church – Page 3 – Lisa Lewton

Disruption at the Communion Table

Like a speed bump not meant to be seen but only felt, the holy surprises you. The holy, or a moment the veil between heaven and earth is lifted, when an ordinary task is accompanied by a deeper and mysterious sense. It is an unexplainable feeling from within that there is more going on than can be seen.

When your day is disrupted by the holy, you know it. And sure, the holy is a beautiful disruption, but still, a disruption. Holiness can really get in the way. As you move through your day and follow your routines, holiness is like the prick of a tiny needle. You remember, if only for a moment, that the air around you is keeping you alive and don’t you forget it. You are alive because all kinds of mini-miracles have occurred in your life. You are alive, caught up in the beauty of life and the mysterious presence of the Spirit.

Last week, when the Communion meal was complete, I was putting the dishes back on the credence table for the thousandth time. I truly love the routine of putting these dishes away after a community has been fed with mercy for the neighbor. When I set down the last of the dishes, the holy, the speed bump, the prick of a needle woke me up. My heart sunk deep in my chest and tears poked at my eyes. It suddenly struck me how incredibly humbling it is to carry the old dishes that have been held by how many pastors before me. They held up the same old silver cup and told the same old, old story of a Savior who would do absolutely anything to fill you with God‘s love, to fill you with God‘s mercy, to fill you with his body and blood. And there I was, disrupted in my routine, pricked by the holy, and all I was attempting to do was stay within the sacred 60-minute bounds of Lutheran worship.

But holiness is a speed bump that cares not how fast you are moving through life, or how smoothly you are handling the everyday routine. The Spirit will remind you in speed bumps and pinpricks that your life is not your own. The air you breathe does not belong to you. The silver dishes I put away do not belong to me. You, mere mortal, beloved child, do not even belong to you.

“Slow down,” the holy nudges. “Take a peek. Here is life.”

Photo by JL Merilles on Unsplash

Annual Meetings and Why God Picked Moses

What is an annual meeting but a reunion of hopes and dreams? A re-gathering of your hopes and my dreams, my hopes and your dreams, grounded (we hope) in the stirrings of the Spirit. At these meetings, we review how resources have been shaped into hopes and approve how future resources are to be shaped into dreams.

A congregation’s hopes and dreams often get knotted up in the how muches and how manys. How many people are there? How much money do they give? How many years will the roof hold out?

Long ago, God called Moses into ministry. Not only was Moses called to be a leader for God, he was to be the voice of God. What terrified Moses was his very ordinary fear of public speaking. How much could God expect from a guy whose public speaking audience had been limited to sheep? How many people would be listening, Moses wondered. I’ll pass, he concluded.

After a few more exchanges, God gave in. He accepted Moses’ counteroffer to let his brother, Aaron, do the talking. Moses would lead and Aaron would speak.

It turns out, our human how muches and how manys do not get in the way when God wants to get something done. When God has an idea, it will happen. We can get on board or not, but no matter how arduously we point out a lack of how muches or how manys, God will make a way.

While annual meetings require human how muches and how manys, we can hardly believe that’s the point. The point of an annual meeting is to check in with the Holy Spirit. Are we listening to the Spirit’s hopes? Did we pay attention to the Spirit’s dreams?

It is a wonder the how muches and how manys tend to work out, as they did for Moses. We, like Moses, will certainly question God’s ideas. Often, they are absurd, at least at first. Why expect the sheep-whisperer to lead straying and wooly people…oh, perhaps that was a good idea, God. Sheep and people share much in common!

Even so, God will present to a congregation an array of mildly absurd ideas that require the time, talent, and treasure of its people. We might try to hold out, but it will work no better for us than it worked for Moses. If we listen, the reunion of hopes and dreams at an annual meeting will also happen to be the hopes and dreams of the God whom we follow.

Photo by Alberto Bigoni on Unsplash

Gratitude Can Be Dangerous

Gratitude can be dangerous.

