grace every day

Beautiful Things

2013-05-18T00:04:00.003-04:00

The view the Inn at Sugar Hollow

What an amazing week.

First, there was the engagement party last week, and the subsequent conversations (WEDDING! WEDDING! WEDDING!); then Mother's Day, with All The Kids Home, and then the birthday.

My birthday, yes. Amazing. Awesome. I have approached this day with anxiety, fear and trembling. Having to say, "I am fifty" sounded like the last words of a lost, lonely, desperate, old and unimportant woman (I know, I know - you want me to get over it. I am! Bear with me a minute more...)

I'm there, we pushed through it, I LIVED AN ENTIRE DAY AS A 50-YEAR OLD PERSON AND ALL IS WELL.

Got that? All is well.

I like it.

It's kind of like riding a roller coaster; the fear is in the climb up the hill, the slow, rickety, shaky climb. And the moment at the top, the peak - that split-second before the wind picks up and the bottom falls out of your stomach and you realize that you love this feeling...

Yeah. It's like that.

Anyway, we took a great trip for my birthday; a day off and a short drive through Charlottesville to The Inn at Sugar Hollow. It was, in short: beautiful, restful, friendly, relaxing, awesome, comfortable and delicious.

I was so fond of the over-sized deluxe whirlpool bath that I used it. Twice.

I took two baths in one day. Just because I could.

It's a great getaway and we had a great time. My husband surprised me with a beautiful gift (jewelry; he gives me jewelry and, quite frankly, I never get over it) and I enjoyed him so much as we walked around downtown Charlottesville, window-shopping and contemplating where we'd like to eat.

I left the computer at home. I took pictures. We had a great time.

What a week.

Today, my eldest son went to his first prom. So handsome, so responsible, so grown-up....I am so proud of him, and happy to continue the tradition of being one of Those Parents who take a million pictures of their kids.

Looking good!

Tonight, we celebrated my dad's birthday - it's the day after mine. I marvel at my fifty years; he celebrated SEVENTY-FOUR years, and that's more of a marvel, really. We gave him a bag full of goodies that every seventy-four year old man needs - stuff like Nutella and new socks and a shirt that says, "SWAG SWAG SWAG". And a Billy Graham book. And nuts. And more.

And I came home to a clean house and a lovely 18-year old daughter and two junior high boys and a husband who is back in the real world after giving me an amazing transition into being who I am.

A happy woman.

Downtown historic Charlottesville

Beautiful things...

It's My Birthday!

2013-05-15T23:55:00.000-04:00

May 16 is my birthday. I was born in 1963.

That makes me 50 years old today.

How about that?

All my life, it seemed like being 50 was ancient. Old.

Irrelevant.

But here I am, and I feel anything but irrelevant. I feel good, in fact. If I tell you I'm 50, I'm not sure what you might think; but here's the thing:

I really don't care what you think.

That's one of the perks of being 50; I'm okay with who and what and where I am, and earning your good favor doesn't really matter much to me. Oh, certainly there are a few folks whose favor I value - even crave - but for the most part, I don't really care about pleasing other people so much anymore.

That's new and improved.

There are more new and improved things. I decided to make a list.

1. I don't really care what you think anymore.
2. Okay, I do sort of care; but it doesn't keep me up nights.
3. I understand my mom more than I ever have before. I really appreciate her.
4. I am grateful for every day I have with my dad.
5. The people I'd do anything for are clearly defined - and the circle is small.
6. There is another circle of people I really like; also small.
7. Everybody else; it doesn't really matter. You get to live life as you wish.
8. At age 13, I had a crush on Johnny Carson. It made sense then.
9. I like to eat. Sometimes what I eat doesn't like me. I get to choose to eat it and suffer, or not eat it.
10. God loves me. He's always loved me. He offers grace. I get to embrace it.
11. Becoming a mother isn't for everyone, but it absolutely defined me.
12. My greatest joy is Daniel-David-Sarah-Shannon-Sydni.
13. I appreciate my kids' dad and respect him. I'm grateful for that.
14. My kids' stepmom is one of the best things that ever happened to our family.
15. Most things that seem awful, eventually don't.
16. I work with seven people that I trust completely.
17. I'm glad I learned to play the piano; it's most meaningful when I play alone.
18. I'd rather see a movie in a theater.
19. One of the best days of my life was the Batman movie marathon with my husband and my boys last summer.
20. I'd like to have the body I had in 2003; but there's nothing I have now that I'd trade for it.
21. Oreo's really don't taste that good.
22. Fresh vegetables taste better than anything manufactured by people.
23. I am more moved by words than music.
24. I like to grow things.
25. I am more like my mother than I ever thought I would be. That's good.
26. I will always have a difficult relationship with money.
27. I'd rather drive a car with a big engine than a car that looks cool.
28. Chagrin Falls, Ohio, will always feel like home.
29. Making a list of fifty things is actually harder than I anticipated.
30. I enjoy pedicures; it's a luxury.
31. I color my hair and am not inclined to stop.
32. Cooking food well delights me.
33. Serving my family food that I have cooked delights me even more.
34. I really like merengue music.
35. Savannah and Chicago are my two favorite cities, mostly because of the people I love who live(d) there.
36. My imagination cooks up crazy things that make me anxious.
37. I don't think I am photogenic at all, and I think that's a true thing.
38. But sometimes I look in the mirror and think, "Dang. You look good."
39. I don't like shoes. Really, I just don't like wearing shoes.
40. God always speaks to me when I walk outside. Always.
41. I don't walk outside nearly enough.
42. Living fifty years makes you start thinking about how little time you might have left.
43. Good therapeutic massages are not a luxury; they are medicinal. There's a difference.
44. Pinot Grigio and chili do not mix well.
45. Having only one functioning eye would make life difficult; but not impossible.
46. True love is possible. I knew it when I finally found it. I thought it was something else for a long time.
47. True love changes everything.
48. I want to see the Grand Canyon.
49. There's a difference between being lazy and moving slowly.
50. Life is an incredible gift.

Happy birthday to me, and to anyone else born in 1963. This is what 50 looks like. This is what 50 feels like.

It feels good.

Mother's Day Words

2013-05-13T23:41:00.001-04:00

Mother's Day can be touchy in church work. Like other days our culture sets aside to commemorate something or someone special, people bring their own history and expectations into the room.

There is always the potential to fail.

There is always the danger to cause unintentional pain.

I have been in churches where the pastor cheered on the oldest mom; the mom with the most kids; the mom with the newest baby.

I have watched ushers separate women as they enter the sanctuary like sheep and goats; "Are you a mom? Here's your carnation! Not a mom? Have a nice day..."

Most vividly, I recall a service that included strong, intense condemnation of abortion. I don't recall what was said; I was out in the foyer with a fussy baby. It was there that I watched a woman leave, devastated. Grief-stricken. Broken.

Hurt.

Her abortion was not forgotten. Her healing wasn't helped by the condemning words of a pastor who yelled above the people in the room, screaming at the issue. Her church dealt her a devastating, painful blow that day. I wonder if she ever went back.

Planning this year's Mother's Day service, I approached the day with care. I have kids. I have friends who do not. I have my mom still with me. I have friends who do not. One of the most special women in my history lost her son and daughter-in-law in a automobile accident just a two weeks ago.

How does Mother's Day feel for her this year?

There is no "one-size-fits-all" way to have church on a day like this. Because we are worshiping with one another, and we are connected, and some of us are in great pain. We cannot ignore that in our efforts to pursue some sort of Hallmark-generated reality.

We found an incredible piece of writing, from a blogger named Amy who lives in Beijing and writes at The Messy Middle. Amy is not a mom. She shared her heart with a poignant essay that we felt spoke life into the reality of Mother's Day for all women.

