Some thoughts for election day......
Friends need Friends: The Secret to Keeping Biblical Ideals
Friends who hold our ideals give accountability to keep faithful on the pathway to our ideals. But gathering together intentionally takes energy and commitment.
Fun Fun Fun! This week, I am back with Kristen. As usual, we talked and giggled and caught up for such a long time and then realized we had better record our podcast before the whole day is gone. I love having her back and I love doing our weekly ministry as friends. So much more fun.
We are made for relationship. God created us to love, communicate, enjoy companionship, to celebrate life in community and to feel that we have a place to belong. Social scientists say that those who have grown up feeling close to their family and having a significant purpose together are much more likely to retain their personal faith in God when they are adults. Love indeed is the bond of unity, the invisible strings that tie hearts together.
Friendship for adults and children alike are a strong anchor to call us to our ideals. When we feel supported and validated, we are less likely to drift or compromise.
I was recently remembering how many times I have felt alone or dry both spiritually and emotionally, but when I entered into the company of several particular friends, I always left feeling stronger, encouraged, with more true thoughts about life and the Lord to feed on. These women have an intentionality about their spiritual lives and so I know when I invest time with them, I will be investing in my own spiritual well-being. God created community to be a regular part of our lives, and yet it doesn't just come about by fate--community in this time of history is always precious and has to be developed by planning and intention.
Last summer, twelve women, bedecked with scarves, sparkling earrings, glossy lips, gathered in the garden gazebo deep in the mountains of Colorado. Polite chattering and soft laughter rang through the cluster of women introducing themselves to one another.
As we moved through a tea buffet, piled high with chocolate strawberries, cream scones, raspberry jam and tiny heart-shaped finger sandwiches, we began to ease into the grace of the morning.
Gathering us on her nearby covered porch, around wicker chairs and patio couches, my friend said, “I have invited all of you here today because you have a story to tell.”
Seems that two of her old high school classmates from 40 years before had stopped in town, and my friend wanted these old friends to hear the testimonies of a number of her godly friends, (us!), who had been invited with a purpose. All of us were women of differing ages, but have been involved in groups or Bible studies or ministries with my friend, and she thought she wanted her friends, who were not believers, to have an opportunity to hear of the love of God in a way that would touch their hearts.
“I want each of you to tell a story from your life of how God has been faithful to you, something that is dear to your heart.”
As we circled around each other, life stories began to spill out. Stories of childhood, during World War 2 from a lovely older woman; illnesses from which women had recovered; money that had been provided in the nick of time for a downpayment on a home; newly-wed stories of love and romance. Two hours of story-telling filled our hearts and made such a sweet memory. We all marveled at the faithfulness of God through real lives of real people.
As I left, I realized that my friend had set the parameters for a tea party, but because of her intentional planning, the Lord had showed up and filled each of our emotional cups as we shared our history together.
Commemorating our time together.
Often, women say to me, “No one ever invites me over or calls me.”
If we wait for others to invite us, we may wait for a very long time. An isolationist culture where we don’t know our neighbors and attend big churches where we do not even know most of the people sitting next to us in the pew, has left many people feeling lonely and empty emotionally.
Having moved 17 times, 6 times internationally, I have learned that friendships really don’t usually just happen. Most of the community I now have, have happened as a result of me calling people, having gatherings in my home, making memories with women who inspire me. It is like planting a garden. When I till the soil and plant the seed of love, encouragement, thoughtfulness and reaching out, the seeds of friendship just naturally grow.
I have looked for women who are above me in age, who are wiser and cultivate in me a desire to love God more. I call them, take them out, invite them over—because I know what I sow in the garden of my soul, I will reap. And so I sow times with these women.
Next, I look for peers, those women who are at my stage of life, who share the same issues and needs. I have two prayer partners in the same stage of life as me. One calls me every day and we just pray for each other and find out how each of us is doing. The other friend comes to my house once a week and we go walking along a beautiful trail near my house, and after we have caught up on life, we pray for one another.
Finally, I love spending time with women who are younger than me. Young women who are cultivating their ideals bring fresh and vibrant beauty to my soul.
All of these wonderful friends started with a plan—to invite them into my life; with a purpose, because I needed accountability and love and with a blessing, because I needed to be loved!
This is the reason we are cultivating mom heart groups. We want women to meet around the Word, cultivate friendship, encourage each other in their ideals and to develop long term strength for themselves within their ideals. We will continue to have more to help you as we seek to provide books, and material that will provide for drawing women together over Biblical ideals. However, all you have to do is pray for God to show you some people, invite friends and then ask them to tell their stories as you share your walk with God, your family and your wishes and hopes with them.
Death & Glory (with Sarah)
Autumn reminds me of St. Paul and his paradoxical Gospel. Who else describes God's servants as those who are 'sorrowful yet always rejoicing', 'dying', and yet, 'we live', and is there any better picture of that than a fallen autumn leaf? Death and glory in a golden turn, energy and decay, eternal life in crimson, throbbing veins etched as a final word through the brown fabric of death. Ah, autumn. To me it is a yearly, living picture of Christ's life burning in those who love him, an affirmation that even the dying gloom of the broken world can't hide.
And yet, there is that gloom, that brown curl of death around the gold. This year, the death stands out very strongly to me.
I mentioned last week that I find the world to be a little louder in its confusion this year. I think my perception is heightened by both marriage and ministry. This is the world, the 'time', in which my new husband and I step into a vocation of ministry and service, and it's the world into which (I know you're thinking it!) we might bring children. Frankly, I don't see a safe or stable place.
Last night, Thomas and I sat at dinner in a restaurant where a party of several dozen second-year students played a drinking game, each calling out the most shocking (and let me tell ya, it was an education) actions of their classmates over the past year, forcing the person described to stand up and take a drink. My soul felt seared as I listened to these casually stated acts of real degradation, things that will wound and cripple those people for years to come, a recital met with laughter. That followed an afternoon in which I'd read all manner of political opinion, argument, and extremity (I really don't like politics), and wrestled with a theological problem that quickly became personal, and confusing.
