Wednesday, December 22, 2010


Written October 3, 2010

Last night I had a dream...

I was painting.

There was no one else there, and nothing but a giant canvas in front of me and buckets of paint beside me.

I dipped my hand in the paint and cautiously touched the canvas. I began trying different colors, first a little, then a lot.
I began experimenting, and swirling, and mixing paints in no order with no purpose or plan. Just paint.
As I mixed and swirled I noticed that the colors did not blend or dull, but held their vibrancy, and even deepened upon moving this way and that.

I decided to grab hand fulls of paint and throw it at the canvas. As the paint hit it splattered and dripped.
I threw hand full after handful- every different color- as fast as I could. The patterns of paint were shifting and dynamic.
Suddenly I felt a new sense of freedom- I decided to pull the pain between my hands as it held its shape creating three-dimensional shapes suspended in the air.


The next morning I awoke from the dream ready to throw paint. ready to mix, and blend, and risk in creativity and freedom.

I woke up ready to live more fully.


the well

This an entry from earlier in the fall.. the next couple weeks I'll do some posts from my journal from the past few months- I may not have pictures for a while- my Mac is crashing and I' lost I photo. Thank goodness for back up drives. So here it is...


I know it's coming.
I can feel it.
Irritation. Anxiety.
My emotions seem to be just under the surface with no room to give.

I can see the hole ahead, and I know what lies is the bottom. I tremble and want to turn but I can't.
I'm already falling.
And this well is deep.

I'm not good at sitting at the bottom of the well.
I immediately want to claw my way out.
I'm a fighter.

How did I get here?
What can I do differently next time?

I know there is a lesson in this well. I know there is water to be found deep in the well.
I prefer to get straight to the water- I can do without the pain of the darkness, thank-you.

I move straight to the shoulds.
I should let go of dualistic thinking.
I should be present in the well and give myself space to feel pain.
Perhaps I should reach out to someone.
Perhaps I should eat healthier, go for a run...
should, should, should

But I didn't. And here I am- at the bottom of the well- with no signs of light.
Questioning. Doubting.

Here I am. At the bottom of a well. With no signs of water to be found.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Been a While...

It's been so long... My blogging brain is a little rusty. I need your help. Three weeks after my crazy accident I went straight into my second year of seminary. I pretty much had to check out of everything else and focus on school and my family. But- it has been a powerful few months- and I long to connect with my community again.

I feel like God has been stirring and creating (as always) and I'm trying to jump into the 'double dutch game' of God's world. At times I'm just paralyzed with fear of jumping in at the wrong time and messing up. At times I feel confident and ambitious- but I'm not sure which game to jump into.

I have been journalling a lot- so I'm hoping to throw some words out here- please watch for coming posts and join the conversation...

Saturday, August 7, 2010

a time to heal

*Pre-reading warning(s)...

1)I am writing this story here to try to put together the pieces. I apologize if it is a bit choppy or confusing- and it will certainly be too long for a 'blog post'....

2)How do I write a personal story for which I have no memory of? I have absolutely no memory of Monday until about five to eight pm. I know I was planning to go for a bike ride Monday morning. I know I bought a new tire tube Sunday afternoon, I know I set out my bike clothes the night before, I have a hazy memory of my alarm going off that morning.

3)I am piecing together the memories of my loved ones who rushed to the scene Monday morning, rode in ambulances, hovered over hospital beds, talked with Doctors, and prayed fervently. I've spent lots of hours the past few days processing that day with Kyle, my sister Jill, my brother-in-law TJ, my parents, Scott, and the kind people who arrived on the scene first.

So- as best I can tell- here's what happened.

I left my sister's house in NW Fort Collins for a bike ride at about 6:15-6:20am on Monday morning. I ride a triathlon bike, and am use to going for bike rides of about 20 miles at a time right now. I typically average a speed of about 17-19 mph when I ride and I would be riding north of town on the county roads- though I have absolutely no idea where I went that morning.

My Mom texted me about 6:20am asking if I wanted to go for a walk. I texted her back saying I was out for a bike ride and, 'how about if we went Wednesday'.