When gratitude becomes one way to recognize one person or family as more blessed than another, it is dangerous.

Gratitude is not meant to open our eyes to how good we have it and how bad others have it. “At least we aren’t him,” Job’s friends said in the pitying look they exchanged. Gratitude is not eye-opening, but heart-opening. It is the moment our hearts open up to the hard truth that life, at times, can be too much for any of us. Gratitude recognizes that even a moment of peace is a gift from God.

Gratitude is meant to turn our attention away from ourselves to the hand of the giver, who gives not unjustly, but in hopes that all we have would involve a borderless we – a we that stretches and expands like the pantyhose that left all women itchy and irritated.

Gratitude is never dangerous as long as covers the bold and the meek, the haves and the have nots with the same sheer delight that somehow, somehow, a planet full of broken human beings keeps spinning.

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

Is There Ever Enough Coffee?

What is coffee but a dip in the eternal river with the communion of saints? Since its invention, most gatherings in churches have involved a percolator. My cup of coffee connects me to the generations before me who also often relied on coffee to fuel their dreams.

Dreaming is what churches are meant to do. At least, I hope that is still true. If you have been a devoted member of a congregation in the last three years, you might wonder. Along with other public gathering spaces, we stopped serving coffee for a couple of years. When the coffee stopped percolating, I wonder if it halted the percolating of dreams along with it.

Deacons and pastors of your churches can tell you that since Covid, our work now includes an intense and important ministry called digital ministry. If our budgets look the same as they did at the start of 2020, between the lines there are new expenses related to the time spent troubleshooting stream keys and researching digital hospitality. Because of digital ministry, people who are homebound or immunocompromised or too ashamed to walk into a church building or unable to get to the building are an active part of the worshipping body. Digital ministry is an incredible gift from God and I am grateful churches quickly learned to make it happen.

Beginning a new year, however, I now wonder if the intensity of this new ministry, along with other post-pandemic demands has made it difficult to be a church that keeps dreaming. Looking back, these have been busy years simply learning to move from one month to the next. Dreaming is the very best medicine for a church plagued by busyness and troubleshooting.

Is there ever enough coffee to keep fueling all the dreams? Of course. I can’t say what kind of triple espresso John the Baptizer consumed, but he was full of dreams. He proclaimed the news that the greatest dreamer of all was around the corner. And then he baptized the dreamer with water, as the Holy Spirit bestowed on him a renewed power to dream. With the Spirit as Jesus’ guide, he dreamed out loud that the addicted might find a home in the church. He dreamed that power would not be concentrated among people, but would concentrate on the redeeming love of God. He dreamed that children would be cared for, women would have a voice, and the abused would be healed.

That’s a lot of dreaming.

While we drink our coffee at churches, may we be fueled by the Spirit and filled with caffeinated dreams. May our dreams reach people on the other side of the screen, and those who have not yet heard about the dreamer who has come among us. The dreamer not only dreams of mercy for the broken, but became mercy for the broken. Lord, keep your church from becoming too busy to dream. Amen.

Photo Credit: Merve Sehirli Nasir on Unsplash

Be Wary of Being Wary of Strangers

In the past few weeks, two strangers have given me hugs. (Notice your reaction.) Strangers and hugs do not always belong together, I realize. And at times, they do. Individuals have a responsibility to be aware of one another without becoming too wary of one another.

STRANGER #1

Church buildings are regularly visited by people looking for financial help. People who have lost jobs, lost a battle with addiction, lost hope might swing by a church to ask for help. In Western N.D., stories abound of the striking increase in these visits during the Bakken energy boom. Young men came in droves treasure hunting for hope. Nowadays, these visits are irregular.