Confusion. It is a word that defines the world I see right now. I see a world of competing, radically self-oriented ideas in the secular world. I see a world of relational disintegration, of broken families, of wanton sexuality seeking a true love it will never find in itself, of an increasingly impersonal culture in which we are unknown to our neighbours. I see a world of exhaustion, of distracted activity driven by screens and the chase after everything just beyond our reach. And the more theology I study, the more I am aware of confusion in the church too. There are massive, troubling debates ongoing regarding marriage, gender, love, law, all carried out by sincere, precious people, arguments that have massive consequences for the way we love the people around us and witness to Christ's reality in our time.
Because of this, I see a world marked by fear, a Christian community increasingly driven to a defensiveness that makes legalistic lines, or a lethargy that gives up effort...and hope. What stabs me most these days is the angst I see even in those who love God, the wrestling I find in my own heart. How do we vote? That's the easiest of my questions. Far more, how do we create strong families, centred churches? Do we fight for moral issues or extend grace? How do we strengthen children to remain hopeful and pure? Is innocence possible anymore? And how in the world can we heal a culture that often just seems to defy grace outright? With Eomer, in my old favourite book, The Lord of the Rings, my own mind has been asking 'how is a man to judge what is right to do in such a time?'
This morning, I curled into my coffee-shop corner, watching leaves fall, tasting the strong tang of hard questions, confusion, and self-doubt. I wanted a clear answer to my questions, a plain path to walk. Living in tension is not my thing. I found it difficult to tether my thoughts to prayer, or Scripture. But the words of my tutor here at Wycliffe echoed in my mind from the week before. In talking with her through the theological issue I find distressingly unclear, she told me I'd probably have to sit with uncertainty for awhile.
"But that means you must listen all the more," she said. "In this uncertain season, where your own wisdom fails, listen hard for the Holy Spirit."
Her words reminded me of what I read of Dietrich Bonhoeffer for one of my essays. In a letters on ethics, penned just before his imprisonment in a Nazi jail, he encouraged his followers not to depend on ethical systems and moral tradition, but rather to live by a minute-to-minute following of Christ.
When I first read that, I was indignant. His directive seemed too self-confident, too hard, too radical. Systems help us to follow Christ, I thought. A system is what I think we're all craving, something by which to easily measure our actions and come out right. But I see now that Bonhoeffer's words came from just the same kind of confusion that I feel now. He too, lived in a culture marked clearly by disintegration, where confusion left even the church in a state of paralysis. He realized that moral and ethical action was no longer clear cut. He understood that difficult, nuanced, radical decisions would be required of those who loved Christ.
Because of that, only Christ himself would do. His letter was a call to his friends to be faithful even when their systems failed. He was talking to people like me who craved a have framework to know exactly what to do, how to vote, how to believe. But Bonhoeffer saw clearly that the faithful would be made up of those "whose final standard is not his reason, his principles, his conscience, his freedom, or his virtue" but the person "who is ready to sacrifice all this when he is called to obedient and responsible action in faith and in exclusive allegiance to God – the responsible man, who tries to make his whole life an answer to the question and call of God" (from Ten Years On).
With Bonhoeffer's ringing words in my memory, I managed the "obedient action" of turning to my daily Psalm (31). And there, I found this affirmation: God is my refuge. Thus began a psalm that is a poignant recital of things that should cause despair. 'Lying lips', 'wickedness', 'terror', 'contempt'. David, the psalmist, does not gloss over the darkness in which he finds himself. Rather, he spells it out with distressed eloquence, putting it bluntly before God. In his litany of distress I found my own angst articulated, my own concern clothed in words.
But...God is my refuge. That is how the Psalm begins, and that is the unshakable framework of faith in which David works out his discouragement, his terror at the wickedness around him. The very act of bringing his fear to God becomes David's way of journeying back from the wasteland of despair into the 'secret place of God's presence', the reality of which he has discovered afresh toward the end of the Psalm. There, 'goodness' is 'stored up' for those who take refuge in God. There, God's face shines on him. There, God shows the wonders of his love, even in the very midst of a 'besieged city'.
And David's voice was added to that of Dietrich's and my tutor's as my own angst was answered with the clear invitation, not to lethargy or discouragement, but to a belief in the refuge of God's presence and a daily decision to dwell there in the coming years. I wasn't expecting a 'solution' to my dilemmas, but in that Psalm I found a clear directive. However complicated and subtle the moral dilemmas of this time, however dark the world around me, Christ is in me and God is my refuge. That doesn't mean I know the answers, way, or solutions to the many dilemmas I see, nor am I given a system by which to eke out the right actions. Rather, I am given God's presence.
Nothing but Christ will do. And the radical act required in this complex time is actually very simple; just to abide in Him. I don't find this easy and frankly, I think it will be difficult for all faithful people. Because the easy way is to retreat into legalism or relax into passivity. It's a difficult balance to live in the tension of faithful confusion. To hold back from judging or despair. To act or speak in faith when the risk is loss of approval. To create and build when the future is uncertain. Further, it's difficult to push away distraction, to make time for quiet, to cling to Scripture, to reaffirm truth and choose the hope it offers. I want clearer answers on how to 'fix' the world and which person to choose to do it and I don't want complication in my theology.
But the truth is that my hope doesn't lie in any answer or action I can get my hands on. My hope, and the hope of this whole, dying glory of a world is in Christ. His presence 'with us' is the Light invading the darkness, revealing God's love in the 'besieged city' of a dying world. To live consciously in his sweet, holy company, to lean into it, and allow his voice to gently lead me is the daily work to which I must give my restless heart and mind.
This past July, I helped to run a theological conference in Oxford at which a famed ethicist spoke. In the Q&A following his talk on the difficult ethical dilemmas of the modern age, one attendee asked him point blank (and I paraphrase): 'in a time when the concept of freedom is incredibly individualistic, and we have countless ethical dilemmas and moral choices to make, how do you explain freedom and obedience in a Christian way'?And the good professor, with a calm eye and steady voice answered without halt (again, I paraphrase, I can never capture the perfection of his answer): 'freedom is to walk so closely with the Holy Spirit that, in the moment of choice, you can perceive the perfect action, the 'good work' to which He draws you. Freedom is the choice to step into the place that the Holy Spirit has prepared.'
