Daily Visitation

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

Indeed, there is not a word on my lips,

but you, O God, know it altogether.

Psalm 138:3

At dinner, we decide to light the fourth advent candle on our wreath, even though we are two days early. When I was a child, we used to light the next candle at dinner on Saturday, anticipating the dawning of the new week to come. I’m not sure why. I do remember as the youngest child eagerly waiting for my turn to light the candles. This night, my spouse lights the candle as I say the prayer.

“Purify our conscience, Almighty God,” I pray.

“By you daily visitation,” he responds.

I need this prayer before my Advent journey collides into Christmas Eve. I do feel ready for the rapid succession of events about to unfold. And I also want to remember, and hold close, the daily visitation of the God who loves me. Who knows even the words on my lips before I speak.

God broke into the world as an infant long ago. God continues to break into weary hearts. And the Morning Star continues to rise and the darkness will not overcome it.

 

In the midst

Friday of the Third Week of Advent

Give me the joy of your saving help again

and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.

Psalm 51:13

Raucous children filling the parish hall with laughter as we prepare to rehearse the pageant. Musicians practicing familiar carols both quiet and robust. Long-time friends chattering as they work contentedly bringing out all the ritual trappings of the season. The sounds of preparation surround me, pushing away noisy distractions, creating holy space in the midst.

In the midst of unready-ness. In the midst of shortcomings. In the midst of doubt. In the midst of hardheartedness. In the midst of sorrow. In the midst of expectation.

In the midst of a world both broken and full of loving-kindness a manger lies waiting to once again receive the gift of Love.

Not wanting

Thursday of the Third Week of Advent

Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle

The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not be in want.

Psalm 23:1

I have to consciously breathe my way through the store, focusing on my list and not allowing my senses and my soul to be captured by all that is on offer. I can get so easily overwhelmed by commercial appeals, brightly colored items arrange attractively on shelves, and aisles that lead me to more stuff. I thought this was going to be a one stop trip. I am now at my fourth store.

The enemy is always close at hand at the holy times, a friend tells me. Well of course. What better way to disrupt the peace brought by the One who embodies healing and mercy than to lead me astray on my way to the manger with anxious thoughts that I need more in order to be OK.

I escape with my final purchase into what will be the longest night. At dinner, we light three candles on the Advent wreath, doing our part to usher brightness into the world. The ritual reminds me there is more illumination to come. I am not in want.

 

Crossing paths with majesty

Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent

We have waited in silence on your loving-kindness, O God,
in the midst of your temple.
Psalm 48:8

The narrow road winds through the trees, unlit except for the crescent moon that peeks between bare tree limbs. It is only 5:00pm, but it feels like the middle of the night as I travel this unfamiliar route to an unfamiliar destination. I drive with caution because of the unfamiliarity, the darkness, the rain, and the real possibility that a deer might jump into my path.

But it is not a deer. I see a car coming towards me slow to a stop, and I slow too as my headlights pick up shapes crossing the road. Not deer. Ruffed grouse.

I wait in silence and awe as three of these majestic birds cross the road, one fanning her tail feathers in a regal display that I can see in the cross beams of the car lights.

Here in the middle of the woods in darkness and rain and on an unfamiliar road, I am in God’s temple, watching as God puts on a grand display of love and life. In the dark and unfamiliar roads of Advent I also watch, waiting for the majesty of an infant to cross my path. 

image credit: Cornell Lab of Ornithology

 

creating/creativity/Creator

 Monday of the Third Week of Advent

If we have forgotten the Name of our God,

or stretched out our hands to some strange god,

Will not God find it out?

For God knows the secrets of the heart.

Psalm 44:20-21

I open the new pack of felt tip drawing pens with a sense of devotion. I had forgotten about them, only discovering them in a drawer when I was looking for something else. I don’t know when I bought them, but I am sure I did so as a treat to myself. I have another pack, well-used and missing at least one color, which I have had since high school when I won an art competition and used the gift card I received to purchase some high-quality art supplies.

Just taking in the newness and brightness of the pens brings me pleasure. And also a note of caution. I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to art stuff. Several drawers of supplies for unfinished projects, a few craft kits unopened, boxes containing the ends of things (bits of fabric, used bottles of glitter glue, scraps of decorative paper) that might be useful someday.

I wonder. Does my grasping for and holding on to creative supplies actually clutter the creative process? When I surround myself with fine materials, do I make idols of the stuff, when what I need is just to immerse myself in the Creator?

