Lamentation

Holy Saturday

Let my prayer enter into your presence;
incline your ear to my lamentation.
Psalm 88:2

a morning for lament

the burdened wait of mourning

a prayer made of weeping

flung from a grief-laden heart

and received

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Barren

Good Friday

Be not far from me for trouble is near,
and there is none to help.
Psalm 22:11

now

stripped away

now

bare stillness

now

I hold

keep watch

for mercy

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Sounding

Maundy Thursday

My days pass away like a shadow,
and I wither like the grass.
But you, O Lord, endure for ever,
and your Name from age to age.
Psalm 102:11-12

I sit in silence and hear
the echo of ancient poetry
sounding still across centuries
carried on waves of sorrow
and solace
determination and certainty
relentless

this voice will not be stopped
it began before me
will sing to generations
yet unimagined
and now calls to me
even me
who can only be a whisper
of the love that created me

the chant carries me into this now
witness of tenacious hope
like a lenten rose
pushing forth through the snow

Troubled

Wednesday in Holy Week

Day and night the watchmen make their rounds upon her walls,
but trouble is in the midst of her
Psalm 55:7

steps out of sync
I walk in, through the everyday
struggling also to keep to the sacred path

outward offers distraction
inward promises trouble

troubled thoughts, troubled waters, troubled soul
tribulations and trials
to come

yet
when the angel troubles the waters
healing is on its way
the savior standing by

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Collapse

Tuesday in Holy Week

The Lord has heard my supplication;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
Psalm 6:9

I fling unformed words of appeal
I grasp at wisps of gratitude
my way strewn with unruly prayers


I am so small and my God so vast
and even so, she gathers up each entreaty
each tear, each nascent hope
each attempt at love
so nothing is lost
even as all unravels
and the way darkens





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Unnavigable

Monday in Holy Week

The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
Psalm 51:18

Now the way twists
elusively familiar and utterly alien
rock-strewn, convoluted,
unimaginable

There is no hope now
but to face into this time

I do not navigate this way
so much as give into it
one foot in front of the other






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Falling into love

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

May there be no breaching of the walls, no going into exile,
no wailing in the public squares.
Psalm 144:15

I brace myself for what is to come, anticipating the difficulty ahead. The resistance. The pushback. The breaches of respect and compassion. The loud voices raised in reproach. The soft voices selling anxiety. All the ways the enemy will use to pull me off balance.

I try to center myself with prayer, to fortify myself with recollections of solace and support. I look for the goodness that is deep within me and in the world around me and in those who travel closest to me. And then I let go of my own defensive stance.

I will fall into the hands of God. I will lose myself in the beauty of a mournful hymn which sings to the depths of my soul and carries me in its resolution to the certainty that those hands will not let me go.





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Some Doubted

Sermon preached at the Chrism Mass
Diocese of Bethlehem
March 22, 2018

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’
Matthew 28:16-20



Several years ago, I was brought to my knees by a sermon that Bishop Jack preached at a Chrism Mass. I was not in a good place to begin with, and I listened to Bishop Jack tell his personal story of getting lost along the way in his ministry—and I knew that I was lost too. I practically cried my way through the vows, wondering how in the world I could ever keep them.

But some doubted.

Here we are on the cusp of Holy Week hearing a lesson about the resurrection. Here we find the eleven on their way to meet Jesus: the Jesus who has been resurrected. They go to their sacred place, and find him waiting there, just as he said. And they worship him. But some doubted. Even then, even there, even after all that…some doubted. We don’t know the flavor of that doubt. Did some have feelings of uncertainty? Or lack of conviction? Were they afraid to believe with their whole hearts? Were they worried that all this resurrection stuff was not real? Were they more comfortable with the rabbi from Nazareth they thought they knew, than with the Son of God?

But here’s the thing. Their doubt didn’t faze Jesus a bit. Jesus commissions them all. “They worshipped him;but some doubted.” And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go!”  Go. Make disciples. Baptize. Teach. Some doubted…all were sent. What kind of ridiculous idea was that? From who’s strategic planning playbook did that come? Well… it was Jesus’s plan. God’s plan. The plan that landed each one of us here. The doubters participated in getting us here.

