Lenten meditations 3 and 4

These two sort of run together.  Why?  Well, I was out of town last week, enjoying a new place to be, a new sky, in a place I had never before been.  So this week and last week have a lot to do with the "new" and with the "small."

As I was standing atop Kitt Peak at the National Observatory in Arizona, I looked out onto the landscape below...and there was a lot to look at.  And it just kept going.  Back East, there's a mile or two usually, at best, and then either the haze of moisture in the atmosphere clouds everything up.....or there's a mountain in the way, a city, a trees, an entire forest...there is something in the way.  In the Arizona desert, this is not so.  There's just a vast expanse of the mesa, cluttered with scrub grass and brush.  You can see everything, for miles.  It's gorgeous.  And so very big.  It reminds me of how small I am, in relation to the world.  My problems may seem large to me, but in the whole of human existence, my problems aren't worth mentioning. 

That perspective is, I think, important to remember.  We can become overcrowded in our thinking, sometimes, and so obsessed with the world from our own point of view that we forget to look at life from a different perspective - even though this is what we are called to do in faith.  Our problems, really, are not a big deal in the grand scope of things.  They are small things....even though they may seem insurmountable.  We do amazing things daily.  Constantly.  if we, as small as we are, can do such amazing things and overcome our problems, imagine what we can become.

We can be remade.  We can be renewed.  In that renewal, we can find ourselves, and we can find, always at work behind the scenes, the hand of God.

So what does it take to renew me?  When do I feel God's presence in my life? What do I do when I feel that presence, and how does it help (or hinder) my renewal?  How do I ask for renewal, and why?  How do I approach opportunities for that renewal?  Do I challenge myself?

Lent is a time for renewal.  Renewal in the spirit, in faith, in love.  It comes in the smallness of moments, the little things, that still small voice that speaks to us all, if only we have the courage and willingness to listen.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Lenten Meditation #2

It's Friday again, so that means it's another day to reflect on the week and think about all the things I have experienced, and where on my lenten journey it has taken me.

I find I am a mixed bag of feelings.  On the one hand, I am excited.  I have some traveling coming up, and I am very excited to get to it.  I want to go, I want to get moving and be about discovery and all those other good things that travel brings.  I want to see a new sky and a new set of stars and feel a new sensation on my skin.

On the other hand, the day-to-day stuff is easy to get caught up in, and keeps me from enjoying things as best I can, when I get wrapped up in the business of life.  This schedule, that thing, the next item on the list of to-dos gets tedious and it saps my concentration a bit.  It makes it hard to focus, because I'm trying to keep all the plates spinning, it feels like.  I know I bring this upon myself, and I know I will get through it, but that does not make it easier.  In fact, it often makes it much more difficult. 

And then, there's a secret option C: the pain I feel for those most recent tragedies in New Zealand.  It brings to light that terror is terror, no matter where it lives or where it attacks.  It is evil, to rule by fear, or to attempt to, and I am stuck in that same limbo as so many others, asking, "How could this have been prevented?"

That brings me to this realization:  I couldn't have prevented it.  I can only do so much.  I am only one man, and I am rather ordinary at that.  It is up to me to know, to recognize, and to follow my gifts and my limitations.  We focus much on how "we can do anything" and how we should always encourage others.  This are great sentiments, but they are not necessarily truthful.  We should encourage others to strive to be the best they can be....not to be the best.  We should encourage others to take on tasks they can handle - not to take on tasks that are beyond their ken.  Is this a way to avoid taking action?  Some might see it that way, and they are certainly welcome to, but there is a limit beyond which I cannot reach, and to reach beyond that limit is folly.  That doesn't mean I should not strive to expand my reach - only that I should not over-extend myself in doing so.  It means admitting that some things are beyond my reach, yet.  And that is OK.

Thanks for reading,

Me

Lenten Meditation #1

I haven't "given up something" for Lent in years.  I don't know why, really.  It's not so much that I don't understand it - the idea of sacrifice so as to put us in the mind and spirit of Christ is a good and important thing, and how better to accomplish that then to sacrifice something from our own lives?  It's a simple idea that children can understand, and so perhaps my understanding is, indeed a little childlike.  I'm ok with that.  The problem is, I don't feel closer to God when I do that.  There are many people who do, and that is perfectly fine - I am not criticizing it in any way.  I just....don't. 

In fact, I think the only time that I really felt good about what I gave up for lent, like I did something that was worth it, that was good, that meant something was when I was in high school and I worked on the "Living Stations of the Cross."  We would go from  church to church every Friday in Lent, and put on a performance, the Stations brought to life.  One week, we would be in my hometown, the next week in a different church and so on, until, of course, the Good Friday experience.  THAT felt like the true Spirit.  That felt like giving.  All I gave up was a few Friday evenings - but I suppose for a high school kid, that's a lot.  Time was what I gave.  Maybe that's it - why it felt so much better.  I can never get that time back.  It wasn't like giving up coffee, or chocolate, or carbs, or something that you intend to go back to after Easter - this was something I could never get back.  And I did it on purpose.  Freely - it was always my choice.  It was not required.  Somehow or other, that made it more real, more vibrant, more important - at least to me.

And that's sort of what this is supposed to be, right?  Our personal journey of faith in Christ.  What do we do to feel closer to God, to bring ourselves into that Spirit?  Is it prayer, or fasting, or alms-giving, or service?  Do you give up something, sacrifice a part of yourself?  Do you simply do something extra, without the expectation of a reward?

For me, I feel closest to God when I am engaged creatively.  Whether I am building something, or writing something - or even cooking something, really, I feel closest to the Spirit.  That includes writing blog posts like this one, too.  So, what I'm giving up for Lent this year is the time to write a reflection each week.  It would be really nice if it was each day, but frankly, that becomes more about filling a space on a page than it does about reflecting.  

This week, it's about yellow paint.

I grew up with a set of bunk beds that my father made.  To say they were "sturdy" is a bit of an understatement.  They were built to withstand a nuclear blast, or the activities of two small boys - whichever came first.  And they were painted yellow.  Why yellow?  Because yellow is what my father had leftover from painting the house.  Sears' weatherbeater "cactus yellow" color, to be exact.  

Why is this what I reflect on?  My girlfriend needs a table for her sewing machine.  I have a suitable top, a space etc, but no legs.  I must build them.  So I build a set of trestle-style legs.  They look kinda good, but they need to be painted.  And I have yellow paint, left over from painting the kitchen.  So now, her sewing table is going to have yellow legs.  

I am not my father, yet I share many elements in common with him.  While yellow paint is really just a coincidence in this case, building something, creating something, understanding how to do so, is something that was handed down to me from my father.  If this is from my earthly father, how much greater can we be with the gifts God, the father of us all, has bestowed upon us?  If creating a simple table can make someone's life slightly easier, how much more can we do with kind words, and a caring spirit?  How much more can I do?

Thanks for reading,

Me