Just a convert or actually following?

We have a book we are reading this summer as a staff at the school where I work. Some years are better than others, but most of the books our Head of School chooses, I have loved and benefited from quite a bit. It I had a better memory, I'm sure my life would be applying more of the content not only in my counseling office and my classroom, but also in my life! This year we are reading a book by a brilliant man, a man with such obvious humility and wisdom that is combined with a genuine love for the Lord. The book is called The Great Omission by Dallas Willard. I don't want to expound on anything too much, but instead to just leave a few quotes for you to ponder...the premise of the book is that there is a great difference between those who are converted to Christianity and those who are disciples of Jesus. To say you believe in Him as a fact is not the same as following His life and becoming more like Him. So here are a few nuggets:

"Jesus is actually looking for people he can trust with His power. He knows that otherwise we remain largely helpless in the face of the organized and disorganized evils around us..."

"However we may understand the details, there can be no doubt, on the biblical picture of human life, that we were meant to be inhabited by God, and to live by a power beyond ourselves. Human problems cannot be solved by human means...but only constant students of Jesus will be given adequate power to fulfill their calling to be God's person for their time and their place in this world. They are the only ones who develop the character which makes it safe to have such power."


"In our culture, and among Christians as well, Jesus Christ is automatically disassociated from brilliance or intellectual capacity. Not one in a thousand will spontaneously think of Him in conjunction with words such as 'well informed,' 'brilliant,' or 'smart.'...What lies at the heart of the astonishing disregard of Jesus found in the moment-to-moment existence of multitudes of professing Christians is a simple lack of respect for Him. He is not seriously taken to be a person of great ability."

One more thought I appreciated is his firm stance on our responsibility in this transformation. In our becoming more like Jesus, we must make an effort and be a part of the relationship. To often we falsely believe that God must just drop down His power, motivation and inspiration down upon our heads...then we will be mighty Christians who leave a transforming ripple effect on the universe. Wrong. Nothing in life works this way. In this, he addresses the disciplines of the faith. In a clarifying statement he says,

"The emphasis in this dimension of spiritual transformation is upon our efforts. True, we are given much, and without grace we can do nothing, but our action is also required. 'Try your hardest,' Peter directs us (II Peter 1:5)...We should not only want to be merciful, kind, unassuming, and patient persons but also making plans to become so. We are to find out, that is, what prevents and what promotes mercifulness and kindness and patience in our souls, and we are meant to remove hindrances to them as much as possible, carefully substituting that which assists Christ-likeness."

"We will come to understand that for the most part our hurry is really based upon pride, self-importance, fear, and lack of faith, and rarely upon the production of anything of true value for anyone."

Wow. It seems we can be on the same track for years of our life and never stop and ask some of these invaluable questions. It is like we don't even know what it means to follow Jesus. No wonder the watching world is not really that drawn to us, and more importantly to Him. We are living like atheists. It's quite sad. But we have access to life-giving, life-changing power. He has promised abundant life and we settle for dull colors and a bland existence. Ask for more...Put effort into it. Eat of the richest of fare.

What does it mean to rest?

To stare at this picture brings a sense of solace, doesn't it? To actually go to a place like this and sit still as you gaze and meditate on beauty changes you on the inside. It's hard to explain. My brother has spent most summers in the Adirondack Mountains and this summer he is here at home. I heard him down by the lake last night with his friend looking for deer. He told me today over a cup of coffee, "I just need to be outside. I start to feel crazy and angry when I am not outdoors. I grew up in the woods every year and I can't live without it." I sat for a second and thought how cool that was. It was only two summers ago that I first went to Alaska and I remember having the conscious thought that being outside is being more in touch with God. I actually experienced a new level of spiritual connection when I simply threw my head back, felt the breeze, took in the clean air and set my eyes on images that are hardly able to be explained. My soul found water. My heart was at peace. I guess in a way it was because I was tasting and seeing the biggness of God. When I would cast my vision up at mountains so towering or I find myself gazing at water with a deep emerald tone, I was subsequently finding perspective. A new view and a calming wave would come over me.

