It's A Girl Thing

For about a year now, I've been part of something called WNL - Wednesday Night Ladies.

It didn't start out this way - meaning it wasn't supposed to be a lady thing - but that's what happened and sometimes these things are just meant to be.

It's a small group thing that turned into a big group thing that we continue to keep small.

Does that make sense?

Here's what happens: We choose three topics / books to study. You choose one of the three.

You come to the Powhatan Campus on Wednesday nights at 6:30.

We meet together as a large group for about 15 minutes. There might be 20 or 30 of us. Then we split up into groups of 8 or 10, according to the book we have chosen.

And we talk. We ask questions. We discuss. We might even argue.

And it makes us better.

If you're interested in growing in your faith, you are welcome to come. There's this one prerequisite: We're all women. I guess if you were a guy and you walked in, we wouldn't kick you out...but it seems to be a Girl Thing.

(FYI, there's a Guy Thing that happens on Friday mornings at County Seat...)

So anyway, here's what we're studying. All of these books are available online and at Lifeway Christian Bookstore (Hull Street or Broad Street in Richmond). We start with an organizational meeting Wednesday, July 17. If you have questions, get in touch (beth {at} pccwired {dot} net.

He Speaks To Me by Priscilla Shirer. Find it here.

Ruth by Kelly Minter. Find it here.

Stuck by Jennie Allen. Find it here.

On Vacation And Growing And My People

Home now, from a week with my family on our annual beach vacation. So many things were different this year, and not the least of the different stuff was the obvious growth and changes. All of us are growing up. And older.

Our youngest family member, Levi, is now 10 years old, and he is clever and quick-witted and smart and altogether adorable. "Double digits", as his dad said, and his contributions to the dialogue and the jokes and the conversation this time edged closer than ever to the grown-up world he'll inhabit completely in no time at all.

There is much to say, and I think I might take my time and write about it bit by bit (inspired by my friend Brandee, who continues to delight with the blow-by-blow of her most recent family vacation).

But I do not excel at delayed gratification, and so there is this little bit of shared joy.

Because there is so much joy.

Sarah and Levi; photo bomb,
Emily

First, my eldest daughter, who has made her home in Savannah, drove 40 minutes each way to see us, every. single. night. She works at 7:30AM and even so, she made the drive to be with her family. I had not even imagined she would do such a thing, such a hard, demanding, and gas-guzzling thing. And yet, she did; and I thought that if perhaps we have instilled a love and appreciation for family that would prompt her to sacrifice so much time, energy and gasoline to be with those that have loved her all along - well, then, we must have done a good thing.

Chris and Tony

Secondly, I met a new family member today; Tony's nephew, of whom I have heard but never seen. He lives in Charleston, and so we arranged to meet today as we made our way back to Virginia. A shared meal at a noisy Cracker Barrel led to what feels like another strong and powerful connection. There's blood there, between Tony and his family; there's some shared history. There's a strong resemblance to his mom, whom I have met. And mostly, there's just some underlying point of connection that, more and more, I find strongest in those that share some part of my family tree.

I think tonight of my Uncle Dave and my cousins Joey and Jimmy and Garth and Andrew and George; of Denise and Jenna and Markus and my brother-in-law Donnie and my Uncle Graham and Aunt Barbara and Zack and of the hundreds of others who are scattered all over the continent. Of Tony's sister and nephew and aunts and uncles and the photos and memories and moments that provide the pinpricks of recognition, as thin as they may be.

I'm not sure that a strong, almost nostalgic value of family is absent among the young; but I can't say that I have ever felt such a passionate fondness for  those whose name and bloodlines I share as I do now. The kids grow and root themselves in those of us who cheer them on, as they dig into the richness of the lives they are creating around their passion and desires and those that they have come to love.

And we stand around them, holding the memories in our hands and hearts, amazed at the wonder we behold.

My people.

Life is so very good, so rich and full. God reveals himself in the gratitude, and the door opens to possibilities that seem downright endless.