Oh. May I daily take that step.
I look out my window up an Oxford cobbled street in a swift rain of scattered, golden leaves. The brown arms of the trees show ever barer. But they are not dying. Sap runs quick in their inmost roots and I am reminded of Christ's command to his disciples at his last supper with them: "abide in me". I am the vine, you are the branches. And in him, we will not wither. The leaves of our certain assumptions and expectations, even our comfort and ease and certainty may wither away in the cold winds of the world. But in Christ, we live, and the sap of his love burns golden at our core. In this uncertain season, in this autumn of a broken world with the wind rising and the bright leaves dying, I choose afresh to hold hard to Christ, to root deeply in his presence so my growth, my free step forward becomes his glory burning through the darkness.
Reading: Fidelity by Wendell Berry. I sat down again and read through the whole story of 'A Jonquil for Mary Penn'. The whole collection of short stories is a wonder. Also, George MacDonald's Fairy Tales (The Light Princess with the theological pun on a girl's lost 'gravity' is better every time I read it) and I must admit it, another Brother Cadfael mystery too. So enjoyable. So well written. So fun.
Listening: The Book of Secrets by Loreena McKennit. It's been my wistful, haunting autumn music for over a decade.
Let's Inspire Our Children!
During these challenging times, it is so easy to get distracted by what is right in front of us, to focus on the demands of this world. Yet, some day, we will be in heaven, talking about our short time on this earth and how we were able to be a part of bringing HIs love, His light, His beaut and love to our world through our days of worshipping Him.
Little ones have a window of time when they listen with their hearts to everything we teach them, to the ways we live a life focussed on what really matters. How are you taking time to pass on these values that were on the heart of Jesus, to use every one to tell His story to those who long for purpose and love, Let's see what was on the heart of Jesus with His disciples.
Inspiration is such an important piece of a mom's job, isn't it? I recorded a podcast about this topic which you can find here: The Gift of Inspiration.
The well-traveled road was bathed in late afternoon sunlight at the end of a warm day. There were small groups of merchants returning from Jericho, families nearing the end of their journey back home after a trip to Jerusalem, and market vendors transporting their wares. Small carts packed to bursting with crates of cooing doves, barrels of fragrant olive oil, and caskets of salted fish took up much of the roadway, forcing the huddled groups of pedestrians to move aside to make room.
Jesus had always loved the cool, windblown summit of Olivet, where a cluster of twisted, old olive trees provided an oasis of shade in a comfortable, tangled garden. So many times they had lounged together there, fresh breezes wafting over them as they gazed down on the gleaming white buildings of Jerusalem. The secluded place provided a welcome escape from the bustle that filled almost every moment of Jesus' days, a reprieve from the crowds of people who needed so much of him, and the night sky over Olivet had provided a wide-open canopy of space where he could pray undistracted. The disciples remembered so many days and nights there, so many wonderful, from-the-heart conversations. They had learned so much from Jesus there on the mountain.
To the disciples, each bend of the familiar road seemed crowded with specific memories of time spent with their Lord. Hadn't he gone to the mountain on the morning of the day when the adulterous woman was thrown on the ground and accused before him in the temple? Maybe the Father had spoken to him in advance of what would happen. And this was the very mountain where all the people had spread out garments and leafy branches on this very road and pronounced him as the one who "came in the name of the Lord."
He had been cresting the hill on this road when he caught sight of the city and wept that it had so long rejected the Father. Here he had told them that if they had faith, they could actually move the mountain—now that was an idea! And he had described the destruction of Jerusalem and the end of the world while they sat together in the protective shade of the trees. And in a garden nearby, six weeks earlier, Judas had betrayed him as he was praying.
As the men and women neared the end of their journey, the conversations quieted, and their heartbeats quickened. What important message might the Master have for them today?
A small group of people had already gathered at the summit, each pair of eyes searching expectantly for one important Person. Suddenly a hush fell upon the crowd. Everyone's face seemed drawn toward the east, where a deep blue sky sparkled between the lacy olive branches. And there, at last, was the shining, laughing, familiar face of the Lord Jesus.
His radiant eyes filled with light and life as he looked out lovingly through the crowd, wel- coming familiar friends and holding up his hands to greet and bless them. His presence was as familiar as that of a friend, yet he had the command and dignity of royalty holding court.
One man yelled out, "Lord, is it at this time you are restoring the kingdom to Israel?" An excited murmur of interest spread among the crowd at this possibility. But Jesus rose to his fullest stature and commanded the attention of all who were present with the resounding voice of authority.
"It is not for you to know times or epochs which the Father has fixed by his own authority."
A buzz of conversation ran through the crowd at this response, and some exchanged doubtful glances as Jesus continued, "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be my witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth."
At this the crowd fell silent again. Jesus barely had to raise his voice to be heard as he challenged them to "make disciples of all the nations... teaching them to observe all that I commanded you." And then he concluded with a loving reassurance: "I am with you always, even to the end of the age."
The words seemed to burn in the hearts of his followers as they finally began to understand the significance of their own lives. This is why they were here, what they had been born for! The Master had chosen each of them specially—fishermen, tax collectors, prostitutes, children, men and women of no special background—to be the "sent" ones, the Lord's ambassadors to the whole world.
They were still trying to take it all in when a billowing cloud rolled down from the sky. With outstretched arms seeming to simultaneously embrace and bless those present in the crowd, Jesus began to rise upward toward the ethereal cloud.
Jaws dropped. Every eye turned skyward. And then, after an instant of glory, Jesus was gone. The crowd was left staring open-mouthed into the air.
Suddenly two men in white clothing were standing before them. In ,voices strong with the glory of heaven, they cried, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into the sky? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in just the same way as you have watched him go."
How's that for an inspiring moment?!
As mothers and fathers, it is so easy to get distracted by the details of our lives. We have so much to do! We must feed our children well and take care of their health. We must oversee their education and their training to make sure they will be able to take care of themselves and live in a civilized society. We train them in righteousness so they may understand how God wants them to live. We try to relate to them in mature ways and help them learn to have healthy relationships.