At about 7am I crashed on my bike on Taft Hill, North of 287. Really- we have no idea what happened. It doesn't appear a car was involved, though the shoulder was narrow and it would have been easy for a car to fly by me. I also could have just caught my tire on the edge of the gravel and asphalt. Who knows. It appears I flew forward and to the left with pretty good force. I landed on the left side of my head, cracked my helmet, skinned my left cheek bone, and my entire left side of my body- shoulder, elbow, hip and especially knee. I somehow cracked the frame of my bike and stripped the rubber off of my gear shifts.

I then laid in the road on my left side, completely attached to my bike. A man driving a flatbed truck then approached and saw something lying in the road. When he realized it was a person he slowed and positioned his truck to protect me from oncoming traffic. When he came to talk to me I apparently told him I was fine, no need to call 911, and asked him to help me get my phone out of my back shirt pocket, since I had just received a text from my Mom. I asked the man to call my sister's house to ask them to pick me up- I told him her phone number. I then texted my Mom, 'I fell, can you pick me up on Taft Hill and Cache la Pulses (Poudre)'. I then dialed my Mom's phone number, handed my phone to the man, and asked him to give my Mom directions to get me.

At this point a woman who lived off of Taft Hill was trying to leave her home saw the truck and a person lying with a bike. She assumed I had been hit by the truck and ran over. She had medical training and recognized right away that I was in shock. She said I was pale as a ghost and sweating profusely. She noticed that the man from the truck was not speaking to a 911 operator and ran to the nearest house. They say she nearly knocked the door in. She asked for a blanket and told them to call 911. She came back outside where I had finally un-clipped from my bike. She helped my lie flat and tried to convince me not to move. She covered me with a blanket and sat with me.

Apparently I kept asking for water and saying I was fine. All of the people on the scene were instructed by the 911 operator to not give me water, which apparently made me very frustrated. :).

Another man who was driving on 287 was driving by and saw the scene, short of an ambulance, and came to help. This man was a trained EMT, so he helped stabilize my neck, cover my body and worked to keep me still (though I was not a cooperative patient).

My Mom arrived extremely quickly (no traffic rules were followed), but by the time she arrived I did not recognize her. It was clear to her that I was in bad shape, since she knew I was not acting like myself. My brother-in-law TJ arrived shortly after. My Mom tended to me, and TJ began gathering my scattered things and piecing together information.

Throughout this time I kept asking for water, kept trying to move and was growing more and more agitated. Eventually I could not answer simple questions, such as my age, the name of the president, or what day it was.

By the time the ambulance arrived I was in full fledged shock. My Mom rode in the front seat of the ambulance and made phone calls. TJ and my Mom left about 30 messages for Kyle, who was in a breakfast meeting for work and had left his phone in the car. In the ambulance I grew more and more resistant to care. The paramedics knew I was going to need to be sedated and intubated when we got to the hospital.

Kyle got back to his car during this time to see all of the messages. He panicked and drove straight to PVH.

When the ambulance arrived to PVH, they intubated me right away. I fought this and grew very combative. They had to strap me down so they could hook up all of the monitors and breathing tubes so that they could stabilize me.

Kyle arrived during this time, but they would not allow him to see me until they had me calmed down and stabilized. It wasn't pretty.

My Mom, Kyle and TJ were all waiting in the family waiting room at the ER at PVH.

They finally let Kyle back after about five minutes (he says it felt much longer). I didn't look like myself. I was rigid, had a neck brace on, tubed down my throat, wires from every part of my body, restraints holding my arms and legs. It was extremely difficult to see.

Within a minute they brought me back for my first CT scan. Kyle went back to the family waiting room and broke down. My Mom, Kyle and TJ sat praying and hugging. My Dad arrived shortly after this, as did my friend and pastor, Scott.

After the CT scan they all got to go back and see me again. The Doctor prepared Kyle and let him know I had a skull fracture. The Doctor explained that it looked like there could be blood or, 'artifact' near the fracture. If this was the case they would need to do brain surgery, which they would need to do at another hospital.

Kyle sat with me while the Doctor consulted a specialist. During this time my sister arrived, as well as my friend Becca. I would still get resistant at times and the nurses continued to adjust the level of sedative.

The Dr.s decided I needed to be moved to the trauma center at the Medical Center of the Rockies, and that I would most likely need brain surgery. They loaded me in another ambulance. Kyle went with the ambulance and made phone calls for prayers. He said the ambulance went painfully slow ;)

When we got to MCR they took me into the surgical intensive care unit and transfered all of my tubes and made sure I was stabilized. Once I was stabilized they decided to do another CT scan at noon.

