Awakening hope

Monday in the Second Week of Lent

Wake up, my spirit; awake lute and harp;
I myself will waken the dawn.
Psalm 57:8

“I miss seeing their happy faces,” my friend texts. This is in response to the picture I sent of the wide-open purple crocuses in my front yard. She no longer lives in a region where these bloom.

I have been watching them for days, expecting this final full burst. For the next few days, they will open to the morning sun and then close up for the night. Then they will be no more. It is easy to overlook them, not only because they are short lived, but because they are so common here. Hardly extraordinary.

Yet their happy faces bring a smile to mine. And today I remind myself not to overlook or underestimate the power of small beauties. Like small kindnesses and small mercies they bring light and life to the world, combat the darkness of uncertainly and fear, and awaken hope. And hope is no small thing.

Open to Uncertainty

Saturday in the First Week of Lent

If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there your hand will lead me
and your right hand hold me fast.
Psalm 139:8-9

As we enter the elevator, I realize that I do not know on which level we parked. Normally, this is the kind of thing I pay attention to and my spouse teases me a bit because he remembered when I did not.

Usually, I can be counted on to know where things are—misplaced keys, important papers, parked cars. It might be a super-power, or it might be a control need. Probably that depends on the context. I know in part it is simply that I like to know where I am.

As I continue my intentional journey of renewal in Lent, I understand that the way forward can be uncertain.  And that my own transformation depends on me being open to where the way opens before me. What is true is that wherever I am, I am in God’s care.

Simply here

Friday in the First Week of Lent

Open my lips, O Lord,
and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.
Psalm 51:16

I wake with a sense of happy anticipation and before I even get out of bed I offer a short prayer of thanks.

I have no idea where this morning’s good spirits come from; there is nothing particular about yesterday or today that calls for celebration. Except for yesterday’s afternoon sunshine, and a home-cooked meal with my spouse, and time set aside for rest and reflection and recreation today.

Sometimes joy is simply a gift.

Ready to unfurl

Thursday in the First Week of Lent

The Lord, the God of gods, has spoken;
he has called the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting.
Psalm 50:1

I walk gingerly across the lawn trying to step in the less muddy places, and because my eyes are focused on the ground, I see it: a purple crocus about to make its appearance. I am grateful to notice it at this moment, its saturated color just becoming evident. I love these bright heralds of spring. And next to it, another tightly wound sprout is prepped, ready to unfurl into new life.

What else in God’s creation, I wonder, is ready to unfold? What gifts are being called forth in me and in the community around me? What other new life has been readied unnoticed in the darkness?

I take the time to delight in my discovery, and mark the location, because I plan to be attentive in the days to come. I do not want to miss participating in this ordinary and extraordinary offering of life.

Rocky terrain

Wednesday in the First Week of Lent

I have considered my ways
and turned my feet toward your decrees.
Psalm 119:59

The path I walk on has become rocky, the wetness of approaching spring exposing hard stones. I now have to slow down and pick my way carefully. My focus shifts from enjoying the nature around me—the sunshine hitting bare trees, the thawing creek singing its way to the reservoir, a flock of birds curving across the blue sky—to concentrating only on the next step. I wish I had remembered this difficult terrain and chosen a different path. I wanted an easy and enjoyable walk today, but this is hard work.

The spiritual life can be like this. The terrain is not always beautiful and smooth. Sometimes the way ahead is plain hard work, and progress seems painstakingly slow. Yet, the concentration and focus required are gifts.  Practicing these skills builds capacity for unknown challenges ahead.

If I am to make needed changes in my life, if I am to grow closer to God, I need focus and concentration. I need to be intentional about my next step.

I continue on, turning my feet toward the way that will lead me home.

The long way

Tuesday in the First Week of Lent

This God is our God for ever and ever;

he shall be our guide for evermore.

Psalm 48:13

I look up from my task and check the clock. There is time. I can take the long way to my appointment.

Given the option, I will choose the back roads. I prefer a slower, more meandering pace to the directness and speed of the highway. The more twists and turns, the better. I like to take in the landscape, to feel connected to the geography through which I travel. I find beauty in farms, old houses, creeks, small-town centers, fallow fields and bare forests. I don’t even mind getting a bit lost, as long as it doesn’t make me late.

I don’t want to rush through Lent. I want to make the most of this time to observe and respond to the places in the background of my life which have gone unnoticed. I want to be open to discover where God will guide me. I am even willing to get a bit lost, knowing that the Holy One draws me to a destination that will save my very soul.

Intentional Randomness

Monday in the First Week of Lent

In my integrity you hold me fast,
and shall set me before your face for ever.
Psalm 41:12

In the middle of my morning meditation, I pick up my phone to text a friend. I chide myself a bit for the interruption, but he had asked for prayers and I want to reach out to him in this moment when his name came to mind. I am not always good at remembering to be intentional about praying for those who have asked.

As I hit send on the text message, I call into my presence the names of others who are in need. Some have asked for my petitions; some have no idea that I feel called to pray for them. Then I cast my mind to the week ahead, to the meetings on my calendar, and extend my prayer to the conversations yet to come, asking God that I can approach each with integrity.

It occurs to me that the way these names pop up randomly during my day is an invitation. Rather than seeing it as a kind of failing that I do not practice intercessory prayer in some more orderly fashion, I could think of these names as sacred refrains, a litany interwoven into my ongoing conversation with God throughout the day. Each a reminder that we are all also always on the mind of the Holy One.