Yet often, I think, we get lost in these multitudinous tasks that rule our lives, and we lose sight of the underlying purpose behind all these tasks, which is to prepare our children to go into the world and make disciples for our Lord.
Jesus promised that he would be with us. He also promised that he will come back. It is to him that we will have to give an account of how faithfully we sought to pass on his message and his commission to our children. Giving our children the gift of inspiration—helping them understand their spiritual purpose, which is to glorify God and to make him known—is one of the most crucial tasks of Christian parenting. I believe mamas are hero shapers.
What special time with your child might help you to inspire them this week? Let's be intentional at creating moments where we direct their gaze beyond the day to day routine. Maybe we'll find ourselves inspired, too!
Did you know you can follow me on Facebook? Click here and like my page for updates and occasional notes! Sally on Facebook
Look for the Signs + A New Podcast
Look up into the heavens. Who created all the stars? He brings them out like an army, one after another, calling each by its name. Because of his great power and incomparable strength, not a single one is missing. Isaiah 40:26
Do you ever feel like you get so caught up in the mundane, the daily demands, the things that scream for attention in your life that you forget to notice the beauty among the normal moments of your life, you neglect to see the continuous whispers of his voice that say, "I am with you. I love you. I will help you. I want to show you my kindness today."
Many years ago I had a dream and in it, I was overwhelmed by all the demanding issues of my life and I was distracted by fear of what might happen. In the dream, as I was stewing, fretting and calling out to God in prayer, He beckoned me to come to him and to climb into his hand that was big enough to carry me. I climbed into the palm and he tenderly wrapped his fingers around me. He took me far up into space where I saw the blinking light of starts and galaxies all around me. Finally, after traveling through myriad galaxies of sparkling beauties, in a mere twinkling of an eye, God addressed me.
"Sally, I want you to look down at your home where all the troubles are bubbling around that concerned you. How big does it look from here?"
As I looked down, I could see a speck that I knew was my home with all of us and our worries inside.
"Lord, it is so relatively small compared to this infinite display of the galaxies and planets, that it seems tiny."
"That is how big your problems are in light of my infinite power, my endless mercy and compassion, my desire and power to help you every day. I want you to remember how small it looks from eternity and let me give you peace."
And as quickly as my dream began, it was over. But when I awakened, my heart was at rest.
Recently, this summer, I found myself again, in the circle of swirling issues. A hot summer day melted everything in sight over hours as I sat inside my un-air-conditioned house, sweat sliding down my forehead. I was drumming away on my book as I pounded my keyboard; cleaning up after the dog; and dancing in and out of the lives of Joel and Joy who were also intent on finishing projects that loomed large with deadlines. One more of thousands of meals to be made filled my mind as a task that needed someone to do. Even that felt like a load on this hot day.
The pressures of life had lain heavy on our hearts with financial issues along our paths, health concerns that seemed overwhelming for a loved one, a former missionary colleague has just died suddenly, the news of a friend who had turned away from the Lord brought sadness, another one whose marriage was in trouble called and the barrage of CNN announcements of another terrorist attack overseas filtered through our afternoon.
It seemed that life was heavy on our shoulders and some dark fog hovered around our hearts. Unconsciously, we had stuffed our emotions, carried our individual darknesses alone as we tromped through the thousands of mundane details of life that held us captive on this day.
Dinnertime came before we were ready to do anything about it. "Let's go down the street and just sip something cold at the new place that has an outside patio," Joel voiced.
It didn't take long to agree and down the road we went. After ordering snacks and drinks at the counter, we searched for an outside table where some mountain breezes might blow through our rumpled hearts.
Within minutes after we were seated and sipping, it was as though the Holy Spirit decided to grab our attention by unfolding a light show just in front of our humble picnic table. Our little i-phones attempted to record the splendor but imperfectly, but our souls drank it in.
While we sipped, ate, breathed out the day and inhaled the beauty, our conversation softened, our friendship merged into the atmosphere and our circle became a place of goodness and restoring as we remembered our sweet blessings of just being able to share a few moments of utter bliss and celebration amidst such a splendid night sky.
I remembered, once again, that every day, he leaves signs for me to remind me that He has my back, that He is in control, that He sees every moment. There are endless ways of His love through the sweet ones He chose to place in my life, the constancy of His Fatherhood in allowing beauty and goodness in every day by the ways He leaves His artwork in my wake, the assurance that I am never alone.
And then I remembered my dream from almost 20 years before. I remembered how small my issues in the hands of an almighty God carrying me every day. All the fears, worries, stresses, problems of life loomed small in the presence of my infinite loving God who holds it all together in His hands.
What about you? Are you looking for His signs?
******************************************
Last week, I took time with the sweet women attending a leadership retreat in my home and asked them to share with you from the inspiration and encouragement of our weekend. We taped the podcast live in my home. Hope you will be encouraged.
Cadence in Confusion with Sarah (Lifegiving Home Series)
I live to the cadence of church bells now. Elizabeth Goudge called Wells the ‘city of bells’ but it could easily describe Oxford; you can hear a chorus of them striking at the oddest times. Sometimes a single, dramatic toll to mark the hour, sometimes great, waterfall crescendos of them ringing through the streets. Now, though, with my front room window facing the golden brick of a church tower and the bells humming out on the quarter hours from 6:45 to 11 at night, the bells are personal to me, deep old voices warbling a call to prayer, singing my every day into a kind of structured music.
In a way, those bells and the cadence in which they frame my hours are part of the larger rhythm I’ve learned during my time in Oxford as I’ve increasingly (if erratically) adopted the practice of morning and evening prayer and the marking of the year by the seasons of earth and church. There is a clear sense in British culture and in my church here of both time and space as things you mark and claim, realities made sacred by the way you see them, the words with which you frame them, the actions with which you fill them.
