Ash Wednesday. I have to admit that I’m not ready yet…it doesn’t feel like Lent should be upon us yet. Christmas seems too close, and the grey of winter is very prominent out my window at the moment.

I’m not really focused yet, I haven’t prayed and prepared in anticipation. I have an idea of what to give up for Lent…I’m giving up my games on FaceBook. That sounds trivial, and in the face of what Lent is about it truly is a bit trivial. I wrote last year about giving up Facebook, and I know that giving up games is a token activity.  It is, however, an act done in the desire of discipline and in the desire to focus.

The grey outside the window is appropriate for the moment. Ash Wednesday. I do not attend a church where we meet today and have crosses in ash placed on our foreheads, but I wish I did.  There is something that resonates with me in that physical, symbolic act. I need the physical, the visual, reminders of the markers of my faith.

Today should stand out a bit, there should be a sobriety to this entrance to the season of Lent. A time to pay attention and turn our focus toward the Cross. I know, we should always be mindful of the Cross and of the foundation of our faith…but this season is different.

 When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. Luke 9:51

Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem, to go to the Cross. He knew the cost that was coming. I know it as a gift, and yet this season is also a gift: a time to reflect and to focus and to recognize the reality of a Savior come to earth to redeem us.

So, giving up silly games…but more than that, turning toward Jerusalem and watching as Jesus makes his way there. I need help to focus. I need the ashen cross to be marked on me to remind me of the cost and of the significance of this season. Sometimes I need the help of other’s words, so I’m hoping to find poems for the days of Lent. Starting today with this from Malcolm Guite…a reminder that the deep call of Lent is of hope. Things are marred and broken, and sometimes we ignore that. Lent is the call to pay attention and to embrace the hope that God will redeem and bring beauty from the ashes (you can find Malcolm’s comments on the poem, along with audio, at his website):

Ash Wednesday

Receive this cross of ash upon your brow,
Brought from the burning of Palm Sunday’s cross.
The forests of the world are burning now
And you make late repentance for the loss.
But all the trees of God would clap their hands
The very stones themselves would shout and sing
If you could covenant to love these lands
And recognise in Christ their Lord and king.

He sees the slow destruction of those trees,
He weeps to see the ancient places burn,
And still you make what purchases you please,
And still to dust and ashes you return.
But Hope could rise from ashes even now
Beginning with this sign upon your brow.

Every week I look and see what words people have used in searches that landed them on this little blog. I am always amazed by one search that comes up, every week and almost daily. Without fail.

 Birthday Tribute for A Dad

Those who typed in that search and landed on my blog found the article celebrating my Dad’s birthday last year. I am impressed by how many are searching for words or ideas to celebrate their fathers.  Fathers make a tremendous impact on who we are and on what our childhood looks like. It seems wee either find heroes in our fathers or monsters.

Mine falls firmly into the hero category, and today marks another year to celebrate him.

Men like my dad deserve some celebrating.

It is not that he has been perfect or that he is in dire ned of attention. He would actually probably prefer if we played it down a little instead of making a big deal of him. I have to warn him that next year we may have to ignore protests and make a big deal…he’ll be 80 next year.

That was Mom and Dad on their wedding day. That was the beginning.

Now…

There is a legacy. Those are all the grandkids, together in Colorado last July 4th.

Meals were shared and stories told and guns shot. There was lots of laughter and horsing around, but  in the midst of all  is this constant of Dad.

My family is for the most part pretty loud. We get wound up and talk over each other and tell stories. We sit around the table and talk for longer than most families I know. We tease each other and we encourage each other.  And yet…Dad is pretty quiet. He is there and he is very present, and often has a bit of a smirk as he hears the tales of the ‘accomplishments’ of the kids, but he mostly listens.

That is, until he starts to tell stories or to talk about life. Then things get quiet. Because we listen.  We’ve learned he has a lot of wisdom, and we’ve learned that he has experienced things we probably never will. He’s learned lessons and we would be wise to pay attention.

I wish I lived closer so my kids could spend more time around my Dad, but I am thankful that they know him and that memories are being formed every time we head back west. I’m thankful for a Dad who warrants a celebration each year; a Dad who has listened to me over the years and has pushed me when I needed pushing and always encouraged me to be my best and to try for things I might think were beyond me. I’ve often been surprised I was able to do more than I thought.

I’m thankful for a Dad who continues to be a husband even when his wife isn’t sure who he is or where they are or what is happening. He continues to model for us faithfulness and patience and grace…and the occasional snarky comment or sarcasm on the days when things are just a little more than his patience can handle.

I’m thankful for February 4th each year because the date makes me pause and remember all the things that I have gained being Fred Mossman’s daughter. Love of animals and a way with dogs that I know I gained from him. Love of photography and a desire to learn more in that area. Love of history and understanding our past. An ability to shoot better than the boys who took me to the shooting range on dates to try to impress me. Love of the outdoors.

Love of and thankfulness for family, in all its flaws and characteristics and quirks and glories and joys.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.