A few weeks ago, one young man stopped by St. John looking for a help. After listening to his story in hopes of assuring him he is seen and cared for, a fellow human being, we provided a bus ticket for the following morning and a motel room for the night. He was overcome with gratitude, which seemed to me to be genuine. When I walked him to the door, with tears in his eyes this stranger carefully reached out his arms to give me a hug.
Hugs with strangers have a long history in the Christian tradition. The Old Testament is structured around one particular commandment that did not explicitly make it into the top ten. The command that drives the story of the Hebrew people is this: Welcome Strangers. The Christian Church only exists because of first century households who welcomed a stranger named Paul, whose sketchy story involved miracles and name changes.

STRANGER #2

Yesterday I had the honor of presiding at a funeral and remembering a beloved child of God who is held forever in Jesus’ arms. It was a sad day for the community gathered around this family I have known and loved a long time. I made it through the service but not out of the building before my face became a wet mess.

I was nearly to the doors, nearly to safety of my car when a woman I do not know saw me and reached out her arms. “Thank you,” I muttered, smearing her shirt with my tears.

The letter to the Hebrews features a famous verse instructing us to show hospitality to strangers. They might be angels in disguise, we learn, which sounds more like a line from a Disney movie than an epistle. Strangers may not look like angels, but they certainly look like human beings. And sometimes, that is reason enough for a hug.

In the Noise and in the Silence

It took me years upon years to learn why parenting littles was absolutely exhausting. Aside from the sleep deprivation and the fact that often our most demanding work years fall in the same season, kids require every iota of an introvert’s energy. Did my sons, whose birthdays fall within twenty months, care that I identify as an introvert?

Toddler Sons: “Mom, play cars, trucks, tag, push me on the swing, read me that book, watch me, watch me, watch me!”

Mom: “Actually, the introvert that is me requires blocks of quiet time and alone time, so I’m just going to sit by myself for a while as you risk your life being a toddler.”

Toddler Sons: “We completely understand. Go and feed your soul while we sharpen knives in the kitchen.”

There is no “tv timeout” that allows for an introvert to recover from so much people time. Even time with our own family in our own home as any introvert knows, can be over the top exhausting.

I’ve been recalling this as my kids are older and do actually allow introvert recovery time. They do their own thing, have their own friends and do not demand, “watch me, watch me, watch me” all the live long day. I can sit and read chapters of a book. I can take a walk. I can drink a cup of coffee while it’s steaming hot.

It is easy for me, too, to do my own thing. And yet, a fundamental need for all humans beings requires sitting together some of the time. Even if no words are exchanged, each one of us needs someone to regularly look us in the eye to assure that we have not mistakenly put on an invisibility cloak. I need your eyes to assure me I matter to you.

I recently sat with an elderly dude whose entire world is about to change. He told me his story a few times in the half hour or so we sat together. I didn’t need to say anything, but my eyes (and I suppose my ears) assured him he was heard. Words matter less when the person you sit with knows he matters to you. I did not know him well, but I did know we are both beloved children of God who need someone else’s eyes to remind us God sees us, too.

In the noise of life with young kiddos, we assure them they matter with our songs and silly conversations and with pushes on the swings that surface the giggles. As we grow older, it is often in the silence that we come to know and remember someone notices we are still here. Hanging out in this life, as unsure as anyone else what comes next.

Change (John 4:46-54)

(John 4:46-54 NRSV) ⁴⁶Then [Jesus] came again to Cana in Galilee where he had changed the water into wine. Now there was a royal official whose son lay ill in Capernaum. ⁴⁷When he heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went and begged him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. ⁴⁸Then Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.” ⁴⁹The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” ⁵⁰Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. ⁵¹As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive. ⁵²So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.” ⁵³The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he himself believed, along with his whole household. ⁵⁴Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.
http://www.bibleoremus.org

Lately, I’ve taken to writing in the company of a lava lamp, a quirky re-gift that I scored a few years back in a white elephant gift exchange. The liquid is blue and the “lava” is a bright green, calling to mind the gurgling water in The Simpsons nearby radioactive lake with singular-eyed fish.