I encountered evening prayer my first month in Oxford, and as I began to attend regularly, hearing Scripture and prayer at a set time each day, I found the liturgies forming my thought, comforting me in stressed moments, giving me a cadence of worship in which to live the crazy rounds of my days. Then I found the glory of the church year, with its high days centered on the central events of Christ’s life; not just Christmas and Easter, birth and death, but Ascension and Pentecost, feasts that remind me of Christ’s return to the Father to prepare a place for all who love him, and of the Holy Spirit coming among us. What these prayers and feasts, these liturgies offered me was not only a mind formed by reverence, but a deepened sense of identity, a fuller knowledge of who Christ is and the hope and glory to which he is drawing me.
Two years and many church bells later, I’m deeply thankful for this rootedness because I find myself in dire need of anchors in the midst of a very uncertain world. Is it just me or is the world louder in its confusion and grief these days?
I feel that I have watched the clamor of the world roar to a pitch of late that can unsettle even the calmest soul. Whether by political complications, by questions of God’s presence or will, or simply by the sheer fact of the countless who are suffering and dying in war, even those who love God find life right now to be a disorienting thing. Faithfulness requires us to question: Who are we in the midst of this? What does it mean to do rightly? How do we live out the kingdom in such a fallen world?
In the midst of these questions, I’ve reconised afresh the power of tradition – of daily, yearly, regular celebrations - to root me in truth, refresh my sense of identity, and remind me of what is essential. I think the human psyche craves liturgy – we all crave cadence. We all need to daily wake to remember – who we are, what we hope for, what we can trust. As I’ve pondered this reality, reconising what a gift my church life in the past two years has been, I’ve also come to a freshened thanks for the traditions of home, the liturgies of family devotion and bedtime prayer, the feasts of family celebrations that shaped my identity and rooted me in a sense of love.
Before I ever discovered evening prayer at Oxford, I had learned the rhythm of prayer with my mom at bedtime as she tucked me in tight to bed, her goodnight prayers tucking me securely into a sense of God’s presence as well as that of my quilts. Daily prayers with my Dad at the breakfast table, each day something we gave to God, the words framing in all the coming hours with the consciousness of the God who gave them. Special prayers with my siblings, all of us together, holding hands when our family found times of great need or fear.
Girl's club: our last time of sharing life secrets and friendship together in Oxford before I got married. This is a life-long tradition with us girls. It has held us through many hard times.
Before I came to any church feast, I knew the feasts and special days of my family. Our ‘shepherd’s meal’ every Christmas eve, with all the lights off except the candles, bowls of potato soup and bread before us, the Christmas story read aloud from Luke. ‘Family Day’, every summer, when we gathered for cinnamon rolls and then spent a morning listing out all the ways we’d watched God be faithful to us in the past year. Birthday breakfasts of quiche and cinnamon rolls (we do like cinnamon rolls) where each sibling and parent (however shy) had to say what they valued in the birthday child. Afternoon teatimes, and reading by the evening fire, family walks and devotions, from the time I was tiny I lived in the cadence of our family traditions.
What those formed in me was a sense of myself as a lover of God and beloved member of the little fellowship of family my family, as driven by ideals of courage and virtue as the famous fellowship in Middle Earth. Our traditions became the lens through which I understood life: as a wondrous gift, as a story to be lived well, as my chance to bring God’s kingdom into being. That gift of self-understanding is something that gives me courage and roots me even in the present, something continued by the rhythms of worship I’ve now learned in the larger world of the church.
In a world of profound moral confusion and change, the cadences by which we live, the rhythms we choose, the stories we embody, may be the difference between hope and despair. It’s not that a birthday breakfast or half an hour of prayer at a certain time makes everything right in a broken world, or a candle lit makes a space suddenly sacred. Rather, those acts of order and grace allow us to live in awareness of a reality larger than what we can see. We remind ourselves of Eternity by anchoring a couple of our fleeting hours each day in the prayers that allow us to stand in God’s unchanging presence. We remind ourselves of Christ’s redemptive love by giving a little of it to those around us in concrete, daily, visible ways. We teach ourselves to hope for the new heaven and earth by beginning to make a little of it visible in the beauty bring to home, the hospitality we share, the love we weave into each corner of our lives.
At play here, once again, is the incarnational principle that we make visible, daily, what we believe to be true. We live by ‘faith in what we cannot see’, in life beyond death, in beauty beyond pain, in love beyond hatred. The rhythms of word and action, the cadence of prayer and remembrance, that we institute in our homes will remind us of who we are and what we want to be when we are confused, exhausted, and alone. Our traditions form our stories. And home is where they begin.
Breathe In: Rhythms of Prayer
What words frame your day? What are the rhythms of quiet, reflection, and prayer that anchor your experience of the world? I inherited my parents daily habit of Scripture reading and prayer so that even if I can only manage a Psalm or a couple of Gospel verses, I try to open the day with the Bible. But I have loved adding liturgy to my devotion, joining in morning prayer at church, or simply praying some of the daily prayers of the Church on my own. There is a rich, sustaining grace that comes from praying words that have been said through centuries of human heartbreak and hope, sustaining believers in time of war and hardship as well as in times of plenty.
If you don’t know where to begin, you can always use a Book of Common Prayer. I’ve also used Celtic Daily Prayer by the Northumbria Community (my Mom and Joy love this too). You could also use something like George MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul – his collection of devotional poems written to last one a day for a year.
Whether Scripture, liturgy, or poetry, consider what words frame your experience of the day. What do you wake to? What reminds you of who you are? What gives you hope? What words do you want to form your own sense of identity, and that of your children?
Daily tea time, and Sunday high(er) tea are regular celebrations with us.
Breath Out: Cadence of Celebration
I think we celebrate what we love, and what we hope. Think about it, Christmas, Easter, birthdays, the 4th of July, all of these holidays (holy days!) are celebrations centered on what we value – the fact that Christ was born, that death will be overcome (something we still hope to see), freedom (and our hope for it to continue). We need to mark these things in order to remember, to reaffirm our hope in all the ‘bad things coming untrue’.
But what about on the level of the ordinary?