All of my family sat waiting and praying. I had many visitors come to be in the family room during this waiting period.

The second CT scan took about a half and hour, Kyle went with me. Shortly after the Doctors came back and said the CT scan showed no bleeding, only the fracture. At this point the neuro-surgical nurse and Doctor came to do a thorough examination. They asked me questions- asked me to squeeze fingers, hold certain number of fingers up etc. I was intubated through all of this, but was able to respond to their requests appropriately. This was a huge moment of relief for Kyle and my family.

Kyle emphasizes that this was a HUGE moment. The woman, Diane, who was administering the questions looked up at Kyle and said, "Yes! She is responding cognitively!" She kept asking me questions and I kept responding appropriately. Kyle was relieved and hopeful.

At that point they decided to decrease my sedation and try pull my intubation tube. About 15 minutes later I was still a little bit too combative, so they decided to wait one more hour.

One hour later they tried again and I did much better. I began opening my eyes and crying when I saw all of my family. The nurses asked my family to stand behind me so I would not look to them for help when they were pulling my intubation tube. They had to make sure I could breath on my own by blowing into a tube. It took some practice, but eventually I had the strength. They pulled the intubation tube.

Once I was settled my family was able to sit with me. I was crying and confused. I started asking the same four questions repeatedly (for the next 6-7 hours ;)) My questions were: Where are my kids? What time is it? What happened? Where am I?

The Doctors would come in once an hour to ask a set of questions to check my cognitive abilities. They did this every hour from the time my tube came out until about 10pm Monday. At this time they moved to every two hours.

I continued to be weepy, especially when I saw the people I love.

My memories start from about 5pm ish on Monday night. They are certainly hazy, but I do remember asking the time and hearing 5pm Monday. I remember the feel of the neck brace on my skin, the positioning in the hospital bed, and these things that were on my legs kind of like big blood pressure cuffs which ensured circulation to my legs. They comforted me because it felt like my dog laying on my legs. I have hazy memories of the faces of my loved ones coming and going out the hospital room door.

Through Monday night to Tuesday morning I was awakened for frequent blood sugar checks, insulin injections, codine injections, and pupil checks. I slept in fits and continued to feel hazy and baffled by what had happened. Kyle slept next to me in the chair and my Mom was given a family room to sleep in. My kids were with Kyle's parents at my Dad's place, and were pretty sheltered from all that was happening.

My family says they were reassured Monday night when they saw glimpses of my humor coming through- When asked the number of my pain on a scale of 1-10 I would sometimes say- 'sucks' or 'stinks' before I'd say a number, and when told of the story of how I told the man who stopped to help me not to call an ambulance I said, "who listens to the person lying on the ground?" (though I can understand why he didn't, and am so grateful he blocked me from getting hit by a car!). I apparently asked if I was going to have brain damage- which was a good sign that the answer is 'no'.

Tuesday morning I continued to make mental progress. My body was in pretty intense pain, so they ordered x-rays of my shoulder and knee. All x-rays came back clear showing no breaks, just pretty terrible bruising and pulled muscles etc. I continued to make physical progress, so they were able to pull my catheter and to help me get up out of the bed and into a wheel chair.

I was able to have lunch with my kids on Tuesday, which was pretty incredible. Tuesday afternoon I moved from the ICU to a trauma recovery room. I continued to improve through Tuesday night and by Wedensday morning was deemed ready to go home.

My sister and her husband turned their bedroom into my recovery room and took our family into their house to provide extra care and support.

These first days have been hard and good. I do have terrible headaches- which they say I may have for the next three months. I am extremely sensitive to sound- things seem to echo and rattle in my head.

My shoulder, hip and knee (and face) have some good road rash, are swollen and ache. I came home with a walker to help me get around- though I have already moved to a cane and can get around most of the time without that now too.

Emotionally this has all really been just plain weird. It is weird to have no memory of something so scary and tragic. It is weird to listen to the stories of my family and friends who thought I may die, or be left brain dead. People who were there look at me kind of funny.

