Category Archives: prayer

Thanks for the Who

(Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Unsplash)

In the book, Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, authors Amelia and Emily Nagoski suggest two lovely gratitude practices.

  1. WHO: Give thanks for someone(s) in your life.
  2. WHAT HAPPENED: Give thanks for something that happened that day.

These two practices are inspiring and avoid an icky result of most gratitude practices. Giving thanks for a who and a what happened prevents us from giving thanks for things. Giving thanks for things leads us to be thankful that we have things. Then we notice people in the world who don’t have things, which leads us to feel guilty that we do have things while others don’t. And gratitude becomes an exercise in guilt.

I am excited to practice giving thanks for some of those who are who in my kids’ lives. (You made it to the end of that weird sentence. Good for you.)

*Thank you, Lord, for Driver’s Ed instructors. What were they thinking? Keep them safe.

*Thank you, Lord, for coaches who set aside a ginormous amount of time for an often thankless job. Keep them sane.

*Thank you, Lord, for grandparents. May the trade-off of too-much sugar for so-much sweet grandparent love all work out in the end. Keep them smiling.

*Thank you, Lord, for gracious strangers who reveal comforting kindness at just the right moment, such as when a kid on a bike needs to cross a busy street. Keep them plentiful.

*Thank you, Lord, for the moms who are absolutely real when my kids come over to hang out. For the way they feed my kids with food, hospitality and an honest glimpse at the truth that all our homes are often hot messes. Keep them real.

*Thank you, Lord, for Faith Formation Directors (Christina Jorgensen) who mail my kid a cute card after an amazing week at Bible Camp, who promise that faith in Jesus is cool both at camp and everywhere else. Keep them in that particular job for a very long time. Please.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

The End.

What You Hold, and What Holds You

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Moms can be so fast. We catch rolling objects about to fall from the counter and crash onto the floor. We catch tiny people when they nearly tumble off the couch. We catch and we hold. Moms are trusty catchers and holders.

In my morning prayer, the last words of Psalm 63 (a prayer to God) caught me: “My whole being clings to you, your right hand holds me fast.” Moms juggle, God holds. Moms multi-task, God holds. Moms schedule and administer, God holds.

Always there are changes in your life. Beginnings and endings, trials and tribulations, joys and sorrows. Moms orchestrate through those changes and all the while, God holds. It is the one constant. You who are busy juggling, multi-tasking, scheduling, administering, grieving, worrying, celebrating. God holds.

God holds all the stuff. God holds the promise that you do not do the wild and wonderful work of being a mom alone. And God holds you. That’s the greatest gift of all. You who catch and hold so much from day to day are already held in the constant love of the God who will hold you forever.

Week 3 of 3: The World Needs You to Pray (yes, the world)

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Have you noticed lately the size of the world?

A couple of weeks ago, I told you prayer is a conversation and relationship with God. Listen, talk. Talk, Listen. Last week, I told you prayer begins in your home. Prayer for family members changes your relationship with them.

Now, widen your perspective beyond your own relationship with God, beyond your relationships with family members, and take in a view of the wider world. Could your meager prayer really do something in the great big world and universe in which we live?

Madeleine L’Engle write a book called “A Stone For a Pillow”, part of a trilogy commentary on Genesis. In it, she tells the story of a time her friend confided in her, telling Madeleine a secret. Soon after, that friend wrongly and angrily blamed Madeleine for leaking the secret. Madeleine was ticked. She earnestly prayed to process her sense of hurt and betrayal. Who had actually betrayed the secret? She would never know. And would her friend ever confide in her again?

In one of her prayers, she heard herself say and mean, “Oh God, bless the bastard.”

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Blessings are sticky business in which human beings are entrusted to one another. If it is the people whom we love and who love us back that receive our blessing, our wide world shrinks. It is easy to bless people who like us, but something else to bless the one who betrays us.

In a time of deep divide and animosity in the world, what might happen if we pray for the ones who think and live differently? Could the world take a deep breath if we replace angry rhetoric with curiosity and humility? If our response to the news is a prayerful question instead of condemnation, you know what changes?

You.

And if you change, and then a few other you’s change, and a few thousand you’s change…you get the idea.

