Tag Archives: peace

Oh, how I would love to open my kitchen cabinet doors to discover a gleaming oasis of organization. Instead of moving mixing bowls to get to a serving bowl, all bowls would be equally accessible. Some people’s dreams are inspired by dramatic home renovations on HGTV. I simply long for less crashing when I reach for a bowl.

Until the day arrives when only my husband and I open the kitchen cabinets, the crashing will persist. There is no possibility of an oasis for now. Like the lives we live, the cabinets will be messy, imperfect, oasis-less.

I have rounded the corner to the last third of my congregation’s gift of a sabbatical. The abundance of time I have to hang out with Jesus in prayer, to say yes to late night conversations with kiddos and my husband, and to Uber my kids here there and everywhere will shift in a month.

In my morning devotions, a question posed was whether I carry around heavy burdens from my past. Whether old sins linger and weigh on my shoulders. For me, it is the little things that snowball into a heavy burden. It is the everyday obnoxious, pestering questions:

Did I do enough for my family? For the church?

Whom did I disappoint?

Why did I say that?

Why didn’t I say that?

Could I have done that better?

Those are the pesky questions that keep me up at night and scratch at my soul, more than heavy burdens from my past.

And so, when I opened the kitchen cabinet and moved three things to get to a bowl this morning, I wondered if God was reminding me there is no oasis here. No organization or perfection to simplify life. As long as your heart is involved and your daily work (at home or anywhere) involves leading with your heart, you are in for messy cabinets, messy calendars, messy moments, messy sleep schedules. As long as you deeply care for people, do not expect perfection in your pantry.

This is why I wrote myself a note today. While the previous paragraph makes complete sense to me right now, in a couple of months when the messy cabinets are messier and I long for more time just to sit with Jesus, I will need a reminder. I will need a reminder that life with people involved is like needing the bowl that happens to be tucked into the corner, behind three other things. Always there is reaching and crashing. Remember, the note will nudge me, messy cabinets accompany life. The reaching, perhaps, could sound like Jesus’ reaching for me when I get stuck in the pestering questions. The crashing, perhaps, could sound like the slippery waters of baptism protecting me from the sticky burden of worrying whether I have done enough, or whether I am enough.

The moral of the story: If your cabinets are messy, you are awesome. Or more importantly, you are enough. And that is awesome.

What have I learned in nearly two weeks of sabbatical time? I can sum it up in two words: slow down.

A year or two ago, I stopped at the post office to mail a package. It was a quick stop between Walmart and a haircut and I was hustling. Hustling is a drug that keeps you moving. It makes you feel amazing and unstoppable and completely unaware of how addicted you’ve become. I was pushing my pin number into the machine on the post office counter, but the machine kept rejecting my card.

“It worked when I was at Walmart a few minutes ago,” I assured the nice man at the counter, saying between the lines that there is actually money in my checking account! “You can slow down,” he gently prodded, seeing how flustered I had gotten. After a few more useless tries, I abandoned the debit card and handed over my credit card.

Later, I would realize I mistyped the four numbers of my pin. In my mindless hustle, I had thrown it off by a number enough times to lock up my card.

Now, nearly two weeks into this slower season of sabbatical, I am noticing more. I notice when I am tired and need more sleep, and then I go to bed earlier and sleep. I notice I tend to eat more when I’m in a hurry. I notice how easy it is for any one person in my family to default to a screen for distraction. I notice the majority of my breaths are shallow.

I notice how fun it is to prepare food when I don’t have to rush. I notice how much more meaningful conversations become when I’m not watching a clock to get back to work. I notice I take more time for contemplative prayer and daily devotions. I notice my families faces (even though not all teenagers appreciate such noticing).

“You can slow down”, came the wisdom behind, of all places, the post office counter! I’m listening. I’m slowing down.

What might that look like for you today? Notice when you are walking fast without needing to. Notice when you read, eat, or talk too fast. Notice your breaths and whether they are deep or always shallow.

In the noticing, often called mindfulness, Jesus’ presence becomes obvious. If there is one thing we do not attribute to Jesus, it is hustle! He was in no hurry moving from village to village, miracle to miracle, conversation to conversation, prayer to prayer.

How might the practice of slowing down help you notice the peace of Jesus’ presence today?

After five days of silence and a long, quiet drive on the unending pavement that is I94, I am home.

Last week began a three-month sabbatical from my work as senior pastor. At a hermitage in Northern Minnesota, my sabbatical commenced with a silent retreat that positioned me as unavailable to my family and congregation. It was a week of fast learning for all of us, me in particular, that I can step away (far away) and all is well. People continue to be cared for, kids are fed, and sometimes my husband can find a new shampoo bottle in the drawer in the bathroom when his runs out, although sometimes he cannot, like this week.

Who excitedly transforms into a hermit for five days in a tiny cabin tucked among a dozen or so other cabins occupied by fellow hermits to whom you cannot speak? Hermit, by the way, refers to someone who escapes everyday life in exchange for the quiet. It was like Bible Camp for Introverts. Nap, walk, read or write for hours. Food and water is left on your doorstep and time is spent listening to God, which means listening to the woods and its creatures, listening to your body and responding when it needs food or rest, and listening to the Spirit’s whispers in your prayers.

I learned (again) that we actually need very little, and the less there is (food, water, furniture), the more it is valued.

I turned off my phone Monday afternoon and did not touch it again until Friday. I missed it only twice, both times when I had an urge to Google an author whose work I was reading. Thank goodness that was not an option. You know what happens when you want to Google one thing. It’s “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” every time! On your way to Googling, you stop to check your Instagram feed, which reminds you to send an email, at which point you decide to look at your bank account, and on and on. There is no such thing as a quick Google.

All genders can be seen ambling along the paths at the hermitage, but one day I noticed a half dozen or so women roughly my age. Later, I saw them congregate in the main building on my way to the shower. (Yes, hermits do shower, thank the Lord.) It appeared to be a women’s retreat. How brilliant! A gathering of women, perhaps moms, who took a couple of days to respond to no one’s needs but their own, answered no one’s questions, explained to no partner that your shampoo can easily be found by pulling open the drawer!

Moms often give in a way that makes it slip from our minds how we, too, are children of God. Children, all children, need to be known and loved and released from the mental load, if only for long enough to sneak into the woods for a few days of quiet.