shadowwonder

Sundays always remind me of how grateful I am for my church family.  Without fail, it’s a community where believers are seeking God and finding Him, experiencing His presence in ways that are remarkable, amazing, inspiring, worthy of celebrating.  I know the faith-stories I encounter there are meant to bolster my belief.  But every once in awhile, they have the opposite effect.  Sometimes they make me wonder why I don’t have a similar story to tell. Today is one of those days.  And so I find myself longing to hear from those who haven’t quite made it to the other side yet.  From believers who are on the leg of the journey that happens after the prayer, but before its answer. The Land of In—Between.  The part that’s between the vexing question and the reassuring response;               between the sigh of fatigue and the comfort of renewal;               between the diagnosis and the cure;               between the seeking and the finding. Beca

It’s taken awhile, but I managed to do one of my favorite February activities today. I picked up a mini-greenhouse kit and some seed packets, got my kids around the table, and helped them do some pre-season gardening.  We poured water over little packed dirt pellets, watched them swell, and pushed those seeds into the soil.  After a few days sitting on top of my (very dusty) refrigerator, we’ll see tiny stalks pushing up to find the light.  Then, the greenhouse will live beneath a fluorescent light I’ve tied to the bottom side of a bookshelf, where they’ll stay until a season we can scarcely wait to see. I’m certainly no gardener, so I’m not sure what prompted me to start this little ritual.  I’ll never forget the unexpected comfort it brought.  That it brings today.   Tonight, as we open the packets of colorful zinnias, stately sunflowers, tangy peppers, and crisp cucumbers, I’m struck by the look of the seeds.   Some pale and anemic-looking, others brown and sharp-e

[A little note of introduction:  In January, I spent some time contemplating and writing about the reference to generosity in Proverbs 31 (31.20).  My mind continues to linger on a question:  So often, my own generosity leans all too heavily on the levels of abundance I'm experiencing in my own life--material, emotional, spiritual, or otherwise.  Yet this tendency doesn't seem quite right.  Perhaps it's a misguided goal, but I wish to remain open-handed, regardless of my own state-of-heart.  The fact, though, is that I often find myself falling short.  Hence, this meditation.] These   HANDS  betray my   HOPE  (or lack)   as they give   or   take away cherish   or discard deliver comfort or inflict pain offer   or withhold receive   or reject make available   or snatch away They can be clenched tightly or relaxed extended OPEN Open hands are   ready hands willing to lend eager to embrace POISED  to    provide My

It was just here, but I can’t seem to find my giddy-up these past few days.   And this makes me nervous.   Maybe it’s the clouds, the temperature, the time of year.   Something logical. Right about now, the good girl in me should come up with a pep talk and give my bootstraps a good yank.   Pick myself up and push through.   But it’s not happening. And how quickly my HOPE shifts to fear. Maybe the lazy streak I hide so well is finally taking over.   Maybe I’m letting myself drift away from something (or Someone) vital.   Maybe I’ve made a turn onto that wide road I’m so afraid of inadvertently ending up on. Quick. Someone light a fire under me. Please. Then: Maybe I’m tired because . . . . I’m tired. Maybe I've come to a stop because that’s what is needed. Maybe this malaise isn’t a symptom of something sinister in me, but a gentle invitation. After all, I can’t receive rest until I’m willing to admit that I’m weary. “