It made for a beautiful day. I'm grateful for Amy's words.

Find Amy's original piece here; read her blog here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To those who gave birth this year to their first child—we celebrate with you.

To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you.

To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you.

To those who experienced loss this year through miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away—we mourn with you.

To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears, and disappointment – we walk with you. Forgive us when we say foolish things. We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.

To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you.

To those who have warm and close relationships with your children – we celebrate with you.

To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you.

To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you.

To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own mother – we acknowledge your experience.

To those who lived through driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst.

To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you.

And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising –we anticipate with you.

This Mother’s Day, we walk with you. Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst. We remember you.
- Amy, The Messy Middle

Secrets Revealed

2013-05-10T23:22:00.002-04:00

Secrets bind anxiety.

Part of the awesome decorations

I have been oh-so-anxious lately. I've had a secret.

A few months ago, a fine young man came to visit me. I've always been impressed with this fellow, for a variety of reasons. Intelligent, resourceful, kind, smart, talented, funny, polite. From a terrific family. Loves Jesus.

Loves my daughter.

Came to see me a few months ago to tell me that he loved my daughter, which I knew; and that he wanted to marry her. Which I suspected.

And so it began; he went to a jeweler who happens to be part of our family. He drove four hours to buy a ring from Hearne's because he thought it would matter.

It did.

He planned the day, and asked me to host a party for our families and for the friends from Richmond and Harrisonburg who have walked alongside them for the past several years. He said he knew that's what she wanted.

She did.

We kept the secret, bringing the big sister in under cover of night and hiding her at my parents' house. We did stealth shopping for food and party stuff. We were nonchalant about disappearances and slips of the tongue. (When my dad accidentally let it slip on the phone that Syd and Sarah were still asleep, Shannon wondered what was up...and if Grandpa was losing it. I told her - with deep sorrow - that, indeed, I was afraid that he was losing it; that he'd been acting strangely lately. Dad took one for the team; all afternoon, Shannon thought he was crazy.)

Travis shows his grandmother the cake

We gathered at the house, cleaning and setting up and prepping food. Her friends put up special photos and decorations. They made a slide show. Her dad and stepmom brought a gorgeous cake with their photos all over it.

He gave her a "spontaneous" day of fun that included lunch and a movie, and then he took her to Maymont, where her favorite photographer lurked in the bushes to capture the moment.

He told her he loved her.

He gave her the ring.

She said yes.

And then he blindfolded her and brought her home, to a group of people who were half-crazed with love and anticipation. The blindfold came off and her face cracked open with joy and love.

Surrounded by her housemates

I watched my daughter take the first step into a lifelong commitment that promises great joy. Her heart beat her to this moment; she has longed for this all her life. Devoted to people, to nurturing others, to living out her calling in the kingdom of God, she embraced her friends and all those who love her, one by one, and the world shifted ever-so-slightly.

My beautiful daughter Shannon, a wonderful red-headed bundle of joy, is engaged. Her fiance is a handsome young man who is well-loved and respected by all who know him and by everyone who loves Shannon.

There is grace enough for all of us in this moment, and for peace that courses through my heart and stills my anxious thoughts.

All is well, and all will be well. And I am thankful.

We wanted the story of the proposal; they obliged

My Last 10% Conversation With God: Richmond Hill Part 5

2013-04-28T17:56:00.002-04:00

My Richmond Hill experience ended with more questions than answers, but that's not a bad thing. I've had much to contemplate in the past two weeks.

We were asked to draw (I know - draw??? Even for a creative doodler like me, anxiety loomed large. I don't think I draw well...) our image of God. The crayons and markers sat neatly on the table; each of us were given a piece of heavy, white 11 x 17 paper.

I kept sneaking a look at everybody else's work.

Do we ever really, truly grow up?

When I was done, I realized that I'd responded to the prompt in a rather raw, unfiltered fashion. I just started drawing my image of God.

And there He was, in a corner, arms open wide, cloaked in grace and kindness, redemption and restoration. He stood behind a desk, emblazoned with superlatives like "100%!!" "Excellent!"

And the rest of my drawing was me. Me and my junk.

It was quite artsy; it communicated well. But my heart sank when I saw the truth of what I'd done.

My image of God..

In response to a request to draw my image of God, I'd filled up the page with me. Me, me, me. Me doing things. My junk filling up all the empty space between me and the Guy behind the desk.

And what's up with that, anyway? God behind a desk? Handing out report cards?

Yup.

It was good to rip off the heavy covers of busy-ness and see the insidious perfectionist, grace-must-be-earned lies that have snuck back into my heart. Very telling; it exposed the scrape on my heart that stings as I struggle to find my place, tell my story, live my life fully present to the world. To my world. My friends. My family.

My Savior.

It was a last 10% conversation with the One who created me, and it stopped me in my tracks. It stung. It made me sad. I was disappointed in myself.

But it made perfect sense, and everything clicked into place. I realized the source of some of my more recent struggles. And with that realization, I felt empowered to realign my movements and focus on a right relationship with God, one in which both parties were where they belonged. Without a desk and a bunch of junk floating in the midst of it all.

Two other revelatory moments: I realized, right before the retreat time ended, that I had introduced myself to the other participants with a brief statement revealing The Worst Thing I Ever Did. In my mind, this helps define me - quickly - to others. It tells the depth of this amazing grace; it shouts, "It's not me! It's Christ in me!"

But the still, small voice that met me there whispered You are not who you used to be and dang it, I know that I know that I know that but could it be that I am clinging to this definition of myself? Could it be that this is unhealthy?

(yes, mom, i know...)

How do I live in the tension between

the very reason I know the depth of my need for Christ

and this new mercy, every morning?

My thoughts ran up and down the trail of how I see myself, how I choose to identify myself to a handful of strangers, and I wonder. And I know that I did, indeed, need to work on healing my image of God. I know, indeed, that He is calling me around the corner, higher, deeper, wider. Different.

I closed my door for the final time, slung my backback across my shoulders and headed down the hallway. One other retreat participant was still there, packing her things. I stopped to offer a word of encouragement, well aware of the physical and spiritual wrestle she had alluded to during a revelatory moment in our discussion time. I tossed out that perfect Christian phrase, the one that covers any multitude of social awkwardness moments: I'll pray for you.

She said thanks, and then stood up, the fullness of her six-foot frame filling the tiny room. And she said, "Have you forgiven yourself yet?"

And I had no words. I stumbled, bumbled, mumbled...blah, blah, blah.

She turned back to her bag and said, "Maybe you need to work on that a little more."

Maybe I do.

What I Saw At Richmond Hill (Part 4)

2013-04-19T14:56:00.004-04:00

The view from my room.

What occurred to me in that still, quiet place centers on more of the navel-gazing I have done all my life. I live in this frustrating tension between high capacity, leadership-oriented output (i.e. I get things done) and occasionally paralyzing insecurity (i.e. Am I good enough just in case I am not I'd better do more of the high-capacity awesome things).

I know I'm not the only one.

I've been like this all my life; only recently, with a bit more margin in my life (the nest is slowly emptying), the benefit of hindsight and wisdom and the invaluable presence in my life of good, truth-telling friends, am I able to unpack it and address it.

In that quiet moment on a Saturday evening, in the presence of people I did not know, the gentle nudging of God prompted a powerful realization.

He touched their eyes, and immediately they could see.

The detached retina diagnosis, the surgery, the hurry-up-and-get-it-done drama - all that went well, smoothly, calmly. Afterwards, when doctor's orders included DO NOT MOVE YOUR HEAD FROM AN ANGLED POSITION FOR MORE THAN 5 MINUTES EACH HOUR. FOR A WEEK, I had to adjust. Everything.

