Tag Archives: sabbath

The Anti-Chore List

I spent the better part of a couple of days this week in bed not feeling so great. Feeling unwell, although annoying and inconvenient, is simply a reminder of our humanness. Our mortality speaks up when our bodies do not do what we want them to do because of illness or aging.

Feeling crumby offers a gentle or abrupt invitation to be cared for, to admit we have needs, and to write an anti-chore list. This morning, I wrote an anti-chore list I’ll share with my family this week. In my many hours of rest, it slowly dawned on me that I’ve done what I sometimes (often) do at home: other people’s chores.

Writing an anti-chore list was very fun, and I suspect it will be helpful for the people with whom I live. Is it helpful or annoying that I sometimes (often) do their chores? Perhaps both.

It might be great when I do other people’s chores because, obviously, then they don’t have to do them! More leisure time for them! But it is also annoying. How does a person know what to expect when an overly helpful mom steps in? It would be like your co-worker sometimes (often) doing a task that belongs to you and not knowing whether it is even your responsibility anymore.

No longer will I feed the dogs, empty the dishwasher, and a few other tasks that belong to my kids. No longer will I step in when I can instead step aside. No longer will I ignore my own limits, no longer will a clean kitchen be more important than rest. No longer…until the next time! This lesson is not one-and-done with me, but rinse and repeat. And repeat.

Our days are a steady reminder that we are created both to love and be loved, to give and to receive.

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Resting or Distracting: You Need to Know the Difference

Checking out is not the same as resting. Scrolling or gaming on a phone is not resting. Watching a sports game (unless it is golf or baseball) is not resting. Baking is not resting even though your dough is resting. Scrolling, watching sports, and baking are means to distract ourselves. These activities do not count as rest.

Ever since I listened to a podcast episode called “Work Harder at Resting”, I have wondered the difference between rest and distraction.

  • Rest loosens your muscles and your tight grip on life. Distraction is avoidance.
  • Rest is a commitment to accomplish nothing for a period of time. Distraction is cheap entertainment.
  • Rest leaves you feeling content; you are glad you took time to do that. Distraction leaves you feeling hustled; the time you had to rest is now gone.

With phones constantly in reach, distraction is our default. Rest, on the other hand, is a protest against the flimsy offerings of distraction. Rest is a bold statement of trust in the God who offers the gift of rest.

“…we are situated on the receiving end of the gifts of God. To be so situated is a staggering option, because we are accustomed to being on the initiated end of all things. We expect nor even want a gift to be given, so inured are we to accomplishing and achieving and possessing. Thus I have come to think that the fourth commandment on sabbath is the most difficult and most urgent of the commandments in our society…”

“sabbath as resistance: Saying NO to the CULTURE OF NOW” by Walter Brueggemann, p. xiv

Rest requires a particular posture: open hands and open heart. How can God fill you with rest if you fill your minutes with distractions? How can God open your eyes to the landscape of God’s love if your eyes are on a screen? How can God open your heart if your heart is occupied with love for your distractions?

Today, how will you rest? Set a timer for 5 minutes and sit still by yourself, listening for God’s whispers. Read a psalm not to learn but simply to absorb the words. Download my favorite devotional app, Pray as you Go, and take a walk. When you reach for your phone, fold your hands and take three deep breaths.

“O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” Psalm 63:1

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The Peachy Life

(Photo credit: Nati Melnychuk on Unsplash)

Only a slice remains of the sweet season when you enter the produce section of the grocery store and meet a pile of peaches! Buried in yogurt and granola or piled up beside my morning eggs, I do love myself a peach. It takes a minute and no more to add such abundance to my life, long enough to slice and then handwash the knife.

There are times when even the quick work of preparing a peach seems like too much. To slice up a peach would require too much time, so I don’t. And what a bummer, with peach season in North Dakota so short it’s the pits. (Your eyeroll is justified.)

