Author Archives: Lisa Lewton

A Parent’s Practice of Holding On & Letting Go: Part Three

In one of my favorite books, “An Altar in the World,” Barbara Brown Taylor points out how difficult it is to get lost. As long as there is a phone within reach, and there usually is, you know exactly where you are.

This is both comforting and…a bummer! Getting lost is a practice that can be traced back to Abraham and Sarah. Taylor suggests God’s only reason for choosing these two not-young people to create a nation was their willingness to enter a wilderness and get lost.

Getting lost can be a spiritual practice. When we cannot rely on Google Maps to guide us, we might be awakened to our need to rely on God to guide us.

This is the last post in this series. You are accompanying me through a season of getting lost. In this season of parenting, I am finding my way through a new wilderness. Earlier this week, we dropped off our oldest to begin basic training for the Army National Guard.

This particular wilderness looks like it does for anyone who has dropped off a kid college, except we have no contact with him until the Army says so. This is the intentional process – an abrupt entrance into the wilderness for him and for his parents.

While I shuffle my own way through the wilderness, so does my son. He is in a new place among new people all because he was willing to get lost. Getting lost is a formative process, and as Taylor describes it, leaving our established paths, we might discover neighbors we never knew we had.

He may come out of this wilderness with friendships and experiences that enrich the rest of his life. The wilderness gives us up to the care of our neighbor. Time in the wilderness better positions us to notice the kindness of strangers, writes Taylor.

In our home, we are short one Lewton, yet we are, all of us, in a wilderness, which I guess is nice. Every variety of transition is a one-way ticket through the wilderness, where the strangers we encounter may be God in disguise.

Have the paths in your life become too established? Or are you, like my family, moving through a wilderness time? If so, notice the strangers. And let God be your guide, as you let go of the map for now.

Photo by ALEXANDRE DINAUT on Unsplash

“Is It Still There?”

Pastors and Deacons everywhere now find ourselves on the other side of Ash Wednesday. Whew! Communities gathered, ashy crosses were marked and now the Lenten season unfolds…

But not before I share two highlights from worship last night. Wiped clean of its ashes, these anecdotes might bring a smile to your face. Both happened during the imposition of the ashes.

First, an older woman who is not new to Ash Wednesday. Drawing the cross on her forehead, I repeated words she has heard dozens of times over the years: “From dust you have come and to dust you shall return.” “I remember,” she replied. “I remember.”

And one more from a little boy. He has not received as many ashy crosses as the woman who will remember. When I traced the cross on his forehead, he turned around and looked at his mom hopefully, “Is it still there?” It was.

Today, it isn’t. If he didn’t wash off the cross with a washcloth, his pillowcase did the trick. The ashes are wiped away yet the cross remains. That’s the gift of Ash Wednesday. We simply trace over a cross drawn at baptism. The cross is still there, now and always. You are indelibly marked as God’s forever. May you remember. May you remember.

Photo by Grant Whitty on Unsplash

Ash Wednesday Poem

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Today is Ash Wednesday, and so you must

Let go.

Let go of complexities you added to your life that now feel normal. You need much less than the commercials tell you.

Let go of responsibilities you set upon your own shoulders that do not belong there. You need not be so needed.

Let go of your dependence upon your own self. Rely on Jesus for steady companionship.

Let go distractions when you eat your next meal. Notice the fork in your hand, the taste of your food, the faces around the table. Notice what you notice.

Lent is a season of refining and renewing, none of which is easy, yet it does make life simpler. This liturgical season calls you back to remember and to be re-membered with the body of Christ. Your life is nothing more than dust. Ashes. Broken pieces.

Let go of your assumption that somehow you will be the one who figures out how to live forever. You won’t. This life is precious for mortals made of dust and ashes. There is little time for distractions.

Let go, beloved child of our Maker. There is life to be lived in the abundance of less.

Photo by Edward Howell on Unsplash

A Parent’s Practice of Holding On & Letting Go: Part Two

One 4th of July, I tried to make a red, white and blue dessert. I remember there were strawberries, blueberries, cream and Jello involved. When made correctly the layers resembled an American Flag, each color distinct from the next. When made by me, it was mostly purple. The layers melded together. Instead of resembling an American Flag, the dessert reminded you of Barney.