I spent a week on the couch, and basically, for the first time ever, I did nothing.

It wasn't a vacation - usually, I stay busy on vacation, blowing and going with family and meals and kids and sight-seeing and all that. It wasn't a study break - I couldn't really read or communicate.

I couldn't do anything.

I could not do any thing.

And here's the thing:

Friends came to see me. Just to visit, to talk, to check in. Sally and Susan and Lindsay and Natasha...they just came by.

People brought food to my family. Because they figured we wouldn't eat, and they wanted to help.

Co-workers took on my work load. And they did fine.

And here's the real thing:

I didn't earn it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't earn it.

There's nothing I could have done, because I couldn't. And yet people still cared.

And what's more, I felt God's presence. God still cared.

I knew all those things intellectually, of course. But for the first time in my life, I received a specific kind of grace and acceptance and did absolutely nothing in return.

It had not occurred to me the depth of the meaning of this in my life. I didn't see it until those quiet moments at Richmond Hill when I had time and space and direction to see it.

God loves me.
People love me.
Just because.
That's what love does.

That was only Saturday night...there was more ahead that I did not anticipate.

I'm blogging about my recent retreat experience at Richmond Hill. Thanks for reading...

Words Speak For Themselves (Richmond Hill Part 3)

2013-04-17T22:50:00.000-04:00

The garden at Richmond Hill

Jesus had compassion on them and touched their eyes. Immediately they received their sight and followed him.

These were the words that drew all of my attention during the reading; specifically, he touched their eyes.

It was just a few months ago that I had eye surgery for a detached retina. (Remember? Details here.) The medical procedure went well; the recovery period was "eye-opening" for me.

Pun intended.

I had no intentions of reflecting on my eye surgery, subequent recovery and the spiritual implications during this retreat. But there it was.

He touched their eyes.

Before the miracle of modern technology, and without the miracle touch of Jesus, a detached retina led to blindness. Fortunately, times have changed. After my diagnosis, action was swift. Surgery happened right away, and my sight was restored.

Immediately they received their sight.

The retreat facilitator read the words, over and over. They covered us. Those last two phrases resonated.

She spoke again.

"I'll read the passage again. This time, listen for what God wants to say to you."

It's fascinating, really; we spend time unpacking scripture, studying Greek and Hebrew, researching words and phrases, looking for meaning. Those things are valuable, necessary, important.

But sometimes, the words speak for themselves. And we listen, and God has something to say. And here is what I heard:

You didn't even know you were blind.

I am blogging about my time at Richmond Hill. Tune in tomorrow....

Richmond Hill Retreat Part 2

2013-04-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

I love to play a piano.

The best 'retreat' for me includes time behind the keys. The most powerful moments of any break or focused personal spiritual formation time for me include those with my hands on a piano. Somehow, it remains the purest form of prayer for me - straight from my head, through my heart, out the tips of my fingers.

I struggle with relationships. I do have issues with my image of God. I worry way too much about what others think of me.

But there is purity when I play for myself.

My heart leapt when I walked - early - into the Solarium where we would begin our retreat. Tucked into the corner was a beautiful baby grand.

I smiled and sat down to play; a single candle was lit in the center of the room, but it was still and empty of people. The keys were unfamiliar to me, and it took a while to get comfortable. I played tentatively and softly, just enough to loosen up my soul as I prepared to meet and interact with whoever would be filling the six empty chairs in the room. I closed my eyes.

When the air stirred, I looked up to see the retreat facilitator sitting, her eyes closed as well. I stopped and she said, "Thank you."

The other chairs filled; a former teacher, a professor, a Richmond Hill intern, a retail clerk, a mother. We said shy hellos and got brief bits of info about the schedule.

We had time to relax, to walk around the beautiful grounds, to rest.

You can see the city from this vantage point...

We met in the chapel for prayer; the community gathers three times each day to pray, following the Book of Common Prayer. For those of us who are unfamiliar with the rhythm of a liturgical service, leaders take great pains to explain carefully what to do, where to find the prayers, how to respond. Each time of prayer is "seeker sensitive" and inclusive.

Prayer is relatively short, followed by a meal.

We met in the Solarium again after dinner. I went up early again and opened my heart over the piano.

Our facilitator told us that our evening activity would center on Lectio Divina.

In Christianity, Lectio Divina (Latin for divine reading) is a traditional Benedictine practice of scriptural reading, meditation and prayer intended to promote communion with God and to increase the knowledge of God's Word. It does not treat Scripture as texts to be studied, but as the Living Word. Traditionally Lectio Divina has 4 separate steps: read, meditate, pray and contemplate. First a passage of Scripture is read, then its meaning is reflected upon. This is followed by prayer and contemplation on the Word of God. The focus of Lectio Divina is not a theological analysis of biblical passages but viewing them with Christ as the key to their meaning. - (source)

She read aloud to us. Her voice was honey, smooth, gentle, beckoning. I listened; she read the same passage a total of six times, with the ultimate question being What do you think God is saying to you?

The scripture was this passage from Matthew's gospel:

As Jesus and his disciples were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed him. Two blind men were sitting by the roadside, and when they heard that Jesus was going by, they shouted, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” The crowd rebuked them and told them to be quiet, but they shouted all the louder, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” Jesus stopped and called them. “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked. “Lord,” they answered, “we want our sight.” Jesus had compassion on them and touched their eyes. Immediately they received their sight and followed him.

Every person in our circle heard - received - something different and definitive from the passage.

Me?

Taken completely by surprise.

I'm writing about my retreat to Richmond Hill this week. Stay tuned for more tomorrow...

On Retreat And Obedience At Richmond Hill

2013-04-16T22:29:00.001-04:00

The outer gate

I went on retreat last weekend, off to one of my favorite places in the world. Richmond Hill is one of the city's best kept secrets; it sits high atop the hustle and bustle of daily life in the middle of Church Hill. The property was established in the early 1800's, and has been a boarding school and a convent; it is rich with history and beauty. In a city full of Civil War-era monuments and relics, Richmond Hill is a unique place of peace.

Since the 1980's, the walls have enclosed an ecumenical retreat center and residential community, focusing on daily prayers for the city and surrounding areas and "personal spiritual development and interracial harmony".

I've made a few day trips to Richmond Hill. I have walked the labyrinth, attended a centering prayer group, snuck into the chapel to play the piano and fallen asleep in the library while reading Thomas Merton. An overnight retreat was on my bucket list; I intended to do a solo retreat and see what happened, but Healing Your Image of God was a guided retreat on the calendar.

I signed up.

I told myself that I certainly didn't need my image of God healed - if anything, I've got that figured out - but certainly I'd learn something.

I learned something alright; that in spite of how much we grow, in the hustle and bustle of life, corruption of truth can sneak in under the corners of our well-ordered activity.

I'd told Tony as I drove away that I was a tiny bit apprehensive, if only because I was venturing into uncharted territory. Control issues, you know; this was something I'd never done before; but I knew God wanted me to go. He responded, "Do you have a habit of disobeying God?" Then he kissed me goodbye.

Fifth door on the right...

I walked down the long hallway on the third floor to find my room. On the ancient wooden door frame was stenciled the "name" of my room:

St. Benedict - "Obedience"

Well, then.

I'll continue to write about my retreat experience over the next few days.

Could You Be More Beautiful Than You Say You Are?

2013-04-16T09:20:00.001-04:00

I tell my daughters they are beautiful. Sometimes they shrug me off and say, "Mom, you're supposed to think we're beautiful. You're our mom."

My friend Kelley is radiant with the child growing inside of her. I told her that her hair looked amazing. She reached up and touched her curls, and looked at me rather puzzled.

