What to Give Up

A few days before Lent began, my friend Helen posted a quote that struck and stuck as I was pondering the whole “what to do, what to give up” question. On a stark black background, with no pretty picture or accompanying caption, I read, “Hold loosely to the things of this life so that if God requires them of you, it will be easy to let them go.”

Helen’s life is a testimony to this idea. Several years ago, she and her husband and their big bunch of kids moved from a comfortable home near extended family in upstate New York to rural Florida. There, they began homesteading and built a small farm. They also welcomed more children, including one they adopted out of foster care. By all accounts and appearances, they were living a life committed to faith, family and fellowship with their neighbors.

Then, it all shifted dramatically.

Helen and her husband announced that they were selling the farm and moving to a third-world country to spread the Gospel. I can’t tell you where they went because I don’t know. Helen can’t tell me because they are in mortal danger there. Helen is not even her real name. To be a Christian where they are is punishable by death.

I am ashamed to admit that I watched their plans unfold with not a little doubt. I saw them sell or give away everything that wouldn’t fit in one suitcase per family member. All the farm animals, the furnishings, the house and the land itself. Then came the real sticking point for me.

They said goodbye to her elderly father, not knowing if he’d still be alive when they return. They said goodbye to their adult children. They said a tender goodbye to a newly married son, his wife, and their first grandchild due to be born when they are so very far away.

I thought about how much I’ve whined because my kids are scattered across the country. I thought about a house I miss even as I love the one I’m in. I thought about how I am still so dismayed at the complete absence of adoration chapels in Connecticut when there is one in every town in Northern Virginia.

And now, I cannot stop thinking about that quote.

We hold so tightly. Sure, it’s easy to see how we might hold tightly to material things and creature comforts. It’s easy to see how we don’t want to let go of a favorite piano or a set of heirloom china. Or the house where all your babies grew.

But what about those other “things?” The things that aren’t things at all? It was Corrie ten Boom who uttered the words in that quote. It was a theme she often repeated during personal speaking engagements long after her extraordinary ordeal as a Christian who hid Jews during World War II and later survived a concentration camp. She made sure that people understood she wasn’t only talking about material things. “Even your dear family. Why? Because the Father may wish to take one of them back to himself, and when he does, it will hurt you if he must pry your fingers loose.”

We believe that God is God of all. Everything, but also everyone. As parents, we commit our lives to the well-being of our children. We encourage attachment because we know that it is healthy — both physically and emotionally — to be attached. But we have to hold loosely in order to trust Our Lord completely. We cannot grip anything so tightly that there is no room for the Holy Spirit. The truth is that God is sovereign. He is Lord of all; he already holds all our possessions and all the people we love. He asks us to know this and to willfully surrender them to him.

What to give up for Lent?

Everything.

Finding Silence

Right now is the perfect time for “pre-Lent” — a short period of time before Ash Wednesday when we have the opportunity to prepare our hearts and our environments for Lent. The time is now to prayerfully consider how God is calling you to renew your heart, transform your mind and reform your actions in order to rediscover (or truly discover for the first time) the mystery of our risen Lord.

In order to do this important work, find some silence. In that silence, determine how to create more silence. Lent should be quiet. In order to enter into the desert of Lent, we need both interior and exterior silence. Since we live in such a very noisy world, it’s going to take some time and effort to establish silence in our lives. We need to consider carefully how to distance ourselves from the distractions that fill life with so much noise that we can’t hear Our Lord and so much stuff that we can’t see him. Our world is not conducive to quiet recollection, so if we want to pursue it for Lent (and we do), we all need to be intentional.

Cardinal Robert Sarah’s powerful book, “The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise,” is a beautiful place to begin. Don’t wait until Lent; start reading now to craft a quiet, pondering place for yourself throughout the 40 desert days.

This quest for quiet is an urgent one if we are to notice and listen to God. Cardinal Sarah writes, “Without silence, God disappears in the noise. And this noise becomes all the more obsessive because God is absent. Unless the world rediscovers silence, it is lost. The earth then rushes into nothingness.” Noise begets more noise. God won’t compete with the noise. You won’t hear him over the din of daily life.

Consider all the ways you engage in noise. We live in a world of constant conversation. At the swipe of a finger, a myriad of voices comes alive in the palms of our hands. Looking for silence? Start there. Then, consider how our smartphone habits have created new circuits in our brains. We’ve trained ourselves to always be engaged in the noise of our world. Our brain is always busy. Cardinal Sarah poses an important question: “If our ‘interior cell phone’ is always busy because we are ‘having a conversation’ with other creatures, how can the Creator reach us, how can he ‘call us’?” For human beings accustomed to being perpetually available, it’s good to ponder if our souls are similarly accessible to God.