So I contrast this with loud commentators on Fox News, the rush of trucks on the highway, the sound of video games, sirens, music on the radio and the overall sounds of voices talking over one another and the crazy busyness in my head. The truth is, I have to stop or I will think constant, spinning noise is ok. The T.V., like a constant voice in the background can stay on in some homes all day. We rarely drive in silence. Our phones are constantly alerting us to messages, and life stays so loud. We forget silence. We think noise going all the time is just the way life is. But look back at that picture. Imagine in your mind what it would be like to sit in front of that lake for an hour of total quiet. And pay attention the the thoughts that surface that you have tried to resist for the last five or ten years. We are afraid. And every year we have to work harder to keep them at bay. What does freedom look like? True freedom...what does it look like to actually live and not survive. What does it mean to actually thrive and not just pass time with pointless conversations and shopping? What does it actually mean to be a satisfied person? This summer figure it out. Find a spot. Sit still. Wait on the Lord and He will shower Himself down onto your weary, dry, and hurried soul.

Waiting well reveals the health of my soul...

I love Henri Nouwen. He is one of the most profound thinkers of our day and so spiritually in tune with the Spirit of God. His words can turn a moment upside down for me. I can be in despair and after reading some of his words, my entire perspective can change. My goal would be to think like Jesus, but second to that, I would like to think as Henri Nouwen thinks. If you have not read his writings, search him online or buy any one of his books and you will want more and more. Here is one excerpt from his thoughts on waiting. I struggle so much with this and it seems in some areas of my life I have been waiting for a long time...I love how he shifts my manner of thought:

Waiting is patient
But there is none of this passivity in Scripture. Those who are waiting are waiting very actively. They know that what they are waiting for is growing from the ground on which they are standing. That’s the secret. The secret of waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction that something is happening. A waiting person is a patient person. The word “patience” means the willingness to stay where we are and life the situation out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us. Impatient people are always expecting the real thing to happen somewhere else and therefore want to go elsewhere. The moment is empty. But patient people dare to stay where they are. Patient living means to live actively in the present and wait there.

Jenel, Odlin, and Ben.

These boys have changed me....they live in Haiti and in my heart.

Just some photo experiments.....

A Message in the Sky....

I keep spotting Red Birds.

To me, it means something, but maybe I am reading into things. I can tend to do that, and slowly after a train of thoughts, I shape and mold a message in the sky. There is a piece of me that sincerely believes words and letters are written to me on pages in the clouds, seas and flowers. In the end, I always question if it is real or just my imagination playing Hide and Seek or Ghosts in the Graveyard, leaving me with trails of hope but no tangible find. Seems to me, His creation has always been a means of communication. He spoke the trees, spiders, dandelions, and rivers into their existence. He used prophets to relay the message of promises to come and prevailing justice. He came as the Word made flesh, and taught the crowds on hills and outside synagogues. God speaks in many ways and over centuries of time. Communication is sometimes loud and sometimes soft. But it is.

So with me, He is personal with Red Birds. The truth is, I can't tell if I spot them more regularly, or if they are directed across my path more often lately. Perched on the pavement, just catching my eye between two cars in his electric, bold color, and just for a second, a Red Bird stood still. I looked away to lock my front door, and turning around to catch another little glance at him, but he was gone...Two fluttered by on the back porch as I sat at my kitchen table reading and daydreaming...One landed on the bush in front of me as I sat talking to a friend in her car...and as I turned the corner last week, I noticed for the first time a street sign I have passed a hundred times...it's name, "Red Bird Street." These are just a few to name right now, but it is daily and whether it is living, and darting through the sky, or imprinted on a t-shirt, license plate, or semi-truck...they are appearing all over and every day.

But it's so good. I need to know He cares, listens, responds, and even moves His small creatures to speak a soft song of hope to me. My heart is tender and needy to hear His mercies as my scales are being ripped away...as I change and fall and grow, and long for more but still settle for less.