I tell my friend Sally she is beautiful. I'm not sure she believes me.

I tell my friend Lindsay she is gorgeous. Sometimes she winces.

I tell my mom she is beautiful. She doesn't smile.

I tell myself....

....well, I like to think that I tell myself the truth.

I never tell myself that I am beautiful. But my friends are.

Could it be that we are all more beautiful than we realize?

This is powerful for me today; I am striving to live in this place where there is no condemnation. Our human brokenness is often rooted in such deep, dark places; those roots sometimes grow deep. They paralyze us, challenge our desire to dance.

This film promotes a product, yet; but somehow I think that it represents the overarching love of Christ, who sees us as his own. This counts as prayer and meditation today, a hymn sung to the glory of creation.

We are created, we are beautiful, we are loved.

Amen.

Study Break 2013

2013-04-09T17:49:00.001-04:00

Every year, I get a study break.

Every year, I try to take a bit of it.

This year, I'm doing it right.

(Here is a little glimpse of last year's break...)

I'm taking the entire break in one big clump, as encouraged by my boss (who had a terrific, extended study break during his sabbatical last summer). After Easter, I tidied up a bit and then left creative planning in the hands of my remarkable team at PCC and set off. I spent the majority of the first week in Savannah, where I managed to renew my soul and spirit through connections with my daughter, her friends and an incredible church. I did some good, hard study preparing a message for City Church, and enjoyed the challenge of sharing a message from God with a group of relative strangers. Great conversations were had, incredible food was eaten and the 2013 Study Break was off to a great start.

Sarah and David...

I followed up with a trip to Raleigh - with my eldest daughter and her boyfriend - to see her reconnect with her brothers, and to see my eldest son's drum line take first place in the AIA championships. It was a good, if incredibly exhausting, Saturday.

This week, I am mostly home. I've set aside specific goals for each day; yesterday, I reconnected with a husband who held down the fort (in spite of a sinus and bronchial infection) while I was gone, and I did my part at his music store by teaching some incredible musicians their private piano lessons.

You know who you are...

In this photo, you'll see one of my students' hands as she begins to work on a Clementi Sonatina that I played in high school. What goes around, comes around. I find that one of the greatest joys in my current existence is the privilege of working with piano students. To see music come alive for them, as the discipline of years of practice and dedication pay off - wow. It connects everything internally - my love of teaching, my passion for music, my genuine fondness for my students - and the reward is like nothing else. It is passion and purpose, and spiritual in ways that I can't even articulate.

I took a walk through our little village. It's no Savannah, but it's home.

Today I was a domestic diva, staying home, listening to my former pastor preach via the magic of the internet (Jamie Rasmussen, Scottsdale Bible Church - the man God used to teach me the most about grace) and cleaning. Sort of. I'm a half-hearted cleaner who is easily distracted, so it was not difficult to interrupt the day with a conversation over coffee with a good friend who also happens to be my current pastor. And my boss. Lots of great stuff going on in life and in our church, and it was good to reconnect.

I was inspired to cook by the incredible tacos at Foxy Loxy.
These are a far cry from Foxy Loxy, but they were homemade and it's a start....

I visited my church, enjoying very much the glimpse of the faces I love who are carrying out the mission of PCC. I visited my husband. I came home to visit my son, and I listened over the phone as my daughter read a dramatic interpretation of her testimony, which is entangled with my own, and I found myself very emotional.

The freedom to move throughout the day with the undercurrents of grace and inspiration all around me fuels the best, deepest part of my creativity. Things begin to churn and swell and before I know it, they erupt. I know I am where I am supposed to be, and expanded breathing room like this helps me to be my best.

The remaining days of the week include focused study time, artistic inspiration, a structured retreat at Richmond Hill and moments with my boys whenever I can find them.

I'm also thinking of planning a big party. I'm turning 50 in just a few weeks!

I'm grateful for every day of every one of those almost-fifty years; with each day that passes, my gratitude grows for the privilege of life, well-lived. Working, study-breaking, vacationing - it's good just to be alive.

Jesus

2013-04-06T10:00:00.000-04:00

I'm the only person I know who hasn't watched The Passion of the Christ.

Well, besides my mom.

I've wanted to use my own imagination, my own experience to see the life of Jesus.

We don't have cable, so I haven't watched any of the latest Bible series that's gotten so much media attention, either.

But inspired by my friend Paul's post, and his honest confession of tears, I watched this video.

And I sat in a Savannah coffee shop and cried.

And rejoiced.

Grateful for powerful art that tells a strong story.

Grateful for one Life that brings life.

Life, for me, abundant and full.

All These People

2013-04-05T11:48:00.000-04:00

I am sitting in Foxy Loxy, a house-turned coffee shop, just a few steps from my
daughter's apartment in Savannah. It's a cool, rainy day. I've snagged a table on the enclosed porch. Wooden shutters wrap around me at eye level, and the glow of the apple icon on the computers around me are the only connection between those of us parked in this tiny room, coffee in hand.

All my life, I have loved to travel. I visit places and am captivated not just by the things that stand, the places and markers of history and culture, but by this tantalizing thought that always grabs hold of my imagination:

I could live here.

And I could. Really, anywhere I ever go, it comes, unbidden; this projection of what my life would look life if I lived here, in this place, wherever "here" is at the moment.

I love to imagine. The grass is always greener, it seems; and often, it's not just the place, but some other version of me that fascinates me. Here, surrounded by Spanish moss dripping from the trees, the bulky Bull Street Library gleaming right across the street, the students carrying portfolios and backpacks dodging puddles on the sidewalk, the constant stream of movement. Cars and people. Cars and people.

Lives, intricate and important. All these people...

I'm rambling a bit, obviously. I've spent two full days here with my daughter, not as a tourist but as a traveler. I've met her friends over coffee, heard the dreams of artists who are passionate about their faith and their art, who are spending their summers serving others at camps and workshops from North Carolina to East Asia. We exclaim delight over the pastries at Back In the Day Bakery and mull over the challenges of city codes for church ministry coffee shops. I'm watching students spend their free day doing construction work - unpaid - for a church project.

All these people...

I spoke at City Church here in Savannah last night, part of a week-long intensive called Movement. I agonized and worried over what I might possibly have to say and share with anyone. My insecurities rear their heads in mighty ways and do a fine job of distraction; but in the end, after a few days of simple real conversations, real dialogue and incredible food, I stood in front of a room full of people and delivered the message. It was, in a word (or 2,833 words, to be exact), simply what I felt God told me to say. All the structure, all the planning, all the time spent molding and shaping an arc of narrative and context - all so much time and energy, reduced to an open mouth and these are the words God gave me to say to you.

And the thing I discovered is this: I have this thing in me, the truth of my life and the daily working out of my own salvation (with fear and trembling) and the small gifts of confession that I give and receive from the people in my daily coming and going and the things I have seen and felt and heard and lived. I have this thing, grounded in a foundational faith and trust in the workings of something beyond the tangible, something ethereal and spiritual and beyond my understanding or sight.

I have this life. I could live here, in Savannah, or I could live in Raleigh or Seattle or Tolar, Texas, or Chagrin Falls, Ohio, or right where I am. I could live anywhere, but I get to embrace the fullness of the life I have lived regardless of where I sit. Last night, I spoke these words: "I have walked this broken earth for almost 50 years..."

I am embracing this now, surrounded by youth and passion and energy and the incredible working swirl of creative fuel for life and Jesus. I have the privilege of speaking and sharing but far greater is the joy of a shared meal, the glimpse into the life my daughter is forging, the tiny graces of God, the energy of beauty and the lives of all these people, intricate and important.

All these people.

God, I am so blessed.