I love this lamp. In college, a similar lamp gently illuminated my dorm room, its mysterious liquid gracefully changing form again and again. One moment, four tiny balls of lava were bouncing around, the next, it had stretched into a piece of taffy, and then it became one enormous, satisfied glob.

Almost like a crystal ball, the lamp has given me assurance that change is an essential process to lead to the next thing. Change occurs only so that the another thing may mysteriously occur, so the lava can transform into something new.

This is true as Marcus and I talk through high school registration options for next year with our boys, reviewing forms labeled “sophomore” and “junior”. These new class labels preview changes that will occur so that our boys’ lives may continue to change, one year at a time. The changes are not as graceful as the mysterious liquid in my beloved lamp, (childhood is hard on everyone, if you recall) and yet they are mysterious changes that will transform our boys into something new.

Change is also Jesus’ thing. A few weeks ago, Jesus changed water into wine. Then, Jesus changed Nicodemus’ mind. Last week, he changed a woman from unacceptable to accepted. These changes are just as cool as the transforming lava substance in my lamp, and equally mysterious!

The story above is told when Jesus changed a sick and dying child into a healed and living child, which was sure nice of him. John’s gospel presents a mere three healing stories, far fewer than the other three gospels. In the other gospels, it is common to hear of Jesus changing sickness into health. John’s book is more frugal with these types of changes, and I find this to be refreshing. Sickness does not always change into health. Sickness can change into remission, can change into hospice, as is true this week for my dear friend, Terry. Change is a mysterious process, a sifting around of the lava so that a new transformation may occur.

For those raising kids, change is the air you breathe. Kids grow. They like you one day and dislike the next! They do the right thing and do the wrong thing and up and down and back and forth the changes go. I’m pinpointing the good news in this story not to the healing, but to the changing. Changing, as the lava lamp proclaims, is a steady promise. All things change and not always in the way we desire. But still they change.

For the father of the man in John’s gospel, his sorrow was changed into relief. For you and for me, all of our sorrows are finally changed into relief. Into hope. Into rejoicing. Jesus changes death into life, which is the change that holds us steady when the miracle we waited for does not come. When life unfolds unfairly and without much common sense.

What changes are you presented with in this season of your life? Are you walking your kids through big changes in their lives? Could you hold those changes alongside Jesus’ promise that change can look like four tiny balls changing into a piece of taffy changing into an enormous, satisfied glob because, in the end, change is Jesus’ mysterious, steady, and transforming good news.

When the Bucket Dropped (John 4:1-42)

(John 4:7, 10-15, 28, NRSV) ⁷A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” ¹⁰Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” ¹¹The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? ¹²Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” ¹³Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, ¹⁴but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” ¹⁵The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” [v. 16-27] ²⁸Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city…
http://www.bible.oremus.org

These verses are tucked into the Samaritan woman at the well story that occupies most of chapter four. If it is not familiar, I encourage you to read John 4:1-42. The story begins when the woman went to the well to fill her bucket with water and it ends when the woman leaves the well with no water and no bucket. She does not, however, leave the scene emptyhanded. Between the beginning and the end, the woman has a conversation with Jesus.

What does a conversation with Jesus amount to? Enough to fill an empty bucket?

I recently remembered the month of January tends to be busy for me. Somehow, I’d forgotten! It is annual meeting season, nomination time, Lent planning, and this year, associate pastor call process. There have been many conversations with myself in my head. “Did I remember to…?” “When will I…?” “How would I like my coffee today?”

What conversations take place in your head when the days get busy? How do you sort through the questions? How do you listen for answers? The woman at the well, taking part in an actual conversation and not one confined to her busy mind, was deeply listening to Jesus. Jesus had something to offer, something she did not know she was looking for, something that required her to listen and let go.