What do we mark every day by making it special? One of the greatest gifts I received from my mom was a penchant for marking the beauty of the ordinary. Whether it was a teatime on our favorite china, or a walk in which we marked the changing colors of the season, or lit candles on the dinner table every night (and a well-set table when we could manage), I was taught to encounter the ordinary as a gift, to recognize God’s generosity in the every day. In an impersonal, hurry-up culture of our time, this way of celebration has allowed me to live in what I think is a greater awareness of God’s presence, to remember that He is always ‘at play’ all around us, the beauty of creation constantly speaking hope into our despair.
Girl's club tea times - my sister and mom and I snatched special moments together whenever we could. Sunday afternoon tea with a book read aloud. Saturday morning walks and coffee together. Those small celebrations linked us to the larger ones of the church, marking the epic story of Christ’s redemption, on the level of the cosmos... and our dining room. What small feasts will you throw?
Reading: The Book of Iona: An Anthology. Joy's gift when she came for a visit from Scotland, as well as 'research' for the paper I'll be writing on Celtic monastic life. I really hope I get to visit Iona as part of the research process...!
Listening: Jon Foreman. Another great recommendation of my sister. Limbs and Branches.
Eating: 5-Ingredient Brownies. This is an almost painfully simple recipe, but it was approved by our houseful of teenage boys. (Can you tell I’m baking a lot of desserts at the moment? Or puddings, as they call them here in England. I think it’s the autumn damp that makes me want warm, baked things….)
Parenting the Bumpy Teen Years
Several years ago, Joy and I were laying on her bed, talking. She said, "I am determined not to become a teenager who is controlled by hormones or attitudes! It seems so silly. I don't think I will go through the phases the older kids did!"
Having lived through the ups and downs of her older siblings, Joy, who is very even-keeled by natural temperament, wanted to try to skip the bumpiness of the teen years. But, try though we or they might, there just is a passage from little child, dependent on Mom and Dad, to the place where our teens begin to own their own convictions, exercise their own authority and will, and grow up--and it comes with bumps! All teens experience the growth process a little differently, but all must go through the growing pains inherent with moving from dependence to independence. Tension is natural when children pull away from childhood to become strong, mature adults.
Joy officially entered this phase, as did all of her siblings. and had to go through her own story of ups, downs, and high emotions. I am very blessed because Joy has a great heart and is patient with her not-so-perfect-or-patient mom. All of my children, somewhere in the teen years (and sometimes a little earlier) suddenly, out of nowhere, started having issues with normal life moments like emptying the dishwasher, or picking up their room. Suddenly there was fussing and tears over even minor things like who washed the dishes last or who had done more chores.
Little attitudes of anger and frustration began bubbling up out of the blue. I am not talking about immorality or rebellion--those are serious issues that many teens experience, too. But, out of experience, I have learned a lot from my other three after years of not understanding what was going on or how to bear with the ups and downs. The truth is, hormones are present in boys and girls. And boys can be moody, too!
One of my strongest memories was of a time I asked my easy-going child to empty the dishwasher. All of a sudden, this gentle-spirited young man became a lion--you would have thought I had asked him to give his life as a ransom for the other kids! He went ballistic. "Why does everyone eat so much? They all make messes every day and there is no end to dirty dishes around here--everyone needs to become responsible for their own messes!"
Of course, I couldn't have agreed with him more--but this was just about a five minute job of emptying one dishwasher! When a usually gracious child turns into a teen and shows a cranky side even occasionally, it seems even more of a big deal, somehow, than when a child who's always been more outgoing and perhaps noisy does the exact same thing!
But the mood swings and teen issues and choices make for some bumpy roads. Seems to me that this season of life with teens is when parents get weary of their ideals and begin to compromise on issues. Then there are the added pressures of social media issues we're all dealing with, trying to balance Facebook, cell phones, gaming, and media. Most kids this age have a lot of pressure to conform and want so much to have friends and community. Often it seems the potential community of good companions grows smaller than in the elementary years, because it is a time when teens start going off into dangerous areas.
I think it is difficult for moms to remember that their children have good attributes during a hormonal explosion and the wide varieties of volatile emotional discussions we get wrapped up in. Talking things through can take hours and hours.
Relationship, relationship, relationship, and investing time--even when you don't think they want it--is very important.
Though Sarah tells me she is glad that I kept on her about "attitudes" and didn't let her get away with much, she also says it was the times we went walking every morning, the personal times of reading a magazine together, the coffee times that she believes truly helped keep her heart close to mine and to the Lord. For the boys, I focused on taking them to breakfast, loving them, talking, lots of chocolate chip cookies, back scratches, and pursuing them no matter how they behaved.
My favorite verse for the teen years is, "A gentle answer turns away wrath," followed closely by, "It is the kindness and mercy of the Lord that leads to repentance." In other words, we are supposed to be the mature, loving constant ones--even though we have given our lifeblood and time for so many years. I am here to say they do come out of it eventually and learn to see Mom as the anchor that held their lives together with the grace of God.
Parenting in the bumpy teen years requires deep breathing. Depending on God's grace again and again, seeking to walk in it constantly. And much courage. It is worth the cost of all the time and emotional investment and prayer. Helping your children find community is important, as is spending time together joyfully! Praying God encourages you today, and especially if you are the mama of a teenager!
Did you know you can find me on Twitter? Follow here: Sally Clarkson
Gathering On Purpose
Good & Hard (Lifegiving Home Series
Can a guest post be a repost too? Sure it can (right, Mom?!), especially if what is posted afresh is still true with a quick, living, muscled strength. When I sat down this week to write this post, I knew that what I wanted to write about was the way that life lived well, life lived creatively, in love, in beauty, is just darn hard. In this gorgeous and broken world, wholeness and home and love must be fought for with grit and work and a total givenness of self. The good life is a great life, and a hard one too.
