Rhythm of Retreat

From the day after Easter until July 1, I served as Acting Rector of Bruton Parish while our Rector was on sabbatical.  What an experience of having to think about ALL THE THINGS!  It was my job to keep the ship on course, and I did.  When Chris returned, I happily turned the wheel back over to him, and after a week of overlap drove away for my annual retreat.

Mountains are my favorite place to be, and after discovering the hermitages at the Valle Crucis Conference Center near Boone, NC last year, I had decided to return.  Perfect little cozy wooden cabins each with its own porch and rocking chairs, a jewel of a tiny chapel, mountains, cool nights with windows open to the mountain air, quiet, no mosquitos.

I have now been on enough retreats that I have discovered they have a rhythm.  And my rhythm is not necessarily like anyone else's - if only I could remember that!

First day = sleep.  Lots of it.  Usually sleeping late and falling back asleep and sometimes even going to bed early.  It's also a good day to take care of details like paying for the retreat, making sure I have food, getting unpacked and organized, and if there's something pulling at me like shopping in the local town or hiking, then it's a good day for that, too. Being gentle is important.  If I want to sit and stare, then I need to do that.  If I want to shop and hike, best to get it out of my system.  This time I knew that sleep would be the order of the first day.  Plus a trip to the Mast General Store and a walk on the labyrinth in the field below the main conference center.  Since I often intend to write on my retreats, it's important to remember that I'm not going to write on that first day.  Maybe a journal entry, but most of my time is spent settling in.  I am full of gratitude to be away.

Second day = more sleep.  This is where I fall into the trap of thinking that I have rested enough and it's time to Get To Work.  Whether that work is writing or hanging out with God or whatever, I feel the need to be productive at retreating.  This time I gave it a name - 2nd Day Low.  I'm no longer generous and gentle.  My inner critic starts expounding upon how I'm already failing at retreat - time's a ticking, and I'm wasting all this precious time that I've set aside to do nothing.  I start looking around for snacks, preferably of the chocolate variety.  I organize the books, notebooks, and I start reading.  Surely reading counts as productivity.  This time I read about Valle Crucis, Julian of Norwich, the enneagram - particularly type 9 which is me, and writing as a spiritual practice.  I also worked on The Recovering and the memoir that I've been assigned in my writing class.  And a cute little pocket edition of Monk in the Marketplace which led to a necessary internet search to see how much it would cost to order the full edition.  I wish I were one of those people who would take a technology sabbatical while on retreat, but I'm not.  Frequently I get pulled to the Internet to look up some important detail which CANNOT WAIT.  Late in the afternoon I was able to convince myself to start laying out the notecards for my book project and putting them in order while reading through old journals to get my chronology right.  With notecards spread across the floor and no writing done, at the end of the day, I'm still full of gratitude, but frustrated that I'm not better at retreat.

By the third day, I'm starting to be less tired.  More settled in.  I can usually cajole myself into getting up a little earlier and sitting down to write something.  Progress at last.  I stop reading about Valle Crucis and Julian and start focusing on writing or reading that pertains to what I'm writing.  I get my cards done and start transferring the scene and chapter titles into the material I've already written.  Bring order to the whole.  My writing class about creating a blueprint for the memoir is helping me with structure, and once I get all these headings in, I'll know what else I need to write, what I need to cut, and where this whole thing is headed.  There are discrete sections now that need to be written, and I can start anywhere I like.  It's just that there are so many of them; it's overwhelming.  Still, I've started, and that's progress.  Plus I removed about 15,000 words that don't fit in the current structure.  I'll keep them elsewhere for something else.  I get a short walk in and am happy to move my body. On this night I finish reading the memoir for my writing class - homework done, I can concentrate more fully on my own writing for day 4.

Day Four - Usually this is the last day, the most productive day, the day when I'm motivated because it's the last day, and sometimes the day for a hike or nice dinner.  But on this retreat I have given myself an extra day.  I'm still motivated, wanting to write, but I'm also restless.  It storms all day, but I'm no longer so tired that I want to curl up and sleep.  I can't get away from myself by taking a walk. I'm stuck in the cabin with me and my book, and suddenly I hate my book.  I know I'm a terrible writer.  Everything I'm putting down is boring.  It's not like I'm going to get published anyway.  I might as well trash the whole thing.  I finally convince myself to journal and I beg God, "Help me!"  Then I text my writer priest friend Elizabeth who helps me get unstuck and writing again, and I spend several hours typing steadily. The rain stops for sunset, so I take a longer walk to enjoy the beauty all around me, I pray Compline in St. Anthony's tiny chapel,  and then write and read more before bed. Sleep comes slowly, but I'm still so grateful for this time and that I have one more full day.

