an alternate year

in many ways, my sense of time shifted permanently last spring.

the calendar said March, but my life spoke to it being a new year. a new place. a "new" country. a new job.

I have struggled for almost a year trying to describe how those first few months were filled. I still don't think I have the words or even the capacity to begin.

but I do know there was a deep "before" and "after" chasm that formed in my life.

January came this year and I couldn't process 2011 as a cohesive year. There are two 2011's for me. One in Mongolia and one here in the United States.

There is another year altogether for me, one that does not have a numerical marker. It is simply this year back in the States. It does not run from January to January. It does not follow school vacations or cultural celebrations. It is, in fact, a whole lot messier and blurry and unconfined.

I am nearing the end of that year, this messy year of March to March. This year of moving and leaving, of coming and going, of weeping and praying, of searching and questioning, of deserts and glimpses of hope. This year of so, so many contrasts and so much wrestling.

It is an interesting thing, this year of one's own. Made of my own transitions and grasping, my own sorting and falling apart and being put back together by the trusting hands of the Holy and the loved.

Of walking paths and seasons that don't run according to a plan.

Of learning my own rhythms, my own timetables, my own seasons and the things they will and should and would and could hold.

Oh those words, those wills and shoulds and woulds and coulds.

A year of breaking open their constraints and placing them where I will allow them to hold their ground. Of deciding there is space for them, but only on my terms, only where I will let them cause reaching, not despairing.

Because it's my year(s). Mine to surrender, mine to give, mine to live in the freedom of a God who says come and who calls with the sweetest of whispers.

there has been much room for whispers in this year of mine. much space for silence and quiet and being stuck in thoughts that run in circles without ends.

this year of mine has not been easy. it has not even necessarily been happy. but it has indeed been good.

in its own ways, in its own shapes and sizes and expressions. there is no one form of good and this year has held many varying shades of that deep hue we hold in our eyes and hearts and hands.

so as this year of mine comes to its final month, I am letting there be honesty in my reflection. I am not painting in wide strokes that cover, but in the small ones that speak of details- minutes and moments and thoughts.

I am letting this year of mine exist.

all over and back

we drove somewhere around 3,700 miles in the past three weeks.

i was home for Christmas for the first time in three years.

i visited an abundant wealth of old friends and dear friends and family and more family and new friends.

and i shared all of it with T, who has up until this point been unmentioned on this blog of mine. Mainly because it's not my place to tell his story. But our stories are about to become a whole lot more intertwined, so maybe someday soon I'll tell more of what that story is becoming.

it was a whirlwind of driving and pictures and food and empty cornfields lit by fading sunlight.

it was the chaos of gatherings and the quiet sleepiness of cups of tea as darkness falls.

it was exhaustion and elation and long runs in my favorite park.

it was sunshine and football games and a long bike ride on a beautiful trail.

it was hugs and conversations and dreams.

it was such a sweet, sweet time of grace and mercy.

i'm still drinking it up, still enjoying it even as I transition back to work and routine.

because...I'm terrible at taking time off.

And the depth of these blessings isn't one I'm going to forget anytime soon.

brief moments

after worship a few weeks ago, i was heading up the aisle to leave, bible and notebook in hand.

i was lost in thought, in reflection, in my own circling worries and prayers and fears.

and he dashed down the aisle, through the crowd and slammed into me at my knees, hugging me so tight I almost toppled over, surprising me with his strength.

four-year-old boys are strong huggers.

all i could think was...

thank you Lord, for your mercy.

thank you for having mercy on me.

oh, thank you for loving me enough to meet me where I am.

thank you for using a four-year-old to remind me of your sweet mercy and grace.

mingling the muddled with Advent

we lit candles yesterday. not just the Advent wreath, although those two candles burned brightly as well.

but a line of members and visitors and strangers that approached the altar and lit a candle and spoke a name.

after communion we were invited to reflect on the reality that Advent brings us towards Christmas in anticipation. And that it also brings the knowledge that there are hurts tied up in the waiting as well. That we wait not only in joy, but also in sorrow. That in living, we know struggle and loss and the unexplained. And that sometimes the bright light of expected joy makes the rawness of the hurt that much more tender.

as i sat and watched the procession unfold, i couldn't help but give thanks for a congregation that is willing to give voice to this tension.

we light candles because we believe and we trust that God brings light to the darkness. we light candles because we trust that in Christ coming to dwell with us that we have been saved from the darkness. and we light candles because even as we struggle with the joy of Christmas and the sorrow of our hearts we pray that the hope of Christ would mend us.