I met the women who were there at the scene the morning of the crash, they were so grateful to see me alive and healing. I am so grateful for their care and love- though I have no real memory of it.

It is weird to be here in Fort Collins for all of this, our home, which has not been our home for the past year.

The kindness, prayers, meals, gifts and cards are completely overwhelming. I am not use to being on this end of things. I am so grateful- and overwhelmed.

This all really threw our 'vacation' plans for a loop. Though I am grateful to have the time to heal here with my family.

Spiritually I have felt God's presence through all of this- though honestly not any different than I always do.

Really- I am just so darn happy to be alive. In one of my many mini-breakdowns I noticed that I am just so grateful to be able to live this life fully. I'm certainly not ready to go- or to slow down. I don't have any bike rides planned anytime soon- but I'm not ready to live in a bubble (my Dad has requested- if not a bubble, how about a pillow?)

I am happy to hold my kids, to be with Kyle, to snuggle with my Dog, to laugh with friends, to play cards with family. I can't wait to get back to school- to keep learning and growing and sharing this life.

All that said- I know this healing process is going to be slow. My head hurts. I get easily overwhelmed and overstimulated right now. I'm going to need some physical therapy for my knee, hip and shoulder. I know my brain will still feel pretty fuzzy at times. It will take months before my brain is functioning at full capacity. I'll need lots of extra rest.

So all that to say thanks so much for all of the incredible love and support you've all given. This was scary- and I'm glad to be on this side of this crazy experience.

Love you all!


Thursday, July 1, 2010


Today I met a woman. Just sitting on the stairs at swim team- looked like I did- a gaggle of kids, shuffling from swim team to soccer, doling out snacks and discipline..

turns out she was born in Vietnam to a Vietnamese mother and a GI father who moved on before he knew his seed had been planted.

When she was seven years old her mother decided to escape communist Vietnam and go to the Philippines. I said, "you must have memories", she said, "yes- and they are pretty rough."

She went on to tell me how she saw a picture of herself as a child and she had a bloated belly, hollow faced like a starving child from a commercial. She knew how to climb trees barefoot. She was an extra in a movie and got paid 50 dollars a day to give to her mom. Didn’t know if it was us dollars or Filipino dollars.

All right there. Sitting in the bleachers at swim team.


Sitting at Starbucks. A man began talking to his friend, in a language I recognized but could not place.

I asked him what language he was speaking- he asked me to guess... Spanish, Italian, Farce or Arabic.

I guessed Farci or Arabic. It was Farci. He was from Iran. His parents had come with him to the US during the Iranian revolution. He had traveled in the middle east as a boy. We swapped stories of my experiences last January in the middle east and his memories of childhood.

I asked him how he felt about the current politics between the US and Iran. He said it didn’t bother him much. "We are all one." He said, “There is a movement happening in the world, and some are just catching up. A change is happening to bring people together, and some people can’t handle it.” Right there. At Starbucks.


In the bathroom at Central Market. I’m waiting outside the stall while Ryan goes to the bathroom. He always has to go to the bathroom when we sit down to eat. I can see through the stall next to Ryan’s that a woman is inside sitting with her hands on her head. Honestly- I can feel the heavy energy from outside the stall (sounds nuts I know). When she finally comes out (yes- Ryan is still in the stall) I ask her if she is ok.. does she need me to get help? She says “no. I’m not ok. I’m ending a relationship and I don’t know if I can breathe anymore. I’m 48 years old and I’ve wasted seven years of my life on this guy...” I listened. Her expression was so pained that it made my heart ache. I didn’t know what to do. I hugged her. A stranger in the bathroom at Central Market....


There are more...

Hosea guy sees I’m reading about Hosea and tells me his views on marriage and divorce...

Band guy's dad was a grammy winning musician... He has struggled to capture his creativity and talent...

Non-religious kid knew all sorts of great things about theology...

I am finding that while in seminary I often spend time reading religious books in public places. People see what I’m reading and decide to share their religious beliefs and ideas with me. I love it. I love hearing the way people feel God working in their lives. Even if it is dramatically different than the way I view God.

As a nutritionist, I use to hear all of the ways people were trying to loose weight. Get questions about this food or that, this diet or that. Now I get to talk about God. What is better than that?.....

I guess maybe experiencing God. That is what’s better. In each encounter, I believe God is in the other. Hidden as it may be at times.