So tomorrow...The alarm will go off early and I'll get up sharp and alert...I'll listen and wait, and look. Maybe a Red Bird. Maybe something else altogether. Who knows?

A five minute, Holy encounter.

She asked if I had five minutes. I was late to school, being set back with a migraine, and I had a parent meeting at 8. It was 7:45. She wanted 5 minutes, that was all.

I had woken up with a headache that had started at 9:30 the night before. I know this kind. It begins slowly at the base of the left side of the back of my head. It creeps a little higher and thumps around leaving me in pain and even sort of blue. So this particular morning required a prescription and thirty more minutes lying in bed until it subsided. I got up and began to get ready…I found myself feeling as I have been for the last week; distressed and riding along the edge of despair. I glanced across the mirror in my bathroom with scribblings of words the remind me to pray…so I talked in a whisper as I got ready. One thought was running through my mind from a book I have been reading, “Every relational issue is an issue of worship.” Worship. What does this even mean and why do I struggle so much with it? Quietly I began to say to the Lord, “Help me know how to worship you. Give me words and expressions and a heart that turns in the direction of You.” I got into my car and drove in silence, continuing in conversation and prayer…I told Him I am sorry for last night, for sin, for the things I do not even know I do. The truth is, I do not know what is right and wrong, and though it is hard to see the specifics of sin, I want to know how to confess. This was my plea: worship and confession.

So 5 minutes was her request. I made a U-turn and pulled in next to her silver van. She invited me to sit next to her and clearly had something spilling over that she needed to tell me. In a way, she seemed driven and had this sense of urgency about her. Nervous and confused, I waited for her words to uncover the purpose of this 5 minute meeting. Her eyes connected with mine and she spoke, “I recall the last time I saw you, almost two years ago…You have been on my radar. This past week, I simply cannot get you off my mind. I know the Lord wants me to talk to you.” My emotion started to surface and with a firm grip I pushed it back down. Intently, I listened. “I have no idea what is going on in your life, or if this even makes any sense, but I cannot stop thinking about you. I have tried to track down your phone number. I need to show you something…” In the back of the van she pulled out a book thick and spiral bound. A woman has constructed a detailed and Spirit-led book on prayer. I took in every word as she described how it has altered her life and taught her to engage with God. Life has been hard for her recently and she described herself as going through a season of unveiling and brokenness. It was as if she was describing my own recent chapter… “Do you sometimes feel like you do not even know what He is going to do, like you are not even sure what the next step is and you are so thankful that the Spirit prays on your behalf because you literally do not know what to say?” I agreed. I silently agreed, but inside I was about to come undone. “You may think I am just a crazy old woman because I have no idea if what I am saying has anything to do with you.” But she went on to say that this book has taught her how to worship, and given her words when she has none. It also leads her into confession of sin. Worship and confession.

My mind slipped into a thought: “He has sent her to me. He loves me. He is not mad. He cares about me. He just sent me a personal expression of Himself. He has really sent her to me.” I couldn’t fight it. It has been one week since things turned upside down. One week was how long I had been intensely on her heart. Conviction, and at times jolting despair, has been my state this last week. Conviction, and ripping off layers of sin, has forced me to look at myself and see the darkness there. I have feared His weariness and His disgust. Yet she shattered all these tales of darkness and brought in the light.

I began to cry. And it was then that she knew her promptings were supernatural and that all the impressions were in fact true: God had led her; I did need His words and she was His personal agent delivering a purposeful and kind word from Heaven.

I looked at her through my blurry vision, “This is really weird. He has undone me this week. This is so weird.”

Looking directly at me with intention in her eyes she corrected me, “No, Dawn, it’s not weird, it’s His providence…He is pursuing you.”

My heart tightened, as I headed to my office and I wondered if I would be able to focus for my meeting. I knew I had to, but I had just been in a Holy Place and I didn’t want to leave. My mind was racing, my tears were clearing…

5 minutes was all she wanted, I wished I had an hour.

A Blessing....