There Were No Easter Baskets

2013-03-31T22:13:00.003-04:00

Time just keeps moving us forward. There's no greater reminder of this for me, lately, than holidays. What once was a foregone conclusion; holiday, big dinner, everybody home - has morphed into something that requires a lot of mobility and flexibility.

Such was Easter this year. The boys are gone, off on a mission trip with their dad in New York City. Sarah is in Savannah. Shannon and Sydni came home for the weekend. Tony and I are still here, and everything swirls around us.

No complaints. Just the way it is. And I'm okay with that.

Easter was an amazing celebration at our church. I read this post today and realized that I have moved past the emotions he describes into something that is grounded in joy and optimism, more so than in recent years. It is tangible and it is good, and today was an explosion of grace and goodness that I still find

Connie Kottman's art

inexplicable; but I accept it for what it is and give thanks for a community of faith that gives us room to work out our salvation with fear and trembling.

And a good bit of singing and shouting.

There were no Easter baskets for our family this year, which felt a bit odd. But church and a full table and good conversation made up for the absence of candy, fake grass and chocolate bunnies.

It's been a busy few weeks around here, but I've been taking notes. Here's some links I highly recommend, from writers all connected with PCC in some way:

Paul on faith and The Bible series.

Meredith on Easter and modern-day slavery.

Mel with a humble, brave apology.

Laura, with the backstory on It Was Me, the powerful song she wrote and sang for Easter services today.

Eric, with eleven things that brought me hope.

You can watch today's service here

Grace Cemented, Glory Revealed

2013-03-23T10:41:00.002-04:00

Leading worship with my brother last night was remarkable. So many things combined to create a powerful time of community. Much of it was personal, unique to me; but we were together in community, and I am reminded every time that when God's people gather, something happens.

It's one of the greatest ongoing surprises of faith, this Mystery that shows up. Beyond what we offer and who we are, something essential is formed in our togetherness that is unmatched.

For me, combining the spiritual depth of the gathering with the family present, it was likely one of my favorite moments. Maybe ever. Certainly of this year.

I won't forget.

The band shared communion backstage, before we went out to play. I held the cups and bread on a broken wooden table top and said a few words; the correlation between the intimacy of making music together and the bond of the ties that bind us as believers was paramount in my mind. And, of course, there was my brother, my husband, the bond of family...

We both came to true faith in Christ in our twenties. I will never forget standing next to him at one of the first Passion events - Fort Worth, Texas, 1999. I heard "Agnus Dei" for the first time, sang at the top of my lungs to a Father whose love embraced me in raw, electric, all-encompassing passion. My brother, with whom I had plowed through Methodist hymns week after week in the small churches of our childhood; now we stood in truth, all of the training and preparation of our spiritual education come to fruition. Our harmony was true and clear.

Fourteen years later, we sang an Emmylou song and we inhabited the Apostles' Creed, declaring the power of the faith by which we stand, in harmony, and the truth was cemented, grounded, established, lifted up. Our children stood in the front row, singing, cousin harmony blended with lifted hands. Our parents stood in the center section and worshiped the God who left a trail for them to follow some forty (or fifty) years ago. Even my kids' dad, whose history is bound up in the memories of the unfolding of our lives; he was in the room, singing.

Time goes on, moments slip by, grace is cemented and glory is revealed. Through it all, God goes before us, wraps the truth of history behind us and settles us in our present moments.

My brother is a gifted musician who has worked diligently to craft his talent into an offering worth of the One who bestowed it upon him. His presence in our community helped usher us into a meaningful, powerful time with God last night.

Several people asked, so: Eric played on this record with Matt Redman in 2003; it's an incredible outpouring of worship, filled with several songs that have become staples in churches in the last several years.

You can hear his original music with Maida Vale here and here; two of my favorite records, with no bias whatsoever. Excellent music.

He currently serves at E3 in Tallahassee; you can find links to his teaching here.

Eric writes here; as talented as he is with a guitar, his words are often profound and challenging.

He has done a lot and he is an amazing person. His wife is a joy and his children are incredible.

But bottom line: He's a child of the King. He is the son of Clyde and Peggy Case.

And he's my baby brother.

I Can Do Better

2013-03-03T22:13:00.001-05:00

Great day today, and I am exhausted. First day I've felt like myself in a while.

I didn't drive for over three weeks. I whined and complained, but it was a blessing. I had some amazing conversations with the folks who volunteered to give me rides. There was something about those snippets of community that was extremely important and unusually beneficial to me.

I'm driving now; I drove to church this morning. And in the message I heard there, Sammy Frame took my unintentional mindless meandering daily way of life, wrapped it in a conviction sandwich and dropped it, conveniently, right in my lap. And then we had the opportunity to share communion together, and things moved and shifted. All for the better. I was powerfully aware of the reality of God this morning, the common experience of a group of people open to experiencing His presence, and the impact of a man who lived and died over 2000 years ago - one that we still remember, and sing about, and talk about, and talk to today.

And I drove home, my phone in my lap, boys in the car, and I thought about Sammy's honest confession that he looks at his phone first thing in the morning and last thing at night and in that bit of identification with the common brokenness of our technologically-obsessed culture I heard "you can do better."

And I know where that came from.

And I started this blog post with a completely different intention, something about not watching The History Channel like everyone else on my Facebook feed, and about being exhausted but grateful because I feel like I'm inhabiting my life again, and about the incredible experience of inviting folks to show up for a Harlem Shake shoot and seeing the wackiest, craziest and creative costumes and props that I could have imagined, and about cooking dinner and eating at the table for the first time in four weeks with six places set, and about surprising, tear-filled conversations and a coming week crammed with meetings and an incredible, music-filled celebration coming next weekend. But my fingers followed my heart and the things rolling around in my brain, and this is what needed to be said.

I can do better.

I intend to focus this week, to live with more intentionality. I want to live into the wild and reckless notion of trust rather than the simple, more negligible notion of faith.

I want to do better, and I have a chance to do just that.

Even as Sammy reminded us today of the danger of associating our validity with blog comments and 'likes' on FB and website stats, I am posting this...and, quite honestly, hoping you WILL read it and like it and respond. That's the truth. I'm not sure it's a good thing, but it's the truth. And I'm going to think a bit more about just what that means for the way I say I want to live my life. I think it's true, that I can do better. And I think it requires some changes....

If I commented on my own blog, I'd note the irony; if I'm going to change, why not just start? Close the computer, turn off the phone, quit posting on the blog. Live differently.

Don't just write about it.

Feminism And The Right To Be Broken

2013-03-01T22:31:00.004-05:00

I've been discovering some delicious and delightful new stuff on the good ol' Internets these days. I cleaned out my Google reader list when I realized that 20 or 30 posts were piling up on some blogs, and I just kept avoiding reading them. Which made me feel guilty. Which is ridiculous, because it's not like it's a school reading list that somebody decided was compulsory. I chose and bookmarked them myself, for goodness' sake.

So I emptied the list and started over. And I've done a little wandering around a few rabbit trails in the past few weeks and stumbled upon some cool stuff.

"Don’t let me tell you a story in which I get to be the savior. You deserve to be the hero of your own story.
Don’t let me silence you by speaking your story for you. Let me make room for you to tell your own.
Don’t let me close the skin over a wound that isn’t healed. You can bleed as long as you need to.
Don’t let me caulk all your cracks with compliments. You are not always pretty. And you don’t need to be.
Don’t let me try to fix you. You have a right to be broken. That’s how the light gets in." - Esther Emery, who blogs here.

I've never considered myself a feminist, but I know that my mom raised me to reach for more than she was able to attain. I remember her telling me, consistently, "You can be anything you want to be." I grew up believing that...but along the way, I absorbed quite a few cultural messages that dictate and drive expectations and attitudes based on gender. I didn't realize it then, because I really believed I was free and empowered to do and be whatever I wanted.