Obstacles

 Saturday of the Second Week of Advent

Send out your light and your truth,

that they may lead me,

and bring me to your holy hill

and to your dwelling.

Psalm 43:3

The setting of the December sun quickens our steps as we want to complete our hike before the daylight gives out. And then. A large fallen trunk across the path impedes our progress. It is amazing to me that trees in the forest just fall over. Majestic towers giving themselves over as water and loosened soil deny their roots anything to grasp.

I know that this obstacle in our path is not intentional (although my spouse points out, rightly, that if this were a novel or a game we would now be in the midst of an ambush.)

The obstacles on my way to the manger are not put there by some divine presence to stall me. As if the birth of God into the world was in any way attuned to my daily meanderings. The assault of commercialism, the tasks to be accomplished, the fear of disappointing others. These are impediments to which I subject myself.

After a few moments of discerning the best way over the fallen trunk, we are on our way. Heading into the coming dusk. Heading home. Heading to the manger.

Sunlit

Friday of the Second Week of Advent

Into your hands I commend my spirit,

for you have redeemed me, O God of truth.

Psalm 31:5

The winter sunlight not only send swaths of brightness across the room, but warmth as well. I pause in my tasks to soak up the light and along with its energy. I could curl up like a cat in one of the sunny pools. Or let the brilliance spur me to creative activity. Either choice leads me close to the manger.

And this is the promise of Advent. The Savior comes. Always. And in all ways. There is no choice I can make, or path I can travel, where Christ is not reaching out to me offering redemption. The ultimate choice of faith, is to place myself, my life, my spirit into the hands of love. 

Unfurling

Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

Commit your way to the Lord and put your trust in God,

and God will bring it to pass. 

Psalm 37:5

The bloom on my houseplant is unexpected. I don’t even know what the plant is; it came to me as part of a basket of blooming bulbs last Easter. The other flowers faded away, but this one bloomed long into the summer, and as its leaves stayed green, I kept it in the front window and tended to it.

And now its tender pink flowers have begun to unfurl in the morning sun. As if getting ready. As if lifting their heads with expectation. As if learning toward a welcome arrival.

This Advent has unfurled rapidly. Can it really be time to lift my head from the tasks in front of me? Should I already be at the door, ready to fling it wide open to welcome the holy guest? Whatever else, it is time to trust in the coming.

 

Arriving

Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

 

For in you, O Lord, have I fixed my hope;

you will answer me, O Lord my God.

Psalm 38:15

 

As I watch, one electric candle in the window switches off, its internal light sensor marking the arrival of the morning light, while the second candle stay alight. Sunlight does not suddenly appear everywhere all at once. Dawning. Waning. Words to describe light as movement, procession.

 

God’s glory and presence are likewise always in motion. Which means I fix my hope on the ethereal yet completely steadfast. The coming of Christ is both a dawning and a breaking in. It is continual. An arrival. Onset. Coming. Appearance. Advent. 

Sighting

Monday of the Second Week of Advent

Show me your ways, O Lord,

and teach me your paths.

Psalm 25:3

The late afternoon feels like early evening as the days continue to shorten. I stand at my kitchen sink, ready to deal with the accumulated dishes waiting to be washed when I notice that the liquid dish soap has spilled onto the countertop. Then I look again. The spilled liquid forms the shape of a heart.

I have a friend who is a runner and often notices heart-shaped rocks along her way. She will stop and take a picture, and then post some lovely thought inspired by her sighting.

Whether it is a stone or a splatter, paying attention makes the difference. Transforming obstacles and messes and unremarkable encounters into signs of love.

Pay attention is the Advent refrain. Pay attention to signs of love, lighting the way through the darkening time to the greatest illumination of all. 

Sustained

Saturday of the First Week of Advent 

I believed, even when I said, “I have been brought very low.”

Psalm 116:9

I wake in the middle of the night, realize I am safe in bed, and go back to sleep. In the morning when I wake again with a sense of well-being, I give thanks to God. Because during the time of pandemic, I woke to anxiety. Each morning I would open my eyes and for the tiniest of breaths all would be well. And then I would remember.

I thought that time would never pass. I cried out to God in my distress. And then leaned into the strength of the Holy One, depended on the prayers of others, discovered the sacrament of community.

And now in ancient rhythms and new patterns I trace the love that sustained me and upholds me still. Love waiting to be discovered and visited in the simplicity and lowliness of the manger.

Ritual

Friday of the First Week of Advent

My boundaries enclose a pleasant land;

indeed, I have a goodly heritage.