We have had a very busy weekend, and the stress level around the house has been higher than normal. Nothing serious, nothing dramatic…just life and work for Steve that is demanding. It does mean tht we’ve been a little more snippy and a little less patient and a little less aware of all around us.

Maybe that framework is what set me up for Sunday morning feeling such an appreciation for our church fellowship. We’ve been part of this congregation for nearing 4 years and while relationships have grown and we have a place in the life of this body, there are days that it still feels new and I still walk away breathing a prayer of thanks for finding a place that is so integral to our life.

I have many friends and acquaintances who have had experiences that leave them either frustrated or even hating the church. There are some cases where genuine abuse has happened at the hands of those who were to care for people, not harm. These leaders have taken advantage and have harmed and the ramifications are serious. There is righteous anger against these leaders and there are conversations which have to take place as those who have been harmed physically and spiritually in a church setting try to understand and heal and move beyond and bring justice. All of that is emotional and difficult and frustrating and painful.

Most of my friends have had more disappointment with the church than actual abuse. Leaders have not led well. They have not listened or they had an agenda that they were not willing to sway. Sometimes it has been our faults as congregation members to join a church that had a clear vision and then be mad when they didn’t change to meet our vision.

There are all kinds of stories of frustration, of disappointment, of abuse, of….fill in the blank. There are a multitude of blogs given to the conversation of how awful these leaders are and how hurt the congregants have become. Some of those conversation are valid, and some of them are picking at scabs and being mad when others don’t want to join the fun.

So…whew. That is a long set-up to what I really wanted to share. I have had some fantastic church experiences, having been part of nine different congregations as I have moved from New Mexico to California to Tennessee to Washington to Vancouver and back to Tennessee. I’ve also had some disappointments. And we’ve found ourselves in some places where we just didn’t fit…it wasn’t anyone’s fault, we just didn’t fit.

We have found where we fit. The worship is what we have sought…simple and no spotlight on an individual, and we can hear the congregation sing! The teaching is verse-by-verse which we love. The children’s department is creative and engaging. The nursery is clean and the children are loved and cared for.

Here is what I truly love, though. Friday night we came together for a Chocolate Festival. I would guess there were 300 or so folks, and the goal was to raise money for Blood:Water Mission. Everyone brought chocolate and we had raffles and cake walks and art to raise money; $3000 was raised! There was laughter and conversation and eating and simply being together, in the sanctuary of an old Catholic school (where we meet). My kids were running around and I watched as Sammy would walk and those who knew him would reach out and touch him as he went by. They didn’t necessarily speak to him, as they were engaged in conversations, but they would touch his shoulder or pat his head. He would look up and grin and keep on to wherever he was headed.

My kids are known in this congregation. There are adults who have listened to their stories, or to my stories about them, and have paid attention and know my children. More than that, they are aware of my children and my children know that. That is enormous in our world today.

Sunday morning we heard a message on Psalm 77. We walked in and saw 6 pink balloons celebrating six months of life of a baby who was not supposed to live outside the womb. We heard Kim pray for the needs and the joys of the congregation. By name, without rush and with knowledge. Then Jim taught us that it is okay to doubt and to struggle and to be disappointed…even with God. He spoke with compassion and with grace and also with challenge that at some point we have to speak to our mind and our heart and our will and we have to remember.

¹⁰ And I said, “This is my anguish;
But I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.”
¹¹ I will remember the works of the Lord;
Surely I will remember Your wonders of old.
¹² I will also meditate on all Your work,
And talk of Your deeds.

We have leadership in this congregation that lives out their walk with a confident humility and sets the tone for a church where there is freedom to struggle and to question and to pray and to rejoice and to laugh and to eat chocolate with a purpose. There is great diversity in our congregation, and while I am sure there are those who have struggled there and have been disappointed…because no where is the place where everyone is going to fit perfectly…there is something really special about this congregation.

Why this post? Well, I guess I was aware this week of those who have been very focused on the negative of the Church. There is plenty to focus on if that is what you are looking for, and sometimes there is a season to focus and call out things that are wrong. This weekend, though, I was struck by the life of this place where I and my family belong. I was struck by the laughter of my kids in church and the fact that they very rarely whine about going…they like being there. I was struck by the maturity and confidence of our leadership, and also their humility and lack of “celebrity”ness. I was struck by the blessing of being able to be known by a group of people and the fact that we didn’t make it out of the parking lot for 45 minutes after the service was over as we talked with friends.

I was struck by the fact that in the midst of a week that had drained us emotionally and physically and mentally, I walked out of the service Sunday with joy and refreshed and challenged and renewed. It was not just the words that were spoken…it was the life of the place and that was made up by the parts all creating a unique whole.

So, if you’ve hit a place of disappointment or frustration or anger toward the church, maybe spend some time finding those who are rejoicing and renewed and hopeful in their congregations. There are lots of them out there. Find a place where there is laughter and tears, questioning and worshipping…and life. Spend your season being mad and be done with it. Remember the works of the Lord and find the place where you can rejoice in being part of the work. This video is from our congregation….