Until I wanted to play Little League with my cousins, and I wasn't good enough. I wanted that, and I'd grown up doing everything right alongside Jimmy and Joey. But as we grew towards adolescence, the scales started to tip, and I started to see and understand that there were certain things that boys would do, and I would not. Could not.

Because I was not a boy.

That being said, I've never felt hindered by my gender - but quite frankly, I've had it fairly easy. I'm a type-A, go-get-'em girl with a lot of natural leadership abilities. I can make my way alright. I benefited greatly from the feminist movement. I am an independent adult woman in 2013 who has not faced a tremendous amount of interference because I am female (notwithstanding the Southern Baptist version of the Christian church, which continues to mess with my mind to this day. But that's another blog post, one I think I already wrote...)

There are things in this world that don't work as they should. Whether it's because of gender or race or religion or orientation, we are well aware of our differences, and who's got the power, and what they tend to do with that power, and whether it hurts or helps. Being human is messy. Loving one another is messier still. Often, to very difficult and ugly degrees.

David. Coury.

Just an aside: Courey and David are hanging out tonight. They are best friends, but opposites in so many ways; different in appearance, in race, in family situations, in age even. They watch Xbox and surf youtube and enjoy one another's company. When David's in control of the playlist, we hear a lot of Jack Johnson, John Meyer and Mumford and Sons. Now David's in the shower, and Courey's playing Frank Ocean and Otis Redding and Kanye West. They are so different, and our house is full to the brim with their energy and their differences, and there is no conflict, other than whose feet stink the worst and what game they're going to play, and it's a beautiful thing.

This post is all over the place, and I'm not sure it makes sense. But I was struck by Esther Emery's take on feminism, and how she connected the dots between a desire to help and educate and fix and change and the simple truth that we can never own another person's story. As a pastor, I am privy to a lot of personal moments in people's lives. There are tears, and confessions, and expressions of sorrow and grief and doubt and despair, and I gotta confess: my first overriding desire, every time, is to just. fix. it. That's my own messy humanity. And somehow, these things are connected in my mind. Get past it, clean it up, make it look good, pull past the pain. And I can't help but think that my misguided desire for repair is the antithesis of what lies at the core the push for a level playing field, for all of us to stand together on the level ground at the foot of the cross.

I want to be a feminist, in that I might seek justice for those who cannot speak, and listen to those who need an ear, and help bind up the wounds of the broken, and be the unique woman God created in me. I want to honor my mother's dream for her daughter, as she navigated the new-found freedoms of the 50's and 60's and imagined a bright, new world. I want to hear a wild mix tape of Kanye and Mumford, black and white, extroverted and introverted, silly and serious. I want to be a feminist if it means empowerment and acknowledgement and the desire to see everybody as valued, to help remember that Jesus loves us all, the broken especially, and we are all broken, so do the math.

And I want to release this ridiculous notion that to be a successful feminist - or woman - or pastor - or friend - I must fix what is broken. I want my first response to be respect, born of love and listening and honor of every person's journey.

Learn to live in the midst of the mess. See the beauty in the broken, as my brother says.

Let the light in.

That's what I want to do.

Dry Flat Only

2013-02-21T22:51:00.004-05:00

I'm finally starting to feel a bit more normal. The 2 1/2 hour nap after work wasn't exactly normal, but I am feeling more productive. It helps that other than having to drive me around, I'm back in a groove at work and my co-workers don't seem to be afraid that I'm going to implode in front of them.

It was a good day. And I've got brownies in the oven.

That's how I knew I was closer to fine; I felt like cooking, and there's a mess in the kitchen.

I don't want to be the same as I ever was; I can't help but think we go through these major, traumatic life events and we ought to come out the other side a little different than when we went in. I definitely am different, but it's internal, just a slight shift. My "normal" has to include a return to puttering around in the kitchen and washing the clothes.

Speaking of which: After chauffeuring me to work this morning, I bade my husband farewell. I was surprised to find him at home when my other driver dropped me off around 5PM. He was on his way out; he looked awful, exhausted.

I said, "You look terrible, baby....what did you do all day?"

He smiled a weak smile, through the exhausted look on his face. "I was finishing up your other Valentine's Day gift."

"What?"

"You'll see."

And he left. I wandered around the house, but nothing jumped out at me. I was clueless.

After the aforementioned 2 1/2 hour nap, I headed to the basement to get some laundry going. The aforementioned husband told me he was out of clean underwear. My recovery from eye surgery, thus far, has not included much in the line of domestic duties; but I'm getting back to normal, right?

And that's where I discovered the source of my husband's exhaustion - the late night hammering and sanding I'd heard after midnight. I had assumed it was a repair project for the store, but no.

When we moved into his house, we adjusted to doing the laundry in the basement. I have a clothesline outside for sheets and stuff, but the"line dry" or "dry flat" sweaters and shirts have ended up suspended from various pipes and joists all over the basement. At times, I've had tights and underwear and swimsuits and workout clothes draped over every solid surface down there. It was messy, and awkward and occasionally embarrassing.

Well, he took it upon himself to create something a little bit more appropriate. I know we ladies aren't supposed to get all excited about domestic gifts - we're supposed to turn up our noses at vacuum cleaners or brooms or things that help us maintain the household, hold out for the jewelry or clothes or fancy outings. But this guy, he's got my number. He pays attention, and he notices what I'm doing and why it's hard sometimes, and he does what he can to make it easier.

I am just feeling all sorts of blessed. It may not look like much to you, but he's gone and found another way to capture my heart.

Don't Ever Doubt It

2013-02-20T23:17:00.002-05:00

It's shocking, how little privacy one has in a courtroom. On Wednesdays, when they do Juvenile and Domestic Court stuff, the room is tense - very different than the mornings when you arrive with your 16-year old to receive their Virginia drivers' license.

You stand when the judge calls your name, and you move to the front of the room. The sign says Do Not Lean On The Bench and you don't. You shift your weight from one foot to the other and try to figure out where to put your hands, because it's just awkward.

And all the people behind you hear the judge, as he states the charge or the complaint or whatever brought you there. Maybe your ex is standing there, on the other side of the guy from the Division of Child Support, or maybe she just didn't show up and you're there by yourself. When the judge asks how much you make and how often you get paid and why you are asking for a modification on your child support, you speak softly, in front of God and everyone, and the judge repeats your answers loud and clear to make sure he heard you right, and then everybody in the courtroom knows your business, even though they know nothing about you.

There's no privacy in a courtroom like today. There's no backstory, no explanation, no opportunity to make your case. The judge wants the facts, the W-2s, the pay stubs. He doesn't care that she manipulated the system in Connecticut, it doesn't matter that you think he's got outside sources of extra money. What matters is what's on paper.

The stress and strain and struggle of divorced parents, reduced to the facts in the file, the numbers on the paper.

I was in court today. For 45 minutes, as I waited to hear my name, I watched the steady parade of ex's walk up, talk to the judge, listen, and leave the courtroom.

When it was my turn, I rose. My ex held the swinging door for me to walk through. We walked together, both of us slightly nervous - it's court, for goodness' sake - and stood before the judge. He looked over the paperwork and looked up at my ex.

"What, exactly, do you hope to accomplish today?"

We hadn't even discussed it, but I knew - and he knew - that he would do the talking. He shared the information with the judge, who looked over the paperwork again. He asked a few more questions, checked over the paperwork and tried - unsuccessfully - to pronounce the name of the county in which our paperwork was originally filed. G-e-a-u-g-a....