I was able to participate in an Easter Vigil this year in Chicago with my brother and his family. I cannot describe this experience, it was a service that went almost 5 hours and I will say it never felt like it went too long. In a beautiful and creative manner, the service took us from Creation to the flood, to Isaac and Abraham, to the prophets speaking of the Shepherd and giving us a new heart and the coming of a Savior...it was in so many ways the most I have ever seen any people celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The Anglican Liturgy calls for "A Holy Noise" which was to take the word "Alleluia" and reinstate it after removing it for the season of Lent. The Priest yelled out "Alleluia!" at the top of his lungs...dancing, celebrating and screaming out in loud song! Jesus is risen! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

So, here is a part of the liturgy that we read towards the end of the service...and If I find time I will write about the entire experience...but this humbled me and reminded me of the power of the cross that really does change us and free us....


(Extend your hands toward the cross)
Celebrant: All our problems of this life on earth...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ...

Celebrant: All the difficulties of our circumstances...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ.

Celebrant: All the devil's work from his temporal power...

All: We send to the Cross of Christ.

(Life your hands up to the Lord)

Celebrant: All our hopes for wholeness and eternal life...

All: We set on the Risen Christ.

Celebrant: Christ the Sun of Righteousness shine upon you and scatter the darkness from before your path, and the blessings of God Almighty, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with you always.

All: Amen

Three Minute Fiction...NPR's challenge

NPR has a writing contest. It is a short story, 600 words and must use the words, "trick," "plant," "fly," and "button." Here is my attempt. It was good to try something like this that I am not comfortable with or used to. This is my story entitled, "One Shift at a Time."


She eavesdrops often. It passes the time and gives her stories to tell.
Mainly it makes her more depressed about the state of the world and in
particular small town culture. Conversations about tennis, Jon and Kate or Labor Day sales leave her as empty as her bank account. Helen has waited tables for 16 years and on certain days a simple fly can send her reeling. That's the nature of this job; one day
stinging with stress while another unfolds like the chapter of a beautiful
memoir.

Betsy Mae is nearly 80 years old and a regular at Lockwood Diner. Her
hair is silver and her mind is deep. Her hearing is such that simple
sounds echo as though she's stuck in a tunnel, and her old, wire-rimed
glasses are thick and warped. Without a doubt, her small button-nose is
the sweetest feature on her gentle face and her laughter is so genuine. The words she pieces together always change people. No one wants Betsy to die, move away or
find a new favorite spot.

Monday through Friday at 11:30, Betsy Mae trails in with her brown
purse and burgundy Mary Janes. Quietly, she plants hope in the fertile
soil of Helen's bedraggled soul. Famished and wanting for
more than paychecks and one-night stands, Helen listens attentively when
Betsy settles into booth 48 by the window. Daily dustings of wisdom
cover the table and though her words are fairly simple Helen is changed
one shift at a time.

Making her way to the door, Betsy stops Helen, handing her a small,
generous tip and looks Helen in the eyes. She whispers, "Dream today.
Something’s hidden in this day for you. Discover a treasure to add to
that list of blessings." She shuffles out and Helen watches her meander
down Sycamore. It's noticeably hard for Helen to take her eyes off that small frame. Betsy's words tangle into her thoughts. On most days, and from most people,
Helen would hate such a comment, this overly sentimental statement of
southern superficiality. However, from Betsy, it is like offering a
key, unlocking a secret that truly matters. Helen is stilled with new
hope.

Gratefulness seems to be a theme this week, as this is the third comment of this nature. Each time Helen hears this word she realizes again her lack of thankfulness toward the plenty in her day, in her seemingly dry corner of the world. Being tired is no excuse for being passive, dull-minded and inattentive. The truth is, noticing details
takes muscle. It is a slow tilling of the soil, persistence in watchfulness. This all-too-common dismal state of life is like falling for a trick that tells lies by saying all days are just a patchwork quilt of sour grapes and unmet desires. But Helen knows that when she sees only in shades of gray her vision has narrowed to a small slice of what is true. It is an uncomfortable place she somehow finds comfortable. So today, by choice, she reframes and unlocks; she steps outside and looks up. The sun is warm and the sound of all of everything quiets the rush of meaninglessness. Her eyes sharpen as she notices a red bird for the first time in over 25 years. She smells the coffee she serves everyday, and once she regains focus, her eyes mist over as her mind seals all of these treasures. This day is more than the $26.50 in her apron, though not bad for a Monday lunch. The reality is, Helen has served Betsy coffee and soup for 8 years, what she didn’t realize until just this moment is that Betsy has faithfully served Helen small seeds of hope that quietly bloomed today.