Your prayer means something for you, for your family, and for the world. Your prayer might be no more than, “Bless the bastard.” If you don’t believe your prayer means something, try for a week to pray for people you do not like and if it doesn’t do anything to you, you’ve lost nothing. If it does work…Look. Out. World.

Week 2 of 3: The World Needs You to Pray (prayer at home)

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“KITT,” I would say with authority to the invisible watch on my wrist, “I need you to come pick me.” In real life KITT did not, but in my imagination, the talking car immediately responded, like I was totally David Hasselhoff in “Knight Rider”, and away we would go.

(https://screencrush.com/knight-rider-car-for-sale/)

My eight-year old self (and yours) never imagined actual communication through a watch, but now it’s a thing! I splurged on an Apple Watch and spent too much of a Saturday talking to my watch, gazing at it, and being confused by it. I adjusted my fitness goals, set my alarm, read the news, called my dad (like Knight Rider to KITT) and checked the weather a ridiculous number of times. My watch knows me well because I taught it what matters to me, such as moving around during the day, waking up early, and determining how many layers to wear when I go outside.

Prayer is something like being obsessed with your Apple Watch. The more time you spend, the more you are known, both by God and your own self.

If you wonder what to pray about, do not look far. Look at your own body and then at the bodies who are closest to you (maybe not in terms of proximity). Start there. Pray for God to help you know yourself, to understand why you feel the way you do in regard to your own life. Pray for wisdom and imagination. Lighting a candle or three helps.

Then, pray for those who mean the most to you. Pray for your spouse, your parents, your kids, your siblings, your aunt and uncle, grandparents, and cousins. Pray for them one by one, even if it takes some time. You are not praying for something to happen to them. Remember, you are not God and God knows more than you. You are praying for wisdom and imagination for them. For their well-being, for the peace of Christ’s presence to enfold them.

“Prayer is the place where priorities are re-established,” wrote the late Eugene Peterson.

You discover when you pray for your own self and for those closest to you that your priorities shift. You find yourself closer to God. You feel closer to family members. Prayer is not complicated, but it does take time and it may reroute your plans for life. What you had been worrying about might fall away. What had never occurred to you before might appear in your brain. You might come to realize how hard you can be on yourself. God’s resounding grace reclaims its space in your soul when you pray. And you remember you are known already, without the hassle of the Apple Watch, or the Hasselhoff with KITT. You are known, you hear your heart sing whenever you pray.

A preview of next week: In the last week of this short series on prayer, we will wonder what difference your own prayers make in the wider world.

Week 1 of 3: The World Needs You to Pray (First, what is prayer?)

(Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash)

Welcome to a three-week focus on prayer practice. I hope this mini-series meets you where you are and invites you to be gentle on yourself in your own unique practice of prayer. (For a deeper dive into prayer, perhaps a book by one of my favorite authors, Father James Martin, is for you.)

A few weeks ago in a Zoom conversation with my spiritual director, I found myself in tears. Pastor Brice has met with me nearly each month for the past 17 years, beginning at the infancy of my pastoral life. His work as a spiritual director is to direct people to recognize God’s presence. My time with him opens my imagination to the mercy of Jesus Christ in my everyday life.

I entered this particular conversation carrying a few heavy burdens. I was anticipating the long stretch of Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, working diligently to equip the leadership of our congregation to make no-win decisions related to the pandemic, responding to my own kids’ distinct needs, caring for my spouse in the annual high stress of beginning the last quarter of the school year. In a nutshell, I was tired. If you look around, you might notice pastors or deacons who are tired. We carry the weight of people’s displeasure for decisions related to the pandemic, while at the same time are experiencing personal fatigue that has accumulated for the past 15 months. I write this not to lure you into sympathy for clergy, but to give you an unusually honest glimpse into the lives of the people who care for your souls.

With Pastor Brice, I spend roughly 20 minutes in contemplative prayer. I light a candle and stare at it for much of our time. What is it about contained, dancing flames that slows down my breathing and loosens my shoulders? Brice will express a few winding thoughts to move my own thoughts out of the chaotic parts of my brain. I open my eyes just enough to scribble some of his Spirit-filled wisdom onto paper, to capture the moments when I recognize God’s presence. That day, I scribbled around tears that fell on my paper; tears that interrupted the hustle to the empty tomb.