Day 5 is today.  I don't think I've ever allowed myself this many days, so this is a new one. Unfortunately my inability to get to sleep last night wrecked my attempt to start getting back to a more normal schedule - when left to my own devices, I will always migrate toward staying up late and sleeping late.  So I slept later than intended and have gotten off to a slower start.  It wasn't supposed to be raining today, but it is off and on.  My reward for work today is a hike down to the waterfall this afternoon.  It may seem like I'm avoiding by writing this post, but another goal for the retreat was to make a blog post, and so I'm getting that done now.  Then I'll turn back to the book.

It has been such a good time of rest and renewal.  Porch sitting, gazing at clouds and rainbows and birds and flowers and bunnies and trees.  Eating vegetarian all week with salads and fruit and whole wheat pasta.  Sinking into books.  Still getting distracted plenty, but having enough time to be distracted and then return to my purpose.  There is no right way to take a retreat.  No single right observance of Sabbath.  The only right way is doing it at all.  Finding the rhythm that works and not worrying about what gets accomplished.  Letting go of the need to produce and paying attention to what I need.  Listening to God.  Getting restless and distracted.  Returning to listening.  The rhythm speeds up and slows down.  All a part of the whole.  Thanks be to God.

Goose Peek-a-boo

In the past ten days I have been blessed with an abundance of meaningful work.  It started on Ash Wednesday when I preached and celebrated the early morning service, spent some time at SpiritWorks, imposed ashes for a couple of hours in the Bruton Chapel, and assisted with the evening service.  The next morning I helped make a presentation on behalf of SpiritWorks and made several pastoral care visits.  That weekend I co-facilitated the Bruton Women's Lenten Retreat.  Tuesday I had the early morning service and the nursing home service and more pastoral visits plus the afternoon at SpiritWorks.  Wednesday was a relatively normal work day except for a visit to court to support a friend.  Thursday saw pastoral care visits and planning and presenting the evening Lent forum talk on Contemplative Prayer.  Yesterday I led a Women's Retreat in Norfolk on story telling.

Whew!  By yesterday afternoon, when I had made the drive back to Williamsburg, I was a walking zombie.  I laid down on the couch for "just a few minutes" before heading to dinner with Jan, and conked out for a half hour.  Following a rich dinner with homemade coconut chocolate chip pecan ice cream for dessert, I decided to walk the labyrinth just to stretch my legs a bit and to wrap up the intense few days.

Once at the labyrinth, I started slowly onto the path, trying to release the work I had done, and thanking God for all the things going well.  About a quarter of the way through the walk in, I felt agitated with exhaustion.  I don't want to do this, I thought.  I just want to go home.  I also had to pee.  You can't quit before you get to the center.  If you want to stop then, fine, but you need to go at least that far.

So I kept walking, wondering if I could keep putting one foot in front of the other when all I wanted to do was lie down.  When I got to the center, I stood there.  Okay God.  My well is dry.  I need you to fill me back up, to restore me.  I've got nothing left.  As I stood there in the heart of the labyrinth, I heard some squawking and saw two Canadian geese flying west.  When they got close to the labyrinth, they turned and started heading straight toward me.  I ducked, though they probably wouldn't have hit me, but it looked like their flight path was lined up with my head.  As I ducked they veered slightly upward and flapped over to the grass on the north side of the labyrinth where they landed.

You're not funny, God.

My mood lightened, and I decided to take the path all the way back out, instead of crossing over the lines.  I knew it would take another ten to fifteen minutes, but I thought I could make it before I keeled over or my bladder burst.  My step was a little lighter on the way out, and my shoulders felt less slumped.  The sun was heading for the horizon, while streaks of clouds began to pinked.  Golden light illuminated the upper bare branches of the sycamore tree on the south side of the labyrinth.  I hunched a bit inside my coat as the chill air started me shivering.

Squawking began again, and I noticed the two geese had approached the labyrinth.  They waddled to the other side of the eighteen inch cinder block wall between the street and the labyrinth.  The wall obstructed the lower half of their bodies, but I could see their black heads with the white neck stripes above the wall.  As I made a turn in the path, I looked over and the geese were gone!  Where did they go?  Then their heads popped back up.  I giggled.  After the next turn, I only saw one head.  I stopped to watch.  As if they were participating in some synchronized goose choreography, their heads bobbed up and down in time.  I guessed they were looking for dinner but the black and white heads disappearing and reappearing from behind the low wall tickled me until I laughed out loud.  The geese stopped squawking and both turned their heads to look right at me.

