Category Archives: Meditations

Soul in the Sand

While walking the deserted beach, I prayed, “Please forgive me, God, for wanting a loved one’s struggle to be over so that she can go on home.”

I knew it wasn’t right of me to ask this. I usually affirm that God’s got this; that God’s timing is perfect; that I can not play God or question what is between God and a soul. But sometimes I slip and ask for mercy as “I” see it—to some degree, having more to do with my pain than theirs.

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Pull Out All Stops

I have finally admitted to myself that this time in our world is not so temporary of a state as to just “keep a stiff upper lip”, or to hold my breath and wait it out. I am finally being honest with myself that all of this is bigger than what my usual tools of faith and service can handle. I can no longer afford to pretend that I have “got this.” I don’t. It is time to pull out all the stops of self care.

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Dusty Corners

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I believe this time, this very strange and terrifying time without borders or end dates, magnifies all feelings and circumstances that have been laying fallow—waiting for our attention and in care of our soul. I believe in these hours and days of isolation and stillness, what has been buried or obscured by busyness or distraction is rising—insisting to be seen. Noticed. Dealt with in resignation or protest with prayer and reaching out to others.

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What Freedom Looks Like

A young girl, looking on from the safety of her father’s shoulders, to what freedom looks like.

About this women’s march… I went. And I’m glad I did. And apparently, a whole bunch of others did too. But here’s the thing: I really struggled with my decision to go.

I had to get to my own reasons and motives. I needed to pray for God’s idea for me and talk with friends. And when I did, I started owning that I was afraid, and worried that my walking might endorse un-peaceful protest which I am very much against. I worried that my showing up would look like full endorsement of some beliefs that I do not hold, and, here’s the really embarrassing part, I worried about what people might think of me.

At 62, still worrying about other’s disapproval. Continue reading What Freedom Looks Like