Buttercups in Bloom

When the rain comes it changes everything. Monday, three weeks ago I lingered at dinner with one of my favorite people and then made my way to one of my favorite places. I had put away all the little things that Sundays brings so that my desk would be clear as I returned to it on Wednesday.  Little did I know that Sunday afternoon would be the last time that I would be straightening my desk, putting my to-do list together in that space and turning the key to my office. A tornado ripped through our church building in the early hours of Tuesday morning and when I arrived at the church my office had been opened and I stepped inside to survey the damage.  I was surprised to find all of my belongings in their place.  As thing wound down at the church that Tuesday evening, I stepped inside to grab a few of my favorite items knowing that I would return to pack it all up in due time. Packing my office wasn't high on my list, there were people to tend to, service in the park to plan a

Be Still Know that I am God Over these past two weeks, I've been thinking about what it means to just be.  To be. To be still. To be content. To be thankful. To be grateful. To be who we are designed to be as God's breath enters us each morning. To be the one who steps up when others are in need. To be the one who is willing to share my specific gifts. To be. Being involves leaning into stillness.  Stillness comes in a variety of forms and isn't about merely sitting still. For me, stillness is the posture and attitude that views the world through the lens of abundance.  It's in and through the spirit of abundance that a sense of connectedness comes to life. It reminds me that during this time of social distancing that I am connected to resources that others are not. The stillness reminds me that I am a salaried employee with benefits and that I am not forced to make a decision about whether or not to stay at home with my child while school is closed or

Genesis 18:1-8  CEB "The Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre while he sat at the entrance of his tent in the day’s heat. He looked up and suddenly saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from his tent entrance to greet them and bowed deeply.   He said, “Sirs, if you would be so kind, don’t just pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought so you may wash your feet and refresh yourselves under the tree . Let me offer you a little bread so you will feel stronger , and after that, you may leave your servant and go on your way—since you have visited your servant.” They responded, “Fine. Do just as you have said.” So Abraham hurried to Sarah at his tent and said, “Hurry! Knead three seahs[a] of the finest flour and make some baked goods!” Abraham ran to the cattle, took a healthy young calf, and gave it to a young servant, who prepared it quickly. Then Abraham took butter, milk, and the calf that had been prepared, put the food in front o

We have lost track of the days. Grief and exhaustion have set in. Tears continue to flow. Weariness overtakes us. How can I help has been asked? Compassion has been given and received. Connection in the isolation has come. When Nehemiah hears the news of his beautiful holy city of Jerusalem lying ruins from war and fire he “sat down and wept”. He sat down for days and mourned, fasted and prayed “let your ear be attentive and your eyes open to hear the prayer your servant is praying before you day and night for you servants,” (Nehemiah 1:6).   As we awoke to the reality of our beautiful, holy place of worship lying in ruins we sat down and wept. We wept for the longevity of saints that have gathered in the space. We wept for the loss of sacred space that has enveloped us all in love and holiness.  We wept for our friends and neighbors whose lives have been turned upside down. We wept. We began praying ever so gently and tenderly. Our prayers have merely a breath or

Night fell. The winds came. Fear and trembling took residency within every fiber of our beings. Chaos ensured. The world twisted, turned, and shook foundations. Brokeness. Light rose. Stones were broken. The world stood toppled. Trembling and awe began to slowly move within the core of our being. Connection came. Community gathered.  Mourning. A different path. Standing on holy ground. When I arrived at East End in July 2018, one of the first things I noticed was what, Judi Hoffman, did as she stood behind the pulpit.  Without hardly any effort Judi removed her shoes and pushed them aside.  In a conversation the following week I asked her about why she took her shoes off.  She told me the told the story of her arrival and standing there for the first time and that there was a presence that was so holy it could not fully be described and she knew she was standing on holy ground.  She was standing where so many faithful servants of Jesus had been.  Today as I stood