"Yes, I'm laughing at you," I replied to their curious looks.  "But it's the gentlest, kindest sort of laughter."

As I walked, they continued their funny game of peek-a-boo until I saw only one head for some minutes.  When I left the labyrinth, I had to check to make sure the other one was still there.  I kept breaking out into laughter as I walked.  When I emerged, I felt refreshed and renewed from my laughter and the delight of the bobbing geese.

Climbing into my car, I lingered, looking west at the sky that had begun to burn orange above the small herd of deer munching their evening meal of grass.  The two geese remained between the labyrinth wall and the street, no longer interested in me but curiously searching the ground for whatever geese eat.

It was only later that I thought about the bobbing goose heads and wished I'd caught them on my camera.  On the other hand, I'm glad I didn't even think of it, too present in the moment to worry about capturing it for later.

Star Words for Epiphany

I have never been big on making New Year's resolutions.  Sure, I always want to be kinder, lose 10 pounds, and grow closer to God.  But I have not found that making resolutions helps me do any of those things.  In the past few years, I have adopted a word for the new year.  Usually it comes to me. One year my word was listen.  Another year it was courage.  I think last year it was time.  I wanted to live into the idea that there is enough time.  Not sure that one was very successful.  Basically I ponder that word through the year and seek ways to live into it more fully.

This year I hadn't considered resolutions or words until last week.  I was preparing to preach for two baptisms at First Fridays, and I came across a post about star words.  Now maybe I'd heard of them in passing, but I didn't remember them.  From what I can tell, Presbyterian clergy seem to have started them.  Star Words are given out on Epiphany.  They are words written on a cut out star.  Just as the magi followed a star to find Jesus and brought him gifts, so, too, we seek a closer relationship with the divine.  Our word can be a guiding star during the year, a word to ponder in our hearts as Mary did with all that she saw and heard about Jesus.  It can be a word we live into, that we use to connect us with God, to lead us deeper on our spiritual journey, to guide us into the new year ahead.

As I was journaling about star words, the word endurance popped into my head.  So I wrote it down, thinking that was a good star word.  Sometimes I can get worn out and give up, and it seemed that endurance might be good for me.  Except that it made me a little tired just thinking about it.  Then I moved into a listening to God exercise and the word I got then was gentle.  Seemed at odds with the first word until I spoke with my spiritual director, and we put them together - gentle endurance.

On Friday night I created star words for the First Fridays congregation. We passed them out at the end of my sermon, but I had to wait until after the service to draw mine.  Harmony.  I like that word.  Perhaps gentle + endurance = harmony.  Looking forward to how these words will work on my life in the coming year.

Happy Epiphany, everyone!

What word is choosing you in this new year full of possibility?

Advent I

Yesterday it took me three matches to light the first candle on my Advent wreath. The first time I didn't hold the flame to the new wick long enough for it to catch. The second time, the flame caught, but in the moment that I turned away to put out the match, the candle flame had smoldered out. The third time I stayed close, making sure the flame had fully caught before dousing the match. Sometimes light is like that. It requires waiting, perseverance, and nurturing for it to kindle into flame.

And hope.

If I had given up after the first try, the candle would have remained unlit. But I had hope that if I just kept trying, the light would come.


Advent is like that. Waiting, hoping, keeping faith that the light will come. That the darkness will not overcome it.

When I was working in the theatre in my early thirties, I had the blessing of being unemployed several years during Advent. It may sound strange to call it a blessing, but it seemed that I always came down with a cold in December, and having time off from work allowed me to take care of my body. Being unemployed also meant that I had an abundance of time to sit quietly and reflect, to write, to read, to pray, to pay attention. Lack of employment also meant that I was poor, well, relatively speaking in 1st world terms, though still quite rich when compared with much of the rest of the world. I didn't have much disposable income, so I was forced to get creative with Christmas gifts and hand make as many as possible. I had to choose carefully the gifts I purchased in order to stretch my meager funds as far as I could. The luxury was that I had plenty of time to travel to be with family and friends and to share the gift of presence.