Parenting is something like this. The ongoing challenge is to keep the layers from melding together; to distinguish one person from the next so that the relationship recognizes each distinct person in it.

On Monday, we will drop off my son at an airport. He will fly from there to basic training, where we will meet him for graduation in 10 weeks. Today, we are living in the waiting period, which is where the layers easily turn to purple.

Here is what I mean.

  • I feel sad, but my sadness should not meld into his feelings. He feels excitement (among other feelings). My feelings are mine and not his.
  • I feel apprehension. What is my son’s future? Despite Isaiah’s prophecy, swords are still lifted up. Spears were not beaten into pruning hooks. War remains a possibility. Yet my own apprehension need not be his. He needs to feel his own way through the uncertainty.
  • I feel loss. He will miss many moments in the next ten weeks. Birthdays, holidays, senior prom, and his own high school graduation. And yet, my role is to support his decision that this is the right next step in his life. My own sense of loss needs to remain my own.

Feelings are such a bugger. They spill out of us and, I’m learning, feelings are created by electrical activity in our brains based not as much on reality as our own human experience. Feelings can make our relationships meld together; when anxiety is high, it is easy to forget where each of us starts and stops.

This requires letting go. I can sort through my feelings and offer to help my son sort through his, but in the end I can only let my son’s feelings be his own. I can recognize my own concerns without trying to make them his. I can love and support him by paying attention and tending to my own feelings.

I find that prayer helps. In prayer, I can commiserate with God, who reminds me that my son is his own person and I am mine. As the conversation unfolds, I hear the reminder that letting go is better than holding on. “Just remember the Barney disaster,” God won’t let me forget. “I remember.” God doesn’t mind eye rolls.

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What is Saving Your Life Now?

Barbara Brown Taylor shared this question in her book, “An Altar in the World.” A priest asked her to speak at his church in Alabama. “What do you want me to talk about?” Taylor asked him.

“Come tell us what is saving your life now,” he answered.

His answer was freeing for her. Her assignment was not to pinpoint a message that would be helpful for everyone, which is impossible. Instead, she could articulate how she understood her life at that time.

I once heard an author recall a conversation she had with Sylvia Boorstein, a more seasoned writer. She explained to Boorstein how she felt inadequate as a writer. She was younger and so many writers had more experience, both in life and as writers. Who was she to put words on paper?

Boorstein’s response sticks with me. She advised the new author to write what she knew so far.

Wonder today: “What is saving your life now?” Or, “What do you know so far?”

What might you learn if you slow down enough to stir these questions around in your heart and your mind?

  • What is keeping you going?
  • How does Jesus come alongside you these days?
  • What have you learned so far in your life?

When you reflect on these wonderings, you may be surprised at all that you know! Articulating what you already know offers you a road map for everyday living. Knowing what is saving your life now will help you decide what to do next and what to avoid. Recalling what you know so far will keep you from relearning the same annoying life lessons. Self-reflection keeps you from retaking the same tests over and over again.

But the reflection itself takes time. If you are “too busy” for self-reflection, your own wisdom is left behind. Perhaps you could take 20 minutes to journal your thoughts. Or find one person who will listen to you reflect aloud.

I’ll do the homework first.

  1. Parenting is exhausting. Parenting littles is physically tiring. Parenting olders is mentally tiring, but it’s essential that they know how much you love them even when they do dumb things. I’ve learned that hanging around is key. Be in the kitchen when they’re in the kitchen (which is often). Be in the room without being annoying. (This is hard for me because I like to ask questions.) Don’t ask too many questions.
  2. Yesterday I listened to a podcast that unpacked the importance of relationships. What I heard was how challenging marriage becomes when we expect our spouse to be our primarily emotional and intellectual connection. That one person cannot meet all of our human needs. I now understand, 46 years into life, how essential a friendship can be. Friendship, I learned in this podcast, is an indicator of longevity. And, healthy friendship encourages a healthy marriage because it helps us recognize our spouse is not responsible for meeting all of our needs for connection.

Right now, I know at least two things. And that is enough for now.

Photo by Milan Popovic on Unsplash

A Parent’s Practice of Holding On & Letting Go: Part One

Parents can pack a lot into a life: sign kids up for activities, drive them around to travel sports, desperately squeeze in family dinners, arrange the play dates, teach them how to do this and that. And finally, host the graduation open house.

