The Strange Hello

Here's a quirky little observation.

When I'm out for my walk, I am inclined to simply say hello to anyone I come across.  Call me weird, but it just doesn't feel right to walk right by someone and not even acknowledge them.  A quick little hi costs me nothing, and it just helps make the human connection more, well, connective.

At least, that's what I'm thinking.

The thing is, not everyone is as into this as I seem to be.  In fact, I would say that it has become my expectation NOT to receive a hello in return.

This has been true in two different neighbourhoods now.  When I did my walk up in Waterloo, and now, here close to the Belmont Village area of Kitchener.  Both good communities with good people.  

And yet.

I honestly don't think I look dangerous.  I mean?  A 5 foot 3, 68 year old woman with a very understated fashion sense out for a walk in the early afternoon could hardly be perceived as a neighbourhood meanace.  Right?  So I doubt the lack of a response is that I'm scary.

Awkward maybe?  Is it simply weird to say hello to strangers?  Maybe.  Maybe I'm even embarrassing myself without knowing it by letting you know this is something I do.  We live in strange times and strangers can be strange sometimes, so maybe I should be more mindful of that?  Or maybe everyone else knows about the walkers' code of conduct to never ever say hello, which no one told me about.  

Sometimes I think I should leave it alone and do what so many do, just stroll on by as if another human being wasn't even there. 

But.  No.

There is another human being with me right within this quickly-shared space we occupy as we pass each other on the way to wherever we're going.  And you never know what someone's going through.  You never know if a simple hello from a stranger might be the best thing to happen to their day.  

Which is why I don't really care that much if I get a response.  Because sometimes I do.  Sometimes it's a smile in return, and maybe even a little still-walking conversation about how great a day it is, or how well behaved their dog is.  And there we are, human beings connecting in a neighbourhood, and being all cheerful and positive in a news-weary world that seems desperately devoid of joy some days.

So if you see me out walking, I'll say hi.  And if you say hi in return, well then, we did something good for each other in that moment.  And if you don't, I won't judge.  I don't know what's going on for you and won't presume.  But I'll still say hello to the next person who passes by.  Because I didn't get the memo that we shouldn't.  

And hey.  I'm looking forward to getting back up to the cottage where everyone waves at any boat going by whether you know them or not.  Just sayin'.  

Little Flowers, Weird Hymn Lyrics, and Prayers Where I Brace Myself

 

1. 

   Scilla Luciliae

   Glory of the Snow

   
   

   Before we get to things, there's something you need to know about these small purple flowers that are popping up behind our house.  The gizmo ap thingy I have on my phone tells me they are called Scilla Luciliae, or "Glory of the Snow."

   
   

   Whatever they're called, they shouldn't be there.  Or at least, as far as it would have depended on me.  These are plants that have a more or less wild and unintentional beginning in the yard far before anyone in our family has lived there.  

   
   
2. It could very well be that the previous owners of the property planted them on purpose.  But it's more likely, judging from the mature yard just behind us, that they have migrated towards us on their own.  
3. 
   
4. Also, and this is significant, they have survived the construction project that resulted in our new little house being all cozy and quaint back here.  But before it was that, it was a mess. Yet all the tromping and digging and upheaval; none of it has deterred this small but feisty little lovely.  
5. 
   
6. And I, the non-gardener, marvel because I know that I do not deserve it.  I have done nothing to create this little bit of springtime joy, but here it is just the same.  
7. 
   
8. This needs to be said, before we get to the hymn.
9. 
   

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above;

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

1. 
   
2. by Robert Roberston
3. In the category of "why didn't I ever notice this before?" a phrase in an old hymn we sang at worship service on Sunday caught my attention.
4. "Tune my heart to sing Thy grace."
5. I guess I'd always thought it was 'sing Thy praise,' which not only rhymes a little, adding to my mistake, but would also be a more expected way to end that thought, I think.  We sing praises, sure. More than we sing grace, right?
6. But noticing it on Sunday, it got me to wondering what it actually meant to 'sing grace.'  Not just sing about grace, but to sing grace itself.
7. Grace is a pretty big deal in the Bible.  And this hymn will keep circling back to it.  A thorough study would certainly yield much, not the least of which is the role of grace in God's big story of reconciling us to Himself.  And speaking of old hymns, how amazing grace is, in all its astonishing, soteriological layers!  For now, and at the risk of oversimplifying it, let's just define grace as being bestowed gifts or blessings or favour we most certainly didn't earn or deserve.  Like my little purple flowers out back.
8. And if that's the case, to sing grace, in a poetic sense, sort of sounds to me like we might spread that around a bit.  Share it into the spaces around us.  Just as we have received grace from God, we now pass that along to those in our orbits.  Like little splashes of springtime joy migrating from one yard to another.
9. Interestingly, the first examples of 'singing grace' that come to mind have to do with simple interactions with strangers.  Allowing space for that car that "didn't see" the lane closed sign way back there and is now trying to nose in.  Being extra friendly and patient with the cashier who's obviously tired and just a little bit grumpy.  Staying pleasant with the customer service associate on the phone, even when you're calling in a legitimate complaint.  Those are the easy songs though.  I can do, and write about, these and feel quite full of grace in my own little heart.  (Or full of something, anyways.)
10. The tune can get a little off key when things are closer to home, it seems.   Like when someone doesn't respond to an email and I am tempted to assign not so nice motives.  Or the repetition of a small but annoying habit begins to wear a groove in my patience. Or a well stated boundary is overstepped, yet again.  All of these things require relational attention for sure.  But with what song? 
11. [And here is interject a nod to the big and awful things that happen that require the kind of grace that can only happen because there is a God.  But this is not about that.]
12. Then there's the part about 'tuning.'   I'm not assuming to know the meaning Robertson gave this phrase, but I like this image a lot.  It speaks of spiritual formation, I think; that process of listening and adjusting and listening again.  
13. If my heart was an instrument to be used of God in His grand mission of making things 'on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10),' of moving us ever closer to a state in which His will is perpetually carried out and all the tears are wiped away (Revelation 21:4) and no one is afraid (Micah 4:6), and oh how glorious it will all be by then!!!....If that's what my heart is being tuned for, then it would sing of grace.
14. Out in the backyard yesterday, when I discovered my little glory of snow, I felt the Spirit make all the connections.  The little blue flower that I didn't deserve.  The grumblings of my spirit when wronged (perceived or real).  The way my heart is still off key and needs Divine tuning to help me sing His grace when it really counts.  
15. I hum the hymn.  I pray the prayer.
16. "Tune my heart, Lord, to sing Thy grace."
17. It's one of those dangerous prayers, of course, so I best brace myself.
18. 
    

What I Learned From Giving Up Productivity for Lent

Having previously posted my intention to give up "productivity" for Lent (So Far So Lent), I feel it's only fair to provide a few reflections on that experience now.  

Honestly?  These are just my own observations and learnings, and may or may not be of interest or relevance to anyone else.  

But since spiritual formation is a process, and open transparency is of some value in how we learn from one another, I offer these somewhat random points, just in case.

To recap, my observance of the 40 Days of Lent from Ash Wednesday (February 18) to Maundy Thursday (April 2) came in the form of refraining from the urgency and efficiency with which I normally strive to accomplish the work of my life.  There was a 'lesser' feel to my schedule during this time anyways, and I was curious to see if my sometimes flippant remark that 'productivity could easily become my god, if I let it,' had any teeth.

So, here's what I feel was revealed to me as I paused, took a breath, and stepped carefully out into the lesser-than journey this Lenten season.

1.  It's Okay to Be Me, But Mindfully

Throughout my intentional prayers and meditations, I realized and was affirmed again that my desire for productivity is not wrong it itself.  It's part of how God wired me up, and therefore the good stewardship of it is one important way of faithfully serving Him.  If I can get a lot done in any given day, and I'm feeling 'productive' and that makes me happy, that's not wrong.

But when productivity itself becomes separated from a servant's heart, becomes the driving force and primary goal, and/or gets tied up in my value and identity, that's when things get warped.  Stepping back from that, intentionally and mindfully, helped me see where I'm prone to step out of being Spirit-led into the realm of being fear-driven. 

2.  It's About How Things Get Done, Not How Much Gets Done

During this time, it wasn't so much about what I did or did not get accomplished in any given day or week.  Some weeks were a little lighter, sure.  But some weeks there were still many timely things to get done, reasonable expectations to fulfill, places to be, reports to be written and sent and filed, longer term plans to execute in the smaller weekly tasks.  All of that didn't stop just because it was Lent. 

The fasting from productivity, however, ended up feeling more about a general approach or attitude toward the tasks I consider 'work'.  It was more about lessening the intensity and leaving space for more thoughtful interaction with whatever was before me in the moment.  It was about giving myself permission to put something down and leave it for a while, when the time lines allowed, and picking it up later when I was able to give it fresh intention.  This replaced my admittedly-normal MO of pressing so hard to 'git 'er done' just so I could check it off the list and feel that sense of productivity.

3.  It's About What Gets "Accomplished" When I'm Not at My Desk

During Lent, I felt differently about time spent away from my desk, and this surprised me.  When I am focused on productivity, any other appointments or meetings or even getting out for my walk all seems like a competition for my time and energy.  As if I was somehow shirking my 'real' responsibilities.  But when productivity itself wasn't the goal, then that low-grade, white-noise anxiety wasn't there because it wasn't 'necessary.'

Generally speaking, I am quite protective about the time I spend at my desk, and for reason.  When my office situation was different, and the connective expectations higher, I had to modify my desire to be constantly 'available,' and set some difficult but essential boundaries.  Some of those boundaries, and the scheduling of uninterrupted time, are still helpful and necessary.  But beyond that, because of this fast from productivity, I think I am realizing that I tend to view the work done at my desk as the 'real' work, and everything else is a distraction from it.  Maybe it's because what I do at my desk gives me something more concrete to show for my efforts.  An agenda mapped out, a blog posted, an email sent, a sermon written, a lesson planned, a report written and sent and filed.  

And oh, how self-important all of this sounds!  I write these words as confession.  Made even more stinging because this seems a repeated lesson of the Spirit to my soul.  And I leave that here for me to sit still in it a little longer.  

4.  It's 40 Days, But More

Psychologists say that it normally takes 21 days to form a new habit.  Lent is longer, which is one reason, perhaps, the practice of it can be so formative.

For me, 40 days was long enough to feel it as a discipline, as a fasting-from.  All chill and determined to relax at the beginning, but ramping up a little by midway.  Forgetting I was doing this, even.  I had to write a little note to myself at the top of each week's list to remind me not to overload the expectations.  Oh yeah, I'm giving up productivity for Lent.  When I had a moment of anxiety because it felt like I was being lazy, or wasting the day, or - gasp - being unproductive!...Oh yeah, I'm giving up productivity for Lent.  Like that.

And also, 40 days was long enough to make for a more lasting change in some of my rushing-habits.  Rushing habit examples that I noticed this time out:  

Eating quickly just to get back to work, instead of taking a legitimate lunch break.  

Knowing I have 15 minutes before the next meeting begins and looking at the list for something I can check off and get done in that time, because, heavens, one wouldn't want to waste 15 minutes, right?

  

What about my walking pace?  For the purpose of exercise, you obviously want to keep it brisk.  But other times, like in the grocery store, or even just getting up from my desk to head to the kitchen, I found it interesting to notice what happened if I slowed that down a little, which I could do if I wasn't in any hurry to get anything in particular checked off the list.   I'm hoping some of this sticks.

"Spiritual Formation is the process of being formed 

into the likeness of Christ

for the sake of others."

M. Robert Mulholland

And so, patient friends, that's what I've come up with so far.  Feels like enough.  And ironically, I'll stop here before this update itself becomes something that feels more thoroughly productive rather than reflectively meditative.  And yes, I'm laughing at myself right now.  

And meanwhile, quietly, as if not wanting any undue attention, all this time of unproductivity has produced my first orchid bloom here in our new little house.  That's coming on to two years.  A longer time of being dormant, of being unproductive, and yet, here it is, all beautiful.

If you've come with me all the way to the end of this post, thanks for the company.  The journey into becoming our better selves is always better when taken together.

I'd be curious, if you'd be inclined to share it with me, how you might have observed Lent, and what your own learnings were.  My email is rabreithaupt@hcckw.ca.  Love to hear from you.

AKA Buy All the Chocolate Day

My particular Christian tradition does not necessarily explain or even mark Easter Monday in any particular way.  For me, growing up, it was the extension of the long weekend where I didn't have to go to school, and we didn't get the mail, but almost everything else went on as normal.