This year I am very meaningfully employed. I also have some unexpected expenses that are causing me to scale back on holiday spending. And I'm grateful. As I think about all the stuff that my friends and family have, I know that they don't need more from me. Instead I am scheming to spend more time being present – to other people, to myself, to God.

This Advent I am make a renewed commitment:
to resist the clarion call to deals and sales and to seek meaningful gifts from the heart,
to pray for the light that will pierce the darkness our world now experiences,
to stay awake to the pain and suffering of others instead of numbing myself with distractions,
to banish anxiety and despair and to cling to hope.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it. That is what we are waiting for this Advent and every Advent. The light that shines in the darkness. May it quickly come and remain kindled in our hearts.

Sermon for Sunday, November 11, 2018 - Highs and Lows

 Highs and Lows

Anyone who’s participated in a group led by Deacon Jan or myself knows that we always begin with highs and lows.  We go around the room and invite each person there to share something that’s going well and something that’s not going well.  It brings everyone’s voice into the room and allows us to know what’s going on with each other, what’s alive for each person present there that day.

We don’t have time to do highs and lows for everyone here this morning. So, I’ll just mention a few that are on my mind and may be on yours.  I’m going to start with the lows:  the shooting that claimed 12 lives at the Borderline Bar and Grill in Thousand Oaks, California, the fires that have taken homes, lives, and whole towns in both southern and northern California, and the continued hostility in our country’s public discourse and politics.

Highs have included seeing the bags for the Thanksgiving food drive coming in, a win for William and Mary this weekend, and the large number of voters who turned out for the mid-term elections.  Whether your candidate won or lost, I’m betting that a high for most of us since Tuesday has been the end of campaign ads.  

There are also some historical highs and lows that we’re remembering this weekend.  Friday night marked a true low, the 80^thanniversary of Kristallnacht, the night in 1938 when a pogrom was carried out against the Jews in Germany, killing close to a hundred, destroying thousands of synagogues, cemeteries, and businesses, and sending 30,000 Jewish men to concentration camps.

An historical high is today, when we mark the 100^thanniversary of the end of World War I.  We’ll be ringing the tower bells just prior to the 11:00 service as part of an international initiative to celebrate when the guns went silent after years of war.

Even Veterans Day is a combined high and low.  A low that we have not yet as human beings discovered ways to live peacefully with each other, and so our world is still marred by war. A high as we recognize the men and women who have been willing to serve and risk their lives to protect their country.

I’m sure each of you have your particular highs and lows today as well. 

On Tuesday at the end of the Recovery Bible Study that we hold every week at SpiritWorks, I asked one of our community members if she had any thoughts to share with us about today’s gospel passage.  She said, “Well, I just think Jesus was sharing his highs and lows.”

As I looked back at the passage, I chuckled.  Yes, indeed.  Jesus started with his low: the pride of the religious leaders of his time, who lorded it over others, strutting around in fine garments and taking the best seats, devouring widow’s houses, perhaps by convincing the women to give all they had to the temple.

Jesus ends with his high, turning his attention to one poor widow, among the crowds who are putting their offerings in the temple treasury.  Many of them are making large contributions, but the one he points out to his disciples is the woman who puts in 2 small coins, a pittance, but all that she has.

Now there are two ways that this passage tends to be interpreted by people like me who wear long robes and stand in pulpits and have the best seats in the church.  The first is to suggest that Jesus is holding up the poor woman with her two coins as an example for sacrificial giving, and that we need to do the same.  

A second popular interpretation is to suggest that Jesus is criticizing the temple system of his time.  According to Torah, the Jewish people were required to look after the poor, the widow, and the orphan.  But these scribes aren’t doing that.  The poor widow shouldn’t be in a place where she only has two coins to give because the very institution that she’s giving them to should be taking care of her.    

My guess is that Jesus is doing both things – lamenting that the system is unjust for the widow, the orphan, and the poor, andlifting up the poor woman’s gift as more favorable than the gifts of others because of her willingness to give her all.  

So what are we to do with this story?  It seems unlikely that any of us are going to give everything we own to the church.  As much as it’s tempting to make this a stewardship sermon, I don’t think Jesus pointed out the widow to his disciples in order to inspire or guilt his followers two thousand years later into giving more to the church.  Of course it is good to give to the church!

Or perhaps we’re supposed to be motivated to work for more just systems for the poor of our time.  As Christians we’re always supposed to be doing our part for those who have less than we do, for those who are oppressed for those who are on the margins.  But I can’t help wondering if there’s another message here.  