Psalm 16:6

I wake to the sounds of the house. The hums and clicks as the heat pushes back the morning chill. The creak of floorboards. The sigh of a humidifier. All familiar. I know where I am.

I wake also to a prayer of gratitude. After several flustered days, I now feel firmly ensconced in this season I love. The Advent wreath on the table, one candle already slightly burned down. The lights in the windows. The crèche ready to be assembled, bit by bit. All familiar. I know where I am.

The rituals which enclose me bring more than comfort. They feed me, clothe me, give me a place to inhabit, and urge me on. Toward a cradle and a holy night. Toward a second coming and a renewed creation.

Strength in hesitancy

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

I love you, O Lord my strength,

O Lord my stronghold, my crag, and my haven.

Psalm 18:1

For some reason, post office errands flummox me, even though I can walk to my local branch and the workers there are friendly. And the building is magnificent: ornate light fixtures, carved details, high arched windows and entryways. The architecture is meant to inspire, evoking strength, stronghold, haven.

The magnificence captivates me as I ponder how a mundane task is awarded such opulence. Yet it is not in the magnificence, but in the space of my reluctance for the task that I look for the holy this day. What is God calling me to examine within myself?

The illumination of Advent can be found in the shadow places. God’s strength present even in hesitancy and discomfort. 

Obstacles

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

Happy are they whose way is blameless,
who walk in the law of the Lord!
Psalm 119:1

The automatic “Thank you Jesus” as I discover chocolate in my desk drawer is probably not the best use of that prayer. Nevertheless, the nonpareils seem to be what I need to jumpstart my sluggish self. Even as I indulge, I know better. Experience has taught me that this shortcut will not address my soul fatigue.

In this and larger life issues my way is not blameless. How could it be? And yet, I will continue to place my trust in the wideness of God’s mercy.

With intention, I wend my way through the obstacles that fluster me and settle myself into the contemplative space. I breathe deeply and pray again, “Thank you Jesus,” this time in greeting. 

Walking in mercy

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

As for me, through the greatness of your mercy

I will go into your house;

I will bow down toward your holy temple in awe of you.

Psalm 5:7

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, I walked. It was a relief to be out moving along the damp, leaf-strewn road. A godsend to fully move my body, incorporate my breath, my arms, legs, and feet as well as the low burn of tendonitis, the slight arthritic ache, the joints that remind me of my age.

After a morning of technical challenges and fixes, trouble-shooting the online world, I found restoration in my physical connection with the outdoors--God’s holy temple. All of myself including my limitations, welcomed by God’s mercy.

Today I begin again. My limitations, my aging, my hesitations intertwined into who I am as I approach Bethlehem this time around. Still counting on God’s mercy.

 

As if

Monday of the First Week of Advent

You, O Lord, are a shield about me;

you are my glory, the one who lifts up my head.

Psalm 3:3

The cold rain. The email scam. The clutter of essential and insignificant papers completely obscuring the hall table. The presumed affronts. All that batters my weary soul. And then. The Advent call to stay awake, be alert, be ready. Impossible.

Surely God cannot be calling me to sleepless nights and anxious days.

And there I go. Barely one step into Advent and already I think I am on my own. As if.

God shields me. My gentle Savior cradles my head. My community reminds me we are in this together, equipped with all the necessary spiritual gifts for collective alertness as we wait for the revealing of Christ. And always, the prayers of many escort me all along the way. 

Almost here...

 

I'm nestled a comfy chair with warm socks and hot tea. Outside it is dark and cold and windy. And almost December. Yes, really.

Coming this Sunday, my daily Advent meditations. Let the adventure begin!

Easter joy!

Monday in Easter Week

Easter joy

is the joy that speaks to the deepest grief

Easter joy comes in the morning after a night of weeping

Easter joy speaks our name

Easter joy changes the very foundations of the universe

and Jesus tells Mary Magdalene to Go!

because Easter joy in meant to be shared

Easter joy belongs to us

because we are beloved of God

because we have already received the promise

of new life and new hope

Easter joy bursts for with every

Alleluia!

Image Credit

inconceivable

Holy Saturday

My sight has failed me

because of trouble;

God, I have called upon you daily;

I have stretched out my hands to you.

Psalm 88:10

inconceivably

morning dawns

on grief

on the ache

of brokenness

on the certainty

that things will never

be right

again

Treacherous

Good Friday

 

Be not far from me, for trouble is near,

and there is none to help.