By now I'm just excited that ALL the blooms of my lily showed up in perfect sync to wow us on Easter Sunday morning, and will grace our front room with beauty for the week ahead!  AND...Ken and I will go hunt for discounted chocolate a little later on.  Why not?

But also, I am still absorbing all the learnings and joys of this whole Lent-leading-up-to-Easter season.  It was a new thing for me to practice Lent by abstaining from the intensive productivity that usually, and I could argue rightfully-according-to-how-I'm-wired, marks my approach to life and ministry.  In the same way more relaxed and laid back personalities should embrace who they are, I embrace this about me.  

And...it was good and instructive to be mindful of my responses and insights for these past 40 days.  In the spirit of all I have learned, I am collecting some reflections, but not rushing to check off the list.  It needs a bit of soaking first.

All that being said, I've been out for my walk already while the sun was still shining.  And there are good and meaningful things before me this week that I'd best get at.

However your week is starting off, I hope you feel ready, and hopeful, and empowered.

And if you'd like to, check out the link for some History of Easter Monday 

Resurrection Sunrise

 

Praise be to the God and Father of

our Lord Jesus Christ!

In His great mercy

He has given us new birth

into a LIVING HOPE

through the resurrection

of Jesus Christ from the dead,

and into an inheritance

that can never perish, spoil, or fade.

1 Peter 1:3-4

And this changes everything.

Great mercy.

New birth.

Living hope.

Certain inheritance.

No wonder we're going to party loud at Church this morning!

Jesus, in all His explosive glory!

Just look at Him!!!

Wishing you and yours a hope-beyond-hope Easter morning.

Not So Silent Saturday

 Stop,

and acknowledge that 

I am God.

Psalm 46:10

Photo Credit:

Seal on Jesus' Tomb

"Be still," it is commonly rendered, "and know that I am God."  And we put it on posters with images of solitude and peace, as an invitation to come away from the noise of our lives to sit lovely with a cup of tea, and a journal on our lap.  And, all by itself, it works as a good reminder to do just that.

But this morning is Holy Saturday.  Silent Saturday.  When everything stood still, and everything raged at the same time.

And in step with the full context of Psalm 46, where God is described as a Divine Warrior that directs His attention to the termination of wars and destruction, I don't think it's a stretch to hear Him make this declaration over the crucified body of His Son.

Behind the seal of a human empire lies the One who will bring all empires to submit to ultimate shalom.  The Kingdom of God can be described as a state where the perfect will of God is being perpetually carried out.  And that Kingdom is going to win this.

"He breaks the bow and snaps the spear, and burns shields in fire," are the promises in verse 9, just before the more famous verse 10.  And just before that, in verse 8, wars are 'terminated.'  

I need this today, on this Saturday in between.

This reminder that, ultimately, no human leader reigns supreme; that wars are not okay with God (1) and He exercises His authority to end them; that what looks like defeat is often just the beginning of something spectacular. 

This morning, though, as I gradually became awake, and aware of what day this was, His words were more that of a Shepherd than a Warrior, although truth be told I need Him to be both on my behalf.  But today it was in the unrushing sound of rain, keeping me in bed just a little longer, hearing Him speak it to me, just me, in that way He does with us.  The thoughts form, and turn towards me, gently.

"Stop, be still, cease striving.  

All the things that are uncertain for you right now, the things you want to fix but can't, are certainly and silently working for the better story you are writing with Me about you right now.  

And while you are a cherished daughter, and the object of all I can offer, really, Dear Heart, this is about so much more than just you.  

What looks like the final word, a Roman seal on a tomb, is really Heaven holding its breath for what comes next.  

And I will be with you, always.  Always."

And I will wait for this.

(1) For a thorough discussion on God's attitude towards violence, see Bloody, Brutal, and Barbaric? Wrestling with Troubling War Texts, by William J. Webb and Gordon K. Oeste, Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2019.

Wretched Friday

 

In sync with the Man's last exhale

the Cosmos holds its breath.

We wait.

Sorrows.

"It is accomplished."

Not Yet

If you know what this is, it's likely because you already have one in your house waiting for the weekend.  Or you just know flowers way better than I do, since I'm not sure I could identify a bloom before it opens, no matter how well-known the plant.

It is of course an Easter Lily.  We got this one last Friday from the grocery store.  They all looked quite healthy and full of potential sitting there on the rack, and it seemed worthy of the ten dollar investment. So we brought this one home.

I really like having them in the house at Easter, mostly because it reminds me of Spring, and any flowering thing is more than welcome.  But an Easter Lily has special association for me because of how I've understood it to be a visual representation of the Resurrection.

If you look it up, you'll discover there is a lot to the symbolic meanings of the lily.  The flower is mentioned a few times in Scripture (Song of Solomon 2:1; Hosea 14:5; Matthew 6:28-29 if you are so inclined to do a quick study).  But nothing necessarily in connection with Resurrection morning.  The spiritual symbolism comes to us more courtesy of 14th century artists and other influences, which is all fine and meaningful in its own right.

I think for me, the particular way the blooms stay closed shut, then open wide and trumpet-like has a resemblance to the Tomb of Christ, both before and after.  I find myself checking in each morning to see which blooms are almost ready.  There's a patient expectation.  I know it will be worth the wait.

When the blooms do open, it's almost like they're saying, "Ta da!"  Maybe it's the trumpet shape.  Maybe it's the purity of the white petals.  I can't seem to help myself in feeling 'yay.'  It happened!  He is risen!

But not yet.

We're not done Lent yet.

It's in these waiting spaces that much can be revealed in those deeper places where we are human.  It's in the 'before' that we are refined for the 'after.'  And this year, as I look toward the opening lily blooms, I am again reminded that I know the end of the story, whereas the original Disciples did not.  They did not know.  

Not yet.  

I find I am drawn to waiting with them this year as I look at the closed-up-ness of my lily.  With them and with sisters and brothers around the world not knowing yet how their own story will end.  For some it looks grim.  War does that.

I want to wait with others, closer to home, who know a fresh grief, and can identify so much more painfully with those original Disciples than I do right now.  With others whose stories seem all tight and unlovely in this chapter that unfolds for them these days.  

And I wait with my own wonderings at the strangeness of the ways some things appear to be so very not okay.   And I am okay to sit with that in these days before the Opening.

Because I do know the rest of the story.

But not yet.

Cloned Facebook Account Alert, and a Good-Natured (I Hope) Rant

Just in case it's not obvious....

I am not Chief Mike Benham of 1502 Division or even know what the English Vol. Fire Department is. My name is not Ruthanne Sent Requests, as if that's not obvious either.

I thought these things were supposed to be getting harder to spot, but anyhoo.

And because it's happened yet again, I will yet again repeat a few things that are important to me as I navigate the on line world.

Do not accept any new friend requests from me unless I have otherwise contacted you, in person or by other non-Facebook means.

I will never ask for personal money to be sent to some weird account, because I don't need that kind of money ever, and any fundraising I do is all done through orderly, legitimate means that are easily traceable.

I do not accept new friend requests either, unless I can confirm it otherwise.

I never click on a link or an attachment unless I can confirm otherwise.

If not copying and pasting a pre-written, guilt-laden post somehow puts me in that despicable 97% of your friends proving somehow that I don't care about cancer or animal cruelty or disabilities or whatever, oh well.

And, while I'm at it, I will not hold, copy and paste in any attempt to rid my feed of ads, or see more Friends, or be suddenly flush with money, or as a means by which God might answer my prayers. Just, don't even.

What I do appreciate about social media in general is that we all have this amazing opportunity to lift each other up, cheer each other on, speak courage into each other's hearts, and remind each other of what is true and noble and right and pure and lovely and admirable.

There is so much goodness we can spread around into all the muck that's out there right now!!!

To the person or persons who have sent out this most recent distortion of my image, I am so sorry that your life has come to this. Truly. I am praying that you and those in your circles will be able to find employment in something that brings you dignity and worth, and connects you with others in ways that are deeply satisfying and life-giving.

Okay, now on to a Friday full of anticipation for a robust weekend.

Life is good.

The Bluff Charge

 "The Moses answered the people,

"Fear not.

Stand firm and [Watch God] you will see the 

deliverance the LORD will bring you today.

The Egyptians you see today

you will never see again.

The Lord with fight for you;

you need only to be still."

Exodus 14:13-14

Apparently, if you're out in the woods and you encounter a bear, and if that bear decides to charge, what you're supposed to do is make yourself as big as possible, make as much noise as possible, and stay put.

Don't run.

I learned this directly from the Natural Resources officer who answered the phone that night I was alone in the cottage with a black bear sniffing around.  I was in no immediate danger, so we had a long and lovely chat about bears in general; how to co-exist in cottage country, how to keep ourselves safe, and a few choice bits of information about bear behaviour.

She said that sometimes bears might do what's called a 'bluff charge'.  They pound the ground a bit with their front legs, and then head towards you in a run.  But if you stay put, make yourself big and loud, they stop.  You'd be okay, as long as you don't run.

Yeah, right.

I do not doubt the truth of this information.  The officer really did seem to know what she was talking about, and a cursory online look verifies this.  I only doubt my ability to have the nerve to hold my ground if ever faced with such a situation.

That conversation happened about ten years ago or so.  And fortunately, up until this day, I have never had to find out if a) it's true that it would be just a bluff charge or b) I would be able to stay put.

However.

I do believe I've been able to apply this same strategy when facing other threatening situations in my life.  Not the bear kind.  But the kind where I perceive that something I love and value is in danger.  Where forces bigger and stronger than me seem to be advancing toward me in ways menacing and terrifying.

When caught between the Egyptian army and the Red Sea, Moses gave the Israelites four instructions.  

"Stand firm" was one of them.  I'm sure that was not so easy to do.

For me, when facing a menacing threat, 'stand firm' can mean a variety of spiritual 'postures.'

One would be staying quietly engaged in a confrontation without matching the volume and energy of the person accusing me.

Another might be refusing to jump to the worst case scenario that my imagination can conjure, and waiting instead for the story to unfold.

Another might be to simply take a few deep breaths and recite 'firm-standing' Scriptures to myself, this one from Exodus being a favourite.

Another might be to remain steady in self-advocacy, enlisting support where needed, particularly when something truly wrong is going on that not only threatens something cherished, but demands my moral involvement in protecting it.

And like a possible encounter with a bluff-charging bear, there are times when loud roars and flailing arms might be necessary.  But even then, my feet are planted, and the energy expended is not a frantic panic reaction, but a confident, carefully directed response.  

That's when I'm standing firm, however.  Sometimes I do give way to the fear, and hightail it out of there, cowering in a corner until I can collect my wits about me again.  It still happens, sure.

But more and more, as I practice standing on my own two feet and watch God be faithful time and time again, I'm finding my first responses to be less freaked-out and more firm-standing.

So much in the news these days that could conjure up worse case scenarios.  And life throws menacing things at us often enough, even without the politics.  

What would it look like, though, if we could stay still, feet planted, focused and steady in the midst of it all?  

Not sure what you need today, but I needed to remind myself of this.

A Disciplined Convenience

This is going to be about Lent and the whole deal where we participate in spiritual practices as part of "the process of being formed into the likeness of Christ for the sake of others" (M. Robert Mulholland).

 Just wanted to say so, because it's going to take me a minute to get to that, and it's only fair that you know ahead of time so you can decide if you'd rather scroll along to something shorter, or just something else.  

Which, honestly, is fine.  I do it too.

This is just a slice of what I've been mulling over in the spaces made available as I've given up productivity for Lent.  

I'll begin with a story of getting to the bank.

And as soon as I write that first sentence, I realize this makes me something of a target for all those comments about seniors not keeping up with technology, specifically about all the 'on line' banking options now available to the unsuspecting masses.  So, yes.  I realize that half of what the story I'm about to tell wouldn't be at all necessary --  if it was just about banking.  

But it's not, so I'll continue.

As part of the bigger picture of our family banking, I have two separate accounts at two entirely different institutions.  This isn't the place to talk about diversifying portfolios or spousal access or any of that complicated stuff.  Because this is really just about me needing to keep things simple and clearly organized in a way that doesn't mess with my numbers/money-phobic brain.  

When we lived in Waterloo and I was travelling a certain route daily, back and forth to the church, both Banks had a branch "on the way."  Easy peasy.  Didn't even have to change lanes or navigate a roundabout to get in to the parking lot and/or the drive through.  Just zip zip, in and out.  So convenient.

Now that we live where we do, not so much.  Many other amenities and services are closer than they used to be, including doctor's, dentist, optometrist, Dollorama, various and sundry dining establishments, the place you can vacuum out your vehicle, groceries, thrift stores and, yes, even the church.  A lot of it is within easy walking distance, actually.  Or at the very least, on the way to other things with easy access driving. 

But one of the two Banks does not have a branch anywhere near us or on the way to anything.  It's not their fault, and it's not a deal breaker for me, not at all.  In fact, the way I do my banking, I usually don't have to visit that particular account in person much if at all, as there are direct deposits going on there.  (Hey, maybe I do know how to do some on line stuff.....Oh wait.  Ken set that all up for me, so never mind.)

On one particular day, when Ken and I were coming in off the 401 after being out of town, I realized that I needed to deposit a cheque (yes a paper one) into the now awkward account.  We tried first to find a branch using the maps ap, just so we could do this errand smoothly between the 401 and home.  But it sent us to 'withdrawal only' ATMs, and we soon decided it was going to be just as easy to go out of the way to stop in at my 'regular' branch and get this done.  So not convenient, and it actually ended up adding a full 30 minutes to our already 2 hour drive.  

But oh well, it's not like I have to do it often.  Which is good.  Because if I had to, I wouldn't.  I might even have to change Banks if it got to be too inconvenient.

Here's where I switch into the Lent stuff.  Because my mind works like that, and this is what I was thinking as we were in and out of the not-helpful-for-this-task ATMs.

We're like that, us humans.  We seek convenience.  Especially in this era of on line, drive-through, fast food, instant gratification, time-is-precious, pace of life.  This is why it is recommended that we find a gym that's either close to home or at least on the way to work.  Or, if you're on a diet that requires any degree of chopping or other prep, you find ways to do it in bigger batches so things are easily ready when it's meal time.  We are more inclined to stick with the exercise, or stick with the diet if it's convenient.

And I think this might be important for those of us who sometimes struggle with having consistent times of meditation and reflection.  Who very much want to make the space for times to be spiritually quiet, to contemplate holy things, to listen for the guidance and correction and affirmations we so desperately need, but who find it hard to make it a matter of disciplined practice.

What if we started with convenience?

Now, if you're like me you might have a slight push back to this idea at first.  Some of us were raised in a more rigid spiritual environment where they talked about things like prolonged and painful positions of prayer.  There was even a knee thing called 'prayer callouses' which, apparently, were supposed to be a sign of spiritual fervor.  Not making that up.  You also got extra points if you woke up in the wee hours of the morning to do your 'quiet time.'  And if you were in any other way somewhat uncomfortable or inconvenienced then, wow, that was considered to be a sign of true devotion.  Convenient?  How heathen!

Right here, things could go a little sideways, if we're not careful.

In considering a disciplined convenience, we cannot disrespect the ways that devotion does indeed often require sacrifice.  The Desert Mothers and Fathers, who excelled in inconvenient and uncomfortable practices, were themselves reacting against the indulgent prosperity into which the Church at the time had plunged.  There are times when fasting or solitude or pressing into something less than comforting does produce the character and growth we are after.  Our Christian faith is founded on the sacrifice of Christ on our behalf, who spared nothing to bring us redemption.  And we are called to pick up our cross and follow Him.  So there's that.

But if, in normal times, ordinary life, in a rubber-meets-the-road reality, a simpler consistency is what's needed, why not see if we can make spiritual reflection happen more consistently just by making it more convenient?

What if it happened at a time of day when we are most relaxed and open?  What if our season of life dictated how often we did this, instead of a forced expectation?  What if it could be in a physical space where we are cozy and receptive?  What if it could be associated with all the positivity we can muster around us, including maybe even possibly our favourite something in a mug? What if our Bibles and journals were there, easily accessible?  What if candles were involved?  

Or, boldly enough, what if we weren't even inside?  What if no journaling was expected, but instead the worship-filled poetry of a forest or a hiking trail or a birdfeeder in the backyard was allowed to write its wisdom on our hearts?

But now I'm going beyond convenience into the next level of self-awareness, and how that so truly connects with spiritual formation.  And I'm getting a little ahead of myself.  Because where this could go is to a point where we look forward to our practices the same way we look forward to a favourite dessert, or a delightful hobby, or a well-deserved treat of any sort.  

Possible?  I say it is.  But I would also say it probably starts more simply with things just being easy to access.

And it makes me curious.

If we could build these practices around the idea that convenience in itself can foster discipline, I wonder what might happen?  Not just during Lent.  But in the longer story of our ordinary living. 

It wasn't particularly productive that day, when we were stopping in at the ATMs and getting ourselves all turned around just to try to deposit a cheque.  But that's okay.  Because I've given up productivity for Lent.  And even though it makes me squirm a little, I'm liking where it's taking me.

Chosen Joy

 

I keep coming back to this picture.

Somjit is in the yellow on the left, and Beemai is in the black on the right.  We are waiting for evening worship time to begin, and the children are gathering and playing.  It's like that.  They come into the big meeting room and goof off a bit before we get started with the singing.  

Somjit and Beemai have been having a thumb war first, which evolves into a tableless arm wrestle, then a bit of what might be described as chair wrangling.  And it all is apparently hilarious fun.

And I keep coming back to this picture because, having been present when it was happening, just remembering the moment and looking at those faces delivers a significant injection of joy every time.  

How can it not?  I mean....just look at them!

In these days of Lenten reflection, these days of lesser productivity and a bit more space, I have become more aware of what I'm looking at.  And not all of it is joy.

There's a LOT going on on the planet these days, in case you didn't know.  But I fear the problem is that we all do know, and we know it a lot!  It comes at us non-stop thanks to our phones.  Mostly our phones, but also by all sorts of media.

An article that's already four years old from the American Psychological Association was outlining the stressors of too much news back in the days of COVID.  These days it's wars and rumours of wars and gas prices and politics and no end of awfulness that we can consume in a matter of minutes just by scrolling up.  

And then there's whatever's happening in our own orbits, in our neighbourhood, with our friends, within our families.  And oh, let's add in a long harsh winter winding up with a March that's behaving like a menopausal woman.  

But.  That's actually not all that's going on.  It's just one side of things.  Which brings me back to this picture and becoming more aware of, then more intentional about what I'm looking at.

It's a razor thin line sometimes between honest, compassionate engagement in the pain of others, and the good and necessary choice to find the joy.  We navigate the space between 'toxic positivity' and wallowing.  We dare not invalidate the negative even as we seek the positive.  And we can't let all the sorrow rob us of the joy that is indeed honestly available to us.  

