A different kind of peace

It was difficult to light the peace candle on the Advent wreath this week.  The kids were fighting and trying my patience, and I extinguised both candles and sent them to bed before we even got to our devotional time.  It wasn't just their fighting that got to me, but the evidence all around of a world not at peace...

Beirut
Syria
Paris
Israel/Palestine
San Bernadino
etc, etc...

There is fighting in my social media feed over gun control and the Second Amendment, even as we have become numb to the news of regular mass shootings and acts of violence in our own country.  When the leader of a well-known religious college incourages students to arm themselves, and a Presidential candidate makes so many racist and Islamophobic injunctions that they are no longer shocking, it's hard to hope in peace.  It's hard enough to find peace within my own heart, my own family.

Perhaps that is why we light the candle.  To hope in the darkness with faith that it will be accomplished.  Maybe it's a signal to stop and breathe, to watch the light as it flickers, and to still ourselves.

One of Maryn's favorite books is The Quiet Book.  I love it, too, and I often equate peace and quiet (and wring my hands that there's so little of either).  It illustrates in sparse words and charming illustrations the different types of quiet:


Pretending you're invisible quiet.
Lollipop quiet.
Swimming underwater quiet.
Last one to be picked up from school quiet.
Bedtime kiss quiet.

It has me thinking of the different types of peace.  What if peace doesn't look or feel like I have imagined?  I think of the different types of peace I have experienced this week...

Walking with a good friend peace.
Saying goodbye to a loved one, even though it hurts peace.
Trusting that doing the little bit we can is enough peace.
Listening instead of speaking peace.
Lighting a candle peace.
Counting to 10 before reacting peace.

Advent calls us to a different way of being, a way of living in expectation and of sharing the light that we already carry with us.  It invites us to not be afraid, but to trust in the light of Christ, who is already with us.  It calls us to be messengers of peace, hope, love, and joy, as we welcome the stranger, the refugee, the homeless.  In doing so, we care for Jesus who was all of these things.  It institutes a counter-cultural way of living that is not about ourselves, but is about bringing the Kingdom of God.  This is a kingdom build not on violence, separation, or power, but on radical love, community, and social justice.

May we light a candle, then, and trust that God's peace is with us.  May we shine that peaceful light into a darkened world and trust in the power of Christ, the light of the world, understanding that the darkness will not overcome it.

Hope for a new year

Advent has begun--the countdown to Christmas and also the start of a new church year.   I realize the gift of grace in having so many new beginnings, from New Year's resolutions on January 1st, to the beginning of the school year in September (and again for me personally in June), and this new church year before the end of the calendar year.  As someone prone to setting high (unreasonable) expectations and then watching in dismay as they crumble all around me, I need these second (and third and fourth) chances to begin again.  It's appropriate that we light the candle of hope first on the Advent wreath, a reminder that we must hang on to hope to make it through the darkness of the season, and the dark seasons of our life.  I can't envision a more powerful metaphor than the light of that single candle.

I seem to lose hope about a hundred times a day, and yet, thanks be to God, it hasn't quite lost its hold on me.  There is a greater power, a Divine love, that whispers to me that this is not the end, that all will be well...that all is well, even when I can't see or feel or understand that.  I was having one of these moments this weekend.  In a conversation with John, I was bemoaning my fears that for all the hard work of our parenting, nothing of value seems to be sticking with our kids.  As both of us are ordained, I specifically worry about how we are sharing our faith with our kids (and worry that we are not intentional enough about it).  It's so much harder than the faith environment of my childhood where the answers were so certain.  Granted, I bear the scars from that and wouldn't subject those I love to the rigors of fundamentalism, but as my faith and belief has grown and become more open, sometimes it seems so big and nebulous that I'm not sure how to share it.  I have cut out so much of the language that excludes and limits, but what words are left to show the ultimate grace and love that has captured me?  The best way would be to show it, to model it, and yet in my exhaustion and frustration, I fear I teach them the opposite of what I would have them to know.

But tonight we sat together in church, as we usually do, and I hoped that the prayers, scripture, and message would seep into their hearts.  I pointed out the change in the liturgical color and we talked about what Advent means.  During the service I looked over to find Maryn drawing an Advent wreath on her paper.  While we were singing the offertory, Brady put down his Pokémon book and siddled up next to me to sing along.  In the communion bread and the wine, we shared a ritual that reminded us of our place as beloved children in the family of God.  What grace.

After getting the kids in bed, I was readying their backpacks for school when I found a paper bag crumpled up in the bottom of Brady's.  I started to throw it away, but something stopped me, and I glanced inside.  There were multiple strips of paper, and I realized there was one from each of his classmates sharing why they were grateful for him.  The reasons included: 

He played with me when no one else would.

He helped me with a project.

He is a good friend.

He cares about others.

He works hard.

He is my BFF and is always there for me.

He is kind.

He is grateful.

These are the things I want most for my children--for them to be kind and loving, using their God-given gifts in service to others.  Reading these reflections from kids who are mostly strangers to me, I realized that they have seen the truth of our sweet boy.   How many times do I miss this?  How often do I overlook the goodness, the spirituality of our children and instead focus on insignficant and temporal things?

Deep down, I know that our children have good hearts.  They are created in the very image of God (and the imperfect but loving images of their parents).  They teach me about love and grace and forgiveness each day.  When I look past the daily annoyances, I understand that they are my own spiritual guides, pointing to God's grace and love.  They accept me as I am, while also pushing me to grow...much as I hope to do for them.

As we enter into Advent and wait for Christ to be born again within our hearts, may we celebrate how God is already with us, within us, and working through us to bring new life into our world.  May we hold on to hope that life is ever new and ever bright.

Grace Upon Grace

Of the many words that could be used to describe me, “graceful” would not be at the top of the list. 

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the most common usage is a way of moving or behaving that is controlled, smooth, and attractive.  This is not my gift.  I have often bemoaned the fact that I didn’t take dance lessons as a child, which surely is to blame for my clumsiness and poor posture.  But perhaps it’s innate as years of (somewhat sporadic) yoga practice and chiropractic visits have not remedied the problem.

I’m also not so good at showing grace (in terms of offering mercy) in my family life.  I’m quick to judge and find fault and can hold on to a small slight for years (just ask my husband).  It is difficult for me to accept things as they are in reality when I have already envisioned how it “should” be in my head.  I’ve held on to scars from spiritual hurts as well.  There’s the church were we worshipped for some time whose tagline “a place of grace” makes me cringe.  I’m still healing from some of the wounds that were inflicted there.

But grace keeps inserting itself into my life.  First it was a friend, a spiritual sister from Jamaica, who I met last summer in my D.Min. cohort.  Grace is not her given name, but is the perfect chosen name for one who is so full of spirit, and so full of God’s hope.  Her words and the way she carries herself are such pictures of God’s favor.  She is a reminder to me to trust in God to be my strength and salvation.

Then there’s the new “member” of our family, an American Girl doll named Grace Thomas, who reminds me of how my daughter is learning this virtue of grace as she navigates her way through relationships and becoming who she was created to be.  While I see dollar signs and more clutter when I look at this Grace, the doll is a companion that my Maryn favors, one that enlivens her imagination and allows her to dream about who she will be.  Maryn loves nothing more than when we are drawing pictures of Grace Thomas together, or creating recipes like the ones that Grace would make in her bakery (sold separately, $500).  Styling the doll’s hair gives us time to sit together and just be, to talk about whatever is on our minds.  That is a grace that I don’t indulge as often as I would like.  

Read more of this post at the A Divine Duet: Ministry and Motherhood blog....