We need to wake up to the power of silence. Noise numbs us. More accurately, we numb ourselves with noise. We are constantly hearing something, but are we truly listening? Or are we barricading our souls with a wall of noise because we are uncomfortable in the quiet? Cardinal Sarah challenges us to think about the role incessant distractions play in our lives. “Noise is a deceptive, addictive and false tranquilizer. The tragedy of our world is never better summed up than in the fury of senseless noise that stubbornly hates silence. This age detests the things that silence brings us to: encounter, wonder and kneeling before God.”

What if this Lent is your time to encounter wonder? What if this is your season to kneel before God in silence and let him fill the void? What can you do right now to open yourself to that possibility?

Hope for what hurts

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

It took three decades of the same argument over and over again (with different details each time) before I recognized the pattern. I’m not proud of this slow understanding, but I am encouraged by an intimate knowledge gained over time. It was so easy for me to see my husband’s pattern when we argue, to think I knew what his goals were every time, but it took a very long time to recognize what I wanted every time. Why did I keep repeating the same pattern of argument and what did that pattern have to teach me about myself?

We’ve worked hard to know what we do now. Since I’ve long subscribed to the idea that wives would do well to sing their husbands’ praises publicly and keep the rest to private conversation, we won’t talk about his arguing style; we’ll focus on mine. I am almost always seeking reassurance. I want to know he is a safe person, ours is a solid relationship, and we are a couple that is healthy and whole. During an argument, I almost always want to be comforted.

For me, to be in conflict is to mourn. Peter Kreeft writes, “Mourning is the expression of inner discontent, of the gap between desire and satisfaction, that is, of suffering.” When I open the definition of mourning to this interpretation, and I consider my intense need for reassurance, I see what Christ intended when he promised that those who mourn will be comforted.

He promised reassurance. He is the reassurance. He is the deep certainty, the safest of safe people, the most solid of all relationships, the truest expression of wholeness. The Father sent his Son into our suffering — all of our suffering — in order to satisfy our deepest needs for intimacy, understanding and reassurance. He promised that our suffering has redemptive value.

Jesus is with us when we weep. He’s there when we mourn in the most conventional use of the word, but he’s also there in the many struggles of our everyday lives. Certainly, he is also there when it all becomes too much to bear and we despair. Jesus came to earth to sit with us as we open a bill for which there are no resources, as we answer a call that brings terrible news, as we lie seemingly alone on a medical gurney. God knows what it feels like to be rejected, to be betrayed. He knows the grief of broken relationships and prodigal children. Knowing all, he entered in. Every pain we suffer, he suffers too.

He was wounded when he walked the earth, and we wound him even now. But he doesn’t turn away. Though we cause him pain, he stays. He reassures. His presence comforts us in a way nothing or no one on earth can. Even more astounding, he endures our sins. He is steadfast when we are not. We turn away from him over and over again, with every sin, big and small, and he stays.

Emmanuel. God with us.

The redeemer of our suffering comforts us in the sorrow. When life is crushingly hard, it is the Jesus of the scourging who absorbs the blows for us. He pours himself into us and we are strengthened. With that strength born of suffering, we have strength to offer others. He is risen and we are his body here on earth, blessed and broken for others. So, we stay. We enter into the sorrow. We offer ourselves.

We reassure a hurting world that there is hope.

His name is Jesus.

To: The Dear One on Your Way Home for a College Holiday

Re: Managing Expectations

I have been counting the days until you return. I’ve missed having you woven into the dailiness of life in our house. You’ve been so busy, especially these last few weeks. At the beginning of the semester, everything was new. You navigated new places to eat, and sleep, and study. You met hundreds of new people at a time. Living away from home, you learned so many things about life in the world; you’ve been fully responsible for your daily life. And of course, you learned a lot of things taught to you in lecture halls and between the pages of a book. You’re tired. I hereby promise that even though I want to talk with you and hear all about all the things (and solicit your help with kitchen duties and Christmas lights), I will bide my time and recognize that what you want most in the world at first is just to sleep — in your own bed or in the corner of  the couch you wore into the shape of you during high school. I’ll let you sleep. And then, let’s catch up.

Late nights studying, added stress, crowded planes and trains to get home; you may walk through the door feeling quite ill. I won’t be surprised. Though I surely hope you will stay well, if you are sick, we’ll adapt. You’ve been working hard (and probably playing hard, too), and it takes its toll. I’ll remember that and help you heal. I’ll feed you well, and offer you a break from institutional food that doesn’t quite nourish the same way homecooked meals do, no matter how good the meal plan.

I know that just as I’ve been counting the days until I see you, you have been counting the days until you can hang out with your high school friends. Let’s strike a balance, shall we? I won’t take it personally when you want the keys to the car almost as soon as you’ve arrived, if you will take a moment to sort your laundry before you go. And as we settle into the season, remember that I’ve missed your friends, too. Invite them to our house. I’d love to see them again.