I am grateful.

Up Early (But It's All Relative)

I am not one of those people who gets up early and likes it.

However, I've grown to see the broad appeal of getting up before the day gets moving, before the chatter and movement of others captures my attention, before the buzz begins.

In my house, "early" is relative. When the menfolk stayed up until (apparently) 6AM teaching their elder the finer points of (I think) Halo, it becomes quite easy to get up "early", if "early" simply means "before everyone else".

That's how I roll.

So, I've been up "early" for quite some time now, and the house is quiet, save for the rumble of the washer and dryer and the low, buzz of the mindless drivel that passes for The Today Show these days.

(Is it just me, or is everything changing? Wasn't there a time when The Today Show offered actual news and information, instead of a pointless review of what's hip and cool on Instagram, lousy pick-up lines from One Direction songs and matching "Thunder Shirts" and "slippers" for dogs?)

(Apparently I am overly fond of the "quotation marks" this morning. Sorry.)

Anyway, I digress. I'm up early, which means before everybody else, and so far that means that I've enjoyed most of the Tanzanian coffee all by myself, folded two loads of laundry by myself and marveled (by myself) at the small box turtle crawling with incredible focus through the back yard. Or maybe he was swimming; the ground is so wet, it's hard to tell.

(I've never seen so much rain in all my life. My tomatos are drowning, the driveway is flooding and everything is wet.)

And this blog post is all over the place....

Anyway, I'm up. I'm officially on vacation, which is more a state of mind for me than an actual vacation. Honestly, I still worked yesterday, answering email and uploading elements for Sunday's service and gathering information for small group stuff. I worked, but in my head, I was on vacation, and so it didn't bother me one bit. I'm headed south in a few days to get my toes in the sand, soak up some sun, read a few books and commune with my favorite people in the world (save one gorgeous redhead who is too far away and otherwise occupied, which causes me no end of distress, of which I'm working hard to Just Let Go). Everything is fractured for vacation this year.

In fact, that's a good metaphor for the moment. Fractured. My family is spread out, busy, living; most of us in some state of brokenness as we adjust to changing jobs, growing businesses, new life stages, classes, break ups, engagements, physical endurance challenges. Lots of stretching and changing, and perhaps that is a better metaphor. Fracture implies a shattering of sorts, a negative thing that carries some amount of sorrow. It seems we are stretching, and with that we're seeing a few broken places where things just can't hold.

It bothers me greatly that we can't all be together for our annual, traditional family vacation. Everybody is pulled in so many different directions...and things are changing.

It bothers me greatly that, for the first time, I'm meeting up with my brother and my parents as a 50-year old woman (yes, I know - GET OVER IT ALREADY. But this is my blog and my thought process, so THERE YOU GO.) It just feels so...weird, to be that age around my family, who have known me for all of those years.

It bothers me greatly that I wanted to lose 20 pounds and be in better cardio shape before the beach this year, but that I only wanted it in my head, and didn't do anything about it.

It bothers me that we're not going to the same place this year; that, for the first time in over a decade, we won't be at Emerald Isle. I won't walk that same beach this year, meeting up with my Maker for long conversations and contemplation. I'm afraid the new place won't match up, and I mourn the loss of the familiar.

That's it, I guess; the change. It's everywhere, all around, and I'm slightly frightened of the things of which I know nothing, wondering where to place the familiar, unsure of what shape will be taken by the new.

And yet it's all relative, isn't it? "Early" used to mean "as the sun rose", nursing babies and spoon-feeding toddlers and toys all over the floor and The Today Show as the only adult conversation in my life, surrounding by SarahShannonSydniDanielDavid. It was challenging, then, and most days I found it impossible to contemplate a different rhythm of life.

But it's here.

It's different now. There are slower cups of coffee and carefully plodding turtles. There are new beaches and young adults and a teenaged niece and accumulated wisdom. There are men who love my daughters, grafting themselves into our family with their presence and their affection.