I don’t have answers. I’m flailing in all of this. All I can do is listen for God. In the coffee shop, the grocery store, the swim bleachers... listen for God in the other.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Creation at the Zoo

I am an animal lover and a nature lover.
That might be an understatement.

I cried at a rodeo once.
I'm not into the circus...

and, I have always loved the zoo.

This is a paradoxical love, because while nothing compares to looking in the eyes of a tiger (behind glass), or to watching a mama orangutang nurse her baby, or seeing a king cobra slither by (behind glass), my heart aches for their loss of freedom- for life in a cage or an 'enclosure'.

I have to say- it seems to me that the zoos I have spent time at (San Diego, Denver, Fort Worth) have all worked very hard to ensure the health and well being of their animals- providing a natural environment, a healthy diet and exercise... I know they live a good life... but still.. it's a little bit sad.

However, my sadness is overpowered by love when a day at the zoo intersects with my love for the story of creation.

What wonder! What mystery!

Did you know a viper can lift its body up to stand six feet tall to look you in the eye?

Have you seen the face of a stingray?

Watched the way a monitor lizard glides through the water, it's legs moving like she is crawling up a mountain?

Enjoyed the flying acrobatics of ring-tailed lemurs? Tugging on each others tails and running for cover...

Looked in the eyes of a komodo dragon, or a 15 foot crocodile, or a white tiger?

Watched a 130 year-old tortoise eat strawberries- it's beak-like mouth moving side-to-side?

We have spent a lot of time at the Fort Worth Zoo this year (and I do mean a lot). Each time I go I am so filled with wonder I can hardly contain myself.

I am so amazed at this creation.
How can this be?
How can life be so diverse, so full of mystery?
How could our Creator form and mold each of these brilliant creatures?
And us too?
This diverse wholeness of humanity?

What wonder! What mystery!

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Live like a traveler...

What would it look like if we lived like a traveler?

Not like a tourist, but like a traveler...

We would have to...

Pack light,
less concerned with accumulation, and more concerned with flexibility...

Carry a sense of wonder, curiosity and awe,
Ready to explore, try new tastes, open to new sights and sounds...

Embrace a spirit of openness,
let go of judgement and learn from our surroundings with humility and grace...

Live in the present,
free of schedules and pressing to-do lists...

Pack out what we pack in,
aware of what we use and how we use it...

Leave things better than we found them...

What if we lived right where we are for just one week- as a traveler....

What would we see?
Who would we meet?
What new foods could we try?
What conversations could we stumble upon?

Do you want to try this with me? Try to live like a traveler, for just one week?

Saturday, June 26, 2010

holes and holiness

Being Mom to Ryan is inevitably different than being Mom to Mia and to Faith.

Ryan is a boy. A very active, energetic boy. Some might say, 'a handful' ;)

Ryan looks different that me, so people often look at us different and ask different questions of us.

Ryan is four- curious, adventurous- and four.

I have learned so much from Ryan. I've learned about love, patience, anger, sadness, and healing. I've learned about teaching boys to pee standing up, reading books about trucks and tractors, play fighting with sticks, and have learned some crazy karate and dance moves. I love his laughter, his big smile, and his pure joyful spirit.

Ultimately- as with all human stories- I find that our story is one of brokenness and wholeness- of holes and holiness.

Last week we were at a beach in Corpus Christi when a group gathered next to us. About twenty Filipino people gathered- families laughing, playing, enjoying vacation. The women sat in a group of chairs laughing and talking, the men sat in the back watching
and sharing. The kids played in the sand, building castles and digging.

Watching this community my heart ached for Ryan. I ached for the loss of his Filipino culture, that he will never have a mom whose face looks like his, who makes lumpia and chicken adobo, and serves fish for regular family meals. Who laughs and sings in Tagalog and dances traditional Filipino dance.

The reality is that as much as we try to ensure he knows the Filipino culture, he will never know it as he would being raised in it.

Now, I know this is not the future he would have seen in the Philippines. Born in an area of extreme poverty, and brought to an orphanage at 5 days old- this family is not the family he could have ever
experienced there. I know the gift of his life here. I know the gift he is to our family.
But that does not take away the holes.

As we journey together, Mama and son, I hope I can recognize the holes, while also living fully into the holy joy of loving relationship.