The judge looked up again and said, "I see you both nodding. You obviously have talked about this. You agree about what you want." We both said, "Yes, sir."

He gave a few more instructions and dismissed us. We turned to leave, and my ex held the door for me again, and we walked out together.

Earlier, when I'd walked into the courtroom, I saw my ex in the first row. Without a second thought, I walked towards him. We exchanged a quick hug; he made room for me beside him and he asked, "How's your eye?" I gave him the update, and we talked a bit more about the upcoming weekend and plans for his mission trip to Africa with his wife's church and how we hoped the court stuff would work out. When the judge entered, we rose with the rest of the room. We sat through the cases, one by one, and after half an hour when I leaned my head forward to rub the tension out of my neck, he whispered, "Are you okay?" and I said, "Yeah...just a headache..."

It's been almost nine years since our divorce. It was awful and painful and terrible. Both of us have plenty of ammunition; we could have a bloody war, with all the things we've done wrong. He has grounds to have harbored a legitimate hatred. I have plenty of reasons of my own to fan the flame of anger towards him.

But there are no guns; the ammunition is closeted.

Today, we went to court in the interest of our kids, going through the motions required by law to make the best of our situation for our children. We went together, as parents; in spite of what we lost when we divorced, I think we both strive to see what we might gain as we move forward.

There is much that I regret. Divorce is always painful, always difficult for the children and the extended family. But I have lived my life in a state of grace, and there is no place where it was more powerful than in a Powhatan County courtroom today, when I sat next to my ex with no fear, no anger, no tension.

Only grace, and an awareness that he was broken, and I was broken, and in our brokenness we hurt one another and made mistakes and likely will make more. There is not much room for recriminations, just a desperate desire for grace to fill in the broken places.

He is a good man, and I am doing my best to be a good woman. We have both remarried, to partners who help us be better people. But this sort of grace is a miracle, something far beyond what human beings can summon up in trying to be decent and good and kind. This is the essence of the faith that we both claim, the mysteries of forgiveness and redemption and restoration and new life. This is what it means to "continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling"; this is the core of living in the knowledge that "all have fallen short of the glory of God" and that there is something to the notion that we should "forgive one another, as I have forgiven you."

All that Christian stuff.

This is it, lived out in real time. I am better for it. My children are better for it. Our spouses are better for it.

All things are possible.

Don't ever doubt it.

Lonnie

This is my ex, who deserves more than that often pejorative term; this is Lonnie, the father of my children.

In this photo from a few months ago, he's standing in my new kitchen, alongside my mom and dad, holding a coffee cup with a picture of my cat. We were all together celebrating Sarah's birthday, with his wife and her son and all of the kids, a house full of family.

This is grace, and a testimony to what beauty can rise from ashes when we are willing to try. Don't ever doubt it.

Saga Of The Eye, Part Umpteen

2013-02-19T20:51:00.000-05:00

Getting better!

Back to work today. I like the people I work with, so it was really good to see them.

Literally.

One of my friends picked me up and drove me to work. She brought Starbucks, which is a nice touch for any chauffeur. We share an office, so we worked together, and then we got back in the car together and she drove me home. I'm a lucky girl.

I caught up on email and travel arrangements for a trip I won't be able to take and service plans and budgets and changes and new small group members and a list of folks interested in working in creative arts and....

...just work.

It's mundane, some of it; details and plans that we manage every week.

David. Me.

But it's really not mundane at all, because it's people, who are never simple and never uncomplicated and certainly not mundane. It's life, and it's the beautiful, messy, kind, complicated, wonderful people who walk down the hall and stick their heads in the office and say, "hi". And smile. Or say, "I missed you...I'm so glad you're back."

And then she teared up, and I knew she really meant it.

I appreciate my job, and I'm glad for it. It's work that matters, because it's where I am and what I'm called to do and I am using my abilities and skills to make a contribution to something larger than myself. And I'm surrounded by good, honest, kind, caring people who are committed to do the same.

I am so grateful.

It was a very good day, but I came home with a horrid headache. It was a little too much, too soon - and once again, my husband knows best. In lieu of him saying, "I told you so", which he is too much of a gentleman to EVER do, I'll simply admit it. He told me so.

Yep.

Small, Still, Slightly Afraid

2013-02-15T14:34:00.000-05:00

I'm still broken.

I've been happily anticipating Friday - today - as emancipation day for me. Post-surgery recovery positioning prescriptives expired today. After a week on the couch, keeping my head at an angle so that the gas bubble in my eye could stay in place, I've been looking forward to the first day of the rest of my life.

I'm still broken.

I'm up, moving around, putting a load of clothes in the washer, practicing some music for a wedding commitment, putting on real clothes for the first time in a week, fixing my hair...

...and nothing's really working as well as I had hoped.

My depth perception is screwed up. I poured a glass of milk and missed half the glass. I grasp things that aren't there. I struggle to read.

My muscles are complaining. This sedentary recovery has left me weak. I feel as though I've gained back most of the weight that disappeared when I started eating healthier last fall.

(For the record, healthy eating went by the wayside. Have Kelley Llewellyn bring you her chocolate cake pudding thing and try to remember that you prefer kale. Just try it. And good luck with that...)

I'm broken, still, and there is a message in this somewhere. Optimism is a great motivator - I made it to Friday, but here I am and I'm still not 'normal' and I have to ask for help and I need so much grace for that. My eye is swollen and filled with blood and incapable of doing what it was made to do. It's just there, taking up space, but it doesn't look good and it's not functional.

And there's the metaphor.

I'm here. I'm taking up space.

But that seems to be about it. I don't look good and I'm not so functional, at least in all the ways that have defined me in this season of life.

I scrawled in my journal last night - another arrow in my arsenal of complaints ("I can't even WRITE correctly!!!") these words, a quote from Ruth Haley Barton referring to the perils of leadership:

"...poisoned by the hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort."

I don't feel poisoned today, but I am disillusioned, and I know that I haven't learned that lesson yet. I have been broken, and now I am laid out and restricted while the world spins on without me and I offer nothing but a word or two, an email response or an answered phone call while I tend to the thoughts in my mind.

And rest.

I must honestly confess that I do need this rest, I do appreciate it and to some degree, I savor the long minutes and hours to watch Albert Nobs and consider it, process it. I am sinking into this cushion of rest, although it feels like so much laziness, like I am letting everybody down, like I am not doing enough, like nothing good will come unless I work harder and make it happen...

I am still broken, and my eye is far from healed, and all the ways I had planned to slip right back into my old self are looking quite doubtful, and I can't help but think that there is much more for me to extract from this time of stillness.

Some small, quiet, terrified place in my heart is crying, "Please don't stop needing me! Please tell me I still matter! Please don't forget! Please leave room for me to prove my worth! Please let me show you how good I am!"

I am still so broken. And grateful for it.

Oh God, be my everything
Be my delight
Be Jesus, my glory
My soul satisfied

PCC Volunteers Are AWESOME!

2013-02-12T00:08:00.001-05:00

While I'm home recuperating and NOT working, I have had some time to THINK about what's going on at PCC - my church home and my place of employment. Things continue to change and evolve as the church grows and our mission field expands. We'll be rolling out some new information regarding structure and staffing at the first CORE meeting of 2013 (this Sunday, February 17, 6PM - live music and great information!) If PCC is your church home or you want to know more about what's happening, please come!

One of the most obvious changes as we started the new year is the involvement of "The Boys" - Matt O'Rear and Matthew O'Donnell - as Worship Coordinators at our two physical campuses. Laura Krzyston is on board as well, working alongside Chauncey Starkey and prepping for the new Riverside Campus (read more about Laura's journey on her blog). Matt and Matthew are actively coordinating worship and scheduling bands for the Powhatan and Westchester Campuses; we are still functioning as a team, but they are now the point guys for those campuses. Last week, we added another key volunteer to the mix.