Jesus sees.  He sees the Temple and its flaws.  He sees the pride and the power of the scribes.  He sees the crowd giving out of their abundance.  He sees the widow.  He sees her in her poverty.  And he sees her giving everything she has.  Just as he will give everything a few days down the road when he dies by the hand of the same systems and institutions that are oppressing her.  

Out of all the people at the Temple that day, Jesus notices this woman and points her out so that the disciples will see her too.  This particular person, in this particular place, making this particular offering.  

Perhaps we’re not called to be like the widow.  Perhaps we are called to seethe widow.  Not as a generic “person over there” who needs our help or our pity.  But as a fellow human being on this earth, another beloved child of God who deserves to be seen and known, just as we do.  An individual person with needs and wants, with highs and lows.  David Lose says, “Championing ‘the poor’ is one thing; knowing the name and taking the time to care about, a specific person who has very little is another thing all together.”[1] 

Sisters and brothers, how many people a day do we pass by and not see?  

How much of the violence and hatred and hurt and pain in this world is caused because people don’t feel seen or heard? 

We’ve all had times when we weren’t seen or heard; it feels awful.  

What can we do to make sure that we see and hear those whom we encounter?  It doesn’t take great wealth to do that.  

It doesn’t take power.  

It doesn’t take influence.  

It takes pausing our own headlong rush through life, looking away from all our distractions, lifting our heads up from our own needs and wants, in order to really see those around us.  To listen to their highs and lows, to hear their struggles and their joys, to understand their particular needs and desires.  

Jesus does that for us.  He sees each one of us.  Our flaws and gifts.  Our pride and our poverty.  Our needs and our wants.  He sees us and loves us.  

As Jesus’ disciples, we are called to notice others.  

See them.  Hear them.  Love them. 

And then perhaps one day, our high every week will be hearing the ringing of the bells of peace instead of the guns of war.  

The bells that call us to worship.

The bells that call us to freedom.

The bells that call us to the joy of walking with our Savior in the way of love.  

Veterans ringing the Bruton Tower Bell at 11:00am on 11/11/18

  

---

[1]David Lose, http://www.davidlose.net/2018/11/pentecost-25-b-seeing-the-widow/

  

Ten Favorite Books - Who Can Choose?

I didn't want to be tagged or invited to the ten favorite/important books game on Facebook.  Not because I don't enjoy a game or want to be a good sport.  But because it's too hard to choose.  How do I pick between Narnia and Oz, between L'Engle and LeGuin, between Anne Lamott and Barbara Brown Taylor, between Middle Earth and Hogwarts, between Sara Miles and Nadia Bolz Weber, between Pern and Gwynedd, between Charles de Lint and Juliet Marillier, between fantasy and science fiction, between books that tell stories and books that shape your own story?  How do I choose between Little House on the Prairie and Little Women?  How do I decide whether Earthsea beats out Darkover?  How do I choose between books that teach you how to write, books that teach you how to pray, books that teach you how to preach, or books that teach you how to act?  (Well, those were pretty easy - you go out and do those things instead of reading about them, but two books about writing did make it to the top 10.)

Let's face it, I love books, always have, always will.  It's too hard to pick out my favorites. The bookshelves pictured are just some of the ones in my house.  They don't include the ones in my two offices or any of the piles of books or the books I read but never bought. These bookshelves mostly contain my favorite books.  Who can choose?

What's been interesting is how many of the books that stick out as my favorites were ones that I read as a child.  Whenever I go to used book stores or sales, I always check the children's section.  Most of Alexander Key is no longer in print - will I find one of his books that someone has finally let go of?  Will I find the books by authors whose names I no longer remember but whose covers I can still see in my head?  Will I finally find those books I checked out of the library in the next town over and loved but never saw again?  Sometimes I do, and I scoop them up and spend time with characters half-remembered.  At last year's Bruton Parish Book Sale, I found Fog Magic, The Westing Game, and Five Children and It.  Delight filled me as I revisited those stories.  You'd think with all the books I haven't read that I wouldn't spend time returning to the ones I have - but there's something marvelous about dipping back into a story that I loved as a child.

Those stories from my childhood and teen years have shaped me in ways that I can't even articulate.  Always the battles between good and evil, the stories of the heroic quest, the tales about learning to believe in oneself.  That's why I tend toward science fiction and fantasy - there's something archetypal in many of those stories that speaks to my soul.