I wrote about this three years ago, and when I recently reread that post, I was struck by the way that I wouldn't change one thing that I wrote then. Marriage, moving, Oxford, new joys, new griefs, they've all transpired in the past three years, but they've all happened in the same hard work, the same stubborn love, in which the whole of my history has been forged. This week, in the midst of papers, and a visit from my beloved Joy, and work and challenge I've lived afresh in the good, hard work I learned from childhood. May the story encourage you as well:
I write this from 35,000 feet up in the free blue air. A grey quilt of clouds obscures the earth below, but sometimes the cloud down frays and the earth winks up, a brown, wry face patterned with laughter lines and the rutted gullies of old tears. I never get tired of having the window seat on an airplane. My awe at technology is usually spoiled by my suspicion that it might be ruining my imagination, but I still have a tiny girl’s wonder at the fact that we humans can fly. Airplanes feel a little like magic to me. I could sit here, nose pressed against my window, reveling in my rare, eagle’s eye view for hours.
At the moment though, I’m also just glad to be sitting. I can feel the dark circles under my eyes. For the third time in four weeks, I have gotten up far too early to lug a half dozen suitcases and crates to various airplane counters. I have packed and unpacked, washed (and, well, “unwashed”) more loads of laundry in the past months than I care to mention, changed time zones, chased rental car shuttles, and stumbled up, hair awry and eyes slightly wild to quite a few hotel desks. I have a bag of cherry tomatoes in the bottom of my bag, because I couldn’t stand to throw out good produce one more time, but they sit next to a bar of chocolate because travel season wrecks my healthy intentions. My carryon is stuffed with the speech I haven’t yet gotten by heart, the insurance papers I haven’t figured out, and the manuscript I still haven’t edited though the deadline is this weekend. In order even to write this, I must ignore the ten, urgent, unanswered emails sitting on the next tab over.
I tell you all this because in this rare moment of (literally) suspended calm, I find myself contemplating the worth of doing hard things.
Everything in my life of late seems hard. Conference season is hard. It comes as a mix of marathon, disaster, and holiday. Writing is hard. My brain at the end of a working day feels like a mental sponge squeezed dry of every word, and my heart rate spikes at thought of all the work I have yet to do. Integrity is hard. To write about beauty is one thing, to make it amidst exhaustion and laundry with nerves frayed and tongue sharp is harder. Health is hard. To eat good food, to walk long miles, to seek out natural instead of processed food takes time, and thought, and a mighty dose of discipline. (Especially amidst travel.) Even loving God is hard. Turning my mind away from the many lists of things I need to do, the countless desires, the endless distractions in order to sit with my Bible and listen, listen to his whisper in the silence is one of the most difficult habits I have ever undertaken.
Hard, every bit of it. Hard every single day of my life.
Yet undeniably, unequivocally… good.
In the past months I have watched myself complete a manuscript I never thought I could manage, and impossible deadlines were the grace that helped me to do it. I finally managed to articulate my convictions about story because I was forced to spit them out in the last-minute, white heat of speech-writing the hour before I was due on stage. The countless vegetables I’ve chopped, and lettuce I’ve washed for daily salads has paid off in a health I haven’t known for years. The friendships found and renewed in these conference weekends have kindled my heart, deepened my conviction, set me on my feet to work for yet another year. Life burgeons around me, good work flourishes, the soil of my heart is rich with new ideas and I know that the endless work of writing, of health, of love to which I have given myself with freshened vigor this year is worth every bit of what it costs me.
The truth I find is that every good thing I know requires hard work. It requires, not just a dose of effort to get it started, but the grit to hold fast and keep on when the inspiration fails. Day in and day out, a life that is in any way good requires steady labor, something I don’t always factor in when I am dreaming about the lovely things I’ll make and the heroic deeds I’ll accomplish. The good life – here in a fallen world where what was meant to be good was broken – is a hard life. We fight fallenness in every atom of existence. But every bit of the goodness we we make proclaims the someday new heaven and earth. And somehow, brings the kingdom come, even amidst the shadows.
I write this to remind myself to endure, because my idealist self often lags in the midst of all the effort. When I’m tired, as I am today with the hum of the plane around me, I wonder if its all worth it. I write this to shore up my will to endure, to strengthen the conviction that grows feeble when all I really want to do is lounge in my chair and drink five cups of tea.
But I also write this because I’ve been thinking of late about one of the hardest but best creations I have ever experienced: my family.
In conference season, I am always made keenly aware that many people watch my family. The parenting ministry that my mom and dad carry out means that we Clarksons are somewhat in the public eye. We are a family marked by our ideals, and our ministry is, in large part, to hold those ideals forth to the world and challenge others to follow them as well. But I wonder sometimes if the strength with which we state our ideals leads people to the mistaken assumption that we live an ideal life. That goodness comes easily to us, and hard to others. That somehow we were born with harmonious hearts and quiet tempers and curious intellects.
By the time we show up at conferences, feet padding the plush carpet of yet another hotel, we strive to look grown up in our Sunday clothes and polite (if not well-rested) faces. We do, of course, try to have good things to say. We strive to articulate all we believe and present a gracious face to the world. But a whirlwind of hard work and sore shoulders, heartache and heart-searching lies behind us. Imperfect attitudes, impatient words, and discouragement are the shadow side of the inspiration that propels us forward. We struggle, we grapple, we cry. We also laugh and cook and sing. We wash a thousand dishes and cook a thousand good meals and light the candles every evening and play our classical music. Behind every conference we throw or speech we give are countless quiet days of hard work and hard choices. I’m not saying that we live differently than the ideals we hold forth. I’m saying that we fight like wild men to attain them and we have been fighting for as long as I can remember.
These thoughts all began two nights ago when my Mom and I strode out to walk off our adrenaline in a purple and windy dusk. Our talk was of family, that hardest and best of works, and my talk was of the struggle I find to love. We spoke of old frustrations and the grief they still cause. Of quirks and personalities that tax and bless us all at once. We spoke of the arduous decisions required by faith, the tough endurance required by real love, the never-ending forgiveness it demands and the ever-fresh friendship it brings. And when I had finally spit all the struggle out of my mouth in a torrent of irritation, I took a deep breath and listened to my mother teach me once again to love. To open my hands. To open my heart. To endure. And to do it all over again the next time.
As we pounded the last road home, I realized that we Clarksons are who we are – idealistic, fiercely loyal, writers, musicians, tied to each other at the hip and convinced we can help to bring God’s kingdom to bear on earth – because we stayed in the fight when the fight got hard.