Here’s the thing. I suspect that the “some” who doubted were not always the same “some.” I bet that on any given day, some doubted and others did not. I bet they took turns. I’m pretty sure that the road that got us here is paved with faith and unfaith, belief and unbelief, doubt and conviction, as well as a whole variety of prayers. You know what some of those prayers are… “Help” and  “I’m sorry” and “Thank you.” This is the blessing of Christian community, that we can care for one another. That on the day when we just can’t pray, someone else is praying for us. And when sorrow ravages our soul, a sister is there to offer solace. And when we share our joy, it is multiplied by our friends. And when we are laid flat by doubt, someone believes for us. In fact, Jesus believes in us.

Some doubted, all were sent.

When I have been the one with the doubts, some of you have carried me through. And I’m not just talking about my clergy colleagues. You, the people of the diocese of Bethlehem, have been there for me. You, fellow Christians along the way, have been there for me. And I am grateful. Because I cannot possibly do this alone. That is a lie of the enemy. That we are in it alone, that it all depends on us, that we don’t need anyone else. And close on its heels is another more subtle and thus more dangerous lie, that we need some of us and not others. That we can do without the doubters, or without the “others,” or without those people who are just not quite like us. But Jesus knew better. Some doubted, all were sent.

This lie of the enemy needs to be pulled up by its roots and brought out into the light of day, into the brilliant illumination of Jesus’ love for us, so that it may wither and die. We need one another, and we need the saving power of Christ. And God has given us both. God’s promise is that not one of us will be lost. God will not let go.

After that Chrism Mass many years ago, I picked my sorry self up off the floor of this cathedral and called one of you—one of my companions along the way. And by “you” I mean any of you and all of you. And you listened to my doubts, and you did not judge me, and you did not fix or advise me, but you welcomed me and you let me know that we were in this together. You reminded me that God loves me, always. And whether you knew it or not, you embodied Jesus in that moment and in many moments since, proclaiming the truth of our savior’s promise: I am with you always—each of you, all of you—to the end of the age.

We are all loved. We are all in this together. We are all sent. Let’s get going.

Tired and good

Friday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Be not far away O Lord;
you are my strength; hasten to help me.
Psalm 22:18

As I wake and stretch into a new day, I find myself thankful for the exhaustion of the night before, even as some of it still lingers. It is the tiredness that comes after hard work on worthy tasks, the feeling of being spent and knowing it was worth it.

It has been a week of dramatic extremes, both in the exterior world and my interior one. One day a Nor’easter buried us in snow, and the next day warm sunshine melted most of it. One day I was in a hard place, the Lenten journey wearing me down and joy hard to come by. The next day, I discovered ways to be at ease with the journey even when difficult, and the day after that found I had made strides forward with some personal development on which I am working. Even within a given day, I have found myself anxious with indecision, calm with confidence, wrestling poorly with imperfect circumstances, and filled with unexpected gratitude.

Spiritual work can be tiring, but what keeps me going is the knowledge that the Holy Spirit is at work in me, transforming me. In my lifelong formation into the person God has created me to be, I will continue to encounter times of struggle and times of respite and times when the way will be extreme. The only way forward is to give myself over to God’s unfailing help.

Content

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent

But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother’s breast;
my soul is quieted within me.
Psalm 131:3

I look up from my book and realize a comfortable quiet has settled on the room. My husband and daughter and I all sit reading, an individual activity and yet a communal one as well. We are at this moment connected by contentment. And by years of living together, striving together, sometimes in concert with one another, sometimes in discord, always learning more about loving one another. The evening quiets around us and I am comforted by the stillness.

Sometimes I simply find my soul encompassed in peace. Sometimes, a serene heart seems hard to come by. At all times, God surrounds me with love, and occasions to learn love, and opportunities to hand things over to God’s loving arms.

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Decisions, decisions

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

The heart of your word is truth;
all your righteous judgments endure for evermore.
Psalm 119:160

“I appreciate an unambiguous snowstorm,” I say to my husband early in the morning. Schools and businesses are closed, several inches already cover the streets, and the snow is still falling. A couple of weeks ago a called-for storm missed our area and preemptive closings were for naught. But today, there is no doubt that limiting travel and staying home if possible are wise choices.