The prayers of the Saints....

I am so grateful, and becoming more and more grateful, for the prayers of those who have gone before us in this pilgrimage. This Easter I will be in an Episcopal church in West Chicago and my understanding from my brother is that it will present to me something I have never experienced and something I will never want to miss again. They seem to celebrate the resurrection in a way very few churches do. But what has really impressed me over the last few years are the prayers and readings from the liturgical church. I was able to find a book recommended to me called Luther's Prayers. I want to type on here one that has meant much to my soul. It is one that reminds me of God's enormous power to overcome anything and provide supernatural strength, it peaks of His forgiveness that is undeserved and deeply healing, and at the same time it normalizes me...to know that Martin Luther spoke these words, means I am not alone.

Dear Lord Jesus Christ, I feel my sins. They bite and gnaw and frighten me. Where shall I go? I look to you, Lord Jesus, and believe in you. Although my faith is weak, I cling to you and am made sure, for you have promised: who believes in me shall have eternal life. Even if my conscience is troubled and my sins frighten me and make me tremble, you have still said: "My son, be of good cheer; your sins are forgiven you. I will raise you up on the last day, and you will have eternal life." I cannot help myself by my own strength. I come to you for help. Amen

I could reread this daily. We are all in this war over sin. Thank the Lord for His resurrection that we soon celebrate again!

An Evening Prayer.

How do I approach Thee?
My hands are dirty and my heart so dark.
I have chosen what I want today.
I have thought things I should have fought with truth.
And though I have been the target of evil,
I have also seen it arise from within my own flesh.
But each day is new with your mercy;
Each morning I am given more grace.
But for now, as I face sleep and turn off the noise of the day,
I know that forgiveness has visited me again.
I know you have poured the water of purity over me.
As I sit here in the ending and the final moments of another day
Passing behind me and left now in smaller view,
I am not sure how to thank you.
I am not sure what to say.
I listen for your voice, as I know it is so soft.
Sometimes it seems silent.
But I guess it’s in silence that you speak.
I guess when it’s dark you visit weary souls.
In time I have seen you quietly change me.
Over many years you have influenced who I am.
May tomorrow be a step closer.
When I awake, fill me with more of You;
Pull from me, that which seeks to distract me
And give me sharp vision for things of Heaven
And hope in You.

A Strange Stirring....

Whales


I wish I was alone,
that day,
in that boat,
out in the Gulf of Alaska.

I wish they knew I was there
Looking,
Scanning and searching.
I wish that boat was mine and floating
softly, and
waiting
in total silence--
for them.
I wish I could hear the water
break with a blow,
and to then be calmed again by the gentle sound of the
slapping
and rippling of the waves.
And I wish for them to wander
near me,
with intention
and awareness
of me,
looking just
for me.
To remind me
to look up,
and around.
And to stop
and to smell.
And to listen
and to learn.
And to drink deeply,
and wait patiently.
And to wonder often and ask always.

I wish I was alone,
on my own boat,
In my own corner
of the vast and broad sea,
And I wish they knew me
and would remember me,
And were waiting, again,
just for me
to come,
in my boat,
out to the Gulf of Alaska.

So, so true...

Here is a little taste of Henri Nouwen...feel like he speaks so clearly to my heart.

Creating Space to Dance Together

"When we feel lonely we keep looking for a person or persons who can take our loneliness away. Our lonely hearts cry out, "Please hold me, touch me, speak to me, pay attention to me." But soon we discover that the person we expect to take our loneliness away cannot give us what we ask for. Often that person feels oppressed by our demands and runs away, leaving us in despair. As long as we approach another person from our loneliness, no mature human relationship can develop. Clinging to one another in loneliness is suffocating and eventually becomes destructive. For love to be possible we need the courage to create space between us and to trust that this space allows us to dance together."