Our fantastic relationships were formed in part by fantastic fights and spectacular disagreements, but we endured them all, rode the high, hard winds of strife into the safe harbor of affection. We did not turn back and we did not let go. We did not withdraw from loving when loving got hard, but neither did we let hard things make a large and silent wedge between us. We took issues head on whatever they were and argued them out until they were gone. Jesus said of the woman who washed his feet that “she who is forgiven much, loves much.” And I think that principle is part of what forms the fellowship and ideals of my family. They who fight much, who endure each other’s quirks, who ride out the tempests of difficult circumstances and personalities, who laugh and weep and watch each other’s creation know a comradeship that can only come from the brotherhood of battle. The victory we have, the love that knits us close was only to be forged in struggle.
The truth is that we have wrestled with God over and over again, every one of us, just like Jacob in the wilderness grappling with sin and pain and the strange presence of the Almighty. In striving to create new things, to live our ideals, to keep communion, we wrestled with God in our hearts and we wrestled with God in each other. Every inch of ground we gained in love came with years of hard battle. But we fought forward, knowing that to fight was to hope and even to love, because it was a kind of journey. We were fighting our way back to each other and not away. We were grappling toward beauty and we wrestled until we were blessed. We strove until we overcame.
That, I suppose, it at heart of what I am striving to understand, to tell myself here and as I do, tell you too. If love is to be formed, if families are to stay close, if stories or songs are to be made, if ideals are ever to be kept, hard work is the high and never-ending cost. In a fallen world, where the good that was meant to be was broken, we have to wrestle every day to love God, to do justice, to love mercy, to make beauty. But God wrestles with us. His Spirit incites us to the fight with visions of the good that was meant to be. His Son joins us in the battle, brother and lover who suffers so that we may overcome. And the Father waits at the end of our battle, the “great rewarder of those who seek Him.” In him we live and move and have our being, and in him we fight the great fight, and in him we trust that the good we make here is just the beginning of the kingdom come and a beauty that will never end.
So courage, dear hearts, as Aslan whispered to Lucy. Courage, I whisper to myself as the plane dips its nose under the quilt of clouds and the earth reaches up to grasp me once more. The work is about to begin again, good and hard. I’m ready.
Reading: Daily snippets of Madeleine L'Engle's Genesis Trilogy. She restores my tired wonder at the lovely world.
Listening: Have you heard the soundtrack to The King's Speech? It's lovely and mellow and expressive. It's been my atmospheric music for the week.
Making: A Sour Cream Coffee Cake that was, apparently, a great success with the men of Thomas' small group. It was also very easy.
Practical Ideas for Developing Friendships For You and Your Children!
Family, I am convinced, was designed by God so that we could have our emotional needs met. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, parents were to make up a natural, large community of people who could, together, be a testimony of what it looked like to be a community where God's presence dwelt. Family was designed to provide help, comfort, wisdom, sharing of traditions, history, purpose, morality, and celebration through relationships throughout the seasons of life.
That is why the breakdown of the family is such a strategic move on Satan's part. If he can rob us of support systems, accountability, encouragement, and tangible love of God, which was to be expressed through the loving relationships with the many people we belonged to in our families, then he can break down the foundations upon which we are supposed to be building righteousness and godly purpose. People tend to drift and wander when they don't have connection and responsibility of relationships to a family. Then loneliness sets in as we long for what we were made to have --fellowship and intimacy. We become an easy target for Satan when we isolate ourselves and are alone.
Because I am a lover of people and I have really ached, at times, for closer relationships, I feel it is an area the Lord has taught me much about. It is a very important Biblical priority. When Jesus told us the most important commandments, to love God and to love people, He was elevating that which is really important in life--relationship. Relationship to God is His most important priority and should be ours--to love Him, then to love others.
For this reason, the Lord has taught Clay and me, over the years, that we have to make relationships a priority, if we are going to stay tender to the Lord and have the strength to keep going. In light of this, we continue to seek to build groups of people into our lives, so that we may continue to have relationship.
Consider some of these ideas for building relationship, yourself!
Tea and talk times--let your friends know that once a week, or once a month, you will open your home for friendship and fellowship. You light the candles, everyone else brings a snack to share. Then, pick one or two verses or biblical principles to talk about and just have a time of fellowship for a couple of hours--letting everyone know that they can look forward to more times like these. Share prayer requests at the end, praying together or having everyone break up into twos or threes and pray for each other.
Family potluck-- We started a family potluck group, where we take turns meeting at each others' houses just to eat and have fun together, and then close with sharing and prayer. It has given my children a close inner circle of people who they know care for them. We've even made lots of plans for the year ahead--4th of July together, grilling and shooting off fireworks; in the fall, we will hire a caller who teaches the old English dances to groups and we will have a pot luck and invite many families and do these fun dances as families. We have planned to join our church's adopt-a-neighborhood ministry and work together in that. At Christmas time we will once again have a progressive dinner, where we go to each others' homes in turn, visiting one for each portion of the meal, and sing carols and read the Christmas story together.
Girl's group for your daughters once a month--gather friends, moms and daughters, and plan something to do once a month; you could even go through a book together.
Start a Mom Heart Group--Really, do! Use one of my books as a base, meet regularly to discuss maybe one chapter a week or even once a month, enjoy prayer and fellowship, and develop friendships with those who are like minded. I have had a once a month group at my home for years, though it's gotten more difficult and we had to move to the church when the police showed up to inform us we were breaking rules with all the cars in the cul-de-sac! We always share treats, fellowship, have a time in the Word and then just hang around and talk.
Host an "I appreciate you" tea-- for your closest friends or special people you appreciate.
Schedule regular park days-- invite friends to pack a lunch and meet somewhere local for an easy fellowship time.
Do ministry alongside other families--volunteer at a retirement center or a homeless shelter. Our closest friends are those who travel with us and work side by side at our conferences--all the parents and children work hard and play hard, together.
When you create venues for fellowship, you are providing relationships for yourself and for your children--and you are providing close friendships, and support systems that Satan cannot easily tear apart.