Sometimes discernment easily results in clarity. It is simple to determine the path ahead and the right choice is obvious. Sometimes, even when striving to follow Jesus, a point of decision can be fraught with uncertainty, a solution indeterminate, the best way forward ambiguous.

However, I have learned that living in the tension of ambiguity can be a place of freedom, where there is not one correct answer, but a variety of creative approaches. God did create a world of diversity and imbued us with reason and imagination.

So today I am grateful for when the way is clear and grateful for when uncertainty leads to greater understanding. And I am grateful that God’s truth is broader than my mind can encompass and that it is God’s judgment which endures.

First things first

Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
it is he who shall keep you safe.
Psalm 121:7

I unwrap the piece of chocolate and am greeted by a saying, “Save the best for first.” I smile as I wonder exactly how I might follow this playful advice. What would it look like to put enjoyment first?

Here in the midst of the Lenten wilderness, where I find myself slogging along (and indulging in chocolate because the way is hard), can I allow myself a taste of the goodness and joy and freedom that lie ahead? Even as I struggle still to root out the evil that troubles me, to banish the enemy from my path, to shake free of the demons of doubt that plague me, I am surrounded by the goodness of God.

And more than that, I am not in this alone. I have so many friends and companions on this journey with me, praying with me, walking alongside me, sharing my burdens. And offering me gifts of energy, creativity, and laughter along the way

And more than that—Jesus is here. Always. I have never been in this on my own. First and foremost comes the best—my savior, my rock, my true joy.

Clean sweep

Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent
Feast of St. Joseph

Let them be like chaff before the wind,
and let the angel of the Lord drive them away.
Psalm 35:5

I pick up the shoes, the sweater, and the scarf and head toward the closet. Along the way, I toss the dirty socks into the laundry basket and put the book back on the shelf. The water glass and the empty coffee cup need to make their way to the kitchen where, of course, the dishwasher must be emptied of the clean dishes before it can be loaded with the dirty ones. I continue my journey around the house, picking up and putting right.

Some days, I wish my soul could be straightened up in the same way. What would it be like to walk through its compartments and clean up the nagging thoughts, sweep away misgivings, put away the spiritual clutter so that there would be more room for God to move freely in my life?

I stop and take a breath. And I pray for God’s spirit to move through me, clearing the doubts from my day, like chaff that the wind blows away.

Thinking slow

Saturday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Whoever is wise will ponder these things,
and consider well the mercies of the Lord.
Psalm 107:43

I settle into an afternoon blessedly free of demands and appointments. I approach my list of things that must be done with a sense of ease because I do not have to hurry. I can take the time to think.

So many times, when I take a breath, I find that those things which seemed so urgent settle down into their reasonable selves. It's as if tasks, issues, and even stubborn problems quiet themselves when I take the time to ponder them, when I can give each one my attention rather than juggling them and throwing out quick response after quick response.

Sometimes, I have little choice but to move fast. But the temptation is to get caught in the mode that assumes quick decisive action is always best. The enemy would have me believe that contemplation is a luxury.

But I belong to a God who created rest, who made respite holy. The one who called me into being imbued me with the capacity to muse, to imagine, to study and reflect and deliberate. To think slow.

Now, I allow my mind to wander and to wonder, and consider well the wisdom of God.



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Unexpected mercy

Friday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
and his mercy endures for ever.
Psalm 107:1

By the time I realize I am in the cash-only lane rather than the ez-pass lane, it is too late to change. I have cash, but no ticket because I entered the turnpike through the express lane. I wait for my turn at the toll booth with unease because this is going to be difficult to fix. The last time I messed up on the turnpike, the toll booth guy yelled at me.

My turn comes, and I roll down my window apologizing for being in the wrong lane. "That's OK," comes the reply, "we all make mistakes." And the man smiles as he quickly solves the problem and I am on my way.

So simple. So unexpected. So powerful. I feel like I have received a blessing. Like forgiveness has been poured upon me. Like I have been absolved from a host of larger failings. Like I have been told I am worthy.

Mercy is not a small thing.

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Astray

Thursday in the Fourth Week of Lent

O God, you know my foolishness,
and my faults are not hidden from you.
Psalm 69:6

A car pulls up in the lane next to me at the stoplight and the driver waves at me, rolling down his window. Realizing he wants to speak to me, I roll down my window as well. “Is there a hardware store around here,” comes the question.