It happened.

High School graduation is a new milestone in our family. Our first born graduated early in his rush to be an adult. Following his lead, we hosted a very small open house in our living room, enjoyed his favorite foods, walked back in time through the baby books, and marveled at the man in his senior pictures.

An open house is like hitting a pause button, instructing the graduate to wait here for a moment to let it all sink in.

Milestones offer space to reminisce. “Remember that sleepover when you turned six, and I let you invite six little boys because I didn’t know any better?” “Remember your K-5th grade teachers?” “Remember when you tried that sport?” “Wait here while we remember.”

Of course, we can only wait here for so long. We hold onto those old stories like a hot potato knowing eventually we need to let them go, both the stories and the boy.

I’ve learned more than I could imagine in these days since his open house. I now know this is an exhausting milestone! I am weepier and wearier than I expected to be, more uncertain of how long this particular grieving process will take. Whenever we let go of something familiar or significant, this is called grieving. Grieving is the practice of letting go and holding on, it is something parents must do on the regular: letting go of the boy and holding onto God’s promise that God goes with the boy from here.

Meanwhile, God sticks around to hang out with the weepy woman. God has seen this episode before and knows when to hand her a tissue. And therein lies the promise. Throughout our lives, we humans get a great deal of practice letting go, while God does the hanging on.

Photo by Gerhard Reus on Unsplash

Coming Soon: A Parent’s Practice of Holding On & Go

Something quite usual will happen in a few months. Kids will graduate from high school! Although this happens each year, for some of us this milestone is a first.

It is our oldest ordering a graduation gown and mailing announcements. For the first time, we’ve made room on the wall for the senior photo, the one his future family may look at one day and say, “Wow, you were young once!”

Yep. He was young once.

My son hustled through high school when he realized he could earn an income more quickly if he graduated early. So, he did. It’s done. He is a 2024 graduate! If you are a subscriber, I’ll be sending you a newsletter with some super handsome senior pictures!

Milestones are meant to celebrate! They stir up in us a great big pot of feelings. There is gratitude and joy, lament and worry, regret and hope. I wonder if you might walk with me through this parenting season. This is a season of holding on and letting go.

Next week I’ll begin a three-week series to unpack some of these feelings, and to remember together that in the letting go we are free to love these young people like grown-up people.

Photo by Baim Hanif on Unsplash

Sermons and Reels

Hanging out in front of the tv with my daughter last night, I watched what she likes to watch. Often it’s Mr. Beast on the screen, essentially a slightly awkward game show host who gives away exorbitant amounts of money. Or Hopescope, who tries out products she sees on social media.

Last night, she was watching video clips on Youtube called Youtube Shorts. This version of social media reels are, as the name implies, short, lasting 15-60 seconds. They feature ordinary people providing quick entertainment. One person impressively sang and played the piano. Another explained a video that had gone viral, posing as a news reporter. Someone else painted herself green and pretended to marry Duolingo.

The videos went by quickly, one after another after another. And I noticed this was not relaxing for me! There was no time to enjoy one video before the next one started up; no room to get to know the entertainer or appreciate the person’s talent. Perhaps my attention span is too long for Youtube Shorts? Who knows.

I’ve been pondering attention span since listening to an episode of The Ezra Klein show called “Tired, Distracted, Burned Out? Listen to This.” Parents in my generation were among the first to hand their kids a smartphone and then wonder what the heck just happened! It is now normal for a kid to carry around a smartphone by 6th grade. Like many parents, I quickly learned the content and restrictions, adding screen time and downtime limits. My kids signed a covenant before they could enter their first passcodes. I did my best with what I knew at the time.

And now I know I cannot sit through Youtube Shorts! But my kids sure can. The speed of the clips does not bother them like it bothers me. They adapt more quickly and maybe even process what they are seeing more quickly.

It’s important for parents to note that just because something is different and makes me feel slightly uncomfortable does not necessarily mean it is wrong. It’s not wrong that my kids adapt more quickly. This difference in processing does not mean my kids are doing something wrong because I grew up without the same technology.

It does mean that preachers like me need to wonder what will happen with sermons. Unlike 15-60 second clips, sermons are (among Lutherans) 12-15 minutes long, that’s 720-900 seconds.