It's a strange silence....

It’s a strange silence. It’s a more sure silence. I can hear nothing. Winter. Deep winter. Darker nights bringing a more cutting chill. But it is silent in a way that is more silent. The trees are bare, standing tall and brittle, but firm and rooted. The colors seem to blend into one neutral shade and the snow blankets everything with quiet. My boots crunch and toss the powder around as I walk. The air is clean and sharp; it fills my lungs with what feels pure and unsoiled. I stand in one spot and turn slowly about. It is a strange silence that welcomes me and keeps me here. The snowdrifts are high and soft. They wall me in and keep me stayed. Footprints tell of who has been wandering the yard late at night and how close they came to the house. There is silver silence here, mysteries kept hidden for now, locked up and left untold. Things burrowed and waiting. Lifelessness, but expectant. Dead, but slowly being restored. Winter prunes the earth. It wipes away the dross and stirs a tale below of new things not quite birthed. The stems of the trees seem hollow and fragile. The long, delicate reeds are trapped in tunnels of snow and thin ice. There is a different kind of beauty here. There is a groaning, a wanting, and life just below that lies dormant, but alive. Gary Schmidt describes it well, “Winter is a time of stillness, darkness, and death, and while we know intellectually that this season will pass into the birth of a new year and then into spring, instinctively we hunker down, peering fearfully into the twilight toward a shadow whose shape we cannot discern” (Winter 5).

We do know what is ahead. We live by seasons and build our lives around the expectations of predictable change. We anticipate one while we endure the one we presently reside in. We look forward and fail to unlock the beauty of the season at hand. We especially run from Winter, for with it comes darkness and damp cold. We stay locked in our homes and pull in closer to our own skin. We await the explosion of the sun and the outpouring of warmth and play. But Winter is our despised season, strengthening our muscles of endurance and hopefulness. We count it as a cost. We wonder when it will pass by. We stay in our beds, cover our feet, talk less, isolate more and scratch off the days on the winter months of the calendar. Winter is slow and lonely. Or is it?

We keep a fire going and gather around it. I can’t quite sit near enough. Growing up our home was big and often cold. Our main room was highlighted by an old, cast-iron, wood-burning stove. The door was kept closed and the room became a haven of warmth and memories. The wooden walls and enormous windows made for an ideal landing place during the sweeping winds of winter. There we were truly warm. Forecasts held our attention for hours at a time. The tension built between cancellations allowing a late night and much needed sleep for early school mornings. We waited, keeping the outside spotlights on, looking for the first fallings of snow. The side porch held piles of wood brought over from the barn and staked high and covered to stay dry. We lived off of that wood in such cold temperatures. We lived in that room…watching the snow fall all around us.

Updates from the Interior of Alaska!

Well, it is 9:30 and it looks like it is 6 in the evening. We have had a blast and God has blessed us with some really cool creatures, some beautiful plants and trees, and most importantly, awesome people. I will blog more on the people later when I have more time. For now, here are some shots of where we have been and what we have seen...In Denali and Talkeetna, AK.

Our typical view...



The view from our room...



We went on a ATV tour...for four hours!! It was amazing.






A Moose!



I love the trees almost more than anything....breathing is so fresh here, for real.

First day in ALASKA!!

The view from the plane...we were still two hours from Anchorage...we are small.












The Alaska Zoo! Hopefully we'll see them out in the wild tomorrow...on to Denali!






















The Snow Leopard....very, very rare. Look for them on the Planet Earth series. They waited three years before catching them on film.













Brown Bear...he had an interesting cough!








Musk Ox...and baby.

More shots with the new camera...

Of course...




Fourth of July...









(a necessity at a Philly Fourth parade...)










My sweet, pretty sister Kim...




Amish Country...



















Colonial Plantation and Longwood Gardens....