The answer is yes, but I struggle for a moment to think of how one would get there from here. The route becomes clear in my head and I quickly give him directions as the light turns green and we both move on.

A few moments later, I realize I have pointed him in the wrong direction. I have told him to turn right at a junction where he will need to turn left. There is no going back. I cannot correct the mistake or apologize later. He will have to find further help from some other quarter.

There are times when I give poor directions, supply wrong information, and inadvertently lead others astray. Sometimes I have the opportunity to correct these mistakes. Other times I am left only with regret. Then there are the times I have no idea I have been at fault.

I say a little prayer that the traveler finds a better guide and arrives safely at his destination. And even though he will never know, I offer an apology as well. And I offer to God my shortcomings, this one and the others that will trip me up today. It’s all I’ve got. And today, it will have to be enough.

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Overlooked

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

When your word goes forth it gives light;
it gives understanding to the simple.
Psalm 119:130

I smile and say hello to the receptionist as I sign the visitor’s book. My greeting is almost automatic as this is a place I visit often. Then I pause as it dawns on me what her work actually entails, and I take a moment to thank her. Hers is an important job. She is the first point of contact for those coming into this place. She greets them, directs them, assists them. She offers hospitality to strangers. Those she encounters may be at ease, or lost, or confident, or distressed, or rude, or confused, or pleasant. Regardless, her job is to create welcome and offer direction and comfort—and, in between the visitors, to accomplish other administrative tasks that the organization needs.

There are so many people I encounter on any given day who ease my way, who remove obstacles from my path without my knowledge, who work to create a place of welcome for me when they don’t even know who I am.

There are so many people that I overlook and gifts I fail to notice. My own gifts and the gifts of others. My lack of attention does not negate these spiritual offerings that adorn any day. They are waiting, ready for me to see them, take them in, be nurtured by them. The Word of God is at work in the world, lighting my path, easing my way.

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Connection

Tuesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

When many cares fill my mind,
your consolations cheer my soul.
Psalm 94:19

As I kneel in church and fold my hands for prayer, I am taken back to my childhood. Somehow this ritual gesture always sends me to the first church I remember, kneeling with hands folded, convinced that this posture itself was vital. I believed that God would best hear my prayers if I whispered them into my clasped hands. Like some kind of divine intercom system.

Now, so many years and places later, I still bring my worries and wonderings and wants to God in prayer. I am committed to the connection. Whether I am kneeling in church or meditating in a comfortable chair at home or awake in the middle of the night flinging my cares into the darkness, I believe God’s hands are there, always waiting, always ready to catch all. The connection itself is my consolation, my comfort, my treasure.




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Marking the way

Monday in the Fourth Week of Lent

For I am persuaded that your love is established for ever;
you have set your faithfulness firmly in the heavens.
Psalm 89:2

I walk into my office and see the post-it notes all over my monitor. I had left them there last week when I was overwhelmed. Each one says, "Thank you Jesus." I wrote them after I had been overwhelmed with gratefulness.

And today, after time away, they greet me. Like bread crumbs or stones left to mark a path, they are there to remind me of the way. Even, or perhaps especially, as I wend my way through the landscape of Lent, through temptation and forgiveness, repentance and reconciliation, humility and soul searching, it is gratitude that I discover when I am broken open, and thankfulness that draws me closer to Christ.

God is faithful. I do not travel alone.

Flourish

Saturday in the Third Week of Lent

Lord, you have been our refuge
From one generation to another.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or the land and the earth were born
from age to age you are God.
Psalm 90:1-2

The tree definitely looks smaller. The man from the nursery came and trimmed all the dead branches off of the red maple in front of our house. It has been needing to be cut back for a couple of years now, but I always seem to miss the window in the early spring when this type of work is best. Now it looks both shorn and healthier, its red buds already evident. I hope it flourishes.

I do not know how old the tree is; it was here when we bought the house 17 years ago.  I don't know how many seasons it has seen, or where it is in its life span. My children have gown up with its presence and I suppose there were children in the house before us and perhaps children who will come after us who will also marvel at its yearly transformation from buds to flowers to leafy green to magnificent fall foliage.