Which brings me back to the picture.  Again.  Because...just look at them!

These sweet girls have known their own sorrow; more than they should have in their young lives.  Without going into their stories, just know that the fun they are having in this captured moment is a testament to their own resilience and the power of a nurturing environment to heal the soul.  They don't know it, I'm sure, but they bring so much joy to my own.  What a gift it is to be in that nurturing environment as often as I am.

So, what then?

I won't ignore the goings on, the bad and the ugly.  I won't run from the pain of others, or from caring and doing and knowing, not in that order, but maybe in that order.  

But I choose to let my focus rest on all that's good.

And yes, I can't help but hear it in my head right this minute.

"Whatsoever is true, or noble, or right, or lovely, or admirable -- anything excellent or praiseworthy...think on these things....  And the God of peace will be with you."  Philippians 4:8-9

And also with you.

Spiritual Formation Fast Forward

Scrolling confession:  I can waste a fair minute watching sped-up videos of someone cleaning up a yard.  

Specifically, there's this one guy out there who has a You Tube channel dedicated to tackling the outside of derelict properties by mowing overgrown lawns and clearing off driveways and sidewalks, freeing them from years of neglect.  I think he actually does own a business, but most of the short videos I've seen on my Facebook Feed showcase what he does as a public service.  It you want to check it out, here's a link SB Mowing.  Fair warning: If you get hooked, don't blame me.

In the clips I've seen, this guy does brutal work.  He's mostly out there with a spade and a shovel scraping off cracked cement blocks or asphalt.  That kind of thing takes time and a lot of back-breaking effort.  He trims hedges and cuts back young trees with too many rouge shoots, clearing away the front and sides of the houses.  Even when he's using his riding mower, some of those yards are massive and have odd contours.  He's out there for hours.

The thing about the videos though, is that it's all in fast motion.  And I think this is why I get hooked.  You can see the results so quickly.  What's taken him hours is done in a zip.  And it's so satisfying to see the utter transformation of a property!  Clean walkways, lawns trimmed and edged, yards cleared, curbside appeal restored.  It's like the whole place can breathe again.  All in a matter of minutes.  

If only.

In the introspection of Lent, then, it makes me want to ask the ridiculous question I already know the answer to:

Is there a fast-motion setting I could set on my soul?

And that makes me think of whiskey.  Or jeans.  Or cheese.  Or art.  Or balsamic vinegar.  Or any number of other things that, like my soul, cannot be hurried into their finer states.  

Spiritual formation is what I'm after.  "The process of being formed into the likeness of Christ for the sake of others," M. Robert Mulholland Jr. puts it.

Ah yes.  The process.  Pronounced "proooooooooooooocess." And there's no rushing it.  I want to.  I want the results in record time.  I want to be there already.  I want the clean lines and fresh face of character and virtue and faith.  I want to be master of my anxiety, released from my perfectionism, purged of all prejudices, a model of tranquility.  Like, right now.

But that's not how it works.  There is no short-changing the process.  There is no magic setting to speed things up. 

There's just sitting in it.  And repeating the practice of it.  And putting the work into it, day by day, bit by bit, sometimes shovel by shovel.  

Reminds me of 2 Peter 1:5-7:

For this very reason, make every effort to 

add to your faith goodness; and to goodness knowledge,

and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance

and to perseverance, godliness, and to godliness, mutual affection;

and to mutual affection, love.

And if that sounds like a quick and easy progress of things to you, I would gently suggest you haven't tried it.  

Back to our definition.  Spiritual formation is a 'process of being formed.' The effort is clearly ours.  But the change is by the Spirit.  Like the two pedals on a bicycle; our part, His part.  So we sit in all of it, and then watch what the Spirit wants to do with us.  And it's okay.

Because He does.  He will.  He's patient and good like that.  

Good thing.  I need Him to be that and so much more for me.

Guarding Above All Else

 

Above all else

guard your heart,

for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23

More for Lent as we finish up the week.

Still finding myself in those spaces of getting less things done on purpose, and not always loving what I find there.  Gently, because it's of no purpose to inflict shame upon one's own soul.  But honestly, because change only comes from the truth.

Guarding my heart.  These words from Solomon come to mind for some unexpected reason when I move this votive glass aside to grab a book on the shelf.  The glass has been there a long time, but the delicacy of the heart tied in the ribbon catches my attention in a new way just now.  And I hear the verse inside my head.

Why this?  It's my first question.  Why these words at such a small and random provocation?  This happens for me sometimes, no often, and I want to pay attention when it does.  So I open my Bible and sit with it for a while.  In those Lenten spaces.

Because lately, while all this not-doing-so-much-stuff is going on, I've been in touch with more anger than I'd like to admit.  Doesn't matter what about, but it's there, and it's a lot, and that surprises me.  And it distracts me.  It's not who I want to be, yet here we are.   I'm disappointed.  Maybe I thought that in the spaces I'd be opening up to more peace.  But not so much.  

So then I sit with that.  The anger.  I let myself feel it.  Try to trace it backwards to what's underneath.  Gently, because it's of no purpose to thrash about needlessly expending precious energy.  But honestly, because sorting it out only comes from the truth.

And yes, it's true, that everything I do flows from my heart, from that core of who I am, what I love and how I feel and what is cherished.  Everything.  Guarding that, owning that, caring for and nourishing that.  I sit with all of that for a bit longer.  

Then I put the book back, and the votive glass back, and let the delicacy of that dangling heart move ever so slightly in the doing of it.  Not resolved.  That won't come so simply or easily or quickly.  But perhaps it's made less in recognizing it, owning it, validating it.  For now, that will be enough.  It's a process after all.

Maybe this is why Lent lasts forty days.  I need the time.

Oh, and the snow thing is back with us again today.  

Would anyone be glad for it by now?  Not sure.

But at least it's Friday.

Lots going on this weekend, and I will embrace it all.

March Showers and Unplowed Ground

 

And oh, doesn't the sound of the rain make it all so cozy to stay in bed just a little longer this morning!

With the temperatures sitting at above zero these past few nights, I've cranked open the window for some fresh-air sleeping.  Yes, I know some of you do this all winter long, but for me this is a significant sign of spring.  And this morning it meant I woke up and lay in the lovely of it for a bit.