In a podcast with Kate Bowler, Father James Martin describes prayer as intentional, conscious conversation with God. He said, “It’s a back and forth. It’s you sharing yourself with God, and it’s also God sharing God’s self with you in different ways.”

In that moment with my spiritual director, I had finally let God get a word in. When I did, I heard God tell me to quit talking about Jesus long enough to let Jesus do the talking in me and to me. I heard the Spirit in the tears that relinquished me of my responsibility to make a community content. I heard Jesus’ promise to care for all the people, including me.

Prayer practice might look like this for you, if even once in a while. Like any conversation, it does require your attention. Maybe on a walk, in the shower, or while you’re sautéing onions. You might wear some type of air pods to deter people from talking to you while you are in conversation with God.

As you do that, make sure to listen. After all, God, your most faithful conversation partner, has already been listening to you.

A preview of next week: Prayer changes the way you look at your own life, your family, your marriage, and your work. It is the quiet path toward being more gentle on yourself, and more aware of God’s presence.

P.S. Spiritual Direction is not only for pastors. I would recommend it for anyone who would like to deepen your relationship with God. Pastor Brice is obviously my favorite. I did spend time at a monastery several years back and found that to be renewing as well.

P.P.S. I try to publish a weekly post on Mondays, but if you don’t want to miss it, you can subscribe to my blog on the right. Subscribing will also give you a sneak peak at a few extras, including excerpts from a book I expect to self-publish this summer, called “Spiritual Longings in a Woman’s World.”

P.P.S. I find you awesome because you read all the way to the bottom of this post.

A Morning Prayer in the Cold

(Photo Credit: Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash)

Yep, God, I know. You orchestrated another new day. The sky proclaims a new warm shade of pink and in North Dakota it is too crazy cold to see it without a window in between us.

It is a new, freeze-your-nose-hairs cold day and I am not excited to venture out the door. It is cozy to stay in the proximity of a warm bed. Even to glance at it once in a while tricks me into believing it is possible to avoid the exposure of the cold.

If I do that, I would miss taking my kids to school and seeing them flow into the steady stream of classmates and school staff, including superhero crossing guards who chose to leave their cozy homes to keep my kiddo safe. I would miss working in an office with people I appreciate, doing work I do believe matters in the world. I would miss listening to stories of people who need to remember Christ meets them in the dark places of life. I would miss wondering whether I am ever doing another, forgiving myself for my failures, and learning how to be still in the presence of You.

Okay God, I’ll bundle up and venture out the door again. I’ll risk frozen nose hairs and I’ll risk entering into the steady stream of the cold day where I will get some things right and other things wrong. Being human is a constant exercise in the exposure of who we really are and what we truly can and cannot do. These bodies in all their limitations do not always feel so cozy.

So please, God, bundle me up in your mercy. May the frosty air I breathe give new life of a new day so that I might bundle up my neighbor with mercy, too.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

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You, Beloved One of God, are a library of stories.

You are a story of courage and loss. A story of hope and despair. A story of dumb things you did when you were young. You are a story of passion, of adventure, and hope.

I wonder, however, what story you tell about yourself. Several times I have encountered research about the difference between the ways men and women tell their own stories. Men often identity success in their stories while women do not. Women, I’m sorry to say, can be poor storytellers. I know that is true of myself. I’ll look back on the day and the headline will sting with words I’d like to take back and things I would do differently. My story is shaped by my own mistakes, fears, and insecurity.

How do you tell your own library of stories? Can you look back on the past few days and see the light of Christ that beamed in you? The way you were the hands of Christ for someone else? The words you spoke that were shaped by your deepest prayers?

Investigate the story you tell about yourself, you who are made in the image of God. Remember God made all kinds of cool things in the creation story, but only when God made human beings did God say, “Wow, that is good. That is very good.”

God did not call you perfect and has never instructed you to be perfect. Instead, you are very good because God has made you very good. All other stories are in the shadow of the story of the God who made you very good and calls you very good.

Might that be the story you tell about yourself today?

The Show That Inspires Me to Make the Bed

(Photo by Adam Winger on Unsplash)

Do you make the bed?

A few months ago our church staff read the book Liturgy of the Ordinary, by Tish Harrison Warren. One ordinary practice she highlights is making the bed. It was fascinating to discover who makes the bed and who does not! I sort of assumed making the bed was a boring grown-up thing we all do, but alas, it is not.