Advent instructs us to wait and reflect and ponder the coming of Christ. To think about how the holy came to enter into our messy, broken world. That the baby wrapped in cloth took on the struggle of a sinful world.

All is not always calm. All is not always bright. And yet he comes to heal, to pick up our pieces and to love us for who we are and not who we are not.

This season I'm grateful that Advent is as much about the muddled things within us as it is about joy and peace.

where we are is where Advent meets us. just as it is with Christ.

reflecting

"Jesus knew that going into the barren and uncomfortable places isn't about proving how holy we are or how tough or how brave. It's about letting God lead us into a landscape where we don't know everything, don't have to know everything, indeed may be emptied of nearly everything we think we know. Giving ourselves to that place frees us to receive the word, the wisdom, the clarity about who we are and what God is calling us to do."

-pg. 142, In the Sanctuary of Women

I can't recommend this book enough.

misadventures in preaching

I could never totally remember my preaching schedule in Mongolia. Some weeks I was responsible for the children's sermon, some weeks the teenager's sermon, some weeks both, some weeks Sunday School.....I tried to keep track of what week was what and I usually managed to get it right. Or I at least managed to be cautious and prepare a sermon on weeks I thought I might have to give one. Always be prepared, right?

Until one Sunday I was sitting with the kids in the children's service and it came to sermon time and Ogii announced my name. Oi.

Racking my brain for something, anything I stood up, smiled and walked to the microphone to meet Dashka (who translated for me).

And then I talked. I talked about Thanksgiving in the US (it was near Thanksgiving) and told the "historical" story of the Native Americans and pilgrims. I managed to connect it to some biblical lessons (or tried) and then I sat down.

Knowing you have to give the sermon is usually the most important step to avoiding some of the possible preaching disasters.

But then again, sometimes there are things that just happen.

Like the other week when I was a guest at a church that happened to have a very early morning service. Just as I was beginning to preach, I heard a phone ringing in the congregation. As I kept talking and listening to the ringing that wasn't stopping, a growing sense of dread rose up in my throat.

It was my cell phone. My cell phone alarm that I had forgotten to turn off.

I internally debated what to do- Should I walk down into the pews and turn my phone off? (Ugh, how embarrassing!) Should I ignore it and pretend I don't hear it? WHAT DO I DO?

I ended up deciding to ignore it and pray it would shut up eventually. Which it did after fifteen looooooooong minutes of going off.

No one said a word about it even though I'm pretty sure they must have figured out it was mine.

I was horrified.

Today, I wore my Mongolian del for the first time in months. I slipped my black tights on, buttoned all of the little tricky clasps and headed to church.

As worship began I looked down and realized my tights need to be replaced. Right under the hemline of my del was a huge worn spot where you could clearly see there should be black tights material instead of a clear vision of my skin.

So then I had to stand-up and preach all the while knowing my tights were basically see- through.

At least maybe the traditional Mongolian dress distracted from the tights issue?

Note to self: prepare back-up sermons, double and triple check cell phone alarms and buy some new tights.

lessons from October

1.) blanching and freezing vegetables for winter is less scary than anticipated.

2.) it is good for the soul to occasionally buy a pretty dress, go back to where you used to live, eat lots of good food, dance with your friends, watch them get married and remember what it meant to be in college.

3.) 3 intensive days of learning how to be a doula are good, good stuff. conversations with women who also want to become doulas are encouraging and provide lots of good things to ponder.

4.) making meals with church folk will always be one of my most favorite things. ever.

5.) New Mexico is beautiful.

6.) there is such a thing as having too much of one kind of food (re: eating out in New Mexico every day and having New Mexican food for practically every meal) but there is no such thing as too many sopapillas.

7.) the presence of mice is not a moral failure but a normal occurrence for the general population.

8.) borrowing a farm cat from a kind friend is a good way to deal with mice panic.

9.) sometimes all of the paperwork and letters and stamps and fees do work together for good. Hooray for visa approval!

10.) it's been approximately 10 years since I gave my first sermon. craaaazy. even crazier, I still love preaching.

11.) being in charge of apple bobbing is fun until you run out of apples.

12.) it's true that the intercultural senior center has the best enchiladas ever.

13.) garden snakes. soil samples. and girly screaming.

14.) for 31 days, it went awfully fast.