"March Showers" are admittedly a different deal than "April Showers."  It's not supposed to be until May that we get to the flowers part of the rhyme.  We'll have to wait until late April, early May to catch those fleeting Trilliums, resurrected from the earth in all their triune glory.  But this morning I thought ahead to them, glad for this good soaking to get things started.

Rain seems appropriate for Lent then.  A dark sky overhead to prepare for what's coming.  But first, Hosea.

"Sow righteousness for yourselves, 

reap the fruit of unfailing love, 

and break up your unplowed ground, 

for it is time to seek the LORD, 

until he comes and showers His righteousness on you."

Hosea 10:12

As prophets go, Hosea holds a fair bit of what we might call 'moral authority' given how he lived out in real time anything God asked him to say to the people.  Knowing that this one text is actually in the middle of a fair scolding helps me see the call to 'break up your unplowed ground' as something of a challenge to identify places in my soul that might be resistant to God's redeeming work in me.  Specifically, where am I being stubborn, narrow, unmoved?

I've mentioned before that I am attempting to 'give up productivity for Lent.'  This has allowed for unassigned spaces where I encounter myself in different ways than when I am robustly occupied.  It's been good for me, although somewhat squirmy.  There is still unplowed ground in me.  I shouldn't be surprised, and I'm not.  Such is the ever-deepening process of spiritual formation.  

Lent is a good opportunity to heed Hosea's admonition "for it's time to seek the LORD."

And a good opportunity for March rains to soften the earth a bit, and get ready for the Trillium resurrections.

Praying showers of goodness on you this wonder-filled Wednesday.

All of a Sudden After a Long Hold

 

What a difference over just a few days!

For my daily 2 km stroll, I walk alongside and then cross over this creek bed.  I couldn't help but go back and compare today's picture with one I took at exactly the same spot just at the end of last week.  

I am reminded of how quickly things can turn around, even a long, cold, harsh winter.  Not that long ago it seemed those enormous, grit-laden snowbanks would be part of the landscape forever.  Granted, it will take several more bouts of high temperature days to deal with what's backed up in the corner of basically every parking lot.  And another 'granted,' it's supposed to get cold and snow again later this week, but never mind that now.

Yesterday and today, everything feels open and warm and flowing again.  The green will come soon enough.  Well, maybe not soon enough for some, but it will.  Even whatever snow falls between now and 'real Spring' won't stick around for long.

Other things can get turned around quickly in the end too, I find.  Breakthroughs after long bouts of depression.  A balance point in the positive after a grueling dig out of debt.  Stepping on the scale and realizing you've achieved your goal weight at last.  Crossing the stage to receive your degree after a lengthy academic pursuit.  Celebrating a milestone anniversary in a love story that has included some difficult chapters.  

And unlike a sudden spike in temperature, these turnarounds are usually the accumulative result of getting up every day and just doing the thing.  They come because simple, compound faithfulness eventually yields results.  There's something very powerful about setting your intention on the small things within your control, those everyday tasks that are there right before us, and just staying at it.  

"Be faithful in small things," Mother Teresa once said, "Because it is in them that your strength lies."

Or, "The version of you that keeps going quietly is the one that wins long term."  That from a Facebook site that keeps coming up on my feed called "Power of Positivity."  For what it's worth.

So, if we can we should probably get outside for a bit today.  Soak up some of that free vitamin D, pretend like winter's done with us for at least now.  And just keep going.

And maybe, maybe, today will be a breakthrough day!

A Song for Blunders

Poet Malcolm Guite has captured a fairly decent synopsis of what could be titled "Instructions for Life."

Be but your own good friend

And be good to the other

Cherish those sisters and brothers

Along the road

And to the earth extend

Every reverence and wonder

Tend to the wounds of your blunders

And honour God who formed our home.

I can hear it as a melody even as I write these words, because I was introduced to the poem through the ministry of Canadian music artist Steve Bell in his piece called Good Friend

Every phrase of this chorus is packed for me, and I'm tempted to unpack it bit by bit.  But that would end up reading more like a sermon, and I do that enough of the time already.

I'm reflecting in a particular way this morning on the one thought almost at the end.  

Tend to the wounds of your blunders.

I'm drawn to it because in the midst of all the other positive admonitions that we all would cheerfully embrace, there's this gentle but pointed reminder that we blunder.... and we wound.

If I'm honest, I'd like to pretend that I am only ever on the being wounded end of things.  And for sure, life, and let's be real, especially ministry, has it's generous share of dings.  Some things can be shrugged off, worked out, easily forgiven and moved on from.  Other wounds go deep.  Some scars are permanent.  Triggers are sensitive and terrible.

I know my own wounds well.  I could recite then far too easily.  The reminder here that comes to me this morning though, is that I've wounded.  I've blundered.  Both my ego and my heart wish it wasn't so, but it is.  And there it is. The log in my own eye thing.  Some of my blunders I am all too aware of.  Others I may know nothing about.  Such is the nature of bumping into one another in various iterations of relationship throughout a lifetime.  Doing life in community, which I fully believe in and also enjoy many benefits of, is confoundingly complex.

So how do I tend to these wounds?  It's a trickier business than it sounds, and requires a slow, careful approach.  No quick apologies.  No intruding upon past lives where more harm can only be the result of a self-centered approach to clearing my own conscience.  No expectation of forgiveness easily, or ever, offered.

But when it is available to me, the opportunity to tend to those wounds, I can't help but hope I would provide what I myself would very much need from someone who has wounded me.  Humility.  Deep listening.  Seeking to understand before being understood.  Validating without excuse.  Offering perspective and additional information where needed.  Making amends when possible and when it causes no further harm.  And ultimately, a change of attitude, approach and behaviour to limit the potential of further wounding.  

Going back to the poem, I suppose if we all paid attention to the other things listed -- being a good friend, cherishing, extending reverence, and honouring God -- we'd have less wounding going on in the first place.

But the truth is in the humanity of it.  We mess up.  We do.

So the joyful lilt of this poem-set-to-music is still cheering.  And inspiring.  A good way to start off this fourth week of Lent reflections, as squirmy it has been to reflect upon.  I'll likely sing the song now for most of the day.  To remind me.  To sober me.  To keep me moving forward in the ways of growing.

I trust the time change hasn't messed with your resting this weekend, and you are headed into your Monday with purpose and joy.  

Enjoy the warmer temperatures while they last.