I don’t recall a time when I did not make the bed. It was expected of me as a kid, and my dad taught me a cool trick he’d learned in the army to make the corners tight.

I don’t recall enjoying making the bed, however, until watching Downton Abbey! The way Anna and Mrs. Hughes could whip those crisp, white sheets into shape and pull them as tight as a bad Botox job. In the mornings when I make the bed, I channel my inner-Anna and pull those sheets tight!

The other joy in making the bed, washing the dishes, or running hot water for a shower is the reminder to use those everyday moments for prayer. When I make my bed a generic version of the fancy Downton Abbey beds, I pray for the people who spent the night without a bed. I pray for people without enough food when I wash a dish. And I pray for the human beings who will never experience the luxury of a hot shower.

Do you make the bed? Do you channel your inner-Anna? No judging. I learned in our staff book study that you can in fact be a very cool grown-up with a messy bed.

The Wrong Way For a Parent to Pray

If you were to skim through job descriptions and happen upon the one that demands every ounce of your energy, the full capacity of your heart and then some, and a skillset that ranges from first aid to nutrition to anger management to activity director, you would be reading about the work of a parent.

Of course, there is no job description in the same way there is no manual. And so, one way through the humbling privilege of parenting is prayer.

This morning, I caught myself praying the wrong way. (I usually say there is no wrong way to pray, but just as there are actually stupid questions, there is actually a wrong way to pray.)

I prayed my kiddo would be a certain way and do certain things that would make my life a whole lot easier.

Oops, I realized. That’s not exactly how a parent’s prayer works. At some point in a parent’s life, we are forced to admit we actually have little control over the outcome of our child’s life. The sooner we come to this revelation, the better we are for it. We can shower a human with unconditional love and challenge them to be better, but only the emerging adult in your midst directs the path. It sucks, I know, you pour your heart out only to let it be broken again and again.

A parent’s prayer, then, is best centered on the parent. God, I pray, what do I need in order to parent this child of God so he or she can be his or own person? Do I need more patience? Or more hobbies so I stop worrying so much?

My spiritual director lately broke the news that when we worry about someone else too much, we tend to keep that person stuck where they are. Worrying too much is not a good solution for either the worrier or the target of those worries.

I’m not saying to give up, or not to care deeply about the people whom God as entrusted to you. But instead of praying for our kids to be a certain way, we can pray for God to shape and change us, the parents who most of the time can only hope we are doing the right thing. And in that prayer, ask for forgiveness. Parenting is like living in a laboratory and we sometimes mix the wrong stuff together. God can help with that.

Dear God, you thought I could be a parent? What were you thinking? Okay, then you’d better go to work on me. Give me wisdom to know when to step in and when to step back. Give me a deep, deep breath when I get judgey or when I do that thing with my eyes that tips toward shaming. Thanks, God, for hanging in with these kids now and in all their days to come, and for not expecting to me to be the perfect parent. I like that a lot. Amen.

Welcoming Octobers

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Today begins a new month after the longest September on record. September, the first full month of the brand new school year, usually bursts into our lives with the comfort of a familiar routine and a healthy break between siblings.

September, you were not yourself this year and who could blame you. Go recover, next year is sure to be much different.

I am so happy to see you, October. You paint the leaves earthy colors and every year the return of their beauty takes our breath away. You blow them off their sturdy trees and the crunchy leaves feed the soil to unfold in soft radiance in the spring.

There is no spring without fall. No new leaves without the falling of old leaves. No green grass without the natural composting of winter. No return of the birds if they don’t first fly away. No Easter without Good Friday.

October, you set our hope on endings. Not to end all things, but later, in due time to begin the things that promise life. We have wandered far from your promise of life. We argue about politics and barely know the neighbor who lives beside us. We shop online and accumulate things and overcrowd secondhand stores. We stay committed to our political party even though we know how corrupt it is. We let down the kids who live among domestic violence. We accept that a woman must choose caring for family in place of pursuing a career she loves. We refuse to wear masks and create a crisis for long-term care centers in our own communities.

Oh my, October, there is so much possibility for you this year. So many endings, leaves that might blow off their trees, composting that will renew life if not for us, then for another generation in another spring much later.

Let’s begin.