Its lifespan in God's economy is both a blink and an abundance. With its life expectancy of about a hundred years, it occupies such a tiny blip along the timeline of creation. Yet God has adorned this small bit of life with an astonishing range of beauty.

This is the outrageous generosity of God, who loves creation into being and calls all of us to flourish from generation to generation: trees, children, middle-aged women, earthworms, orchids, old men, sparrows, sea creatures, wild beasts, and more. And all.

The expanding list

Friday in the Third Week of Lent

It is a good thing to give thanks to the Lord,
and to sing praises to your Name, O Most High;
To tell of your loving-kindness early in the morning
and of your faithfulness in the night season.
Psalm 92:1-2

I review the day that is past, ready to enumerate moments of gratitude. Somedays, thankfulness is easy to come by. At other times, I find I have overlooked the gifts of grace afforded me. I have learned that it is when I practice gratitude that I become most aware of God's loving presence in my life.

And so, the list begins: For getting to know someone better. For storytelling and laughter. For gaining deeper understanding because I listened. For soaking up some sunshine. For a conversation that called me to myself. For receiving a compliment.

I begin to smile. As my list grows, it's as if my soul expands. I feel like I am breathing in goodness and light. And soon a prayer of thankfulness spills out, and I find myself, once again, lifted up.

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Athirst

Thursday in the Third Week of Lent

As the deer longs for the water-brooks,
so longs my soul for you, O God.
My soul is athirst for God, athirst for the living God;
when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?
Psalm 42:1-2

I wake and am immediately aware of my thirst. I reach for the water bottle at my bedside and know that the small amount left in it will not be enough. I will have to replenish it soon.

My soul is thirsty this morning too, and I am aware of a deep longing beneath the surface of my desire for water. I carry the ache of yearning into my morning discipline of journaling and prayer. What is it I am searching for? What emptiness cries out to be filled?

And I realize I am in the midst of the wilderness. It is the middle of the Lenten journey. Not the beginning, when I set out with determination and a sense of purpose. Nor can I yet envision the culmination as a reality. I do not know if I will accomplish that for which I set out. The middle is muddled and uncertain.

But the thirst reminds me that I know what it is like to be filled. My soul can be replenished as well. After all, I belong to the God who gave water out of the rock and rained abundance on her people on the desert. Even in the complex and confusing middle, where outcomes are unclear and things remain unresolved, my needs are not unmet. The living water is bountiful and offered to me with abundance.

Holy shout-out

Wednesday in the Third Week of Lent

Sing with joy to God our strength
and raise a loud shout to the God of Jacob.
Psalm 81:1

The lively conversation punctuated by boisterous laughter reaches across the lawn and up to the second-floor room where I am finishing some work. I cannot make out individual words, but the familiar voices are like strains of lovely music. Good colleagues, good friends, good companions on the faith walk. We are gathered at a professional conference and are serious about our work-and are also able to see the humor in our endeavors and find joy in our vocations.

I do not have to be in the midst of the merriment to be a part of it. Even from a distance my heart is lightened by joyfulness so abundantly shared, and I am filled with gratitude that God's care for me is embodied in these magnificent human beings with whom I share the journey.

I leave my room and join my colleagues, and soon my laughter is added to the mix, a song, a symphony, a loud shout-out to God.

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Sharing stories

Tuesday in the Third Week of Lent

That the generations to come might know,
and the children yet unborn;
that they in their turn might tell it to their children;
So that they might put their trust in God,
and not forget the deeds of God,
but keep God’s commandments.
Psalm 78:6-7

“Hey, the movie opens this weekend,” my daughter texts, “can I treat you?” She knows the movie is an adaptation of one of my favorite children’s books. A book I adored as a child and lovingly shared with her when she was young. She loves the book too, but even more than that, she values the sharing. She knows I have passed along something precious to her, not just the story within the book, but the story of how I came to love the story and how it made a significant mark on my life, how I admired the author and got to meet her, and how my own mother was a part of making that happen.

I have passed on more to her than the love of one book. I have offered her values, beliefs, ideals. I am sure I have also passed along less useful attributes as well, and she will have to sort that out for herself. In loving others, we hand over ourselves, with our gifts and our shortcomings.