The Fireplace Thing

 

My comfort in my suffering is this:

Your promise preserves my life.

Psalm 119:50

One of the things we gave up in our move was the presence of a real wood fireplace.  And I do miss the all-senses ambiance a little on cold winder nights.  However, there's still one at the cottage to enjoy.  And this little electric unit (which looks more realistic in person than in this photo) provides enough cozy in our new space in the city to balance out the advantages of not having to chop, stack and haul wood, or clean out the ashes afterwards, not to mention the increased insurance costs.

Of course, with any real fire, there's an element of risk, hence the increased insurance costs.  Keeping the flames inside the boundaries of stone and hearth is essential.  Otherwise you have a dangerous problem to contend with.

Okay, so here's an interesting metaphor I was introduced to some time back.

Suppose you were sitting in a room and a fire broke out in the corner.  This would naturally and necessarily provoke a spike in adrenaline as you stopped everything you were doing to vacate the building and call 911 and/or whatever other action you needed to take.  

But what if by some means, a fireplace suddenly appeared around the fire?  Lovely stones, a protective hearth, a wire screen across the front, and even a chimney to channel the smoke outside.  That same fire in the same corner of the room, while just as hot and just as combustible, now provokes a very different response.

What if the 'problem' was like the fire, and the fireplace was the promises God has made in His Word?  Promises to "work out all things" (Romans 8:28), and "to never leave you" (Hebrews 13:5 and about a bazillion other places), be "the Rock" on which we can stand firm (Isaiah 26:3 and another bazillion references), and to be our 'ever present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1), among, like I keep saying about a bazillion more.

What if when trouble comes and friends who, of course first listen with empathy and without judgement, but who then remind us of God's promises, aren't being glib and aren't pretending there's no fire, but are simply helping us build the fireplace around it?

What if we could remember when a fire breaks out that the real danger isn't so much whatever is burning in the corner, but to forget what God has promised?

Please remember, if you know me and know my story, that I have had my fair share of life-altering corners of roaring combustion.  There have been times, many times, when the unforeseen and wretched has raged through, threatening to devour everything I hold sacred and cherished.  So there is nothing about this metaphor that is trite or overly simplistic for me.  I've lived this.  Many times over.

And, I will confess, it's still the human response, when the fire breaks out, to jump up and run around in a panic. 

So.  I will remind myself again.  We live in the promises, not in the problems.  God's got this, whatever it is.  His reputation with me is intact.  He's never reneged on me yet.  I don't understand even half of what He's up to, but then again, if I found a god I could fully explain I doubt it would be worth my worship.  

Warmer temperatures are upon us as Spring ekes its way out of the dirty snowbanks.  We likely won't be running our little electric fireplace too much longer.  But this morning I don't mind it pushing back the dreary sky just a bit, or it's reminder to me of just Who's in charge after all.

And it's Friday, so there's that.

Yellow Lights Are Flashing

 

Because there are so many wonderful walking trails in our part of the city, there are also numerous random places that are not actual intersections where pedestrians are supported in getting across the street.  

I cross Belmont when I'm out for my walk and, at the point where I join in on the trail, there are large white blocks painted on the road, an island in the middle where you could pause, and overhead lights, which I'll come back to in a second.  Overall, it's clearly marked.

There is also this large yellow button I can press.  And when I do, those overhead lights start to flash, and an automated voice at a decent volume says, "Yellow lights are flashing" a few times over.

A few things can happen once all of that is going on.  Specifically, cars may or may not come to a stop.

As a driver, I have to admit, I can sort of understand this.  Now that I live in the area, I am ever so much more aware of these crossing places, and make sure as I approach that there are no pedestrians or bicycles approaching.  

But before that, those flashing lights, to be honest, may have escaped my notice.  The sound system in my vehicle is not connected to the animated voice (which would be a good trick).  It's not like an intersection where you expect you might have to stop, and even when you do, it's not every time.   If I'm not paying 100% attention, which you're supposed to do behind the wheel, I could easily miss it.

And that's exactly what I'm thinking about as a pedestrian.  Those cars coming down the way?  I'm just going to wait here a second beside the big yellow button and see if they stop.  And when they do, I smile and wave thank you and demonstrate just a little pick up in my step to be a grateful, courteous pedestrian.  

And off we go, driver and pedestrian, on our merry little ways into our respective lives.  

Seems to me I have been both in my interactions with folks.  Both the driver with all the damaging potential of a vehicle, and the pedestrian all vulnerable and at-risk.  In some settings, at certain times of my life, I come into a situation with a degree of authority and confidence perhaps oblivious to the more delicate or even wounded state of someone else in the room.  And in other settings, at certain times of my life, I'm the delicate, wounded one in danger of being knocked over.

Maybe I wish there were flashing lights and an automated voice for every potentially damaging encounter.  You'd go into a meeting, or a conversation, or even a family dinner and everyone could hear it; "Yellow lights are flashing."  Be careful here, lest you do damage or be damaged.  

The thing is, like the random crossings, it's not every time.  It can take you by surprise.  Sometimes you see the pedestrian and you can stop a ways back and let them know they are safe and seen, and sometimes you don't.  Sometimes you remember to wait for all the cars to stop so you can cross safely, and sometimes you don't.

So what to do?

Maybe two things.  And Paul can help us here.

"Be kind and compassionate to one another, 

forgiving each other, 

just as in Christ God forgave you." 

Ephesians 4:32

One, be kind and compassionate.  Slow down, take a breath, read the room.  Ask questions and really listen.  If you are the one with any advantage in the relationship or situation whatsoever, be mindful of power imbalances, choice of words, even the volume or tone of your voice.  "Seek first to understand rather than be understood," as Steven Covey would remind us.  Submit your strength to the other.  Stop way back of the line and let others know you are safe.

Two, forgive.  Assume the best not the worst of those who fail to stop and notice your vulnerability.  Realize that not every demonstration of power is intentionally meant to hold you back or harm you.  Forgive when stronger people blunder, because they will, and so will you.  Additionally, wait at the curb until you sense you have the safe space to cross into the conversation.  Push the yellow button and advocate for what you need.  But exercise the grace that was given you.  Remember the times when you're the one behind the wheel.

Caveat:  Some damage is severe, I know.  That is a different conversation.

But I wonder, as I am out on my walk, as I live out an ordinary day....as I move through my relationships,....just applying this to myself...what can happen if I understand myself as both?