Our minds are empty buckets we fill with so much conversation. “What will they think of me?” “What if I fail?” “Will they like me?” “Do they think I’m smart?” “Will I fit in?” These conversations unfold mostly in our heads. When we listen for the answers to these empty questions, we stop listening to Jesus. We hold tight to our genuine need to belong and be seen in the world, meanwhile Jesus’ part of the conversation goes unheard.

What does a conversation with Jesus amount to? Enough to convince you to unfurl your fingers and let go. Enough to loosen your grip on the empty questions and notice you are already tightly held in the grip of Christ’s love. When Jesus is finally heard in the conversations in your own head, there is at least a single moment when everything else falls away, your empty questions like her empty bucket. Do you belong? Are you seen? Yes and yes, answers Jesus.

I find the woman in this story to be an extraordinary teacher. She managed to listen to the words that mattered and to set aside the ones that did not. The odds were against her, if you pull back the curtain on the cultural norms of her day. She had every reason to hear only her side of the conversation, informed by a lifetime of bad experiences. Her circumstances had convinced her she belonged nowhere and was seen by nobody.

Was it that she listened so intently or that Jesus’ words were so piercing? Or both? What would it take for you to listen today for Jesus’ contribution to the busy conversation in your head? Perhaps I will give it a try.

I would love your thoughts on this story to shape the Prayers of the People this weekend. What empty questions and conversations fill your mind? Do you find it hard to hear Jesus’ part of the conversation? What do you hear when you do let him get a word in edgewise? You can post a comment on Facebook or email me at lewtonwriter@gmail.com to share your thoughts!

How to Have a Theological Discussion (John 3:1-21)

(Photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash)

(John 3:1-21 NRSV) Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. ²He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” ³Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” ⁴Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” ⁵Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. ⁶What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. ⁷Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ ⁸The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” ⁹Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” ¹⁰Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? ¹¹“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. ¹²If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? ¹³No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. ¹⁴And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, ¹⁵that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. ¹⁶“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. ¹⁷“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. ¹⁸Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. ¹⁹And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. ²⁰For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. ²¹But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”
www.bibleoremus.org

Of course, I am not Jesus. In no way, shape or form would I compare myself as a pastor to Jesus the rabbi and the guy who died for my sins. However. I must say that when a curious person approaches me with a theological question to kick off a theological discussion, I am so much gentler than this rabbi! As a pastor, I meet a curious person where they are in their theology and experience, wherever that happens to be.

Reading this text, Jesus comes across as abrasive to me, hardly receptive to the reality that a devoted Pharisee (in many ways Jesus’ archnemesis) has willingly approached him in order to learn from him! And Jesus seems to have little interest in meeting Nicodemus where he is.

Nicodemus first admits he cannot understand how Jesus does the signs he does, such as turning water into wine. Jesus shoots back at him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

What?????????

How did Nicodemus, who had gathered so much courage to find Jesus in the dark of night to escape the notice of his Pharisee friends, keep himself from turning around and sneaking out the backdoor? What kept him in the conversation that was sinking farther and farther from his theological understanding? Why is Jesus, in my perspective, so hard on this curious dude?

If you were to ask my one-line advice of how to change the world, it would be this: “More curiosity, less certainty.” Only when we are as courageous as Nicodemus to admit when we do not understand, do we become open vessels to be filled with new mercies.

Jesus uses a different approach to theological discussion that looks to me like confusion and criticism. And that reminds me of how theological discussions often unfold today. “I know this and therefore you are wrong.” “I am a democrat/republican/libertarian/white person/nonwhite person/old person/young person/impoverished person/rich person/a man/a woman/Protestant/Catholic/Evangelical/just so right and therefore why would I try to learn anything from you?”

These days, the discussion, if ever we can call the way we exchange theologies a discussion, is like trying to play tennis with a medicine ball. We do not get very far and we miss the whole point. We use the wrong equipment. Instead of curiosity, we use condemnation. Instead of the faithful Jewish way to discuss theology, which is centered in the questions, we cling to easy answers.