I am grateful for the stories my daughter and I share, for the story that is us, and for the story of love in which we both live.

Restless soul

Monday in the Third Week of Lent

I think of God, I am restless,
I ponder, and my spirit faints.
Psalm 77:3

The last vestiges of the recent storm are fading. The spring squall arrived with astonishing fierceness. Rain became sleet became thick snow in a matter of minutes, as the wind raged downing trees and power lines. Even now, days later, some areas are still waiting for the electricity to be restored.

The day before the storm was all warmth and sunshine. The morning after, the piles of snow quickly began to melt. Even in the midst of the ferocity, moments of calm beauty asserted themselves: large snowflakes falling gently, trees edged with sparkling white, a softened cityscape.

Sometimes my life in Christ is like being caught up in a restless storm. At times my soul is pummeled by the fierceness of need and yearning, and at other times I seem to stumble into unanticipated solace. I am often caught unawares by the power of the holy. A tame God seems so much easier to deal with.




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This forgiveness stuff

Saturday in the Second Week of Lent

"I will appoint a time," says God;
"I will judge with equity."
Psalm 75:2

"It's all about forgiveness," my mentor tells me for not the first (or fortieth) time. In this instance, we are talking about the ancient history of my young life, about hurtful burdens I have carried for so long that I can't imagine them not being essential. This, of course, is a key component of the difficulty. Some part of me does not want to let go of the possibility that I could still make others accountable for the slings and arrows lobbed my way.

But of course, I am the one with the burdens. Holding on to them doesn't punish anyone but me. They get in my way. I trip over them when I am trying to be my best self. They rear their ugly heads at odd moments whispering untruths about me and others. They tell me that they belong to me and only I can carry them. They convince me that bearing them is worthwhile. All lies of the enemy.

So, thankfully, God did not make me judge of the world. I know I would do a rotten job of that.

I'm still working on this forgiveness stuff. And thanks be to God I am not in this alone. Not only do I have gracious mentors along the way, but as it turns out I have a Savior who is all about forgiveness and wants to take my burdens from me.




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Gifts of the journey

Friday in the Second Week of Lent

Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving
and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.
Psalm 95:2

It has been a week of gift upon gift. Conversations have carried unlooked for affirmations. Work proposals have been met with enthusiasm and encouragement. My office has been filled with laughter along with industry. And even as I was giving thanks to Jesus for this abundance, a visitor brought a gift of flowers to welcome the coming of spring.

I need the discipline of recognizing these gifts of grace. I take them out, one by one, and take them in, absorbing their goodness. I do not want to leave them overlooked or underappreciated. I do not want to forget or forego my companions on this journey.

I can be tempted to go it alone. And the irony is not lost on me that during this season of Lent when my path compels me to look for the truth deep within me, acknowledge my faults and sinfulness, and repent, the enemy is close at hand, seeking to lead me astray into false self-reliance. But the call is not to cleanse myself from sin, but to turn back to God. And the God of grace has given me many, many companions on this journey.

Today, I choose not to squander the gifts. Today I will be on the lookout for more, including the friends I have along the way.

Growing up, still

Thursday in the Second Week of Lent

O God, you have taught me since I was young,
and to this day I tell of your wonderful works.
Psalm 71:17

"I just wanted you to know that someone stole my credit card number," my oldest daughter texts, "I'm talking to the bank."

The subtext is twofold. She's upset and wants to reach out to her mom for reassurance, and…she's handling it. I am impressed by both. It pleases me that my relationship with my 20-year-old includes comforting one another, being there for one another. And I do know that this is a two-way street. She also has the grace and capacity to attend to my woes and celebrations.

And then there is the fact that she does not need me to fix this for her. She is on it. Adulting, she calls it, making a verb out of coming into her own.

As a child of God, I am still in the process of coming into my own. My prayer practice of sharing my woes and celebrations and being open to God's word for me keeps me connected to my creator. And as I age, I continue to gain capacity in handling the complexities of life while at the same time learning my limits, always on the curve of discerning what is mine to fix and what is not and what must rest in the hands of my savior.

And along the way, I have raised my daughter in the faith--and she continues to raise me as well.