Psalm 22:11

 

trouble is at hand

distress and suffering

behind and before 

every step treacherous

every breath grief-laden

 

this day holds

no hope

and all the hope

in the world

Dust: reprise

Maundy Thursday

When my spirit languishes within me,

you know my path;

in the way wherein I walk

they have hidden a trap for me

Psalm 142:3

feet that have walked

through dust and dreaming

of reprieve

of revolution

of redemption

feet tenderly held

washed

with humility

with tears

with hope

feet that will yet walk

through dust and desertion

denial, despair

desolation

and will arrive

inevitably

even at a distance

at the foot

of a cross

Lament

Wednesday in Holy Week

 

In the evening, in the morning, and at noonday,

I will complain and lament,

and God will hear my voice

Psalm 55:18

lament weighs down my soul

sits in my belly

unspent

a serpent

coiled

will it slowly strangle

or suddenly strike out

with pain

and poison

if I let go

it may overwhelm me

when I let go

my cry will join the river

of woe

of sorrow

of centuries

and now

as before

God hears

It takes time

Tuesday in Holy Week

 

The Lord knows our human thoughts;

how like a puff of wind they are.

Psalm 94:11

 

Things take the time they take

always

This Lenten journey has taken its time

so will this week

and this day

 

And all of my life

all of human life

all of creation

rests in God’s time

 

My thoughts-

even as I try to wrap my mind

around this week

this walk-

barely a tendril of a breeze

in the mighty tempest of the Holy

No safe distance

 Monday in Holy Week

Cast me not away from your presence

and take not your holy Spirit from me.

Psalm 51:12

there is no safe distance

Judas, friend and believer, tries to distance himself

through betrayal 

and is still welcome at the table

James and John and others

abandon Jesus 

falling asleep in the garden

and then fleeing

Peter, having fled with the others, returns

trying to stay near Jesus

by keeping a safe distance

but is recognized

and then denies

Pilate, the governor

distances himself

denying responsibility

Mary Magdalene

looks on from a distance 

and is not safe from the witnessing the horror

and carrying the grief

there is no safe distance

there is only Jesus

truly God and truly human

dwelling with us

with all our dreadfulness and all our splendor

and as many times as we betray, 

abandon, deny, renounce

as many times as we fail Jesus

Jesus does not fail us

Not yet

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

My soul is athirst for God, athirst for the living God;

when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?

Psalm 42:2

The weather is warm and rainy, an odd combination that makes the day feel out of place. Which is just about right for this turn in the path. Spring bulbs and budding trees thirstily absorb the moisture, greedily soaking up the needed sustenance as they prepare to burst into bloom. But not yet.

Not yet. I have not yet completed this journey. I have not yet reconciled my grief-heavy heart with the promise of restoration. I have not yet assuaged my thirst for fullness, for redemption, for renewed vibrancy. I am not yet replenished.

Not yet.

Preparation

Friday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Let me hear of your loving-kindness in the morning,

for I put my trust in you;

show me the road that I must walk,

for I lift up my soul to you.

Psalm 143:8

As the day begins, I find I am already in need of more quiet. I need to settle my soul. For all that comes next. For the holy walk ahead. For the destination.

Soon this path will twist and turn, taking me from triumph to betrayal, through fear, loss, and abandonment. I will once again behold the relationships around Jesus torn and strengthened, promises broken and kept, hope shredded and renewed. I will stand  witness to all the harshness the world has to offer. And I will still find a way to speak love.

How will I prepare to enter the valley of the shadow of death? For it must be entered. In order to complete this journey. In order to arrive.

Still

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 am not ready for all that comes next.

Nevertheless, it comes. Without my consent or cooperation. Because I am not in charge.

I become still. I quiet myself. I lay my head and my heart against the comfort of God’s grace.

Divergence

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Great peace have they who love your law;

for them there is no stumbling block.

Psalm 119:165

I stop in my tracks, captivated. Like a stream flowing around an obstacle, the brick path I’m walking splits, diverting to either side of the large rock that juts up in its way. 

Clearly there was no removing this rock when the path was laid. And on this stony slope, no alternate route. The would-be stumbling block has become a beautiful sculpture, because a path was able to diverge.

How many obstacles can be transformed by God’s fluid grace?  By holy peace that will always find its way?

Below the rock, the path rejoins, and I continue on my way, arriving surely at my destination.

Waterline

Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Restore our fortunes, O Lord,

like the watercourses of the Negev.

Psalm 126:5

Restoration begins...

Snug

 Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Into your hands I commend my spirit,

for you have redeemed me,

O Lord, O God of truth.