The other surprise was that no books of theology made it to the list.  Nothing from seminary, though I did consider No Future Without Forgiveness by Desmond Tutu and Take This Bread by Sara Miles.  I walked around looking at all my shelves searching for something that I just had to include.  I saw the favorites my clergy colleagues posted, and I wondered what was wrong with me.  I knew I wasn't a scholar, but hmmm...  I'm embarrassed to say that when I first began discerning whether I had a call to ordination, I wrote in my journal, "How can I be a priest?  I'd rather read science fiction than the Bible."  I'm sure that's not the right thing to say, but it was honest.

I finally decided that I would pick 10 books that had stayed with me for a long time.  And then I gave myself 3 extra.  Because as much as I love to read fiction, as dearly as I love to burrow under the covers with a tale of magic and far-off worlds, I cannot imagine my life without William Shakespeare, The Book of Common Prayer, and the Bible.  Talk about the ultimate story of good and evil.  It surprised me how much thinking time I've given to this little game.  Playing has made me want to go back and reread many of my favorites.  But there are four books on my bed and four more on the bedside table.  Guess I'd better keep moving along.




If you haven't gotten to play the game yet, go ahead.  Ten favorite books.  See if you can do it.  I might have to play again.  Ten more.  And then ten more after that.  And then ten more after that...

49! And Going Strong

Today is my 49th birthday.  It's been quite a week.  On Wednesday at the SpiritWorks Women's Group, we celebrated several birthdays, including mine, with coconut cake, cards and laughter.  I received a locket with a labyrinth on it that has quickly become a favorite.  Yesterday, on my birthday eve, as I like to call it, I walked into SpiritWorks and saw a box of Godiva chocolates awaiting me with a beautiful card signed by members of the SpiritWorks community.  Then, in the late afternoon, Lynn Smyth and Jan surprised me with a gathering of friends from SpiritWorks and Bruton.  What a delightful end to the work week.  Tomorrow I leave for a retreat at Valle Crucis in North Carolina, where I will spend the week in a hermitage: hiking in the mountains, writing, reading, resting, and best of all, hanging out with God.  This year I will be on the brink of a new decade of life as well as starting a new decade of ordained ministry.  Seems like a good time to be quiet and listen to God.

For awhile now I have been struggling with what I suppose to be peri-menopausal symptoms that mostly affect my mood.  Anxiety/agitation takes over my body, making me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin.  Depression/hopelessness drags me down, making everything seem difficult.  Fatigue saps my energy and causes me to feel like I'm struggling through molasses to get up in the morning and then frequently overtakes me during the day.  Some days I just put one foot in front of the other.  I've tried many things with varying degrees of success, but recently the fatigue and roller coaster emotions have really been tough.  Thursday I went to Acupuncture Works for my first session of acupuncture, at the recommendation of my therapist.  I hate needles, and I've been known to pass out when giving blood.  But I've been so miserable that I was willing to try anything.

They say acupuncture doesn't hurt, and it's true.  Mostly.  I did feel a little prick from a couple of the needles, but only briefly, and not enough to be upsetting.  With a lavender eye mask over my closed eyes, resting comfortably with pillows supporting my head and knees, I felt like I was floating.  I drifted into what I call "lala land," a place that is almost sleep, but not quite - a place that I imagine some people experience in meditation but I almost never do.  I floated there, head chatter fading after a few minutes, feeling a deep, peaceful rest.  When the session was over, I felt spacey.  That evening I was a little off, going through short spurts of moods, even while I was walking the labyrinth.

Then came what I consider a minor miracle.  Or maybe not so minor.  On Friday morning I woke up before my alarm and had energy!  I don't realize how poorly I'm feeling until I feel good again. And yesterday was truly remarkable.  I had energy all day.  Even with all the cake and other sweets that I ate!  All week I had felt like I was running on the last wisps of fumes of fuel in my tank.  Today I also woke up with energy.  I am so grateful.

I love birthdays.  I always have.  It's the one day we get to celebrate ourselves and how amazing it is that God put us here on this earth.  It's our own personal new year's day.  I've never been one to hide from or dread birthdays.  (There was some grief at 40 when I realized I was probably not going to have children, so that one was bittersweet.)  I embrace them.  I am 49, almost half a century.  Thanks be to God.  My birthday wish is that all of us find joy in each day and love each other well.  May we all know the love of the one who created us and spread that love with abandon.  And may we all wake up with energy and purpose, facing our challenges and blessings with grace and returning to sleep each night with gratitude in our hearts.