Brenda singing with Mike and Matthew

You've likely seen Brenda Whiting leading worship with us as a vocalist. Over the past several years, Brenda and her family have become an integral part of the PCC family. Kirk is a fabulous photographer who lends his gifts and talents to various projects; their two boys are active in Children's Ministry. They serve at Westchester and Powhatan, as needed. Brenda's vocal gifts have been a great asset to our mission; but recently she's expressed a desire to serve in ways that go beyond just singing on the platform.

Brenda got a copy of Andy Stanley's Deep & Wide, which the staff and Steering Team read earlier this year. She read it, and she got it. After some conversation, prayer and a few meetings, Brenda was ready to step into a new role that we felt would serve our creative arts team well in this current time of transition. Essentially, Brenda will be channeling her desire to care for those serving in the creative arts ministry by simply keeping in touch and coordinating care for our people. She'll make phone calls, help coordinate large group meetings every few months and essentially help Matt, Matthew and Laura stay connected and informed with the folks who are serving in the creative arts side of PCC.

I'm excited to support Brenda in this new area of service, and she's excited to make a valuable contribution to the mission of PCC!

Matthew, Brenda and Matt

If you'd like to get connected and use your gifts to serve at PCC, maybe it's time for you to take the next step like Brenda did!

You'll have that opportunity this Sunday during the morning services at Powhatan and Westchester - don't miss it!

The Eye Update

2013-02-10T17:17:00.000-05:00

Ahoy there, mateys!

I am currently in recovery mode, post surgery for a retinal detachment in my left eye. I've learned a lot through the process, so I'll update and inform you here on the blog.

WHAT HAPPENED?
In early January, I noticed some bright flashing lights and then what looked like an oil spill in my eye. I quickly saw an ophthamologist, who treated the tear with laser surgery done right in his office. I was able to return to normal activity immediately, while I waited for the bits and pieces of blood to clear out of my eye. Everything returned to normal, and last week I went in for my regularly scheduled four-week post-laser check up. An examination revealed that the original tear had sealed, but the retina had begun to detach. This is a worst-case scenario; left untreated, it leads to blindness. Caught early, there are several treatment options and a high success rate.

HOW DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS SOMETHING WRONG?
I didn't. That's the interesting part; when it tore, I immediately realized there was an issue. When I went in for my checkup on Wednesday, I never anticipated a problem. The doctor assured me I would have noticed the darkening within a few days, but until he looked in my eye, I had no idea.

WHAT CAUSED IT?
I am very nearsighted - a -8.0 in each eye - which means my eyeball is "longer" than the average eye. As I understand it, that creates an extra bit of tension for the retina, which makes a detachment more likely. As all of our body changes with age in terms of elasticity and tone, parts of the eyeball go through similar alterations. There are no other complicating factors - not too much reading or computer usage or anything else. It is what it is, and I'm more susceptible because I was born nearsighted.

HOW DID THEY TREAT IT?

There are three possible treatments in my case; I received a scleral buckle, which is - literally - a band around my eyeball that will stay there permanently. It tightens the tissue so that the retina can reattach. I also welcomed a gas bubble into my eye; it creates internal pressure so that the retina will be more likely to stay attached. I think the doctor did some sort of "glue" type procedure on the retina while he was in there, maybe some sort of freezing - but I'm a little unclear on that. The bubble will eventually disappear on its own.

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
My recovery orders are seven days home, off work. I feel fine, my brain is engaged and the pain is relatively minimal. However, in order for the gas bubble to do its trick, I have to do my part. Depending on where the retina detaches, this requires different "positioning" for each patient. Some folks have to spend a week face down. Thank you, Jesus - not me. I have to spend 55 minutes of every hours (and all night) with my head leaning to the right. I can see the bubble, really; so it's fairly easy to keep it in the right spot. I get five minutes to move around, stretch, etc. - but the rest of the time I'm trying to obediently lean to the right. My neck hurts, but that's a pretty minor inconvenience. My couch and I are good friends.

WILL MY EYE BE NORMAL WHEN IT'S OVER?

Full recovery will take up to six months. Up til then, my vision will be somewhat compromised - though how I manage it is up to me. My prescription for contacts and glasses will definitely change- for the worse - but that's better than being blind in one eye. All indicators are that my eye will work normally, just a bit more nearsighted than before.

WILL IT HAPPEN AGAIN?
Who knows? I just plan to be hypervigilant - and you should, too - regarding any change in vision. Darkening around the edges, loss of peripheral vision, an unusual amount of new "floaters" - DON'T HESITATE. See your eye doctor!

I'll be spending the next seven days as an opportunity, a gift to be down, move slowly, sit still, think long. I'll catch up on Mad Men, I think; do a bit of reading (thought not TOO much) and rest. I'm convinced that God will teach me something while I am "seeing through a glass, darkly".

Plus I'm working the pirate patch.

Thanks to all who have called, texted, emailed, sent Facebook messages and sent food for the troops here. We feel very loved and well-cared for.

Special joy this weekend as all my girls made it home Friday! Sarah was in town for a wedding, and Shannon and Sydni came home briefly to see their sister.

Also, big shout out to the folks at the Retina Institute of Virginia, where my wonderful optometrist Dr. Tonya Sylvia sent me right away. Dr. Juan Astruc has provided most of my care, including the laser surgery, but Dr. Bryan Schwent "installed" my scleral buckle and the gas bubble. I am impressed by the care I have received at every level - from the nurses and office management at the Retina Institute to the folks at the Stony Point Surgery Center. I can safely say that this experience with the medical profession has been the most positive of my life, in every regard. I strongly recommend this practice to you, and I'm grateful for their expertise.

My Retina Has Attachment Issues

2013-02-06T19:57:00.000-05:00

First, it tore.

We tackled it with a laser, which was a unique experience.

It remained cloudy, like a thin curtain of mesh had been stretched tight over its lens.

Then it got better. Slowly, at first; then hastening and going like gangbusters, until I pronounced it 99.9% GOOD.

I went in for the one-month follow-up visit, happy for a quick, stress-free encounter with a great group of doctors and nurses at the Retina Institute.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.

Now, it's detaching.

This is not good.

Funny thing: I hadn't even noticed. Dr. Astruc assured me that I would notice, tonight for sure, and if I hadn't come in today, I would have been calling in a panic on Monday, because my vision is slowly but surely darkening.

He said, "We will need to do surgery soon." I'm thinking, "Next week...hmmmm...what's on the calendar?"

But he's saying one word, "TOMORROW" and I'm pulled up short and realizing that everything changes in a quick 24 hours.

Surgery tomorrow, in a procedure that I don't want to even think about, but it involves bubbles and buckles and somehow I feel like I'm ordering something on HSN.

"I'd like the Bubbles and Buckles please - two of each! Thank you SO much!"

I'm not looking forward to this, but I am grateful that we caught it early, glad to be in the hands of a very capable physician and glad that the world will keep spinning while I lay on the couch for the next seven days with my head tilted at a peculiar angle.

(So the bubble stays in place.)

(Oh, joy.)

I'm Cheating

2013-02-05T00:03:00.000-05:00

I'm blogging elsewhere.

Not that I'm leaving grace every day, but it's my turn to manage the Read With PCC blog. We're working through 1 Timothy right now, and I'm putting up the scripture every day and writing a brief commentary on each one.

It's a tough discipline, frankly.

But oh, so enlightening. I'm really enjoying the challenge.

A few staff members have been rotating this responsibility, and it's mine at the moment. Check it out here. Join the conversation if you're so inclined!