reality in front of me. I made a point of not being bothered by the crazy people who tailgated me around curves in the road – they could either pass me or wait. And I prayed hard. And I searched for things to be thankful for. And my eyes were opened to the beauty around me, I learned to drive with ease, I met my neighbour during that time who became my good friend for the next four years, and I learned that I could control my mind – my mind didn't have to control me. It was astonishing and life-giving. I felt like God performed a miracle in my life.

And now – what? I have done the chocolate thing again some years, to greater or lesser effect. This year Lent snuck up on me while I wasn't looking and I had no plan in place. I was rather glad I hadn't decided to give up chocolate since Lent started early this year and includes such chocolatey events like Valentine's Day and two family birthdays! But somehow since my year of “Giving up Misery for Lent,” my Lent sacrifices have felt kind of flat; they haven't been life-changing or eye-opening. But is that the point of Lent? It seems to me that the focus of Lent should be on Christ, not on me. That whether I'm miserable or happy or somewhere in between, that it is Christ's sacrifice that makes my life worth living. That regardless of my feelings or my token sacrifices, it is my obedience to God that matters more.

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice

and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and provide the poor wanderer with shelter -

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn

and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Isaiah 58:6-8

Lent is the season of preparation before Easter. It is a season of prayer, of service, of self-examination, of sacrifice and fasting. And I do think picking one particular thing to give up for a season is a good discipline and a helpful tool in refocusing. But perhaps it is just a small exercise to prepare for the greater “fasting” of daily self-sacrifice, of daily service, of daily commitment to following Christ and his teachings.

So whether I give up chocolate or internet or anxiety during this particular Lenten season or whether I forget until day 8 of Lent that maybe I should “fast” from something, and whether my fasting experience is life-changing or drudgery, it is considerably less important than whether each day I have my eyes open to the moving of God in this world and being moved by that same God to make this world a better place for others.

Maybe I should give up reading books for pleasure....

That would give me more time to pay attention to God's moving and to make this world a better place....

Ouch.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways...

Today is Valentine's Day, and I've spent the week surrounded by hearts and glitter and counting, so this one's for my sweetheart...

This is us on our first Valentine's Day as a married couple.  

We look essentially the same as we did almost 15 years ago, right?!?

1. I am thankful for the ONE unique you. I am thankful that even after all these years together, I'm still learning new things about you and the more I know you, the more I love you.

2. I am thankful for your TWO eyes that see the world through a completely different perspective than mine do. I think we keep each other balanced and your perspective keeps me grounded and more open than I would be without you.

3. I am thankful for the THREE beautiful children we have created together. They are our grandest accomplishment together and I'm so glad we can parent them together.

4. I am thankful for the FOUR places we have lived in all our years together. I'm glad we have shared so many experiences in so many different places. We have been blessed in each of those places and we have grown together in each of those places. I anticipate being many more places together with you.

5. I am thankful that the love between two has grown into love between FIVE. I am glad that our home is a place of peace and comfort, security and love, and that you have made serious efforts to make that so.
   
   
6. I am thankful for the SIX Chinese geometric shapes that we know about.

7. I'm going to stop at SEVEN because seven is the number that connotes perfection and completeness and wholeness. Perfection might be a bit of a stretch for us, but together we make a complete relationship, a whole friendship. I am so thankful you choose me all those many years ago and that I had the good sense to pick you. Thank you for being in my life, for smoothing off my rough edges, for helping me to see things and think of things I likely wouldn't pay attention to without your pointing them out. Thank you for your commitment and loyalty, for filling in my gaps and covering for me when I need covering. Thank you for being my Valentine every day of the year.

“This is my lover, this is my friend.”

Song of Songs 5:16

Been Doing Some Rearranging

So, I missed last week's blog post – I was busy having my life rearranged.

In just over 30 hours, my life got sent down a path I couldn't have conceived of just days before and I was heading in a direction I hadn't even been considering. I was compelled to make a decision with dramatic repercussions in a very short amount of time, so suddenly it literally took my breath away. Me - making a snap decision! Me – for whom the physiology of my personality demands that my mind always take the longest and most circuitous path in processing thoughts and decisions! Time was both compressed and stretched last week.

But my experience last week also made me grateful – that I have a life to be rearranged; that I was offered this opportunity; that the need was laid so clearly before me that there was no confusion as to the act of service that was required; that I was available and qualified to fill the need;  for the astonishing, humbling support.

As overwhelming and sudden as this change of course has been, so has the grace given been sudden and overwhelming. I happened to be reading Ephesians when all this was transpiring and in it I found my aim in my new position, the power needed to accomplish it, and my hope for the whole endeavor.

My aim: “...live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be                                  completely gentle and humble; be patient, bearing with one      another in love.” Eph. 4:1-2

The power: “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know...[God's] incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead....” Eph. 1:18-20

My hope: “Now to [God] who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory...forever and ever. Amen.” Eph. 3:20-21

Enough – abundant, sufficient grace.