My sermons are not entertaining like Youtube Shorts, nor are they meant to be. And the Lutheran church is not known for its entertaining light shows. Never has someone left a Lutheran worship service to say, “That was so entertaining.”

Worship, including preaching, is not intended to be entertainment for the consumer. Instead, it is meant to draw a person into a deeper trust in the God who calls us to share Christ’s love by serving our neighbor. To do that, sermons rely on words. Will words, even profound ones, be enough to engage a generation that processes technology incredibly fast?

It may be the first preacher to ask this question was reacting to the invention of the radio! This is not a new question for the church. For now, Youtube Shorts are not my favorite even though my kids enjoy them. I will keep discerning how to faithfully proclaim the ancient promise of God’s saving love in Christ to a people whose brains may be changing, but whose need of this good news is not.

Photo by S O C I A L . C U T on Unsplash

The Holy Spirit is Like a Toddler

If you have been in a room with a toddler for eight seconds, you have heard the words, “Watch me!” The toddler, amazed at every single thing he or she can do, is full of invitations.

“Watch me!” as I wiggle my fingers.

“Watch me!” as I pick up a spoon.

“Watch me!” as I attempt a failed but spirited somersault.

“Watch me!”

In exhaustion from all the watching, you turn away. It is a mere second but in that blink of an eye you miss it you. You miss the miraculous moment. Your center of attention shifts and you do not witness the hilarious attempt at gymnastics.

Life with a toddler means missing many of these moments. There is simply too much action to watch it all. With an abundance to do and scroll and text and engage online, we get caught in the world wide web of distraction.

The Holy Spirit is a like a toddler.

“Watch me!” the Spirit beckons, as it burrows about in our lives.

“Watch me!” the Spirit calls, as it points you in a faithful direction.

“Watch me!” the Spirit whispers, enfolding you with Christ’s love.

“Watch me!” the Spirit shouts to the church, while we are busy doing churchy things that have to do with budgets, buildings and volunteer management.

Blessedly, the Holy Spirit remains as persistent as the toddler. If you miss the first somersault, chances are you will see another one if you wait ten seconds. Miracles abound.

However, would you ponder what it is that shifts your attention from the Spirit’s work in your life? What distracts you? How might you pay better attention to your life with God? How might you actually focus when the Spirit bellows out, “Watch me!”

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Let My Prayer Rise Up

“Let my prayer be set forth as incense before thee; the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.”

Psalm 141:2 (English Revised Version)

It. Is. So. Cold outside!!!

I say this as a person who gets to experience the cold by looking out the window. For the most part, I am safely tucked in a house where the furnace works properly, and I have an excuse to wear pajamas and drink hot beverages all day!

Yesterday was Sunday, which did require non-pajama pants. I wondered out loud at the start of the 8:00 am service, “What are we doing here?” Those of us in the pews had gone in and out of -30 degree weather. “This sermon better be good,” I thought to myself as I prepared to preach. Surely I was not the only one.

This day dedicated to Martin Luther King, Jr. is wonderfully a no-school-for-students day at my kids’ school. Staff had to go out in the cold, but buses did not. No one trudged to a bus stop, no one sat behind the wheel opening and closing a door while trying not to run behind schedule. No crosswalk supervisor had to bundle up and keep traffic moving.

The cold is an equalizer. We are, each of us, vulnerable to its fearsome bite. Creatures of every kind need prayers of mercy in weather like this.

As I witness the exhaust emerge from the furnace pipe of our house, I am reminded to pray. Thank you, Lord, for the luxury of indoor heat. For the protection of insulation hiding within the walls. For hot coffee in the cup keeping my hands blessedly warm.

It is often the case that looking around the interior of our own lives leads to prayers of gratitude. Faith begins with a word of thanks. Thanking God for heat and all manner of daily bread. Thanking God for faith in a Savior whose death and resurrection checked “Get to Heaven” off my to-do list.

Gratitude, however, is not the intent. Living a grateful life may be popular, #blessed, but love for the neighbor is Jesus’ intent. How is your impoverished neighbor in this cold weather? How are those working in emergency management and human services in this cold weather?

Let those prayers rise up like incense.

Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash