Buttercups in Bloom

The sun was shining. The trees swayed in the breeze. The sky was clear. Backpacks were packed. Lunches tucked away. Homework crumpled at the bottom of backpacks. The commute to school was driven. Drop-off line was the usual irritation. "I love you's" were hurriedly said as children stepped out of the car. Panic Fear Disbelief Rushing back Waiting Spotting your child for the first time. Relief Enveloping and holding children as tightly as possible. NO....NO.....NO.... Words that are incomprehensible fall. Lives bound in a breaking and shrouded in grave clothes. Death  Death Death I've grown weary of hearing "our thoughts and prayers are with the victims".   As people of God, we will send up our prayers, and feel for the families in their grief but when will we stand against the unimaginable and be the voice for those who have lost so much? Not just for those within our city but for all the lives lost. When will we as believers in a God who has created all per...

Otherness assumes harm against me. Otherness leads to misunderstanding. Otherness exudes fear and violence. Otherness leads to rightness/ better than Otherness inequality and ungodliness. When will the other become human? When will the other become the divine? When will the other become enough? Today I've been thinking about the allies of the Civil Rights Movement.  Not those who were at the forefront like Martin Luther King, Jr, John Lewis, and Rosa Parks, but the allies who put their lives at stake in different ways.  The likes of Anne McCarty Braden, J. Waties Waring, and James Reeb, who took a stand and began working against the systemic injustices. They opened the polls to persons of color, defied real estate practices, and marched alongside MLK.   Men and women who felt propelled to do the unspeakable.   Putting their careers on the line. Pushing against systems that were engrained in one's foundational beliefs.    Drawing a line in the sand...

Today I created a mess. The paint was on the table. A wet canvas fell against the wall. Wet paper towels sat in a clump on the floor beside my chair. The harsh reality is that every single time I cook, or do something creative I seem to make a mess. It's the kind of mess that seems to snowball before I know it.  I'll be in the middle of a project or cooking and all of a sudden I realize that chaos has exploded around me.  The mess isn't contained in one small area, it has bled over into the areas that I was hoping to keep clean.    Areas that are now going to leave me with more cleanup to address. The mess often keeps us from moving forward, from doing the very thing that will eventually lead us to a place of wholeness; the place of centering.  We try to contain the messiness of our lives in one area. Most of us believe the past is in the past and it has no effect on us whatsoever. We tell ourselves we can separate what is happening at work from how we are doing...

Today millions of Americans will gather to celebrate and remember the presence of God entering the world in flesh and bones.  Tensions will rise as families rush to iron clothes and make their way to church on time.  Wiggles will be had as children sit in the pews. Pictures will be taken so that others believe our lives are full of joy. Our favorite songs will be sung, words of hope and love will be spoken and candles will be lit.  As the candles are extinguished we will return home to tables of abundance and gifts under the tree.  When light dawns tomorrow there will be a rush to unwrap the gifts laid under the Christmas tree.  By nightfall, the joy has decreased, and the world's reality has begun to creep back into our very existence. As people who believe that our Savior came into the world as the light in the darkness, love in the midst of hatred, and the unifier when division pervades the situation.  I wonder when the songs that we sing will permeate o...

Green becomes reds and yellows Fullness turns baren Emptiness occurs Buds grow Green returns We have entered the season in which we are reminded that our cycles of life involve the transformation of vibrant greens to muted colors of yellow or red that catch the sun's rays just right and begin to sparkle.  This season of transformation gives a different kind of breath, it is one that whispers to us; it is ok to let go, to be different than you were yesterday or last year.  These whispers gently seep into our souls and we find ourselves asking deeper questions about our purpose and existence.  As we watch trees that are full of life become bare we notice more acutely the ways in which our own lives are bare.   This life of shepherding, being the prophetic voice, casting a vision, and pouring into the lives of others hoping that God will not just equip but empower us and those within our families of faith to become people who are co-creators, driven by hospitality ...

I've been thinking about divorce a lot this past week. I was a senior in high school when my parent's divorce was final.  The decision to divorce did not occur overnight, my parents did counseling, we participated in family counseling but the crack was simply too deep and wide to repair. When the official papers were finally signed there was deep grief. Grief over the loss of what we had been, the moments of goodness and laughter that had been shared, and the identity of who we were as individuals as well as a family unit.   The first several years were fought with hard decisions and hurt feelings.  Joy was always accompanied by a lingering sadness that we were different, that not everyone was present to celebrate the ordinary accolades.  Relationships were strained as each of us experienced a wide birth of emotions that were never felt at the same time in the same way.  Our perspectives from which we told the stories of our childhood and the divorce were a...

In my dad's truck, the radio was turned up and he'd be blasting out words to the likes of Eric Clapton, Alabama, The Eagles, and Johnny Cash.  As a teenager, I despised having to listen to his music but the words seem to bury themselves deep within my being because as an adult I can still hear the words waffling up from the unknown places within my brain. The words of Alabama's 'Forty Hour Week' have been floating around in my head for months now as if on a broken record.  If you don't know the song, they give homage to all those living behind the scenes making our world turn.  The truck drivers alone in their long haul, the men and women standing on the floor in a factory working to meet their quota, steelworkers who walk in the clouds, those driving a hammer and a nail in extreme temperatures and so many others who tirelessly do the work of keeping our daily lives moving forward.   For many of our forty-hour workers, their work is dependent upon punching a tim...