Blue Monday

This past Monday was Blue Monday – the (unscientifically) saddest, most depressing day of the year.

Blue Monday fell on the coldest day of the winter this year here: -34° C, with a windchill of -43° C.

Incidentally, it also fell on the anniversary of my first introduction to Mortality. I remember the day, the supper, when the phone call came that my beloved Grandma had died, suddenly and unexpectedly. I was five. Death smelled blue, pale blue.

It seems to me that Mortality has been skulking around this winter, flashing it's black and ugly coat.

Earlier this winter, I was at the funeral of an older gentleman, the church filled with friends and family, children, grandchildren, great-grand children accumulated over many well-lived years.

A few short weeks later, I attended the funeral of a childhood friend who died suddenly and unexpectedly. It was heart-wrenching to see her grieving parents, her little motherless children, sitting bewildered in the front row.

The evening before Blue Monday, we were invited over for supper with a kind older lady, who told us of her son who had been killed in a vehicle accident many years ago. He had been five at the time. Had he lived, he would have been the same age as me.

I have too many friends and acquaintances my age who are being compelled to look Mortality in the face because of illness and disease. And this uncomfortably compels me to look at Mortality out of the corner of my eye. I thought this was a state for old people, for people twice my age, not for me.

It just reminds me again and again that one doesn't know how much time one has in this life. It may be long, it may be short. One may get some forewarning as to the nearness of the end, or the end may pounce suddenly and unexpectedly. But one is assured of an end; it is only the how and when that are unknown.

Which makes the how of living the life one has that much more critical, important, momentous. To value the moments and the days. To cherish relationships, to make the most of opportunities, to pursue dreams. To forgive and be forgiven. To do good and not harm. To live in a way that is worthy of the gift of life that one has been given.

Above all else, guard your heart,

for it is the well-spring of life.

Proverbs 4:23

Inspiration, courtesy of Fancy Nancy

It seems to me it must be a rare glittery, pink-and-purple-y six-year-old girl who's not inspired by Fancy Nancy.

My daughter got some money at Christmas to buy herself a book, and she chose a set of four Fancy Nancy books. She had looked at all of them, but I read the first one to her on Saturday. It was called, Fancy Nancy Ooh La La! It's Beauty Day.  In this book, Fancy Nancy sets up a spa in her backyard; her client is her mom. When I was done reading it, my daughter and I agreed that setting up a spa would be a fun thing to do. So, my daughter immediately set about collecting the necessary items for our own personal spa in the playroom: brushes, a chair, a towel, nail polish, of course, and a few other things.

Right after lunch, the spa was ready for the grand opening. Except, contrary to the book, in our spa, the mother was the aesthetician and the daughter was the client (I wonder how that happened?). We had the book on hand so we could follow all the steps accurately.

We decided to skip the squashed banana-and-honey face mask outlined on the “Fantastique Face Mask” page and proceeded to the next step, the “Marvelous Manicure.”  I massaged the client's hands and applied hand lotion. I also snuck in the weekly chore of nail cleaning and clipping (not listed in the book!), which is so much more agreeable when one is in a spa than when one is half asleep and ready for bed. There was a surprising lack of resistance to this activity in this particular venue! I might have to keep that in mind for future reference.... And of course, after studying the instructions carefully, I applied the pre-selected nail polish.  

Then, on to the “Perfectly Posh Pedicure.” The book called for a “soothing sea salt foot soak” that included sea salt, a squeezed lemon and a tub filled with warm water and marbles. We had no sea salt, so we made do with coarse salt; we had no lemons or even lemon juice, so we added a drop of vanilla; a large bowl was hauled out of storage; and the marbles were procured from a generous older brother. After soaking my client's feet in the tub, I also massaged her feet, clipped her nails, and applied lotion and nail polish.

Lastly, were the cosmetics section (the powders made her cough) and "The Coiffure."  This, like the nail clipping, also has varying effects depending upon the attitude and timing of the beautician. Gentle combing and braiding while sitting in the afternoon sun on a lazy Saturday afternoon is quite a different experience than trying to drag a brush through tangly hair quick before the bus comes on a Monday morning! 

We had a lovely time at the spa, my daughter and I. We even traded roles for a bit at the end, and it felt glorious.

As I was massaging her hands, my daughter had remarked how nice it felt, so nice that it kind of tickled. I knew exactly what she was talking about. She noted, too, how when she tickled herself, it never really tickled, and why was that? Why did it have to be someone else doing it to you to make it feel so nice, so much better?

I thought about her comment later and about what I hope my daughter will eventually learn for herself. Will she think she always needs to be spa-perfect to be acceptable? Too often we as girls, as women, or perhaps as humans, feel the need to drum up some reason as to why we are acceptable or to prove that we are valuable – to others, to ourselves. And yet it's like tickling: it just doesn't have the same effect when you try to affirm your own worth yourself. It always falls a little flat. Though I struggle in this area myself, I want my daughter to know that we always have access to that Someone Else who accepts us now as we are, who sees us as beautiful – spa or no spa, who gives us value.  We only need to open our hearts to accept the immeasurable love of God.

