state of thankfulness: day one

Merci. Danke sehr. Grazie. Gracias. Thank you.

It’s simple, really. Few syllables. Easy to say. Often ends with a curl of the sides of my mouth into a slight smile.

Joy. It does something. Saying that simple grateful phrase does a work in me.

Amidst a day that's completely gone wrong, my arrogant sense of importance or a bad attitude, saying thank you lets in goodness ... it lets in hope. Altering my perspective, even if for a moment, being grateful creates a pause. It makes me take a second … reflecting on the interaction that may have occurred or will occur. We are thankful for the past or the future. It’s as if we are thankful for the ability to say those words.

Really, being thankful is a state of being.

Sure, we say thank you to the grocer who bagged our items on our way out or quickly take change from the man in the green apron behind the counter at Starbucks. We say thanks to a co-worker when they help us on deadline or breathe, “thank you, Jesus” when we find just what we need in the nick of time.

It’s quick, fleeting, seemingly meaningless. Especially amidst our rush, suffering or busyness. But I come back to this: I take the time to say those few words. They are not forgotten. They take mere seconds to mouth out, but took a realization that they needed to be said. And generally, even if my moment of gratefulness is fleeting, momentary or secondary to what I’m doing — it brings me back to center. It reminds me that I am in a place to say thank you. And for a split second, thankfulness becomes first.

For me, saying thank you reminds me of whom I am. It reminds me of the person I want to be. It reminds me of my center. Thankfulness allows me to be present.

Being thankful is a state of being. My hope is that my state of being would be more and more centered on gratefulness this week and of course, beyond. That those seconds will become moments and those moments will become minutes and those minutes, hours. I hope that myself and this world may become more present in this state of being, of being thankful, that we may mirror a gratefulness to each other so great, we bring each other back to center — that we may remind one another to pause and reflect for what we do have to be thankful. And ultimately, that we may lead one another back to the cross that gives us life, for which gives us the opportunity to be thankful in the first place.

This week, I challenge my state of being. I challenge myself to be in a more consistent state of gratefulness, allowing space and time to be grateful — allowing thankfulness to be my state of being.  And therefore, allowing more joy, grace and love to seep into my bones. To continue to bring myself and others back to center.

For what were you thankful today? And in this moment, what are you thankful for?

In hope, I will be posting a new reflection on thankfulness each day this week.

*Photo taken at my home last fall.

when you can't let go

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve been holding on to this all afternoon and I just can’t seem to let it go.”

Her voice heavily laced with emotion, my ears caught that one sentence and I understood.

My heart nodded. As if to say, “I get that.”

My chest rose and fell. I really get that. The pain in which you‘ve attempted to give something over to God, to want to forget desperately, but like fly paper, it keeps sticking to your shoe, traveling with you everywhere and nearly impossible to unstick.

The point at which you want to scream and shove it away and finally yell, “That’s not mine!” But sadly, it has become yours.

Situations. Emotions. Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment.

Broken pieces of your heart …

Pieces you didn’t know you had. Pieces you’ve been covering up. Pieces that have been hiding in a deep corner of your body.

And then, they rear their ugly head, and won’t go away. I want to hide under the covers, sweep it under the rug and cover my face in make-up. I want to make it go away. I want to be put together.

But it’s not working. It’s permeated my body, my thoughts, my face.

It’s checked in and decided to stay for a while whether it’s paying rent or not.

Those broken pieces run us into the ground. Sometimes we run ourselves into the ground.

In all this talk, we focus on one thing — letting go. We express that we’re holding onto something and someone in good nature says, “You just need to let it go.” Or we’re tired and the word failure creeps in as if we’re not letting go well enough.

There are times we need to ask God for supernatural intervention to release our heart of something. But sometimes, just perhaps, we need to steer our focus in another direction. Make an about-face and look back at what we’re letting go of. We harp on ourselves for not being able to think about something else. We grow weary.

But what if we took a step back.

What if we asked God for new eyes. And gave ourselves permission to not let go.

Sometimes, we need to hold on. Sometimes, it’s necessary and good that we do. We need to sit with what we feel “we aren’t letting go of” for a bit longer. Perhaps God is telling us something. Perhaps he is reminding us that the deep things of our soul take time.

Maybe, He is inviting us to grace.

And that feeling of not being able to let go? Perhaps, that was Him calling you back.

Back to a table set for two. Back to Him. He pulls out your chair, offers cozy slippers and lights a candle or two. A warm meal placed in front of you, He asks you to join Him.

Would you come and sit in grace tonight?

*Photo taken at Hilltop Retreat Center in Fall 2011.

slow today, be still

This morning I need slow. Rest. Quiet.

Weary body. I can feel my nerves tickling as if they're saying to me, "Don't move."

Push, push, push. This has been my week. This will be later today. So this morning, "don't move." Rest, restore, take moments for the soul. And your heart. And your body. And your mind. 

Rest in Christ, the restorer. Rest.

Pause.

Actually take a minute to type, think, read. Breathe in ... breathe out. Let's not rush for five minutes. Today, those five minutes will make a difference.

Rest. Quiet. Slow.

"Gladden the soul of your servant, for to you, O Lord, I lift up my soul." Psalm 86:4

What does five minutes of rest look like for you today? Can you take five minutes?