I am here, moving in the fluid waters of a grace-filled rhythm filled with a new batch of contradictions. And the underlying pulse, the memories of all that has come before; it is grounding me, it is mine and it makes me what I am here, now, in this new place where I am the one up early, waiting, holding the ground steady while my children come behind me.

And suddenly - or, honestly, slowly - I get it.

I get it.

And I am filled with gratitude.

Doubt, Washed By The Water

Lord, have mercy.

The view from the booth; the pastor, via video

What a day.

From the challenging situation of a senior pastor physically unable to deliver his message (thank God for technology and a pre-recorded, high quality video!) to the steamy hot, muddy river for a baptism of sixty people, it's been a day that required stretching.

In the grand scheme of things, our challenges were not difficult at all. Our basic needs are met. I ate. I drove. I enjoyed the air conditioning.

But it was not a typical day, and in the midst of the challenges it presented, I learned a few things.

I awoke with questions. I didn't sleep well, I was already mildy anxious about whether or not our pastor would be able to to teach in the morning, and I'd had a hefty dose of caffeine late in the afternoon. It was very late before I heard that daughter number three was safe and sound. Plus there was that Saturday afternoon nap...all combined to keep me up until 1AM. That made the 6AM alarm unwelcome. I stumbled into the kitchen, put the coffee on and reached for my Bible. I was wondering, thinking, pondering.

What did Jesus really tell us to do? Remind me of his parting words again. Tell me, again, why we are doing this. Tell me, again, why it matters.

So I read, rubbing the sleep and doubt out of my eyes. The words rang true, partly because they are embedded in my soul, a product of the culture of evangelical Christianity - and partly because I know.

They are true.

But there are days when I do not feel them as true, when I pull out the phrases and words and roll them in my hands like soft, pliable globules. They reflect light and absorb sound and I'm just not sure what to make of all this, the truth that drives me to work every day. The truth that propels me to a weekly celebration of life and grace, proclamations of words and worship and feelings that bear enormous weight.

"Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said."

"When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight."

"All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you."

I worked this morning, this odd mixture of work and worship that those of us in ministry embrace and push through and fight with and generally, find some way to live with. The tension never abates; the praise and the people, the worship and the work, the majesty and the mess. I worked, and exhorted the people, and worshiped, focusing my own attention and affection on the Creator.

And then we went to the river. We lined up sixty people. We offered guidance and instruction, and then one by one, they walked into the muddy waters of the James. Brian and Sammy and Chauncey and Winston and Anna and Gwen and Tim baptized them, each one.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

I know these people. Not all of them, but enough. Their stories - sometimes complex, occasionally complicated, always authentic. One by one, or sometimes in pairs, they walk into the water as followers, making a declaration. Sometimes they get it - the theology, the transformation, the witness. Sometimes, it's simply the next step in a hard journey towards wholeness, or sobriety, or reclamation of a lifetime of wasted opportunities.

We go, and we make, and we embrace, and we give. We strive to obey, and to call to obedience, and it's the best we can do.

Truth is not relative. It does not always sing with clarity, but it resides within and without, and it eventually finds its home and reveals itself. 

Just as he said.

It was a very good day.

On Knowing

It is evening, and the day's fullness winds its way through my shoulders and down the sides of my heart.

It was a good day, one full of tiny validations. 

Tiny is fine, isn't it? The small things; those are the ones that make the difference, that warm the heart, that fill the void.

So today's tiny things, in backwards order:

This post, which touched me so deeply in a newly raw place. Recently I have become friends with a woman who wears the label "autistic". She defies all of my preconceived notions regarding autism; a college graduate, gainfully employed as an educator, engaged deeply in the world around her. Knowing her - and I mean knowing her, not just knowing about her - has deepened my understanding of what it means to be on the fringes of what most of us take for granted. I've learned so much from my friend, who is patiently willing to explain to me why I should not throw my arms around her in wild abandon, why I cannot prescribe long, complicated passages of reading, why I need to set aside hyperbole for a fact-based, uncomplicated sentence now and again. I love my friend, and she has changed my life. Knowing about this helps me see how much it matters, this being aware. I long to do better. Read this and you will understand how much it matters.