While we’re talking about the car and going out, please remember that this is not a college campus. The people who live here get up in the morning to go to work, or they have work to do at home. They go to sleep at reasonable times and wake before the workday begins. We also eat in the kitchen, put the toilet seat down, put dirty clothes in the hamper and clean clothes in the closet. It might take us both more than a minute to get used to sharing space again. When (if) alcohol is served, it accompanies the rest of the evening’s food and entertainment. It isn’t the star of the show. I guess what I’m saying is that this is our home, and we function a bit differently here than from where you’ve come. Please bear that in mind as you re-enter our world and adjust as needed to being at home again. We can talk about old curfews and new considerations. There’s a way for us all to grow together, especially if you don’t assume that none of the old habits are necessary any longer. Some of those habits are just part of living together well. They’re here for the long haul.

This is not my first time to welcome someone home. I learn something new every time. One thing is certain: that college break goes by in a blink, and I’ll be sad when it’s time to hug you goodbye again. What I want you to know before it even begins is that sometimes I let my idealistic notions of the perfect holiday get between me and you. This time, my plan is to let experience temper my expectations, to let go of the ideal, and to cherish every moment of the real time I have with you.

I am so glad you’re coming home!

Love,

Mom

On Flowers, and Filler, and Making Life Meaningful

My son got married last weekend. My daughters and I kicked off the wedding weekend with a trip to Trader Joe’s to fill a cart with flowers. Katie, who is almost 20, said that filling a cart with cut flowers is a bucket list item for her. They were all giddy with the errand, to be honest. From there, we went to the rehearsal dinner venue to decorate. Sarah folded gingham napkins and tucked handwritten place cards and favors inside. Katie and I created 25 Mason jar bouquets. My 8-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, asked to help. So, as we worked, Katie offered the fine points of flower arranging.


First, she told her niece, you need a focal flower — something big to anchor the whole thing. Then, some medium sized blooms will provide color and interest and set the shape of the bouquet. Finally, fill in with the light and airy stems of green or dainty flowers. Those can move a bit and remind people that the flowers are real and alive.



Lucy caught on quickly, and she made some lovely arrangements of her own. As we worked, and I took in the enormity of the weekend, I pondered Katie’s instructions. I’ve often heard the analogy that life is like a jar of rocks. You put the big stones in first. Then, you add smaller stones and pebbles. Then, you can pour sand in the crevices. The idea is that if you make sure that the important things in life take priority, you will have the time and space for the smaller, less important things. But the flower tutorial hit this mother of the groom a bit differently.



As we raise our children, we hope that we are focusing on the big things, that the focal flowers are fresh and sturdy and able to stay lovely for the life of the arrangement. We want them to know faith comes first, and then family a close second. We tuck in pops of color that are a thoughtful and well-rounded education. And then, there are the other things — the filler. Soccer came to mind immediately in this child’s case. He’s the boy I always share with a laugh when I hear people say disparagingly, “Why do parents spend so much time and energy on youth sports? It’s not like they’re going to get scholarships to college or play on the National Team.”




Well, actually… This kid played on the U-17 US National Team before he went to the University of Virginia, and managed to squeeze out both bachelor and master degrees on his four-year scholarship. This boy’s filler pieces — the baby’s breath and gomphrena and statice — were hearty and long-lasting and they gave definition to his childhood, despite being “just the filler.” The whole expression of the bouquet changes when the filler changes.




Be careful as you choose your filler this fall. As you ponder opportunities for your kids outside the classroom, be mindful of the ways that the filler will demand something of you — your money, your attention, space on your calendar. If you say “yes,” to something, let it be an enthusiastic yes. Don’t say yes at all if you’re going to grumble and complain about what it requires of you. At the same time, don’t be afraid to tinker with the composition of your bouquet. That anchor flower stays the same. But you can play with the others. No school decision is set in stone. And certainly, no extracurricular decision is irrevocable. The beautiful thing about floral arrangements is that no one is exactly like another, and every one can be extraordinarily lovely. Let’s let this autumn be filled with utterly lovely, well-composed bouquets.

Beautycounter right now

 As I revive my blog and make this newsletter a regular occurrence, I have had some decisions to make. Instagram keeps changing its algorithm. Every time it twists in the wind, I am reminded of how I don’t want to be held captive to its capriciousness. I also don’t want a blog that is full of pop-ups and blinking ads and recipes that require you to read my life story before you know how much meat to defrost.

So, the plan is for my Beautycounter business to be the sole sponsor here. I ask you to consider that writing is a livelihood and it’s a ministry. It takes some money to create content. I can do this here if you treat yourself to some pretty great lip balm and a new way to take care of your face. Please be patient with these thoughtful “ads” for a self-care line that truly brings beauty to life. If you’re new to Beautycounter, please use the code CLEANFORALL30 on your first order for 30% off. It’s only good through the end of September. And if you already know how great the products are, there's super quick sale happening now. Almost everything is between 15% and 25% off until Saturday. It’s a great time to stock up. I’m so grateful for your support as I write and create and encourage.