*Photo taken on a trip to Carmel a few years ago.

lawless, augustine & God's love

The blurry lines began to take shape. Like when you smudge fog on a car window and the interior is revealed. I was taking it in, continually smudging a little more fog away as I slowly read each line of the excerpt from Augustine’s The Confessions. I knew there was more to be found — so I read it through again. The fourth or fifth time, it hit me. 

The Lord is PASSIONATELY in love with us.

This isn't new. It's not a revelation. But it struck a new chord. A resounding one.

The depths of the ways the Lord calls us and loves us are immeasurable. Once we taste it, we hunger for it and search for the peace that only the Lord offers us.

How often have you searched for that peace?

Augustine wrote, “You called, shouted, broke through my deafness; you flared, blazed, banished my blindness; you lavished your fragrance, I gasped, and now I pant for you; I tasted you, and I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace.”

Augustine burned for the peace of the Lord. Oh, how I have burned for that peace. How I have burned to even realize the ways God calls us.

And little I’ve understood just how powerful that call is.

Lawless was released in theatres a month ago. I’m not sure how to describe the genre — perhaps a combination of drama, action and blood. My friend and I gravely underestimated how much more action and blood there would be than drama in the movie when we entered the theatre.  

Telling the story of three brothers who are in the “family business” of moonshining during prohibition, the brothers, believed to be invincible, live into their mythical immortality as they repeatedly escape death. The oldest, Forrest (Tom Hardy), examples this after his neck is sliced from ear to ear and is said to have walked to the doctor in town, saving himself.

Cut to scene (slight spoiler alert): Forrest sits calmly, but swiftly loading his gun, about to enter another blood bath. The girl he loves, Maggie (Jessica Chastain), is asking him not to go.

Eyes on fire and clearly distressed, she finally spills the truth like a waterfall that was holding back.

Breathlessly, stern, desperate and with earnest, Maggie asks, “Are you going to make me drag your body in a pool of your own blood to the doctor again?”

Forrest, a man of few words, replies, “I thought I walked.”

How many times has God breathlessly called our name? Looked at us with eyes on fire, asking or even commanding us in love? And how many times has God carried us to healing in a pool of our own blood?

And we thought we walked.

In his account, Augustine wrote, “You were with me, but I was not with you. They held me back far from you, those things which would have no being were they not in you.”

As our priorities cloud our mind, we lose sight. We lose our ability to hear. Perhaps even our ability to smell or taste or feel.  But as Augustine writes, “Lo, you were within.”

God is within us. He is calling, shouting, blazing. And offering a peace for which we will hunger and thirst.

How is God calling you currently? Is he breaking through your deafness and blindness or does God seem silent? Is there a fog that needs to be smudged away?

And is there a possibility that he is carrying you to healing in your despair?

“You called, shouted, broke through my deafness; you flared, blazed, banished my blindness; you lavished your fragrance, I gasped, and now I pant for you; I tasted you, and I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace.”

God is PASSIONATELY in love with us. Let this strike a new chord today.

*Photo taken in Gig Harbor, WA, Summer 2012

perfect timing

Warm lights dotted the sky like fireflies. Popping up as the sun faded past the trees and the blue sky deepened into pink and yellow hues slowly darkening to navy. Porch lights. Lanterns. Cozy living room lamps. Homes.

I looked down over the acreage dotted with light from my perch on the second story cupola and wished I could be invited for after supper tea. Comfort. I was seeking comfort and rest — hospitality. My heart yearned for it. To be with another person. To be in a place of comfort.

A few days later, I made my way into the city for my day off from solitude.

White knuckled and wide eyed, I navigated my car towards the city. Glancing at my iPhone occasionally felt much more like a death dare than usual. I hadn’t driven more than 20 miles per hour or more than 20 minutes a day for two weeks. Now, I was making an hour trek into the city.

People drive fast in the city.

… I did not feel fast. I felt like sludge.

As my car progressed, I continually felt further and further from it, as if my body was watching the car move along the freeway as I sat at the on ramp. I was being forced along like sludge down hill. Exhaustion overcame my body, overwhelmed.

“I should just go home.”

I pulled off my exit for Pike’s Place. An immediate hour drive back did not sound ideal, but neither did a market with crowds and noise.

I really wanted to be invited for tea. To sit with someone I knew. To be able to talk about life or nothing at all. I wanted to be in a home. A cozy home.

That’s when I got her text. Perfect timing.

Relief washed my mind and body.

I had told her I may be in Seattle that day, but had held the idea of seeing her loosely.

She invited me for coffee. In her home. So simple and so perfect.

I couldn’t have cared less about the space needle and experiencing the market. I was going to see someone I knew, someone I know ... someone who knows me. Not a stranger or a neighbor that I waved to on a walk, but my dear friend, Carly.

I was getting my wish and it was better than what I had wanted. I was getting the comfort of a home and the comfort of being known.

Carly invited me in, introduced and handed me her six-week-old son, Jameson, to hold and brought me coffee as I sat on her plush couch. Carly, Jameson, being in her home, and that cup of coffee were the most restful moments of my weekend out of solitude. And a highlight of my time spent in Washington. I've learned that the best hospitality isn't planned nor premeditated.

Carly apologized for not being able to go out, but being invited in to share life for an afternoon was exactly what my heart desired. She provided rest for my soul at the perfect timing.

When has someone offered you hospitality and rest when you needed it most?

Thank you, Carly, for the blessing you were to me on my three-week.