That's what family is about- right?

We are all full of holes and holiness.

to Plug-in or to Un-plug?

How do we find balance in sharing and connecting on-line?

There are so many beautiful things about the internet... I have to say- I am grateful for the sense of community I feel on facebook, blogs, email (haven't yet found the joy of twitter..).

But, at the same time, all of these can also bring this sense of pressure, need to share, guilt for not sharing enough, insecurity of sharing too much.. feelings of inadequacy.

How can we find balance in this world of excess information- of constant opportunity for connection- which can, ironically, lead to isolation?

How do we find rhythm and balance?

How can we utilize and be a part of this incredibly connected world community, this web of life, words, pictures, friendships, information, humor, and support, without getting trapped by the 'if it didn't get posted to the internet then it didn't really happen' mindset?

How can we maintain true, deep, human physical connections, while also appreciating the tools available though our little phones, and glowing computer screens?

What do you think? How do you find balance and rhythm in the technological community?

(image from :

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Chaos, Beauty, and Foot Washing

Tonight I did something a little risky.

We are in the midst of our Vacation Bible School program at Ridglea.
This church is a little smaller, a little rough around the edges, and honestly, just plain Holy.

Our VBS story was from Genesis 18:1-9. 'Abraham greets his guests with hospitality'.
[We leave out the next part of the story, when Abraham's nephew Lot's house guests get threatened by rape, so Lot throws his daughters under the bus and offers them up in exchange for the safety of the strangers... ]
anyway... I digress... back to the beautiful chaos.

So- I decided to do a foot washing service with the kiddos.

The kids were a little off the wall tonight. Three groups of kids, ages, 3-5, 6-7 and 8-10.

Of course the most rambunctious were the little ones. As they bounced around the room, crawled under the chairs and made 'toot' noises, I wondered if this had been a bad choice.

Just when I thought I should push the eject button and move on to plan B, they surprised me.

After rushing through the story (if you can hear me, clap once) I called the first child to the little chair and asked her to take off her shoes.

The children went silent.

[The older children expressed embarrassment over their dirty feet, and disgust at the thought of washing their friend's gross feet]

The little ones stepped right up, took off their shoes, and sat down.

I washed the first little one's feet, slowly pouring the cold water over her dust covered summer feet. As the water hit, her little toes curled, and her face lit right up.

I looked in her eyes and said "Mbote" (Langala for welcome- we are learning about the DR Congo). She then moved to the place of foot washer, as the next child moved into the chair and peeled off his shoes.

One by one each child sat in the chair and let the cool water move over their feet and through their toes.

One by one each child took the ceramic pitcher in their hand and nervously tipped it to spill the blessed water onto the feet of their new friend.

They looked at each other and said 'mbote'. Welcome.

Welcome, Holy Spirit. Welcome.


Perhaps they have already forgotten this experience.

Or, perhaps they sensed a small piece of the Spirit of God and heard a message of welcome. Welcome into the beauty and chaos of life lived in relationship with God and our community of dirty, dusty feet.

Friday, June 4, 2010

A prayer for today...

Let me be confident enough to keep moving.
To let the words out of my mouth, to let the letters off of my pen.

Let me be humble enough to listen.
To be open to God's overwhelming presence in others.
To remember my own smallness.

Let me be confident enough to see my own gifts,
to live fully into your light.

Let me always recognize your light in others,
and live in awe of your diverse creation.

God please grant me gentle humility, quiet confidence, nurturing strength.
Let me be grounded, present and always aware of your love.


Friday, May 21, 2010

beautiful, and hard

I’ve been to lots of funerals. They are always sad. Always painful. Most often the ceremony at the church moves to a cemetery where there is a canopy set up to protect us from the sun, or the rain. The hole has been dug, but the brown empty ground is covered by a sheet of astro-turf like material. We shed our tears, speak our prayers, get in our cars and drive away to eat casseroles and tell stories. These are valuable markers and moments we remember.

But, never have I experienced a celebration of life and death so beautiful, raw and true as I did last month.

The setting for the burial of this mother, gentle-soul, and lover of nature and animals took place on top of a hill at a ranch in west Texas surrounded by mesquite trees, cactus, rocks, thorns, wild cats, goats, and hawks.