Psalm 31:5

The day grays, and I acknowledge that I did not go for a walk earlier as I had planned when the sun was shining. I could go now. It is not rainy and remains warm enough that a light coat would suffice. But I am comfortable in my chair and my warm sweatshirt with a throw on my lap. I don’t want to move.

While I love to be out in nature, lately I have more often chosen the comfort of feeling snug. Perhaps I am still craving security after all the upheaval and grief of the past three years.

I do know that my safety lies with God. And I have experienced God’s saving presence many, many times--on this Lenten path and on the journey of these past disruptive years. It seems just at the moment when I think I am bereft and none can help, holy hope makes itself known.

So, I will appreciate my comfort this gray afternoon and not scold myself. I will place myself in in the hands of the one who has already redeemed me, and I will soak up the solace that replenishes my soul.

Water stations

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

Partway through the rainy afternoon, I pause to center myself again. The day’s tasks have proved themselves wily, distracting, and inscrutable. I lost an early skirmish with FB. I once again proved to myself (and anyone else who cares) that multi-tasking is only doing several tasks poorly. And I’m pretty sure I had two peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch without noticing.

Past experience tells me it is about that time. This is always the point along the Lenten trail when I find myself pummeled by shoulds and frustrations and resentments. Tools of the enemy to lure me off the path.

Which means it is time to reach for gratitude and mercy, God’s balm which is to be found all along the way, like water stations of living grace. I pause, I ponder, I consider. I cradle my soul in my arms and offer it to the holy one for safe-keeping.

Surrender

Thursday in the Fourth Week of Lent

O God, you know my foolishness,

and my faults are not hidden from you.

Psalm 69:6

Even though the weather has warmed, I pull my sweater close around my shoulders to ward off the spring chill. The day’s drizzle brings welcome moisture even as its dullness dampens spirits.

The surface of my desk has become a bumpy road, strewn with sticky notes, open books, bulletin drafts, and two cups of coffee one of which may still be warm. As the clamor of unsettled details threatens to upend any sense of calm I might possess, I pause. And in the lull I try to find myself.

In the midst of worship planning, website updating, and calendar wrangling I have lost my way. I can tell. Because I feel flustered, and I try to work too quickly, and I keep thinking I can accomplish just one more thing…and one more…and just one more….

As if I can manage these last laps of Lent into submission. 

Instead, I let the lull lengthen. Until the noise in my brain subsides. Until I can hear the patter of the gentle rain, dripping one soul-nourishing drop of living water after another into the well-trodden earth. Until I let go of my foolishness once again. Until I surrender to the place where I am. 

God's day

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Steady my footsteps in your word;

let no iniquity have dominion over me.

Psalm 119:133

It is the bird song that I notice now in the mornings, as if God’s creatures are singing to me personally about the coming of spring. The petite daffodils splash their yellow brightness across the bottom of the yard, and I know the afternoon sun will warm away the day’s early chill. Indoors, my peace lily preens on a sunlit windowsill, its three blooms leaning toward to light.

Creation carries God’s word to me, surrounding my path with cheerfulness, mercy, and reassurance. My heart, my ways, my life belong to God. As long as I remember this, the enemy cannot mess with my day.

Still time

Monday in the Fourth Week of Lent

 

Remember, God, how short life is,

how frail you have made all flesh.

Psalm 89:47

 

How has my Lent gone so far? This is honestly the question I wake with. I wonder. Part of my Lenten practice is these devolutions, taking time each day to mediate on God’s presence and my own sense of journey. Rather than giving up something, I take on this daily discipline of writing, of self-examination, of soul baring.

 

Even so, I can lose track of the amendment of life this season calls for. As the weather warms and bulbs begin to bloom, I want to shed thoughts of sin and repentance like I shed winter coats.

 

The forty days calls me back. God knows my resolve can be flimsy and my love of comfort robust. Yet grace and tradition give me more time, wider space, greater leeway. There is room for missteps and time to recover, recommit, rededicate. Time yet to remain open to where this path takes me.

Mercy soak

Saturday in the Third Week of Lent

Give thanks to the God of heaven,

for God’s mercy endures forever.

Psalm 136:26

Before I sit down in my comfy chair, I refill my large water glass. I have been consciously drinking water all day, perhaps because I neglected to keep up with my intake this past week.

Sometimes I hardly think of the water I drink. Other times, I experience pleasure at the refreshment it provides, and can almost feel it hydrating my cells as I swallow each mouthful. A cup of cool water is a blessing, a kindness, a relief. A mercy.