I have other friends and acquaintances who find themselves on the fringes of what we easily take for granted; life, love, relationships, acceptance, authenticity.... Family and friends who are attracted to and in relationships with people of the same sex, who are tentatively, carefully willing to engage in dialogue about what their lives and hearts and desires are really like; they are helping me to see that knowing and not just knowing about is more helpful and more honoring and, I believe, a lot more like Jesus might be. I'm grateful that conversations are happening that get past the yelling and posturing and flinging of Bible verses - on BOTH sides. It is messy - boy, is it - but I cannot help but think that Jesus would wade right into this mess, and that he calls me, as his follower, to do the same.

I have a stoop, two tiny steps on my front porch. My future son-in-law painted these steps yesterday. Tonight I perched on that fresh paint, the humid air settling around me, the wildness of my front-yard garden in full display. My hostas are growing as best they can, in spite of the fact that the deer make a nightly pilgrimage to devour them down to the quick. I enjoy what I can, while I can. I gazed past the flash of lightning bugs and watched my husband circle the yard of his mother on the riding mower. I thought, it is these, the little things, as I watched the glowing lights inside and out and considered the deep, cogent peace I feel knowing that family is just yards away. My mother-in-law lives in our front yard. This is a good thing.

Church today, as it is every Sunday; but today, something more, with less. We sang, a smaller band by necessity and scheduling challenges. There was space in the room today, from the platform to the back of the room, and in that space I heard voices singing, surrounding all that we offered, and it was so encouraging. So powerful. So defining for me, as one whose heart beats loudly to the drum of praise and worship. It was surreal; frankly, that's not a bad thing when you seek an encounter with a supernatural, omniscient, omnipresent being. Knowing that we gather to worship and sing and praise God each week is one thing; hearing it rise up all around me is another thing completely. It was an unexpected, unplanned thing; redolent of deep, intense blessing.

The dinner table, a true southern meal.

Dinner this afternoon, with the extended arms of a family that will only grow larger in the coming years. My mom, my dad, my husband, his mom, kids and friends and shared joy over southern cooking. These things, I return to over and over again. We create traditions and memories that are layered upon other memories: 

Remember the time we ate ribs at the beach, that first year at the house? Remember the huge pile of bones? Remember how David ate fifteen of them? Remember this hutch, this piece of furniture, these glasses, this recipe? 

Remember how we talk, how we banter, how we are with one another? Remember this things? 

We know one another, this family of mine. There are surprises here and there, but we are known, and we are settled. And when we open ourselves to it, new things slip in and feel like they belong.

It is the little things, the tiniest of motions and the vaguest recollections. We are united in the smallness of life. 

That is a good thing, full of grace.

Cookies, Bobby McFerrin, A Good Book And A Very Large Small Group

Well. It's been a while, hasn't it?

Me, on my birthday, in Charlottesville

I'm working on a longer post about faith - losing it and finding it again - but until those words come together coherently, here's a few. My intent is to update, generally.

To set the scene: I am in my house alone, which is such a gift; not one I'd want too often, for sure - but because it's so unique, it is a gift. I treasure times like these. They inspire me to be busy. Sometimes a sort of familial/people ADD sets in - I can get confused when too many people are around, and the resulting paralysis makes me wander, aimlessly, to the land of Complete Non-Productivity (with a side trip to Guilty and Ashamed). My menfolk are out lifting heavy things, relocating some piles of stuff from one storage place to another. My daughters are here and there: one in Savannah still, the other in Colorado, and the third just a few miles away at a friend's house. And I am cooking, cleaning, organizing, baking, and singing loudly all the while.