Nearly one-hundred people climbed the highest hill on the ranch, navigating through mud, rocks, stickers and wild-flowers. Some bounded up the hill, others stopped to catch their breath. All took in the beauty, breathed in the fresh Texas air, and walked expectant, and a bit apprehensive of the mystery ahead.

A four-wheel drive truck carried the pecan wood casket up the hill, through the mud and rocks.

We all arrived to the top of the hill to take in expansive views of the west Texas landscape- at it’s best in spring bloom, past the winter rain, but not yet captive to the summer heat. God’s creation big and small on full display.

In the midst of the beauty of nature was a six-foot deep gaping hole. The chiseled rock looked raw, broken and scarred. I wanted to look away. To focus on the trees, the view, the air; but the hole was unavoidable. The pain could not be ignored.

The physically strongest of the group worked together in rhythm to move the casket from the truck to set upon wooden slats placed over the hole.

After reading scripture and soaking in the final moments in the presence of the body of our dear loved Mother, Wife, Grammy and friend, the strongest worked together to lower the casket into the hole.

It was risky- we stood by hoping it would all go smoothly- when they gently and gracefully lowered the wooden casket down into the hole we all breathed easier.

And there it sat.

Deep at the bottom. Awkwardly distant, yet hauntingly close. Again, I had to force myself to look. Accustomed to protecting myself from pain, I realized how that resistance also robs me of the full beauty.

This moment was an invitation to go there. To look the pain in the face and to let the beauty sweep in and overwhelm us.

We were then invited to fill in the hole. Shovels were handed out and one by one we pushed a shovel into the rocky dirt, moved it over the hole and let go. The rocks echoed as they hit the wood and rolled to the side.

We were tenuous at first, hesitant to take part in something so foreign in our world sanitized from the realities of death.

Except the kids. They loved it. They had permission to throw rocks. They were surrounded by the people they loved. They moved fluidly between the burial site and the surrounding nature- discovering the scorpions, lizards, and caterpillars.

But the work was not easy. There was a lot of dirt. It was a big hole. The people shoveling began to sweat, and blisters formed on their hands. It took a long time.

Little three-year-old Nico worked to pick up the biggest rocks he could find to contribute to filling the hole. Just as the hole was beginning to appear level, Nico picked up the biggest rock of the day, lifted it, and threw it. He stepped back. Looked at the pile of dirt, took a breath and said, ‘that was hard.’

Yes it was.

Hard, and beautiful.

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return” --Genesis 3:19

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Oh, Sunshine

Oh, my dearest sunshine,
My love for you cannot be hidden,
for all upon my face it's written.

Since I was but a girl,
Your sweet blazing warmth I have adored,
and now, your mark cannot be ignored.

When in the mirror I look ,
The spots and lines upon my face,
are evidence of your shining grace.

With magical lotions,
I have tried to mask our love affair,
but now I find, I no longer care.

It seems time can't go back,
From here on out, to all it be known,
The seeds of this love have now been sown.

With nothing but honor,
Let these lines be the witness of,
Our pure and consecrated love.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

God local, God global

God local, God global

God is with the little child sleeping under a mosquito net in Africa, God is with the elderly woman walking to the market in New York City, God is with the Catholic priest in South America, and God is alive and well in my life and community.

God is present in every context- real- full, dynamic- present.

The challenge is that in every context we also experience the realities of the dominant cultures, systems of oppression, exploitation, fear and brokenness.

As Christians our task is to enter into the conversation to ask ‘Where is God present? What is of God, and what is not? What is truth and what is brokenness?

This question grows more complicated for us as Christians when we recognize our own cultural bias, our own lens, when we understand the history of the people of God as demonstrated in the Bible and in early Christian communities. We have to seek to understand. We ask, ‘what can we really know of the mysterious God of creation, redemption and life?’

We find ourselves caught in a game of tug-a-war between what we understand and experience of the realities of the Holy Spirit, and what we understand and experience in the culture around us.

We are all caught between the way things are and the things can be.

In order to break free from the systems of oppression and brokenness within us and within the world, we must first discern what these systems are, and what God wants for us and for the whole world.

True life, freedom and hope comes in letting go of the brokenness so prevalent in our own lives and in the global context, and to open ourselves to new life and freedom in Christ.