If I tell myself there is not enough time to slice a peach, I am far too busy. If I tell myself there is not enough time to connect with a friend, take a short walk, read a few pages of a book, breathe a few deep breaths, look into the eyes of the family member speaking to me, or visit with my husband, I have let my life become too rushed.

On this side of 40, I might grow more aware of the needless things I do. Things, I hate to admit, no one would notice if I did not do them. When these needless things do not get done because I am “busy” slicing a peach, consuming the flavor of abundant life, all is peachy with my soul.

Write a Letter to Your Future Self

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“Why is it you feel content?” asked my spiritual director some years ago. He noticed in that moment the weather in my spiritual life was 72 and sunny. This question got me thinking. Why did I feel content? I reflected with him out loud. I was reading, journaling, and working out. Conversations with my family felt good. And I was proud of the work I was doing in ministry.

“You could write these things down,” he suggested, knowing writing things down is one of my favorite hobbies. “Then, when you feel less content, you can look back and remember what it looks like for you to feel content.

His idea jogged my memory. Several years back on the verge of a sabbatical, I wrote a letter to my future self. Although I was filled with joyful anticipation at the weeks of rest and reflection that lay ahead of me, I also felt sad when I considered the pastoral ministry I would miss. I love the work God has set before me, and I didn’t want to forget it when I grew so cozy in the rest and reflection of sabbatical. In my letter, I reminded future Lisa how much I love serving as a pastor.

In those rare moments of clarity, it is worth grabbing a pen, or typing a note in your phone. How often do moments of clarity descend upon us? How often do the five people in my family ride together in a vehicle without fighting? How often does our puppy not destroy a perennial when roaming the backyard? How often isn’t it windy in southwest North Dakota? Right. Rarely.

What might that letter say, if you were to capture a moment of contentedness and pass it along to your future self? How might you assure your future self that you are, actually, enough just as you are? You do not need more money or fancier things. The way you look, feel and move around the world is just fine, beloved one.

Today may not be that particular day of clarity, when the spiritual weather in your life is 72 and sunny. No worries. That day of contentedness is somewhere around the corner. Keep a pen and paper handy.

It Was There the Whole Time

our backyard

There is a peaceful place you yearn to be when life feels hectic. When the pace picks up, where do you long to go, knowing that in your particular, peaceful place, the pace slows?

Humans require a peaceful place with a slower pace every now and then, as noted in the commandment to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. The command is not for God but for us. Good comes when we hit the pause button for an hour, a day, or longer, even when it means stranding a bottomless to-do list.

The peaceful place I often imagine is near water: a stream, river, lake. A watery site where birds hover and come to visit. Is this why my favorite color is blue, I just now realize? I know I’m not alone in finding peace by water. It’s where Jesus tended to hang out when he hit the pause button. It is why lake cabins are forever in demand. I love to watch the water in motion, quietly offering life to mysterious creatures below and to happy onlookers like me. Does it have something to do with our very first swim in the amniotic waters? Who knows.

I do know there is little natural water to be found where I live. We are all shocked when the grass is still green in July! Lakes are few and far between in southwest North Dakota. There is a lovely river not far from me, but not so easy to visit.

And all this time I long to be spectating waters, it occurs to me, peace may not be so far away after all. The disruption of peace is not limited to the particular places where the pace slows. In the wonky rhythm of summer, there is peace in a deep and renewing breath, in the shifting colors of a yard populated by perennials (thanks, Marcus), and in the broad view of badlands or a field of seeds quietly growing food in the darkness of the soil.

Peace is not only there, it is also here.

Dear Lord, keep me from overlooking peace because I expect it to look like something else. Amen.

Why Do I Do That?

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Every Saturday begins with me believing I can get so much done and ends with me wondering why I didn’t get all those things done. It’s called planning fallacy. In 1979, I was a busy one-year old when Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky put a name to underestimating how long it takes to complete something. Although I’m aware that I underestimate how long things will take me (including this blogpost), I keep doing it every single Saturday.