The Lord your God is with you;

he is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you,

he will quiet you with his love,

he will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17

Owl

Greyness is just beginning to creep along the eastern horizon and steal between the black winter hills as the Great Horned owl rouses himself from his perch on the low oak tree one last time for the night. Perhaps with daylight dawning, some of the animal kingdom will begin to stir and provide him with a meal.

The owl's eyes, brilliantly suited to hunting in the dark, glow yellow. His majestic wings lift him effortlessly into the clear icy night sky. He opens his powerful beak, built to tear limbs from the bodies of prey, to call one last time that distinctive “whoo-hoo-oo” before catching an up-draft and soaring into the breeze.

From his height above the snow-covered hill, the owl catches sight of a slight movement down below – a hare cautiously making its way along the relative safety of a row of trees between two fields. Suddenly, the owl is plummeting silently to the earth, it's sharp, weapon-like talons extended, ready to snag and lift the animal into the air, the rabbit still unaware of the imminent danger.

It is really just a little thing, hardly more than a centimeter across, a tiny bit of metal wire, twisted around itself, the barbed wire that catches the owl in mid-flight. It's almost inconceivable that such an insignificant thing would stop such a powerful creature, a creature with such strength and prowess.

Yet, the owl hangs, wings spread wide. It struggles valiantly to get away, despite the searing pain. But it's majestic wings are no match for the barbed wire; its powerful beak is impotent against a foe it cannot reach; its weapon-like talons cannot snag that which has snagged the owl.

In the cold, with no way to release itself, the owl succumbs to its own inevitable death as the sun breaks over the horizon and fills the sky with vibrant reds and pinks.

Short hours later, the man emerges from the woods into the clearing of the fields, fills his lungs with the frozen air. He notices the strange form, unmoving, inches above the snow, and investigates.

Had he arrived earlier, would the owl have let the man release him and save him from certain death? Owls have been known to attack humans, and any animal desperate for life can be dangerous to its rescuer. The man untangles the owl's feathers from the barbed-wire fence and carries the frozen body home. A great creature felled by so small a thing. A tragedy.

And us? When we get snagged on the barbed-wire of sin, are we not as powerless to rescue ourselves? Are we willing to acknowledge our insufficiency to save ourselves, to submit to the only One who can release us from our bondage? Are we prepared to allow ourselves to be disentangled from death - death of relationships, of a family bond, death of a creative spirit, of a future, death of love, of hope – to accept life from the One who comes along just in time?

             For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in

                                      Jesus Christ our Lord.

                                                               Romans 6:23

            We have escaped like a bird,

                   out of the fowler's snare;

            the snare has been broken,

                   and we have escaped.

            Our help is in the name of the Lord,

                   the Maker of heaven and earth.

                                                               Psalm 124:7-8

One of my favorite songs.  I love this version by Owl City:

For those for whom it matters, my goal this year is to post to my blog on Thursdays.

A Life Filled With Good Things

On the windowsill above my kitchen sink, there sits a decorative tin box that holds and displays little cards with Bible verses on them. I spent all $13.47 of my income tax return on it a number of years ago.

This morning, I took out a new verse to display just before I began doing the dishes.

My initial thought was, what a delightful and true way to start the new year! Here I was doing dishes because we had food to eat; I could see my three beautiful, healthy children outside playing in the snow together; my husband was already off working at his job; I had just spent the last week warmly surrounded by extended family, celebrating Christmas. I was anticipating getting the household back to normal after several weeks of decorating, shopping, gift-giving, and attending Christmas events. My life is filled with good things!

My second impulse was to feel “bad.”  Here I was, feeling contented with my happy life, getting ready to go back to “normal” and yet how many people in this world, in my own community, in my own circle of acquaintances, wouldn't love to go back to “normal” but cannot? People who are facing life without a loved one, people whose illnesses have not yet been healed, whose broken relationships have not yet been mended, whose problems have not yet been solved? How could I be happy when all these others are facing heart-rending challenges or losses?

And yet...

Ann Voskamp writes in her book, One Thousand Gifts:

                    How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is

                    joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the

                    suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does. The

                    brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and

                    all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and dis-

                    cover joy even in the here and now, they are agents of change

                    who bring fullest Light to all the world. (p. 58, emphasis mine)

I will always be able to find someone who is worse off than me and also someone who is better off than me. I could spend my life feeling badly for the suffering or feeling envious of the wealthy. This is a seriously tempting option, except that I have recently been reminded again that sometimes it is the suffering who are rich and the wealthy who are suffering.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I sometimes feel like I should be cautious about being too happy, like I may use up my life quota of happiness too soon and just be left with sorrow. Or that being thankful for what I have means I am uncaring towards those who have to live without. However, I am going to choose instead to spend my life in gratitude for what I have right now and trust that God will grant me the grace I need when I am the one suffering, and a spirit of generosity when I am the one with abundance. So here's to a year full of joy and gratitude, grace and generosity! Happy 2013!