Nicodemus utters questions in this dialogue. Jesus gives answers. We do not know how the discussion ends, although we do know Nicodemus is sympathetic to Jesus’ ministry each of the two times he appears later in John’s Gospel (7:50-52, 19:38-42). Nicodemus was not put off by Jesus’ abrasiveness. We might surmise that Nicodemus, who came to Jesus in the dark, was awakened by his words: “those who do what is true come to the light…” Later on, it is in daylight that Nicodemus the Pharisee helped remove Jesus’ body from the cross in John 19:39. In the light, he cared for the one whose body did not survive the darkness.

One takeaway to this story may be that Jesus can have whatever kind of theological discussion he darn well chooses! It can be abrasive or gentle, dialogical or a lengthy monologue. While that works for Jesus, it will never work for humans in the 21st century.

How do we talk to each other about God?
What do you do when a friend with a contrasting view of the Bible insists hers is the only acceptable view?
How do we respond to those who imagine one exclusive translation or approach to the Scriptures? Or that Jesus would die only for certain people? Or that Jesus wants the best for only a particular group?

I would not do what Jesus did with Nicodemus, which would shut down a discussion. We can, however, trust that when light seeps into a discussion, there is wiggle room for the Holy Spirit. And maybe, months or even years down the line, as was true for Nicodemus, good will come from that discussion.

Tell me, have you ever been part of a theological discussion that went well?

Thank You For Endings & Beginnings

It is with a touch of embarrassment that I admit to you the podcast episode I chose the other day. Among the bazillions of entertaining, educational, and inspiring episodes, I chose to listen to…the episode all about paper planners.

Because I am a nerd.

Allow me to demonstrate.

Every turn of the planner page to a new week or new month is delicious, like discovering a new blend of coffee or new trail to walk. Oh, the possibilities! New flavors, new sights and sounds to explore, blank pages on which to transcribe my day-to-day life as I expect it might unfold. Notice, a blank page can only be found when the previous page is finished. For a new thing to begin, another must end.

The end of December will be accompanied by another ending for myself and our congregation. We will say goodbye to my excellent pastoral partner and his excellent family. Together, St. John will bless them on the way to his next congregational call and to the place where God is calling their family to begin. The turn of the paper planner to 2022 will mark a significant ending and beginning for me as a pastor and for the church I serve.

I’ll admit with less embarrassment than my earlier admission that it wasn’t long ago I dreaded the idea of this particular ending. Pastors are human and we come and go and no goodbye comes as a complete surprise. Even so, transition and change you well know, can be tiring. Prior to my current pastoral partner, three pastors came and went in five years while I remained on staff. As trying as the changes were, those beginnings and endings, endings and beginnings, led to my current partner and a partnership that has been joyful and fun.

Goodbye might be no one’s favorite word, yet at the same time, it might be a word that turns the page to something new. To be clear, new is not always better or easier or more fun. New might fit like the wrong size of tights!

When someone retires, it often takes time for it to feel right. The new is confusing, like finding your way in a new school, or when the grocery store does this terrible thing and shuffles food around and all you want is your favorite box of crackers. Or when someone you love dies and the new page of that planner is missing entirely because you don’t even know how another day could begin.

What occurred to me as I listened to the paper planner people is the silly comfort I find in having words on the page of my planner. It brings such comfort when my daily plans and wider dreams are words on the page of a lovely Rifle Paper Co. spiral bound, for example. As though writing down plans and dreams will assure that they happen, as though the loveliness of the paper will protect me from the endings.

Life, of course, is more than plans and dreams. It is endings and beginnings, pages and pages of the planned and mostly unplanned. It pains me to admit that the unplanned may be the most valuable of all. Probably not in the thick of it, but looking in the rearview mirror, you can see growth and maturity and deeper faith is written where you expected ordinary, stable plans.

Which is why the type of paper planner you buy isn’t as important as using a pencil. At least the pencil might remind you that plans are subject to change, and beginnings follow endings.

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