So why do I do that!?!

For one thing, Wayfair.com, where an amazing deal might be a click away! I also love clearing out my email inbox, among other ridiculous and unnecessary tasks. But most of all, there is something about the liberty of moving from one thing to the next at a leisurely pace. You don’t need to know my husband well to know he manages to overcome the planning fallacy. He is efficient and determined and lets nothing get in his way, such as Wayfair.com.

I, on the other hand, slow down on Saturdays. Read a chapter of a book, take an extra walk with the dog, notice the leaves peeling off the trees, enjoy an episode of Schitt’s Creek while cleaning the kitchen, dream of a different color on the wall, bother my kids with questions.

And at the end of the day when few of my plans actually happened, wonder where the time went.

Renaming Mondays

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If you could rename today because you believe “Monday” is a worn out word, what might it be? What would you call this day if you could call it anything you choose? Let’s pretend that next week on this day, you could invent a completely new name, and every week after. (I realize this would be confusing for Amazon deliveries, and would eventually get annoying. But for now, shed your practicality. We’re pretending!)

I might call today “Bake and Breathe Day”, which puts the word “Monday” to shame. Today might be your back-to-work/school day, but for me it is a day off. I would choose this clever name due to the way feeding teenage boys seems easier if I do some baking on my day off. And, I try to spend some of this day taking a deep breath and writing (like right now).

Even though you cannot rewrite the calendar, you can rename this day for yourself. You can look around your life and note what it is that you need today. If today is tough, could it be “Please More Coffee or Water Day”? “A Walk Might Help Day”? “Be Extra Gentle on Myself Day”?

Maybe you love Mondays because you return to the action of the week. “Bring It On Day” might work. Or just, “Ready Enough Day”.

Last Friday, what I needed most was a long walk by myself. That day could have been called “Long Lonely Walk Day”, except that sounds way too somber! Also it might already be the name of a Western. I can’t be sure.

This might be a chemo or radiation or dialysis day for you. “Healing Day” fits. It might be a day you have to face something you happily avoided all weekend. “Reckoning Day” is nicely dramatic. My Tuesdays often become “No More Freaking Cookies Day” after I’ve done all that baking (and sampling) the day before.

A day has a tendency to get away from you. But this is the only one like it you’ll ever get. You have a particular need today, you beautiful human, that you get to name. What might you rename this day? I hope you will think of one, and I’ll give you a few others. Today and every day (even Mondays) are your “God Is With Me” days. Or, “Covered In Mercy Day”. Or, “I Don’t Care To Name A Day, But I Do Care That God Names Me Beloved.” Hmmm, kind of long. Good luck.

Walking With My Favorite Devotional App

( Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com )

Saturdays are my favorite devotion day. On Saturdays, the app I use, Pray As You Go, walks me through Examen as I walk my dog through the neighborhood. What is Examen, you ask? It is wonderful and has nothing to do with exams! Examen is a spiritual prayer practice taught by the Jesuits. In this practice, you look back at your day and pay attention for God’s activity. You notice how you spent your time and you remember (because you probably forgot) that God spent all of that time with you. What do you notice as you look back? When did you experience tension? When did you feel most alive?

That was one question in today’s Examen. Reviewing the headlines of the past week, I recognized I felt most alive writing liturgy for September worship services, connecting with my love of writing. I felt most alive when I visited with St. John folks over the phone and in person, connecting with the church I’ve been called to serve. I felt most alive sitting at a table or leaning over the kitchen counter listening to my kids recall their first two days of school.

When did you feel most alive in the past week?

It is amazing what you notice when you look back! We often have a better angle on our lives when we look back. The view isn’t always pretty, just to be honest. I had to see again that I snapped at my spouse. I worried more than I needed to regarding the state of the world. I could have stewarded my time more carefully. And so we look back with a lens of self-compassion. Every day, we start over. Looking back, I could see that yes, I did apologize to my spouse and I did tell God what I’m worried about. I did pay better attention to the precious resource of time. Looking back at a week encourages you to let go.