Syd's cookies

I created some sort of pasta dish tonight, out of penne, fresh local squash and zucchini, red pepper and basil from my front yard garden, along with leftover chicken. I cleaned the kitchen, mopped part of the floor and then made some cookies - chocolate chip, with the first dozen baked without chips to honor my -non-chocolate-eating daughter. (David said, "What are those?" I explained and he said, "Then they're not really chocolate chip cookies, are they?")

All the while, I am listening - with such joy in my heart - to Bobby McFerrin's new record Spirityouall. Anyone who enjoys music - and especially those who enjoy music that has a spiritual element, whether it's something Chris Tomlin wrote or your favorite hymn or even Mumford & Sons - will find something to appreciate in this record. It is fresh and accessible, familiar and yet completely new in the approach to spiritual sounds. Because it's Bobby McFerrin, y'all, the quality and musical excellence is beyond compare. He is a musician without equal - not just vocally, but throughout the creative process of song selection, arrangements, instrumentation, voicings.... This music does something to my heart, and I highly recommend it. If I still had small children at home, I'd have this music surrounding them, sneaking into their hearts so they'd have a little of the long history of spiritual music snaking through their veins. So if you have a little one at home, let this sprinkle over them. Maybe while you're cooking, like me.

Speaking of Mumford, great post about their recent concerts in California discovered here. Great read that helps connect the dots between culture and the spirit and the One who has His hand in both (and more besides). Read it here.

I have a new neighbor, settling down in the house in front of ours. She's the kind of lady I hope to get to know better over the next few years; strong, independent, capable, creative and kind. It just so happens that she is the mother of my husband, but set your mother-in-law jokes aside. We are both thrilled to have her living so close. We'll spend a good bit of time over the next few weeks helping her to get settled, and with both of our moms (and my dad) within spitting distance, this season of life seems to be taking a decidedly familial spin. I like this, very much. Also, she is downsizing, and she gave me a Pampered Chef baking stone that she no longer wanted (hence, the cookies).

I'm reading The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris, one of my favorite authors. It's slow reading, careful and considerate - inspiring for the spiritual thought process. Last week I devoured The Fault In Our Stars by John Green, per my daughter's instruction. Also good - a Lifetime movie story with a lot more class, better writing and an ending that made sense in spite of the tears. Both recommended.

I continue to be inspired, enlightened and filled with joy on Wednesday nights as our Very Large Small Group ebbs and flows through the ups and downs of life. Our group has a definite female bent; it's ONLY women, which wasn't the original intent, but hey - it's working for us. We meet together as a large group to reconnect and we sing a couple of songs together, just gathered around the piano like family, and then split into smaller groups to talk about whether and how God speaks and being Stuck and the story of Ruth and everything else in between. Those Wednesday nights reveal so much about our humanity, as we continue to open up and talk about real things and rub on the raw edges of one another. It's been the most real thing I've encountered in quite some time and I can't get over the depth and breadth of my gratitude for life, lived this way.*

There's more, but it goes to the mundane detail of life. Somehow, as spring has kicked into gear, I find myself more in tune with living in the moments than blogging about them. There have been hands held in the moonlight with my husband, fleeting conversations in the midst of a busy work week that go deep, quickly; lingering, learning dialogue exploring mountains and valleys and the faith in between over dinner, laughter and encouraging words with sons and daughters, intense and rewarding parental interventions. A three-day old miracle baby in my arms, and the incredible joy of her grateful mother, who simply could not stop smiling; a song written and recorded by someone whose voice has become an indelible part of the way I connect with Christ, bringing me to tears again; the first tiny bud of a tomato on the vine tenderly and lovingly planted a few weeks ago; a porch, finally - a safe, secure haven of wicker from which I can watch the rain stream from the sky; a birthday cake for my fourteen-year old baby and the ongoing tradition of birthday dinner at Grandma's; a husband, gone for a week and missed deeply - and now home and loved even more...

life

And it is good.

*if you are a female and perhaps intrigued or interested in our Very Large Small Group, let me know. We start a new cycle of studies in just a few weeks and it's a great place to jump in. We're saving a spot for you....

Beautiful Things

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...