God’s mercy surrounds us. Sometimes I hardly think about it. Other times, I experience it lifting me out of troubled waters, or providing relief from soul numbing shame, or gently reminding me that I am loved.

Perhaps the rest of my journey will be improved if I also consciously soak up God’s mercy, as if it were a cup of cool water.

Oasis

Friday in the Third Week of Lent

God’s angels shall bear you in their hands,

lest you dash your foot against a stone.

Psalm 91:13

Some days the calm and content settle into my lap without any effort on my part to seek them out or make them be. Pure gift.

On days like these I am aware of joy welling up in my soul as if from a deep spring. I feel close to God, as if we are taking a walk together, enjoying one another’s conversation and company.

Midway through the Lenten wilderness, I drink deeply from this oasis, resting in the hands of holy angels, astonished that this is the place I find myself.

Humility walk

Thursday in the Third Week of Lent

Teach me your way, O Lord, 

And I will walk in your truth.

Psalm 86:11

It is a beautiful day to be outdoors. And honestly, even as this thought takes hold, I examine it. Surely the beauty or goodness or advantage of being outdoors does not depend on the weather. It seems to me that touching the air or ground on any day is vital to being human.

Going for a walk, taking off my shoes and standing on holy ground, connecting my body to the earth from which it was formed, remembering that I am dust. These actions remind me that I live and move and have my being within God’s creation. Not outside it. Not over it.

I am in constant need of this reminder, this humility. Walking in the wilderness, walking through Lent, walking in God’s truth. 

Spacious light

Wednesday in the Third Week of Lent

Your word is a lantern to my feet

and a light upon my path.

Psalm 119:105

I cannot help but feel my spirits lift as I walk into the bright afternoon sunshine. With the time change, my body clock is of course off, and I keep thinking it is earlier than it is. I expect the sun to be going down as I arrive home. Instead, the day feels stretched out, as if I have all the time in the world.

I linger in this feeling of expansiveness. I take note. Because of course God’s time is not kept by clocks or governments, or limited by appointments, or curtailed by the start of the next zoom meeting.

If my life is in God’s hands, then my soul can abide in God’s time. I soak up this sense of spaciousness, knowing it will be there when I need it along the road.

Gushing life

Tuesday in the Third Week of Lent

God split the hard rocks in the wilderness
and gave them drink as from the great deep.
Psalm 78:13

Yesterday it rained; today I look out on a landscape covered with snow. Water is amazing, the only element that can naturally be found in all three states: solid, liquid and gas. And, as I learned recently, the only element that expands when it becomes a solid. Snow crystals take up more space than water droplets, ice takes up even more space.

Even before creation was called into being, God’s wind swept over the face of the waters.

In the wilderness, God gives people water from the hard rocks. Along the road, Jesus offers people living water—a gift that will become within them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life. On my Lenten path, I will keep my eyes open for the expansive gift of God’s thirst assuaging promise.

Safety

Monday in the Third Week of Lent
 
Restore us, O God of hosts;
show us the light of your countenance,
and we shall be saved.
Psalm 80:3
 

There is comfort in being safe from the coming snowstorm. And even while I think on this, I am aware of so many who are not safe in a storm. Extreme weather, unrest, emotional outbursts, financial crisis. Our world, whether global or limited to a single person’s environs, seems pummeled by these and many more troubles.
 
Where are safety and security to be found?
 
And this is why faith. At times I cling to it. Other times I rest in it. Many times it is the faithfulness of others that carries me. And even when my faith is weak, God remains faithful.
 
Out of faith comes action, reaching out to offer safe harbor to others. And as the snow begins to fall, I know once again that resting in God is where I find restoration, and the place from which I can reach out, and my only hope.

Release

Friday in the Second Week of Lent

When my mind became embittered,

I was sorely wounded in my heart.

Yet I am always with you;

you hold me by my right hand.

Psalm 73:21, 23

There is a certain way the air feels before it snows. Damp, weighty, still. The sky, impenetrable luminescent gray rather than dark, seems a bulging sheet holding back the precipitation until it is time. Air and sky holding their breath. Waiting.

When the snow comes it will be beautiful, a sweet release of pent-up energy and hoarded moisture.

I am mindful that I too am waiting. I have begun my yearly ritual of honing in and rooting out and letting go. Yet each day brings its hesitation. Maybe I will not continue. Maybe I will willfully try to hold fast to an indeterminate status quo.

What have I hoarded in my heart that God can make beautiful once I release it?