What spiritual practice helps you to let go? Do you journal, spend time in silence, or walk? This app has been my faithful walking companion (along with Pippen, who doesn’t actually care about my devotional practices), for the past six months after my colleague mentioned it. I simply added it to what I was already doing.

Please wonder today what practice might be a worth a try. What might fit well into your life, even if it takes a bit of discipline? What might encourage you to be more gentle on yourself? You don’t need to commit for life, just for now.

Sabbatical

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A few pages back on the calendar, two things happened. I began my sabbatical and we entered road construction season! Near my house, a significant project continues where crews have been sweating it out week after week. Thanks be to God for people who make it possible to get from here to there.

The conclusion of the project near my house will be most welcomed by everyone. For workers, an end to the sun brutally beating down on them throughout this inordinately sweltering summer. For businesses nearby, easier access for customers. For moms, no more worry that kind-looking SLOW/STOP sign-holders are judging how often they drive by (sports practices, the pool, camps, coffee dates, repeat).

None of us will freely admit that sometime “down the road” in the future, we will do this all over again. No road is fixed forever! Roads, like people, require a substantial amount of regular maintenance to smooth things out. We never leave behind all the bumps. Always they exist, most noticeable when they rise to the surface, next to the patched-up cracks.

I am a couple of weeks away from my last day of sabbatical, which will happen before the end of the construction project is celebrated. Before the road is ready and perhaps before I am ready, I will enter the church building for the very first time in three months. (Such a sabbatical, by the way, is made possible by extraordinary ordained and lay staff and an encouraging Council. Thank you, Jesus, for every one of these people.)

These months have set me firmly in the slow lane. I have learned to look around and notice people, such as the people who live in the same house as me. I know them so much better now. I even talk more slowly most of the time. I learned to rest more, ask for help (that’s a fib, I didn’t learn that, I just wish I did), and to take time to write.

I like the slow lane. It’s quieter here and I don’t spend so much time worrying about running out of time.

It will take a few days or more, but I will merge back into the faster lane, even as I miss the slow lane. There is just as much to see in any lane you choose. What I learned in the slow lane will not be easily lost. I am too grateful.

So, down the road when the bumps present themselves, when cracks need patching, I can remember there is always a slow lane. It is open for any day trip, hour trip, minute trip to remember that we, like any road under our wheels, are never fixed forever. We wish repairs would happen faster and maintenance wouldn’t be so much work. But being human does require slow lanes, along with Jesus’ merciful maintenance of the bumps, and entire seasons of constructing self-compassion around the cracks. And somehow, that is enough to move you from one day to the next, from here to there.

A Quiet Week

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Today begins a three-month sabbatical for me, compliments of a generous congregation in southwest North Dakota. They have gifted me with three months to spend time with my favorites: family, books, pen and paper, and quiet. My first stop is a particularly quiet one: the woods.

I am returning to a place of silent retreat, where I will leave all devices behind. It will be a quiet week when the noise my phone makes and the voices in my head reminding me to do this and do that will fade away. Rest will be priority; reading and journaling the lone items on my to-do list. Each day will be guided by the Spirit’s words – which I will actually hear over the voices that have then faded away.

Listening is much easier when we do not try to hear everything all at once. I hear nothing when I expect myself to hear everything. There are invisible volume buttons to adjust. Turn down the work volume once I get home. Turn down the mom guilt dial when I am doing my best at work. Turn down the unrealistic expectations for myself volume at home and at work and suddenly I might hear God reminding me to let go. Let go of trying to hear everything, God might whisper, and the quiet will tell you the one thing you truly need to hear.

It is enough simply to be. Next week, after an ear-full of quiet, I may tell you what I heard.